Chapter Five

ig·ne·ous

ˈēɡnēəs/

adjective

(of rock) having solidified from lava or magma.

“Um?”

Himchan turned around and promptly rolled his eyes. Not that he ever expected to have any other reaction every time he looked at Junhong.

They’d snuck off the train and around the station with ease. Well, Himchan and Junhong had, anyway. Jongup had had quite a hard time keeping himself upright as the slid along the sides of the building, relying mostly on them to support him every time he’d stumbled. The poor kid probably hadn’t eaten a decent meal or been properly hydrated in days, at least.

They’d made it into a large village-like area, dark and empty except for the dim, gray light from the ceiling, which casted everything in monochrome. There were no places to sit outdoors in Equidem––at least, not purposefully made for people, because who the hell would want to spend time with the so-called scenery––, so they trudged along until a nice looking rock came about, and Junhong pushed Jongup down to sit on it, he and Himchan on the ground beside him. Himchan took the opportunity to look around. It was early morning, and he knew that people would be out and on their way to work soon, so they would need to find a place to hide for a while. He glanced at Jongup. Maybe a clinic. A clinic was a good idea, actually. Doctors had secrecy oaths, right? It would be worth eliminating the risk of Jongup falling severely ill, or something.

Himchan slid his backpack off and quickly ped it. “Here.” He dug around, and produced a black face mask from one of the pouches, then offered it to Jongup. “I figured we’d probably need this. I was right, as usual.”

Jongup took it from him, but he was looking at Himchan quizzically, appearing to have no idea what he was supposed to do with the thing.

“It covers your face,” Himchan told him, sifting through his bag more. When he looked up again, Jongup was showing no signs of making progress any time soon, just holding the mask in front of himself and alternating between looking at it, and Himchan, confusedly. Himchan sighed and pushed himself up onto his knees. He took the mask from Jongup’s hands and carefully arranged it over the lower half of his face, sliding the loops behind his ears with practiced ease.

(It was a good thing that it was a mask Himchan was putting on him; that way he didn’t see the blush that was overwhelming Jongup’s otherwise-washed-out cheeks.)

Jongup’s eyes were wide as Himchan took his hands back, and he had to shake himself from staring into the shockingly bright, deep green of his irises.

“There,” he said, awkwardly sitting back down and pushing his bag to the side.

Jongup stared at him.

Junhong gave him a weird look.

Himchan cleared his throat and snatched Junhong’s knit hat from his head.

“Hey––”

“This, too.” He tossed it to Jongup. “It’s just… your hair…” he motioned uselessly, but Jongup got the message, and slid it over his head. Tiny bits of silver strands poked out around the edges, but Himchan figured it was better than nothing. It was kind of cute, in fact. “Kind of” being the most important part of the previous sentence. Just kind of.

Junhong grumbled and smoothed his fingers through his hair, trying to fix the chaotic mess Himchan had wrought upon it. Jongup gave a weak cough, muffled behind the fabric over his face.

Himchan sighed. “We should find a doctor for him.”

“Isn’t this a textiles-based district?” Junhong asked. “Where are we gonna find a doctor?”

“There are doctors in every district, Junhong,” Himchan said with a roll of his eyes.

Junhong’s frown deepened. “And what if the report us? What if Kim has already spread word that he’s missing?” He gestured at Jongup, whose expression was unreadable as he looked on.

Himchan considered that. He crossed his legs, rested an elbow on his knee, and used that hand to prop up his head. “And risk the reputation of his company?” he argued. “I doubt he’d make the case public. He’s probably enlisting some elite search party right about now.”

Somebody was talking to Daehyun, and it was really distracting him from his focus on trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier.

His eyes were squeezed shut, defiant to open and accept the reality around him. The floor was cold. And his nose ached. Because Youngjae had punched him in the face. Youngjae had punched Daehyun in the face hard enough to knock him out cold. Since when was he capable of that?

Daehyun made a mental note to ask Youngjae just where, exactly, in that tiny body of his he was hiding such monstrous power the next time he saw him. He had to tell himself that of course there would be a next time he’d see him; getting punched in the face would be a y last memory to have of Youngjae. No way was he going to let that happen.

“Daehyun. Hey, get up.”

“I am up,” Daehyun croaked, and he forced his ever heavy eyes open. His surroundings were blurry and far too bright at first, but he still recognized the man above him.

“Hyunwoo.” He offered the man a smile, but he didn’t doubt it came out a grimace as he was pushed up to sit. Daehyun’s head spun, and he swayed to the side. He placed his hands flat on the floor to steady himself, and that was when he realized he was still in the generator room. Oh.

The floor was cold under him. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring Hyunwoo’s efforts to help him up, and rushed over to the capsule in the middle of the small space. His vision out with fuzzy spots and he gripped the side, waiting for his blood to rearrange itself properly and adjust to standing-mode. He squeezed his hands around the edge of the smooth glass and took some deep breaths. Okay, first, establish the situation:

1. The magic boy was gone.
2. There was blood on his shirt.
3. It was not his blood.
4. Youngjae was gone.

Youngjae was gone?

––

A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “What happened, Daehyun?”

Ummmmm. “T-they took him.” His voice shook in what he’d claim in the future was faux panic. (It was real panic. Just not necessarily having anything to do with the reasons he was implying it did.) “Oh my God, they took him. I’m so sorry!” He turned quickly and grasped at the front of Hyunwoo’s shirt. “Hyunwoo, I’m so sorry! It wasn’t my fault, I swear! They must’ve snuck in while we were on our way back––”

“Hey, calm down.” Hyunwoo grimaced politely and pried Daehyun’s cold fingers from his shirt, then smoothed the wrinkles out. “If it was your fault, I don’t think you’d be knocked out on the floor with blood all over you shirt.”

Not mine.

“Boss won’t be happy, no doubt. He’ll be here soon, by the way. I guess you don’t know that it’s about eight thirty. But he’s reasonable, you know that.”

Daehyun huffed. “Hyunwoo, this”––he gestured to the mess before them––“is not going to have him inviting me over for dinner so that I can graciously explain what happened. This is going to have him taking out his anger on whoever happens to be within reach. And that will probably me! This stupid machine was practically his child, and now it’s all ruined because I couldn’t stop them.” Daehyun buried his face in his hands. He was going to need to come up with something, fast.

“Stop that,” Hyunwoo hissed at him. “It’s not your fault. No offence, but, it’s not like you give off vibes that you could fight back if somebody were to jump you.”

Daehyun avoided his eyes, afraid he might either start spewing bull at him or confiding to him that he had wanted the boy to be free. That he felt like a monster for surgically damaging his vocal chords. Daehyun had tried to achieve only the bare minimum, but that boy might have never been able to speak properly again, and Daehyun had half a mind to find the nearest doctor (who wasn’t him) and beg them to do the same to his body as punishment.

But, he was still at Power Direct. Youngjae was on the run, no doubt long gone, and Yongguk, the other kid, and the magic boy would be wanted for treason against an official government agency. But Daehyun was safe. He’d done what he had been told to do, and he had the opportunity to secure that safety.

He was shaking in his shoes. His only friend had abandoned him, and he had absolutely no idea where he might have been headed. Not to mention there was a good chance he could slip up and earn himself capital punishment for “allowing” Youngjae to flee.

All he had to do was lie. He was just a medic, they couldn’t accuse him of being able to fight back and refusing. That could work. Or maybe he could tell them that Youngjae––

“Look, we’ll just go over to Kim’s office and you tell him what happened,” Hyunwoo said.

It was a good thing the eighth floor was generally quiet. For one thing, Daehyun appreciated the lack of foot traffic, but, at the moment, it was really more important that there just weren’t any people around. The only offices were the boss’s, Daehyun’s, and Youngjae’s. Daehyun didn’t like to call his an office, though. He treated it more like a storage closet or a break room. He and Youngjae would spend what little time they had on break in there together often. Or, they used to, at least. .

“Good morning, Daehyun.” Kim Hyunshik was as annoyingly composed as he always was. He wore a dark blue suit––which Daehyun considered to be far too formal for simply sitting at a desk for eight or nine hours––, a deep red pocket square folded crisply against his too-broad (in Daehyun’s opinion) chest.

Daehyun only nodded in response, his words seeming to choke nothing but a squeak out of him as he met the older man’s gaze. His expression was completely unreadable, as always, and Daehyun felt put off by it, as always. He shifted uncomfortably under his too-smoothed-over eyes for a moment before Kim was telling him to have a seat.

Hyunwoo, who had been lurking behind Daehyun and blocking the door with his body so that he couldn’t change his mind and bolt at the last minute, made to seat himself in the chair beside his.

“Not you.”

Hyunwoo’s gulp was audible, and he left the room in a flash. Daehyun jumped when the door slammed shut behind him.

Kim turned to him.

“So,” he began, “tell me why you were here past your extended shift last night.” He propped his elbows on the desk in front of him and folded his hands to rest his chin on top of. He stared right into Daehyun’s soul, and for a second Daehyun was absolutely certain he would be busted for disruptively-passive-witness tendencies, but Kim said nothing. Just stared. Which really was worse.

Daehyun swallowed hard and his lips, feeling a light, cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. “W-well,” he stuttered, staring down at where he was playing with his fingers in his lap, “it certainly wasn’t a planned overnight.”

The joke fell flat, as expected, and Kim narrowed his eyes, as expected.

“I stayed later than usual, as per your command.” Daehyun gestured toward Kim, feeling a sudden burst of confidence in himself. “We––me and Youngjae––completed the procedure you requested, and left the room to put away the medical supplies.”

Kim continued to stare, and Daehyun forced himself not to falter and look away. It took a lot more willpower than he expected.

“When we came back to make sure everything was ready to be locked up for the night, there were two people in the––generator’s room. I recognized one of them.” Daehyun’s stomach twisted and he barely kept his face from doing the same at the thought of what he was about to do.

“And would you be so kind as to inform me of their identity?” Kim leaned forward further, a smile beginning to spread across his lips. Creepy.

“The receptionist,” Daehyun all but blurted out.

Kim reclined in his chair. “Bang Yongguk,” he murmured thoughtfully, as though the man’s revolution was a surprise. Maybe it was, for someone who paid no attention to his employees.

“And how do I know you’re telling me the truth?” he challenged.

Daehyun could tell Kim was just playing with him, though for reasons he couldn’t come up with. “You’ll go downstairs and see that he’s not here today,” Daehyun said, raising a brow and folding his arms across his chest. The actions had their desired effect; Kim frowned at him. That meant he believed him. He didn’t seem the type to like it when people weren’t wrong about something he thought they should be wrong about while in his presence.

“Or,” Daehyun said a beat later, “you’ll send somebody down and they’ll see that he’s not here today, and then they’ll come back up here and tellyou that he’s not here today.”

Kim narrowed his eyes even further, and for a moment Daehyun had a chilling fear that he might have gone too far.

But then Kim laughed. Laughed? That was unexpected and weird. Not unwelcomed, though.

“The other one had his face covered,” Daehyun said, hoping to close this branch of conversation.

“You seem certain that is was a male.”

He nodded. Yeah, Daehyun was… pretty sure.

“And do you think it was another employee here?” Kim pressed.

Daehyun hesitated. Pretended to think about it. “I can’t say for sure,” he settled on. “But Yongguk seemed to know him.” He shrugged, then added: “as soon as I got into the room, he rushed at me and after that I don’t remember a damn thing. Guess I got hit pretty hard.”

“And Yoo Youngjae?”

Daehyun held back the wince his face attempted to perform. “He was gone when I woke up. He––he must have been with them.”

“You think he was in on it.”

“Yeah. I guess he was planning it all behind my back. He did have the most information regarding the generator, right after you, so it makes sense he would be the most capable person to break him out.” Daehyun dug his nails into his palm. What other choice did he have? It wasn’t like Kim would just accept “they probably knocked him out too so that they could use his fingerprint for access but he woke up later and ran away, so he’s undoubtedly innocent.” Or maybe he would, but it was too late now. Youngjae had sealed his treason bill when he had decided to flee.

“I don’t care.”

Daehyun blinked. That was a surprise. And here he’d thought Kim would leap at any chance to destroy a man who defied his company.

“I will deal with him later.”

Oh.

“You will substitute his position temporarily, until I find a proper replacement.”

Wait. Daehyun pointed a shaky finger at himself. “M-me? But I’m just––”

“I’m going to need all of my staff on this floor rounded up within the next fifteen minutes,” Kim cut him off. “But I expect it to be done in ten. We will organize an elite search party. I refuse to let them take that priceless generator away from me. It’s this company’s––no, it’s Urbs Equidem’s new solution to resource depletion. No place will be left unsearched.”

Daehyun sat frozen for a moment, his brain short-circuiting and refusing to compute what had just been said to him.

Kim raised a brow deftly.

“Yes, sir,” Daehyun said too loudly, scrambling to his feet and bolting into the hallway as quickly as possible. God, he didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified in his life.

The buildings around were small but strong in number; there had to be at least fifty in sight, though most were connected to each other, so it was hard to tell. As he looked around, Jongup found himself missing home. He missed all the open space, the forests, the small but comfortable homes. He missed the sun, the moon, the stars. He missed his family and his friends. Everything hurt. His chest stabbed with sharp pain every time he inhaled, his muscles felt on the cusp of collapsing, and his throat… his throat was pulsing with fire. It was dry and grating with every breath, each more difficult to take in than the last. Everything felt thick, like the air was getting stuck in his esophagus, and it dragged along his throat like barbed wire. And while Himchan and Junhong figured out what their next step should be, he had time to think about it. His breaths began to go in and out in a worryingly-wheezy way. Maybe he should blame the air itself. He could literally taste the pollution in it on his tongue, and it made him want to be sick. He hated this place. This dark, bottomless place.

Suddenly Jongup felt very claustrophobic.

He was grateful that the mask Himchan had given him muffled the sound. Had breathing been this hard the whole time? It had hurt, sure, but now it was like he could barely get any air into his lungs. He brought a hand up to his throat, pressing softly. He knew what had been done to him. Could there be an infection? Or maybe just some swelling that would go down with time. Jongup’s vision narrowed suddenly in a small flash of panic, but he pulled it back quickly and clenched his hands into fists in his lap. He tried to focus on the exhaustion, instead, on the way his eyes didn’t want to stay open and how slowly his heart was beating, but that only brought him back to the knives that constricted with his muscles in his chest every time he breathed, which was a lot of times.

His magic was completely gone, too. He couldn’t feel anything––which was expected of the underground, but it was throwing him off. How could he function without his magic energy? Food, maybe. If only there was some. At least when he’d been kept at the company they made sure he was nourished––though minimally––, but now he was running on next-to-empty energy reserves.

His next distraction worked, decidedly, much better than the first. Himchan’s voice, despite being on such stressful subjects, worked through the disgustingly polluted air the same way Jongup’s hunting boots crunched on frost-coated grass in the late fall.

Well, when he’d had hunting boots to crunch frosted grass with.

When there had been frosted grass to crunch.

When there had been grass.

He missed when he could speak. He wondered if he would ever be able to again.

Don’t think about that.

Himchan, right. Himchan. What a spectacle that man was. Jongup did his best to pull his mind from where it was trying to clamp around thoughts of being stuck down here forever, being re-captured and forced back into that thing––

Himchan had wonderful lips. Shaped like a bow. Jongup wouldn’t mind stringing an arrow through those.

(Distraction successful.)

“We need to move soon,” Himchan said. “It’s getting lighter.”

The lights above them were, in fact, steadily growing lighter, like a fast-forwarded sunrise, but less beautiful. By a lot.

“We’ll just ask someone,” Junhong said. “When people start coming out to go to work, which,” he checked his watch, “should be very soon.”

“I’ll ask someone,” Himchan corrected him. “You and Jongup find a good place to… be subtle.” He glanced at Jongup, gaze lingering when he noticed that he was being stared at, with quite a bit of intensity. Himchan generally wasn’t one to be easily intimidated, and he really shouldn’t be by this tiny boy, but those eyes… they were dangerous. They’d probably look a lot more powerful if he didn’t seem so exhausted, though.

“A place to be subtle,” Junhong repeated. “Sure,” he gestured to the empty space surrounding them, “look at all the hiding places around here!”

“Go stand behind a house or something,” Himchan hissed.

“Or we could just stay at this rock.”

“Or you can just stay at this rock.”

People were beginning to emerge from their homes; the buses would begin to run their routes any minute. Speaking of––or, thinking of––, a loud, groaning vehicle rumbled up the road and toward the bus stop sign a good ways down from where they were. Only a few people were waiting for the first run, but Himchan figured he should go for it before rush hour.

“Stay put,” he said, dropping a hand on Jongup’s shoulder, and then he was on his way, hands tucked into his pockets casually and backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Here.” Junhong grabbed Jongup’s shoulders and gently directed him to face away from the road, in lieu of the risk that somebody might notice something was off about him. The mask and hat worked well, but they’d be fools to think it was a flawless disguise.

“Try to act like you’re not…” he bit back the word ‘normal’. “Like you’re not in immense pain?”

Jongup tilted his head at him with an amused smile, like he wasn’t sure what to think of him.

“And––try to keep your eyes down, too,” Junhong added. He hooked his arm around the inside of Jongup’s elbow. “I’m sorry, this is probably harder than is sounded,” he said. “I’m having trouble walking straight and I’m just sleep-deprived. I can’t imagine… um.”

Jongup shook his head, brushing it off, but Junhong could see the way his brows were knit together in troubled concentration. He could see a light reflection of sweat on his temple, but decided better than commenting on it. Himchan had just waved them over, and he wasn’t exactly a man known for his patience.

They made their way down the sidewalk slowly, and somehow Junhong found himself cracking a smile. “We must look like some elderly couple who broke out of their community home,” he said, suppressing a quiet chuckle. Jongup nudged him in the side weakly, but he was smiling, too.

The bus should stay for two minutes at each stop, and, from the looks of it, a couple of stops had already passed. There were people inside, settled mostly close to the back, pressed together uniformly for optimal special availability.

Those at this stop were just approaching the door in a neat like as it slid open. Himchan met them at the end of the line.

“Keep your head down,” he murmured to Jongup. “You know you two looked like a couple of old people hobbling down the sidewalk like that, right?”

Junhong shrugged. “It did cross my mind, actually.”

“Okay, anyway.” Himchan cleared his throat and grabbed Junhong’s sleeve. “There’s a small medical center close to the fourth stop on the route, and this is the second stop. We’ll just have to sit tight and lay low until we get there.”

“Sounds good,” Junhong said.

Himchan looked at Jongup, who was still clutching Junhong’s arm. He nodded.

Jongup was falling asleep. He didn’t know how long it had been since they boarded the bus; it could’ve been five minutes or an hour. Felt more like an hour. The bumpy ride was a blur of suppressing coughs, trying to breathe without wheezing thickly, and leaning on the two men who sat on either side of him. His head fell on Himchan’s shoulder more than once, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kept his eyes down and his pain a secret, and that was all that mattered. The jacket Junhong had given him before they left was far too big, and it just covered the bandages over his throat when he zipped it up all the way. He kept it like that, despite how warm he was getting, and clutched the top of the collar with one hand for insurance.

Junhong kept one hand on Jongup’s shoulder the entire time, like he was ready to whisk him away at any sign of trouble, even though they were on steadily crowding bus and there would be no whisking away from that until the fourth stop, which… should be soon? Again, Jongup had no idea how long they’d been on the bus. He was putting all of his faith in Himchan and Junhong to pay attention to that. There was too much pain and panic he had to focus on repressing to be responsible for something as unimportant as that. Except it was important, which was why he was worrying about it, and he really needed to stop worrying about it––

“Here,” Himchan whispered, but it felt like his words echoed through the near-silent vehicle.

Jongup didn’t let himself sigh with relief until they were off the bus, but then he realized that they still had to actually get to the medical center. Ugh. Walking.

Junhong grabbed his arm again, but Jongup jerked away, a hand covering his mouth despite the mask already doing the job for him, and doubled over into a fit of coughs––probably all the ones he’d been swallowing down during the bus ride. Each cough was worse than the last, having left his throat even more raw and scratchy than it had been before. But each cough also made him need to cough more, which was the most frustrating part.

Jongup’s knees wobbled and Junhong managed to grab him around the waist before he fell, coughs finally quieting. Jongup took a few breaths as deep as he could manage, and held onto Junhong as he regained his not-quite-optimal footing. Oh, he felt lightheaded.

“You okay?” Junhong asked, moving his hands to Jongup’s shoulders as soon as he was sure he could stand on his own.

He wasn’t, but Jongup nodded anyway. He just wanted to get out of the public’s eye, maybe lay down and take a nap, or something. A nap sounded splendid, actually. He almost leaned into Junhong’s chest and closed his eyes right there, abandoning all the concerns that he should not abandon, but the sound of Himchan clearing his throat pointedly stopped him.

“People are staring,” he told them blandly.

Sorry, Jongup mouthed, but he didn’t think Himchan could read his lips. That or he didn’t care. Ouch. Ouch quite literally when his chest gave a particularly violent twinge. He winced and gently pushed Junhong away, nodding and then following Himchan when he turned and began walking again.

Jongup chanced a look up a minute later, sighing in relief when he saw that nobody was sparing him a second glance. Everybody seemed quite occupied with themselves. Jongup’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he turned his head to face the ground again.

It was getting lighter, but the imitation of daylight only made Jongup dwell more on the fact that, if those lights went out, they would all be thrown into an endless darkness and probably die. Unless they had flashlights, or something. They probably did, actually, and this train of thought was completely stupid.

After solving that problem, he moved on to the possible issue of the ceiling collapsing. Wasn’t that just charming. Jongup doubted there was a way to survive something like that. Maybe if he had his magic, but down here?

The clinic, Jongup realized, was disarmingly white. He hadn’t been in a room that bright since he woke up in the underground. Junhong led him to a chair and he promptly collapsed in it as Himchan approached the front desk.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Junhong nudged him and sat down in another chair. “Not yet.”

But I want to, Jongup told him mentally. Damn, if only he could have been gifted with telepathy. Instead he coughed again, wincing and curling in on himself as the movement grated on his sore throat and squeezed his chest. His eyes started to water, but he wasn’t sure he even had it in him to cry.

Luckily, he didn’t have to decide, as soon enough he was being hauled to his feet and pulled down the hall. He nearly tripped over his own feet, and then Himchan’s, as fuzzy black spots clouded the top half of his vision.

He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, but he counted only two different doors before they stopped, and he was gently pushed beyond a third, at the end of the hall.

“She said the doctor isn’t busy at all,” Himchan said as Jongup let Junhong help him onto the exam table.

“Usually isn’t around here.” Himchan’s voice was a truly great distraction, but Jongup wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take before he finally passed out. He felt like his body was running on fumes.

“It’s such a tiny place,” Junhong marveled, moving to seat himself in one of the chairs opposite the table as soon as Jongup was settled down on it. He had removed the mask and hat, too, and Jongup was grateful. Was it hot in there?

“Still bigger than the one closest to Power Direct,” Himchan grumbled from his own seat.

Jongup tried to focus on their conversation. Power Direct must he the company they worked at. Shouldn’t a company with such a large number of employees have a big clinic nearby? Especially with all the machinery they must have to work with. Jongup’s mind drifted. He could feel the persistent nausea coming back, and decided it was a blessing in disguise that he couldn’t eat a lot of food. He couldn’t imagine what vomiting would do to his already busted throat.

Just as he was pondering the possibilities, the door opened and Himchan and Junhong went quiet.

Somebody said something, but Jongup couldn’t understand the words. It was a new voice, a female voice, so he made an educated guess it was the doctor.

Then he heard Himchan’s voice, and then Junhong’s, and then the door shut. More talking. His eyes were downcast, staring blankly into his own lap. Now that he was sitting, he allowed his body to give in just a bit to the growing fatigue. He leaned back against the wall and his breathing began to slow, to turn steady.

His head was feeling light again.

Himchan and Junhong were still talking to the doctor. Or maybe it was a nurse. Both?

Had it been this hard to focus the entire time?

Jongup vaguely registered his name being spoken, but it didn’t sound concerned or anything, so he gave up and finally fell asleep.

sorry about the long wait :( not too much big stuff happening in this chapter, but i promise things will really be kicking up soon. :D

will daehyun keep up his lies? maybe come to believe them himself?
is jongup gonna be able to speak again?
where's yongguk?
is youngjae okay?

so many questions. a few will be answered next time ;)

please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed! (or if you didn't; all feedback is good)