Thanksgiving in full bloom: how history books would later describe the event that ended the “Open Protest.” Dinnertime arriving amidst gunfire, the Guardians of Exo planet urged citizens to gather in Sector B’s park with as much food as each could carry. Sitting on muddied grass, Exotians ate together with their highness. Fingers were too busy picking at crumbs to pull at triggers. 

Though unable to prevent the uprising, the Seeress of Exo put a cork in the tension between the Ranks with this modest feast. The Council would have a difficult time growling at her at the next assembly. A request to discuss today’s events came in just as the dust began to clear — as expected. "I’ve aligned myself with the people,” she had said.

Approval ratings were on the up and up: 78%.

“I’ll take a C+.” 

She sighed. Relief washed the day’s doubt away the second a young trapeze artist asked to braid her hair. With each tug and tease, she sighed.

Suho, more placable than usual, stared at the intricate design lacing this way and that. “Chanyeol’s presence by your side solidified our prior claim.” There was no telling where it began and ended. “We are one.” 

Coyness unraveled by his genuine laughter, she coughed, “Thanks for that, by the by.” Gawking, one emotion was plain on his face: shock. Complete and utter shock.

In the midst of denying her birthright to the machinations of his, he perused hers, "If only I could read your mind.”

Months since reviving from the dead and this was the first “thank you.” Granted her welcoming party was the farthest from festive. Yet he couldn’t count on twelve hands how many times he used to be on the receiving end of her gratitude. Letting him have his privacy, she would never know why he coveted her gift. 

Half intending to sate his curiosity, half desiring to share the burden of a planet, she loosened knots. Tugging and teasing until doubt crept betwixt loosely-threaded spaces. “That’s a good thing,” Kai would say. Sighing for a third time, she said:

“Everyone has a job. Everyone is fed. Everyone goes home at the end of a long day. These are the promises the Rank system made upon its establishment, and there’s no denying the attraction of stability.

"Cera thinks it’s a crapshoot: a program destined to fail. The Boards desire its abolishment. The Council is skewing the scales. What should I do?

“I’m not asking you for an answer.”

How convenient; he didn’t have one.

"Will the choices I make negatively effect Exotians for generations to come? Will the 71st Seeress of Exo condemn my very existence in this timeline? Will I have to choose the path less traveled? What should I do?” 

Voicing his silent response, he said, “I don’t know,” before adding, “but you do.” Wishful thinking more than anything.

“Do I” — rhetorical.

After a short discussion on the definition of sarcasm, the two sat in silence. A stampede of children ran up the stairs of the apartment complex. The floor shook beneath their feet. To think such tiny beings could cause such a ruckus.

Suho mused, “I miss the days when your thoughts consisted of oatmeal cookies and crustless sandwiches.” 

Wow, he heard her whisper. Face masked by hands and hair. Throat gasping for small pockets of air between lips and palms. Wow: an apt description of her in this insignificant instant.

“Did you all bet on who could make me cry first?”

Mind blanking, he asked, “Did I win?” 

Maybe: another inaudible reply. He out during their first encounter. When death came a’knocking, a part of him was buried with her. “Why would you cry,” she would ask. 

Over and over and over until he stopped. Crying. Caring. Carrying the weight of his loss. His and no one else’s. Her burden was no one else’s — no matter how hard they tried to shoulder it.

Consciously breaking rules meant to be broken, he held her. Hoping to help. Having none of her tears. Happy to be. Here.

She held him back. Relief crashing like tidal waves. Cold. Nipping at skin left vulnerable in his embrace. 

The contact sent goose pimples flaring up. Dinner almost coming up. Hot. Pooling in her stomach. 

Images flash and burn. Washed away by water. Sirens. Screeching. Faces blurred and morphed into one. We are one.

“I don’t know the answer to your question.” Suho lived through her vision vicariously, every shudder and spasm a new shock to his system. “But maybe you do.”

“We,” her voice cracked on the unfamiliar pronoun, “we’ve got jury duty.” 

Jobless, hungry, searching for home, stability seemed overrated. “Why would you cry?” “That’s a good thing.”

Within the hour, the city blew its top. Victoria Song was spotted outside the grocer’s in Sector B mere minutes before rioters stormed the entrance. Soon every food manufacturer in the Capital had hungry looters at its doors. Unprecedented, premeditated, traffic jams stalled the arrival of the Council’s police forces.

The Council fought force with force — as expected. Sent to quell the rebellion, the Moon Guardians incapacitated multiple civilians on site. Major power outages plagued the city. Walls of ice blocked entire roadways. The superhuman pressure only exacerbated the situation as flames engulfed multiple blocks of concrete jungle.

The Sun Guardians experienced delayed deployment to the field. Aiding when the Council proved it all but failed, Exotians were guided through the sewage tunnels for safe passage to neutral ground: the People’s Court. Hope lit candles in the dark. Frozen barriers provided protection against roaring fires. The graciousness of fellow beings saved countless lives from the crapshoot. 

I, seeking to circumvent further tragedy, walked into the Council’s Court. Right, left, right, left. Like we owned the place — because we do. Distracted by the ensuing devolvement of decency, I faced not an ounce of resistance.

Within the lion’s den, the Supreme Court, stood the big bad himself. Frozen still on his throne. Cameras and microphones all hanging on his every word spread out before him like an endless sea. Cold, yet hot enough to sear if he fell in. Saying “stop” wouldn’t cut it anymore. I knew that, but did he?

Rank 1 to the core, nothing was as fearful as uncertainty. Vernon Milford, leader of the Council, gardener of the Capital, wasn’t ready to end it all just yet. However, good intentions meant nothing when backed by inaction. 

Spotting me amongst the blurring faces, dulled eyes begged for an answer.

First things first, “Abolish the Ranking system. Now. On live air.” He stalled. I yelled. “Now!”

And so he did.

A/N: Cliffhanger much? Also I forgot, somewhere along the way, to let you guys know about this. So there it is. See you soon!