V. XIUMIN

Minseok didn’t know what to think.

Chanyeol collapsing on the floor in front of all of them, writhing and convulsing, broken cries that sounded nothing like his own streaming from his lips, shook Minseok to his core. He instinctively clasped onto Jongdae’s arm, making sure he was there and solid beside him. Their past interaction with the robot had them all shaken, especially Minseok and Jongdae. He almost lost Jongdae from something as deceivingly simple as a head injury. If they had been a second later in defeating the robot, he could have lost him. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

After Suho and Jongin roused Chanyeol and brought him into his room, shutting the door behind them, Minseok pulled Jongdae to the couch and wordlessly shoved a controller into his hand. The latter didn’t protest, cradling it and pressing the Start button, a bright array of flashing lights, words, and graphics dancing along their rickety TV screen. Minseok barely paid mind to the others, saying nothing as Kyungsoo retreated to the kitchen and Sehun began pacing behind them, his footfalls heavy and sporadic. He struggled to pay attention to the side-scroll video game before him as the two fought of holographic monkeys and monstrous crocodiles. He kept his shoulder pressed against Jongdae’s, assuring his troubled mind that the latter was there. He was okay.

But that didn’t mean the others were. Jongin, he knew, still suffered from bruised ribs, and Suho had nearly been killed in the attack. He even lost his orb, and the team would suffer tremendously in future fights as a result. Without all nine orbs together, they were weak. And nearly every fight they encountered, they took it on with only seven. They couldn’t afford to lose another. Chanyeol wasn’t okay, either, and for the first time in months, Minseok realized how little he and the others paid attention to him. Ever since Baekhyun’s disappearance, he pulled back and rarely spoke. When he did, cynicism and venom dripped from his lips in bladed words that would tear into the team’s morale. But now, Minseok realized how Chanyeol was affected. Instead of the superficial, angry man he had become, Minseok could see the vulnerability and despair glossed over his eyes, and when they changed forms, he noticed how dull his red eye had become. Baekhyun’s loss affected Chanyeol in a way that no one really understood, but for the first time, Chanyeol shared something with the team that shook the ground beneath their feet: Baekhyun and Chanyeol were connected.

Minseok didn’t know how or why. He didn’t know what to think.

When Jongdae slammed against the wall, cracking the back of his skull against brick, Minseok felt a searing pain ripple through his skull, the pain exploding and crackling like a wildfire until dulling to ash. He rounded the corner after the migraine to find Jongdae slumped against the wall. Perhaps Chanyeol was right, Minseok thought. There had definitely been instances where Minseok could swear he could hear and feel what Jongdae was thinking at random times, especially during combat. No one knew what the terms and conditions were of their newfound powers, and some strange psychic connection couldn’t be outruled so easily.  

Minseok turned his head to Jongdae, who was engrossed in their game, his fingers fidgeting and dancing over the buttons and joy sticks, his tongue creeping from his sealed lips, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen. A soft smile tugged at the corner of Minseok’s lips as he watched him. He reached up and tenderly brushed the hair away from his forehead, careful to avoid the thick bandaging around his hair. Jongdae tensed under his touch and his fingers panicked over the buttons before he turned to face him. His cheeks flushed red. Minseok shook his head with a gentle chuckle.

“Your hair was getting in your way.”

The TV flashed bright red as both Minseok and Jongdae’s characters died at the hands of one of the mutant crocodiles.

“You made me lose,” Jongdae pouted.

Minseok laughed and leaned back on the couch. Sehun continued to pace behind them. “You at this game anyway. It’s only a matter of time.”
 

Jongdae’s face contorted, and he opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off as the door to Chanyeol’s room cracked open. Suho emerged and Jongin followed, their heads ducked close together as they whispered. Suho pressed his hand flush against the door, softly closing it as the two stepped out into the living area. The TV continued to blare, and Sehun stopped pacing, turning to face Suho expectantly.

Minseok studied his leader’s face. His eyebrows were knotted and his brow was sweaty, small beads of stress collecting at his temple and making his skin shine under the yellow lighting. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the universe rested upon them, and his feet dragged beneath his feet. He must’ve been exhausted, not to mention adding the stress of Chanyeol’s strange epiphany and the loss of his own orb.

“Anything?” Sehun shifted his weight impatiently.

Suho sighed, and moved to sit beside Minseok and Jongdae, dipping his head back to rest on the couch cushion. “Everything.”

“What do you mean?” Minseok pried.

“Chanyeol’s out of it, but he’s convinced he’s communicating with Baekhyun- that they have some kind of link,” Suho said. “He said he could feel him being...tortured, or something terrible, that the pain he felt was only a sliver of what Baekhyun is going through.

“That’s impossible,” Kyungsoo nervously whimpered.

“Nothing’s impossible with these powers,” Minseok countered. “If Chanyeol’s convinced Baekhyun’s in trouble, we need to take his word for it. This is the first hint of Baekhyun we sensed in months.”

“He’s delirious,” Jongin offered, stepping forward. “ It’s not wise to follow through on anything he says until he’s sobered up. We’re not going to do anything until then.”

Minseok shot a glare at Jongin. “You’re not the leader. It’s not your call to make.”

Suho sat up, putting his hands up over his head, unstrung by the bickering. “Guys, stop,” he insisted. “I’m not calling the shots for anything, but Minseok is right. This is the closest we’ve come to having some kind of contact with Baekhyun.”

“For all we know he could be dead,” Jongin snapped. Minseok glared at him.

“How can you say that?” he asked incredulously, standing from his place on the couch, and stepping up t Jongin. He was nearly two heads shorter than the latter, but that didn’t stop Jongin from cringing back in alarm. “He’s our friend. Our brother. And we lost him. Why wouldn’t jump at any possibility in getting him back?” He was nose to nose with him now.

“This isn’t time for a civil war,” Suho said, stepping in between them and pressing his hands to their chests. “I’m going to follow up on what Chanyeol said. If it’s true, and we’re all connected to each other, we might just have a shot at finding Baekhyun. Yixing, too.”

“Maybe they’re together,” Kyungsoo said, nibbling on a granola bar he pulled from his back pocket. “They disappeared around the same time.”

Suho nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he said. “Once Chanyeol wakes up, we’ll see what we can find out.”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Jongin snarled. “As much as I care for Baekhyun and Yixing, I don’t think it’s worth sacrificing the whole team.”

Minseok stepped closer, again, and Suho kept a wary eye on him. He was taken aback with the audacity Jongin flaunted in order to be able to dismiss finding Baekhyun so easily. Minseok would stop at nothing to get his friends back and to ensure they were safe, even if that meant he had to embark on a journey to find Baekhyun alone. He wouldn’t stop. The only reason he had before, was because they were convinced he was dead.

“No one said anything about sacrificing,” Minseok chided. “But we are going to focus our efforts on this lead. We fight robots when they come, we take tests and study, but if Baekhyun’s in trouble, I won’t stop until we save him. Like he saved us.”

Jongin fell silent, his cocky face faltering. His fists clenched and trembled at his sides, his knuckles white and his fingers twitching. He ducked his head and wordlessly turned to his room he shared with Sehun, slamming the door behind him.

“He’ll turn around,” Suho said, clapping Minseok on the shoulder. “Jongin’s always...wanted to come into a leading role, but he’s still young.”

Minseok nodded mutely.

Sehun followed Jongin into the room.

The next morning, Minseok had Political Philosophy 105, but he couldn’t bring himself to roll out of bed. A weight equal to that of an elephant sat on his chest, digging into his ribs and snapping the bone in two. Dread seeped into his bones, and they felt like lead, pinning him to his bed. Jongdae snoring above him scraped through the air like nails on a chalkboard, his throat rumbling and huffing as he breathed. Minseok rolled onto his side, folding his pillow in two over his head to block out the noise. The red number of the small, digital clock across the room glared at him. The bright red reminded him of the sinister crimson that would bear down on him when fighting the robot, its singular, determined eye trailed on him. There was no emotion laced behind the artificial light, and Minseok wasn’t sure what would frighten him more: the presence of emotion behind a hard-wired entity or a lack of it.

Minseok could only wonder when a new robot would return or who sent them. Among school work, new powers, missing brothers, and these robots, it was impossible to sort out the tsunami of questions that race through his mind. For Minseok, he’s left with nothing but mental lists, jotting down priorities and small goals that all lead into one major question: WHY?

The largest priority, in Minseok’s mental checklist, is Baekhyun and Yixing. He was nearly done with school, his Master’s degree within reach, so the next biggest thing to worry about was their two brothers who vanished into the air. For months, Minseok’s wondered where they are, who took them- if anyone-, and if they’re alright. Based off of Chanyeol’s freak out, he could assume that they weren’t. All of his questions circulated around the missing two, and everything followed second. They could keep fighting off the robots as long as they kept adapting at the same pace. Although increasingly difficult, Minseok was sure they could defeat the next few if they were trained, smarter, and more careful. What they couldn’t do, however, is go on with their studies and their lives, ignoring the two missing people who made everything possible.

The numbers on the clock continued to rack up until Minseok ultimately decided skipping class would be worth it. He slid from his bed, the carpeted floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he crawled from the room, his body still stuffed with lead and laced with exhaustion.

Mindlessly walking through the living room, Minseok found himself standing outside Chanyeol’s door. He heard soft snoring on the other side of the thin wood, and pushed the door open with the flat of his palms. The latter was curled up on the bottom bunk, tucked in up to his chin so that all Minseok could see was a bright, frizzy tuft of blue. A sad smile tempted him, but he bit it away and stalked across to the desks. The desk on the left was completely empty and blank, save for a silver bracelet resting on the top. Minseok pulled out the chair and sat down, careful to be quiet. He prodded at the bracelet with his fingers before slipping it onto his hand. The metal felt so delicate, despite being laced with pure metal and silver. The word, “Fearless” carved onto the side glared up at him like a cruel memory.

Baekhyun never took the bracelet off. When he first met him, his eyes and smile bright as he had ever seen, he asked what the engraving on the bracelet symbolized. He only faltered and then insisted it was a mere family heirloom- that he had no idea what the story behind it was. Minseok saw through him like tissue paper, but refused to intervene any further. He never saw Baekhyun without it, not even once they started fighting the robots. He wore it to sleep, to class, to the pool, and to combat. At night, Minseok would come back from a late night class only to see Baekhyun perched on the couch, cradling his wrist and staring at the engraving with such longing and emotion that Minseok couldn’t find it in him to interrupt the younger. That was the last time he saw the bracelet with its owner.

When Baekhyun never came home, and their search party ended up on the beach, he found the bracelet. Glistening silver submerged half in sand, the bracelet sang a song of despair. Minseok knelt down, Jongdae at his side as tears bulged at the corners of his eyes. He stood the bracelet, broken at the chain link, cradled in his hand. His cheeks felt hot and sticky as he trembled and staggered toward the others, who had heard his initial outraged cry and quickly closed the distance between them. Chanyeol grabbed at Minseok’s hands, prying his palms apart to reveal the silver bracelet. Fearless, it said, but the fear that enslaved the seven obliterated them.

“Where is he?” Minseok remembered Chanyeol’s desperate whisper.

Minseok shook his head. He turned over the bracelet between two fingers, running his fingertip over the engraving. “Where are you?” he whispered.

“Minseok?”

He jumped as if his entire body was struck by lightning. His head swiveled, and he saw Chanyeol sat up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. Minseok stood, flustered, and shoved the chair back in, tossing the bracelet back onto the desk. “Chanyeol-” he gasped. “I’m sorry if I woke you up. I was just leaving.”

For once, Chanyeol looked at Minseok with ease and fragility in his eyes. He sighed, his eyes obviously heavy and dripping with exhaustion. “I don’t mind you looking at the bracelet,” he said. “You found it, after all.”

Minseok shook his head. His eyes burned. He couldn’t talk about this- not with Chanyeol. “You should get back to sleep. You need rest.”

“I’m fine,” he said, leaning against the frame of the bunkbed. “I already feel better.”

Minseok shuffled on his feet, his eyes darting around the room as he desperately looked for an out. Unfortunately, Chanyeol trapped him.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I know Junmyeon told you all what I said- he had to have,” Chanyeol said. “And I’m not crazy either. I know what I felt was Baekhyun, and if you sneaking in here says anything, I’d say you believe me.”

He sighed, and pulled out the chair again, this time turning it so he could sit facing Chanyeol. “I mean, I have to,” he said. “If there’s any chance Baekhyun’s out there…”

“It’s bad, Minseok,” he whispered. “With Baekhyun- he’s in real trouble.”

“How do you know exactly? Suho said he was being tortured.”

“That’s sure what it felt like,” Chanyeol said. “Pain exploded everywhere, and I know it wasn’t my own. Plus, Baekhyun spoke to me. He was begging for help.”

Minseok could tell Chanyeol was biting back tears. He was, as well. He could still feel the ghost weight of the bracelet in his limp hands. “How...How do we find him?”

Chanyeol deflated. “I’m not sure. I have to try and make another connection to him.”

“And you really think we could all be connected?”

“We’re college kids who got super-powers. At this point, I think anything is possible,” Chanyeol said. “We thought Baekhyun was dead, when we found his bracelet. But now, there’s a strong possibility he’s alive. Anything is possible.”

Minseok craned his neck over his shoulder. The silver bracelet continued to mock him. “I’m sorry, Chanyeol.”

The latter perked up, the vulnerability flickering across his features again. “What?”

“I’m sorry no one’s been helping you,” Minseok whispered. “We’ve all shut you out, because of how you acted after Baekhyun disappeared, but how can anyone blame you? He was your best friend.”

“I don’t care if anyone helped me,” he retorted. “As long as I can find Baekhyun.”

Minseok sighed. “I know you don’t care. You just.. You deserve better,” he said. “We’re your family- your brothers- and we’ve let you down. But I swear, I won’t let you down again. I’m with you. Even if the others aren’t.”

Chanyeol was shell-shocked, his brow scrunched and mouth ajar as he listened to Minseok, but he straightened his shoulders. “Okay,” he said softly. “We’ll start tomorrow.”