[ The Potential of Perhaps ]

Part Five

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Week Forty-Eight

“Pull your arm back farther.”  She tried.  “Farther.”  She couldn’t do it.  “Imagine you’re trying to elbow my face.”  She did it.

He sighed.

“Now what?”

“Hold it there for a minute,” he said dejectedly, and she began with the energy to keep the drawstring back, but rapidly felt her muscles wear out.  She slumped over as the string snapped and the arrow flopped to the ground a mere three feet from her.  Behind her, she heard him sigh again.

“You can’t even hold the twine; how do you expect to complete a mission properly.”  He retrieved the arrow and forced it into her hand, his touch dawdling for just a second longer than needed.  But overall, she was surprised as to how little headway he had tried to make during their most recent lesson.  His presence was scholarly and his gentle handling was purely for her benefit; she hated how her smug realization that he was giving up was backfiring, his lack of contact leaving her to crave a rejected smooch or a painfully sweet pinch of teeth.

“I’ve completed eight missions successfully; I think I can handle it,” she murmured, threading the cord between her fingers and watching the woven strips spin.  He scoffed a disapproving huff and crossed his arms.

“Seven were successful, your first was a disaster.”  She gasped at the comment and turned to face him, his loose-fitting shirt blowing in the breeze like her concentration.  He knew, they all knew how touchy a subject her first mission was; he knew as well as they did to never bring it up.

“Disaster?  That man is dead because of me, an extra pocketful of coins for you and your brothers.”

“Have you forgotten your break down, the way we had to flee the village as people stepped outside to see what had happened?  Do you not remember the way you cried like the rains of God sent down to float the ark?  The way you ran from the house as if it were burning?”  He stepped closer, but she let him proceed with no comment, her stern gaze relaying what her tongue would’ve.

Shut up, damn you!

“Do you remember who held you close?  Who cleaned you?  Who shielded you from their dirty, judging stares?”  He paused to take a breath, his voice having risen in both pitch and volume.  “Do you recall who slept with you that night?  Just who let you whisper into his chest about the evil in the world and how you had seen it all with the eye?  Because I do…”

She swallowed, his posture sorrowful and slouching, his expression one of pain, and his tone beseeching her to answer.  So she did.

“It was you,” Bian mumbled, looking at her feet.  She remembered every word sobbed into his shoulders and every shiver that didn’t run down her spine as he embraced her, because she was too caught up in everything to see beyond the overwhelming trust and comforting presence he offered, forgetting about her attraction and still feeling something buffeting her heart, not her hormones for once.

“Yah, it was.”  He was close again, this time merely taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.  He pressed quick kisses to her knuckles and brought her face up with a finger to look at him.  “I did it all for you and I would again; I’d bring you not only the world, but the entire night sky if you asked me to.”  The alteration to Jungkook’s claim was cute and romantic, sending her into a euphoric zone.

Stop looking at me like that…

His gaze was blinding, and she decided right then and there that there must’ve been solar systems in his eyes, trapped like lightening bugs in a jar, shining brighter than any glow she’d ever seen, or ever would.  His hand with her own fell to his chest and she made out the faint beat of his drumming heart behind her fingertips.

That lesson was a sourly sweet one, ending with a soft peck on her cheek and an admittance to defeat.  He promised to be her teacher only, something she had wanted ‘til the moment she had it, at which the very notion of being nothing more than friends frightened her into silence.  He left her in the company of Jimin, who set about teaching her the best way to seduce a man into doing her bidding.

She was mildly disappointed when Seokjin didn’t interrupt as Jimin had her practice on him, or when his hands were being clingy to bother her; but just mildly, not enough to change her mind.  It had to happen soon she decided as she lay awake, dreaming with her eyes open.

Week Fifty-Two

The dagger flew from her hand to pierce the bark above, her body flinching every time the leaves shook and the knife threatened to fall.  Hoseok was quite the opposite, flinging blade after blade to stick into the tree’s branches above from where they sat against the trunk.

“So what do you want to learn today?” he asked, and she couldn’t help but smile at his odd teaching habits.  She asked specifically what interested her, and he showed her how to do it in no time flat.  If he had been skilled in all areas, he might’ve even rivalled Seokjin’s abilities.  Too bad he was only spectacular with sharp things, along with slingshots, bombs, and any other tool of war one could dream of.

“A special knife trick,” she suggested, and he glanced at the weapon in his hand before tossing it to her unsafely.  “Don’t throw your scalpels unless you want to impale me,” she warned him, knowing that her catching skills weren’t up to date.

“Wanna learn to throw a dagger properly?  You toss them like they’re a toy, and they’re not; respect my equipment,” he teased, and she scowled.

“That’s not a trick, that’s all about aim, and I can only shoot a bow well.”

“That’s the entire reason why I’m here, right?  To tell you what to do.”  She chuckled bitterly.

“That’s not what the others think, you know.  It’s all about being independent and never backing down ‘cause no one’s going to be there to catch you.”  She thought of her mentor and his ways of making such harsh words and lessons turn into softly spoken advice.  At first she hated his guts, despised the way he did things and made her copy them to a dot, but she had long since given in to the fact that he was just a kind and confused man, cursed with horrible decision-making.   Confused because he didn’t know why he couldn’t leave this life and kind because despite all of it, he chose to grow attached to a woman who knew so little of the ways of love.

Cursed, because he chose to fall in love with Lee Bi An, the one woman who he might actually permit his death to.

“I’m aware of their techniques, and you look awfully stressed out these days, so I’ve decided to go even easier on you.”  She smirked at his comment and he grinned back, his teeth surprisingly white for someone who brushed them three times a week.

“Do I fl-flick the wrist like… this?”  The knife popped from her hand and she gasped as it bounced against the tree, only to deflect towards her.

“Relax, it’s not going to hit you.”  That’s what you said the last time, right before I cut myself.  “Try again.”  She failed again.

They recovered his arsenal seemingly hundreds of times, yet she only stuck three.  She was so hopeless that he finally snatched the rest of the blades from her hand.  “You’re learning something different; I don’t want my babies to dent.”

“You’re a baby, Hoseok,” she sighed, raking a clumsy hand through her drenched locks, messy and frizzy with sweat.  “What’s your next idea?”  He smiled wide and grabbed her hands, no, wait- He stuffed something into them.  She looked down to see a small pouch tied off with a string.  “A pocket explosion?”

“Exactly; I find these to be almost as useful, and I’m in need of another batch anyways, so we’re heading down to the lab.”  The lab, a mysterious shop that Tae had converted into his own personal hovel, compete with swinging doors that he lined with bells to alert himself of any intruders while he was working.  She had never been able to make it past the basement doors, as he had always met her at the top of the stairs, both arms conveniently pushing against the door frame to block her path.  And when he had himself locked into that defensive stance, there was nothing that could move him.

“Am I going to be allowed into the lab?” she asked curiously as they twisted through the roads, and Hoseok shrugged.

“He’s let me in a couple of times, but trust me, you don’t want to go in there.  It’s filled with books and glasses full of all kinds of strange things, there’s always a layer of smoke or fog lining the floor, and he’s even crazier after being cooped up with only himself for a little while.  Sometimes he talks to himself, Kim working personal secrets out of Taehyung and getting into arguments.  Sometimes I worry, sometimes I feel bad, but most of the time I’m just glad he’s my friend.”  Bian smiled and watched as the older boy squeezed under the broken door without ringing the bells, and expected her to do the same.

She did so without any hesitation, and he congratulated her silently, tip-toeing over to the basement door.  She held her breath as they approached it, wondering if this was to be the moment she saw the raving lunatic’s secret lair, thinking of how to surprise Taehyung, when Hoseok knocked loudly.

“Tae, are you down there?”

“What!  I thought we were sneaking in!”

“And betray his faith in us?  No way, I just like messing with him by getting past the door.  He always gets agitated when he knows that someone could get in without him knowing.”  The thud of something heavy startled her, but she regained her composure before the slightly older boy could open the door and peek out at them.

“Hobi?  Bian?  What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, stepping out into the light and closing the door behind him; she felt a bit of hope shut with the door.

“I need more explosives, and Bian’s learning from me today, so I thought that I could show her the lab and what my favorite little dealer does with it!”  He grinned, making Taehyung blink, and she watched the gears click in his head.  He hesitated before reaching back and opening the gates to toxic fumes and dangerous chemicals, consenting to her seeing the only thing she hadn’t seen during all her time spent living with them.  Who knew that Hoseok was her ticket in?

“It’s messy and cluttered, so please do ignore the lack of space.  This was the biggest basement I could find in this deserted little town, and it was nothing compared to what I had in my old group.”  Bian perked at the thought of him originating from somewhere else, but didn’t speak up in case it was one of those things you just didn’t talk about.  “But this is where the figurative magic occurs.”

It was just like Hoseok had said:  Hot and cold patches, smoke, books, and a whole lot of messy things taped up and jarred in dirty glasses.

“This is where I make the bombs,” he said, pointing to the far corner, and handed over a pouch to Hoseok.  “And this is your refill, though I’m short on some things you need to pick up next time you’re in the market.”

“Will do,” he replied happily, already getting ready to leave, but Bian wanted to stay for a bit, transfixed by so many things at once and finding endless questions already beginning to bottle up insider her head. 
Let’s go Bee.”

“Wait,” she began, looking from her instructor to the younger boy, “can I stay for a bit?”  Both were taken aback by the request, but in the end she was leaning against a counter, watching Tae drop a powder into a glass filled with clear liquid.  Hoseok had gone back, telling her to come when she was ready, which she would be soon, after she explored a bit more.

“What kind of questions do you have?” he asked, and she looked up to see a small smirk eating at his lips, though he tried to hide it.

“What does that do?”

“Burns.”

“And that?”

“Poison.”

“That?”

“Water.”

“For?”

“Drinking.”

…

“Oh.”  He chuckled.

“Don’t sound so disappointed with the fact that I’m keeping hydrated; wouldn’t want to faint down here.”  He glanced at the walls, which were either covered in papers or a moist condensation.  “You really don’t want to faint down here.”  He looked at her all of a sudden, eyes betraying his poker face with the prospect of interest.  “I have a few questions for you as well.”

“Then inquire,” she said, to which he leaned in to look at her closer.  Bian stared back, always fascinated by his eyes and their interesting hue.

“What was palace life like?”

She didn’t dare breath, or swallow, so the saliva pooled in as she thought.  Does he know?  Is this a guess?  What should I say…?

“What are you talking about?” she asked, donned a face of confused amusement.  He saw through that.

“Did you like being waited on?  You seem to be more of an independent princess, rebellious and looking for new things to do.”

I didn’t like being waited on, and I was rebellious.  “Princess?  Taehyung, what are you insinuating?”

“I asked you,” he reiterated roughly, eyes ablaze with fire that had been previously been hidden, “did you like being waited on?  Were we a pain when we didn’t do what you wanted?”  He was so obviously angry; he didn’t even try to mask such a scarce emotion.

“Taehyung, what are you even insinuating?  I don’t understand,” she continued, raising her voice by accident and cringing as he slammed a hand down on the table, making jars rattle, like her heart.

“Don’t play ignorant with me, Lee.”  She winced as he used her surname, the key to her identity, past, and future.  “You can go play games with Seokjin, but do not try and mess with my head!”  He was yelling, gesturing, and she felt a spark of fear glow in her stomach as a blaze glinted in his eyes.  She remembered how he had always claimed he was rusty, how he was out of practice, but the moment he walked around to face her, she couldn’t help but realize that he was far from any of those.

“Tae…”  His glare faltered with the nickname.  “Please, believe me; I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I mean, for heaven’s sake- I just came down here to pick up Hoseok’s order.”  He swallowed and tried hard, so hard to ignore the tear that had crept down her cheek as her lip jutted out in a scared, youthful expression.  It was half false, half true.

“Edmond Reed, only released his works in this kingdom,” he hissed.  “Only the royal line discredits the existence of supernatural occurrences; if you spent one week in the villages, you’d know that!  I know what you’re trying to do,” he growled, but the anger was gone, replaced with disappointment and irritancy.

“You’re delusional,” she muttered, stepping away from him and towards the staircase.  He seemed to stare not into her eyes, but her mind, her heart, and she despised the way he always made her exposed intellectually, like Seokjin did emotionally.

“You’re the delusional one of us two,” he whispered, gazing intently, eyes dark and dangerous.  “And your daydream is going to crash quite soon.”  She bolted out the shop, eyes stinging with tears and hands shaking with anger or anxiety, she didn’t know.

Has he told anyone?

Has he known this entire time?

Do I act tonight, or wait?

No, I need to move tonight, eliminate them and be done with it; I need to leave this place.

Hoseok tried and tried to teach her how the bombs were best used, though, honestly, she believed that they merely needed to be thrown, but her mind was not on his lesson.  After the last botched explosion, setting fire to a nearby clump of weeds, the older boy gave up and sent her in for the night.

The walk back was long and treacherous, potholes of guilt giving way under her feet, roots made of impatience tripping her, and stones engraved with the words I need to slick under her feet.  She thought about how they were going to pass on that night, fall into endless sleep, leave her behind in that dreadfully dreary and lonely town.

I can’t even call it “passing on;” I’m going to kill them in cold blood.

Not cold blood, they killed your father, the king; they deserve it.

No one deserves this.

She went to bed that night frightful and feeling more alone than ever before, the feeling of drowning in solitude even more awful when she knew that she was surrounded by seven other people.  Seven other hearts beating like hers, breathing like her, existing like her; seven hearts that were to never beat again.

Just wait for them to fall asleep…  She knew they had drunk a good deal of alcohol that night, and lucky for her, not a single one of them handled it well.  Even Taehyung downed a couple glasses, dwarfing Jungkook’s single mouthful.  Seokjin only had a shot or two; he wasn’t a big drinker.

“Play the drunken games with us!!!” Jimin had requested, bouncing off the walls with energy before plunking his tipsy in a chair and falling asleep; Bian and Hoseok had to drag him to his room, the other boy just as drunk and singing about horses.  Seokjin had disappeared into thin air, presumably to an early bedtime, and the rest seemed to seep through the door cracks and into their respective rooms.

It left her only to wait two hours and make a move, moving down the hallway one by one, door to door, no noise, no mess, and no trouble.

Yoongi would go with a crossbow, as would Jungkook and Jimin.  The rest had dates with daggers, Seokjin’s partner to be a bow; the noblest way to hunt and kill.

She waited until she could literally hear the snores through the walls, the trepidation and angst of what was to come next rattling her brain with tumors of doubt.  If only they were cancerous, if they could kill her before time came for her to perform the feat.

The first door was slightly ajar, the light seeping into the crack of darkness and shadowing the forms in the room.  She gulped and knew that this boy was especially prone to sleeping in after whiskey; he didn’t like the headaches and tried to sleep through them.  She slipped into the room, head first and fingers last, holding onto the frame as if it would prol