i.

Yixuan is the self-proclaimed mother of their little group, the caretaker of four younger boys as they take off into the big, scary world outside. To take on such a role is, of course, not an easy one: there are certain traits required for this job, and Yixuan makes sure to fulfill all of them well.

And he doesn’t slack off on his duty for even one second - which is why he’s the first one to know.

His first thought isn’t “why is this happening?” but “I hope we get to sleep a while first” ,because the kids are dead exhausted. But then the irony of wanting to sleep before sleeping eternally strikes him as pretty stupid, and he laughs to himself.

Seems that after all this time, he’s still slow on the uptake, huh? That’s why he chose to be an idol.

It’s not the time for jokes though, and it appears that none of the rest are comprehending the situation out there. Which is not as ignorant as it sounds: they’re tired. They’re so very tired.

It comes with the camera and the fans.

But it can’t be real, can it? Maybe it’s just an elaborate prank and the host will pop out of nowhere and say “surprise!”. Yeah, it’s not real.

He should probably get a second opinion, right?

“Sungjoo,” he whispers, nudging him softly. “Hey, Sungjoo.”

Sungjoo frowns and yawns loudly. “What,” he says, voice flat and annoyed. He’s not usually annoyed with Yixuan.

They’re not usually -

“The sky is red.”

“The sky is always red in the evening.”

“The sky is really red,” Yixuan corrects himself.

This is when Sungjoo turns out to look at the window and his eyes widen and his breath stutters.

Yixuan braces himself for the fear to hit.

ii.

There are things you expect to happen, and then there’s this.

What else can be happening, though? Sungjoo’s breath hitches, and his hands tremble. The sky is blood red, the kind of crimson that can only be taken from blood, and the clouds are merging into one translucent piece, and the sun looks closer than ever. Underneath their van, the road is cracked, little of cement crumbling into ashes. It’s hardly noticeable, but it’s beginning to make a large dent.

“What.” He whispers. “No, no, no, no, no.”

It doesn’t matter how many times he says this, chants it like a prayer he can’t give up - he can’t give his life up - because what’s going to happen is going to happen. And the world is dying right in front of his eyes.

Sungjoo’s good with his voice and his body, not his mind. He’s not Yixuan, who manages to solve the Rubik’s Cube in 12 seconds flat, he’s not.

He’s not okay.

He can’t escape.

His breath is grabbed away, and he’s going to choke, the reality of the situation crashing down and hard on him.

Death. Is. Coming.

The harshness and inevitability of this shakes him up bad. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to sing. He wants to dance. He wants to be an idol.

Where is the remembrance he was promised?

iii.

“No!” Yibo shrieks. He’s the calm one. He’s the laidback one.

But he’s also the youngest - barely 19 - and he’s definitely not ready to keel over the die. He’s not ready for all the things that come with eternal something or the other, he’s just not ing ready for any of it.

He wants to live.

He didn’t work all the way up here, on the stage, to fall down just like this. He’s young. He’s got his whole life in front of him.

He had his whole life in front of him.

There’s a growing madness behind Sungjoo’s eyes, and it knocks against something in him: where is the fearless leader that brought them up here? If the idea of death has even him so shaken up, then where does Yibo stand?

“It’s not true! Make it stop!”

Even he knows that it’s childish as when he says it like that.

With a swift motion, he sweeps all their equipment on the ground. The make-up, the clothes, the gifts - everything. He doesn’t want any of it anymore. It’s not worth it. Has it ever been worth it?

“Stop, stop, stop!” He screams.

The van continues on.

It’s not the driver, though. The van is moving on it’s own, and maybe it’s a ing metaphor to their journey to death, and maybe if this were anything but real, Yibo would be laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Make it stop!”

iv.

Seungyoun feels his chest being constricted, and then released again. And again. And again. And again.

He goes through this cycle thousands of times, and his mind doesn’t register any of it all. His throat is completely closed off, and his eyes are blurred with tears.

He can’t see anything outside. All he manages to get is the sea of red.

He’s terrified.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please, not now. Not us. Not here.”

They’re in China today for promotions, and he doesn’t even get the luxury of dying in his hometown. Or home country.

He doesn’t get anything.

A wrecked sob tears through him, and he shakes uncontrollably as the van slides down a path that’s meant to be straight.

What about his  family? What about his friends? What about UNIQ?

“Don’t do this to me,” he gasps.

There’s a pressure in the air, and it presses down on him mercilessly.

He chokes.

Why?

Faintly, he hears Yibo screaming, and he thinks “it’s not fair on him”, and it’s not fair on Seungyoun either because he’s just a kid, really.

They’re all just kids.

v.

Oh, Wenhan thinks. Okay, then.

The panic has long settled in his bones, and he slumps down on his seat, watching the scenery pass by. The thing with swimming is this: everything is constant, right? But then you see your opponent do this cool flip thing, and you have to outdo him, right? So you go with it.

So Wenhan goes with it.

He knows that Seungyoun and Yibo and Sungjoo are saying something, but he tunes it out. For the last moments in his life, he wants it to be peaceful. Silent. Beautiful.

Yixuan glances at him, and he sees the pain of resignation in his eyes, the bright red reflected in them.

He’ll never be able to escape the inevitable, so what is the point of fear?

It is pointless. Essentially.

He’s done what he wanted, at least: he’s been singing in front of a crowd for a few years and he used to swim in front of the cameras, so he’s got nothing left to regret.

Outside, the ground disintegrates, and the van careens downwards into a freefall. As he closes his eyes, Seungyoun grips onto his hand tightly.

And he’s always been the moodmaker beside Seungyoun, and Seungyoun’s scared less now, and Wenhan does the only thing he knows now.

He throws his head back and laughs hysterically.

Wildly.

Insanely.

vi.

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