Luhan
BecauseSeptember 2013
Luhan hums a verse. Then another. Then glances at his watch. Three minutes. He maneuvers between extended elbows and pressed suits. Nobody notices him. It's a skill he developed while working. To his right, he notes the anticipating driver in his silver sedan.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Two minutes.
Luhan locks onto his target and moves in closer, silently. Black hair. Large round eyes that rivals his own. Small stature. Positioned in the audience. College feel. He flips out the picture given for every job and matches the face. Yes, it's him.
Luhan's client didn't tell him why he wanted to kill this tiny, full of hope college kid. He rarely asks questions during jobs. It's best to not know. Especially his last one. But it didn't take him long to deduce that the grudge is probably directed to some old cop getting awarded and the kid is the innocent son.
Tick. Tick. Tick. One minute and he raises his hood. The black fabric covers half his face and renders him undetectable. Sehun's watching. He can feel the kid's silent anxiety.
30 seconds. The master of ceremonies is calling everyone to sit. He has to act fast.
10. He feels the cold metal in his palm, touch like lucifer.
5. Subtly raise it. Aim for the heart. Inhale.
1. A loud bang. Reverberating recoil. Ringing in his ears. High pitched screams filled with selfish terror.
A body slumps to the ground and the uniform beside it catches the boy crumbling, shaking him. People scatter all around but he remains calm and walks to the rendezvous point. Suddenly, someone tackles him down and his invisibility cloak falls off. Shocked, Luhan gasps for air as the body struggles on top of him. He looks through blurry eyes and meets eye to eye with the uniformed cop. Young, tan and crazed.
The boy straddles him and begins a slew of punches that Luhan easily blocks with his arms. Then the boy reaches for his gun and survival instincts kick in. Luhan grabs the gun handle and forces it away from his face before the shot is fired right beside his earlobe. A high pitched noise pierces his skull but he doesn't lose focus. The boy has murderous intent. The second shot fires and grazes his right arm. Luhan gives a short groan but continues the struggle. This is his last job before he can leave and he does not intend to die here.
The silver sedan is pummeling through rows and rows of chairs. The ruckus makes the cop falter and Luhan successfully pushes him off. Readjusting his hood, he dashes for the open car door and jumps in. Before he can close it properly, the car jumps forward, barreling through more decor. Bullets ricochet off the slightly ajar door until Luhan slams it shut.
For a while, the driver doesn't say anything and Luhan knows not to disturb him yet. His tongue peeked out between thin lips which meant he was focusing or nervous. Instead, he reviews the struggle he had earlier and compliments his opponent on reacting so fast.
Although he is a killer, Luhan isn't a beefed up tough guy. He's quite the opposite; skinny and fair skinned. He blends into the background, strikes, then camouflages again. His killing intent concealed. Most people don't notice him when he doesn't want them to so it's quite a feat for a mere cop to.
"Another success?" Sehun asks and Luhan takes the invitation to start talking.
He draws his hoodie back off to stare at Sehun's profile.
"Obviously. Nicked the dude right in the chest. A job well done of you ask me."
There is no mention of the close call brawl.
"You sound way too happy at offing a guy for your last job." Sehun scoffs.
"It's the same as all the other ones. Quite simple. And a smooth get away with you? I'm delighted." Luhan states, ignoring the criticism because everything sounds like honey when you're happy, "Now I'm out!"
Free. He's free. And Sehun's always been free and he shackled him but now he's free too.
Immediately, the black hoodie that he wore felt unbearably itchy and heavy. Perhaps it was all the blood that got on it. Luhan deftly lifts it over his shoulder, popping his head out and throws the damn thing to the back seat. The moment he lets go, the fresh air pummels him, cooling against bare skin. He draws in a huge breath, closing his eyes, tasting the city, and sharply exhales. He opens his eyes and the colors flood into him. There's no more excessive red and dark greys and light diminishing and black. Oh, the black is all gone. Now, there're so many colors and Sehun is looking even more dazzling than usual. He used to be a flame in the darkness, now he is sunlight amongst flowers and trees. Coupled with a rather serious look.
Randomly, the car halts and Luhan lurches forward. No seat belts.
"!" He exclaims.
Sehun grabs his right arm and glares at the bloody gash a few inches below his shoulder. Unconsciously, he had been holding it but Luhan doesn't care because Sehun is looking seriously handsome in this light.
"What is this?" He hisses and Luhan can't help but roll his eyes.
He's slightly peeved because Sehun is so worried over something trivial like a gunshot wound and not more excited over their freedom and all the new colors. He would really be fine even if he lost an arm. As long as he could live peacefully with Sehun, they were small sacrifices to make.
"A gunshot wound. Can't you see that? Now let go." He snaps and slaps Sehun's tightening grasp.
He releases his hand and runs it through beautifully blonde hair, tongue habit resurfacing. Luhan rubs his wrists absently, more for the feeling of Sehun's fleeting warmth than anything else.
"It happens. Some cop nearby reacted fast and shot me. It just nicked me. I have a few old scars too. Do you want to get us in a car accident for that too? Seriously, it's not a big deal." He doesn't detail everything and tries to explain, but Sehun grimaces more.
He lets out a frustrated sigh and Luhan knows he's made him a bit angry. He reaches over to open the glove box and yanks out the familiar first aid-kit. With strident movements, he takes the usual out- bandages, disinfectant, cotton. Luhan inches away because he really doesn't care and they should save the materials for Sehun but Sehun shoots him a I-will-kill-you-myself look and Luhan stays still.
Sehun cares for him and Luhan knows. But that doesn't mean he's any more deserving of it. In fact, Luhan always wonders why Sehun hasn't upped and left yet because it's obvious who gains and who loses more from this relationship.
Within seconds the treatment is done, Sehun being far too used to the scenario, and Luhan wants to soothe the troubles away.
"Ya, Sehun. Let's celebrate." He widens his eyes for added effect.
Sehun always softens up when he does that.
"Where to?" He asks and a pretty eyebrow.
"I know the perfect thing." He pauses for added effect, "Bubble tea."
Watching his partner relax into his seat with hints of a smile bordering his lips, Luhan bursts into giggles at his success. Then Sehun begins to laugh and soon, Luhan is feeding off his energy.
Because Sehun's laugh is and awkward and so darn adorable that it makes all the colors sparkle even more and rids Luhan's world of any remaining black.
----------
The store looks less disheartening with the large green sign hanging solidly above it's doors. It curves in bubbly cartoon letters "EXOTea" and an abstract picture of bubble tea leans against the 'a'. To a passerby, the place is a trendy store serving really good drinks and food. To Luhan, it's a place to receive clients and missions. It is-was his home.
He steels himself and walks in like he owns the place. Confidence can make or break you in this business. He saunters over to the counter and is welcomed by a short man with spiky hair. They recognize each other but don't greet. There are customers here.
"One chocolate and one taro please. Extra bubbles on taro." He orders cooly, flashing a smile at the end.
"That'll be $5.50. Anything else?"
"Also, give me the other menu."
The boy gives him a greedy look and slides out a thin laminated black book from under the counter, placing it right in front of him.
"I'll leave you with it then." He smirks and sends a shiver down Luhan's spine but he doesn't show it.
Scrolling down the black book, Luhan looks for his own name-the name he chose when he first entered the business. He finds it, the name underneath, crosses it out and circles the 7 digit number to the right. There was quite the bounty on this kid's head but Luhan doesn't question it. It was the client's problem. Not his.
The boy comes back and Luhan gets a read on his name tag. Xiumin.
"You all done?"
Luhan nods and hands back the black menu.
"Great," Xiumin takes the book and holds out a hand, "your membership card please."
He takes a glance around the room and a small feeling of nostalgia creeps up. The first time Sehun drove him somewhere. The first time Sehun drank bubble tea with him. The first time a witness didn't get killed off. The feelings evaporate when he remembers every night he stumbled to the back of the shop, bruised and wounded, and fellow members ignore him vomiting over the side. He remembers the threats when he claimed that he wanted to leave and would pay the impossibly high fee for doing so. He remembers the people pooling in the back, to injure him and possibly kill him for rebelling against the group, and all the dead faces after he fought back.
The memories anger him to the point of throwing ship card down like it was acid and Xiumin lifts an eyebrow. However, the boy doesn't say anything, simply takes the card and swipes it. Briefly, Luhan notices there is fear in his eyes as he types in a few numbers.
"Your transaction is confirmed. Anything else?"
"Yes," Luhan places a hand in his jean pocket where the weapon rests, just in case, "I would like to cancel my membership. All the required conditions are in my membership account."
A look of bewildermet passes through the boy's face but he quickly conceals it with one of apprehension. There's a sudden sinister air around him. A hand slides down behind the counter, invisible.
"Are you sure?" He presses, grumbling low.
Luhan gives him the deadliest look he can conjure and gestures to the counter.
"How about are you sure?" His voice is low, the familiar killing intent drip between each syllable and he is somewhat scared that he can sound like this.
And Xiumin realizes the futility of starting a fight with a ticking time bomb and places both hands on top of the counter, resigned. He shoots Luhan another contemptuous look, but proceeds to transfer all the money in the card regardless. Luhan begins to release a hidden sigh of relief as well. In fact, he was quite worried the scene would turn into a blood bath. He is, for once, glad that his reputation exceeded him.
Luhan is admittedly extremely skilled with a gun and for what he lacks in strength, he makes up in agility and strategy and could probably shoot down everybody in the room within seconds. But Luhan wouldn't even try, as Sehun rightfully pointed out, as his heart was weak and trembled with every shot.
He turns around to find comfort in the boy waiting for him outside. He sees the face and automatically a smile comes up. They lock eyes and Luhan feels a slew of others trained at them. It dawns on him that there could very well be ten killers sitting in the room, pretending to be customers. A few moments ago, Luhan was bickering over Sehun's overprotective actions but now, he wanted the kid to drive as far away as possible.
----------
October 2011
It doesn't occur to Luhan that one assassin could be pitted against another from the same group until he receives the mission. Like other jobs, he checks the black menu at EXOTea and looks for a name under his. What he finds confuses him and he asks the cashier what it means (not Xiumin at the time). Wordlessly, the boy points to the stairs leading to the second floor and Luhan obeys. He's never been to the second floor. Never wondered. The job requires a certain lack of curiosity.
The second floor is pitch black except for a few candles lighting the way. He silently chuckles at the theatrics but walks in smaller strides. He needs an even mixture of confidence and humbleness when facing the higher ups. He's only met them once before, when he first entered this mess. There's a door at the end of the hallway and slowly, he turns the knob.
The door creaks open and a musky smell assaults him. There is a single computer, bright screen the only source of illumination in the room, that lies open on an oak table. They obviously don't care for good eyesight. He seats himself down on the hard chair, not one designed for comfort, and stares blankly at the login screen. He inputs his alias, followed by his real name and the train of numbers that is embossed on ship card. The screen blinks once and enters a chat room that already has several users present. That's the primary form of communication in EXO-secured chat rooms and using ambiguous code names.
Duizhang: Welcome, Deer.
Luhan rolls his eyes. His alias was not chosen of his own volition and the name was only testament to his large eyes. He would much rather prefer Doombringer or something.
Duizhang: Your services are required for a matter of great import.
Which translates to kill somebody and don't leave any traces.
Deer: Is there a deadline?
Dobby: by the end of the second night of winter.
Which meant by the end of the year. Not a lot of time left. Luhan waits for a picture that shows his new authoritative target but there is no whir of a hidden printer.
Duizhang: We have unspoken rules here at EXO. Any action that is capable of endangering our secrecy is eradicated at once. A fellow member by the name D.O has posed such threats with his actions.
Luhan's face contorts although he knows they won't see his confusion.
Deer: what actions?
Duizhang: Fraternizing with incorrect individuals.
Deer: I see.
Dobby: 5 billion. A suitable amount.
A memory passes through Luhan's mind and he shakes his head. He can't fully comprehend what happened or how he got into such a mess of leaving a witness. All he remembers is that he stared for too long, the sound of sirens shoving him back to reality, and then, he was ushered into some racer's car, on high alert. Something like surviving witnesses never happened with the Deer. He was the best. Stealthy. Undetected. Clean. 100% success rate. His slip-up the previous night felt like a dream if not for the stoic face that kept resurfacing, background blurring through the car windows. He takes in several deep breaths times, scraping the bottom of his guts, before pressing the enter key. Two words.
Deer: I refuse.
No reply. There is another username that doesn't speak to him at all, making him feel oddly judged through the screen. Luhan wonders whether or not his snap reply would be taken well. In the group, there is a rule that one may reject a job only twice. Using his first time during his first direct order was a sketchy move. It's unwise to agitate the higher ups, despite how well feared you are.
Dobby: Is that your final answer?
This time, Luhan doesn't reply. The first time he said it already took every last bit of courage he had. If forced to, he might surrender.
Duizhang: You are sentenced to secrecy, Deer. If a single word comes out, we will have to enforce our own means.
Immediately after, Luhan's thrown out of the chat room and he slumps back in his chair, exhuasted for some reason. They don't press him for an explanation. He picks himself up and drags his feet out the door, facing the dark hallway again. This time, he walks in long slick strides, whole body itching to leave. The dark shifts under his gaze, maybe a hallucination, maybe the afterimage of a knife. He reaches the stairs palefaced, sprinting from what, he doesn't know, and dashes down the staircase without losing speed.
The first floor brings him to a halt. It's still the fresh hours of morning, with radiant sunlight that stabs through the shop windows like a hail of arrows and blinds him. He squints his eyes, not yet accustomed to the harsh brightness. The doorbell jingles and he snaps his head, half expecting some cold hearted killer to shove a gun to his face. Or a knife. Or some other trademark technique involving seemingly harmless objects.
He can't hide the blatant shock when a taller, lean boy, wearing a black leather vest, dark skinny jeans, and tight lips strode in, clearly out of place. The boy shines against the sunlit backdrop despite all his dark, windswept clothes. The face is distinct and immediately recognizeable. Luhan blinks, believing it to be some sort of joke or a of insanity on both parts. He gapes and tries to put a name to the face. He wasn't important before therefore Luhan never paid particular attention to his name; he rarely does unless it's the target. He was just a kid who won the car race and allowed for the target, Chen, to be isolated.
The searching pair of rushed eyes rest on him, a sheepish grin comes up the sharp face. Clumsily, the boy lifts an arm and subtly sends him a tiny wave, to which Luhan mirrors. He saunters his way over, obvious hesitation behind every movement and expression.
"Hi, again." The voice is raspy, low and slightly nasally, hints of a lisp.
This would be roughly the second time they've spoken but Luhan pins it as the first because god knows where his mind was the first time. Probably thinking up ways to effectively clean up the body.
"Didn't think I'd actually find you here."
He's kind of an idiot, Luhan hazily thinks. Who wants to find a stranger, a killer no less, whom they've met once?
And for the second time in his life, the second of many more, Luhan finds himself looking too long.
----------
September 2013
"That's all." The cashier squeaks and shoves the card away hastily, wanting to be rid of his customer.
"I guess I won't ever be seeing you again." Luhan holds both drinks in his hands, eagerly removing his killer's confidence. No need for that now.
Because he's free.
He doesn't reach for the navy blue card, turning on his heels. Xiumin grunts in disapproval as Luhan revels in the lightness of his steps. By the time he reaches the glass door of the shop, he can make out the satisfying crack of plastic that severs his old life and the door bell's crystal jingle that welcomes the new. Luhan steps out into the day, momentarily scared of what to do next.
The hustle of the city wakes up around him; people muttering or yelling into cellphones with promises of something or another, an occasional dog wagging his tail, rapid flutter of bird wings, the familiar blaring of car engines. This is what he'll worry about now. Not whether he'll return home with blood stains or not at all. Then there's Sehun in his silver sedan. He locates Sehun's hand, firmly resting on the clutch, and playfully notes that the only thing he can never pry Sehun away from was a car. But that may be part of his charm, consistently driving forward and enjoying the life and thrill, maintaining the power to brake, while Luhan was sinking and invariably spun out of control.
He jumps in and inhales a handful of leather and sandy dust that was often acquainted with Sehun. Run over with comfort, he jabs the straw and up the milky drink. A few brown orbs trail along and Luhan slurps up the chewy treat. Sweetness tantalize his tongue and he nearly moans from the delicious taste. Today, it tastes exceptionally better.
"Maybe it's because this is that place but the bubbles are amazing." Luhan says, taking in another mouthful and chewing happily.
"Let's go home." Sehun says.
The prospect is music to his ears and Luhan can only mumble a yes, unsalted tears welling up. He closes his eyes to prevent them from flowing over and ruining the moment. They're actually driving away. Intact. Safe. He and Sehun. He was careful to not let Sehun get too involved in his jobs but the stubborn brat injected himself in. There was the ever prevailing fear that Sehun would be dubbed an 'incorrect individual' and more than once, Luhan had tearstained his confused partner's shirt with this phrase. However, no life-threatening people ever approached them and he adamantly realized that the only direct danger Sehun was in was accompanying him on his missions. On this last job, Luhan had grudgingly agreed to his involvement but only because he wanted to see him immediately after. It was a job request from a fellow assassin but surprisingly easy.
The car glides to a smooth stop and Luhan wills his eyes open again, milking the peaceful sensation. An idea strikes him and he leaps in his seat, twisting around to reach into the back seat at the final remains of his past. He holds up the hoodie and feels it's weight at arms length.
"Let's burn this." He suggests, the scene already playing out in his hands.
"What?" Sehun asks, taken aback by the proposition, "are you sure you don't want to frame it? It's kind of your legacy."
Luhan shakes his head vigorously and drops the fabric again, arms exhausted, while wondering how he managed to wear it for so long. Suddenly, Sehun's long fingers are buried in his hair, shoving his head down the seat.
"What the hel-"
His shout cuts off when a whining pitch whistles above his head. To his right, the sound of breaking glass and dented metal. An all too familiar sound. Bullets.
Luhan flails his arms up in defense as Sehun punches the gas. The roar of the engine blocks out the screams of pedestrians.
"!" He cusses, rubbing the back of his sore head, and peeks out, "Was that what I think it was? a bullet!? Fricking ! It's fricking daylight out here! Hell! What killer in ting hell does this in broad daylight like this? Son of a-"
Sehun is silent, blazing eyes and mouth partially ajar, focused yet panic scrawled across his features as Luhan lets loose a fury of every swear word he can conjure, in Mandarin too. His hand absently grasps the revolver in his sweater, habitual and protective, eyes spying the moving vehicles around him for anything that could attack. Slices of air from the broken window sting his wide eyes and despair creeps into his voice.
"I fricking paid the debt! You s, I paid the debt!" He screeches into the wind.
"What the hell!" Comes as a sudden roar on his right.
"I don't know! What the hell! Who the fricking hell!" Luhan cries.
"He's a fricking cop!" Sehun yells out still trained on the road, old lisp breaking through.
Luhan halts momentarily to stare. Dumbfounded. His mind reels in the next second.
His body goes rigid. Panic levels skyrocket. He feels lightheaded and faint but he fights to see the last dreads of what could be. The colors are melting around him, slipping through pale skin. Liquid color is swallowed by black again as it drips down. Down, down, down.
"That was a cop? WHAT THE ACTUAL !?"
----------
There is a grainy taste in his mouth, riddled in guilt and tongue wrapped with regret, when Sehun slams the car door, running madly into the building. Luhan tries to catch him but lead is sinking in his stomach and his muscles feel too sore to move faster than he already is. The thought of a bullet, lying in wait, lodged in a heart other than his, is what's powering his feet and straining against his muscles.
"Sehun! It's dangerous!" He yells up the flight of stairs but only rusted metal listens.
Reaching the third floor, he hollers again before Sehun dashes into the room. He holds a breath, waiting for the muffled sound of a silencer, and when there is no sound, peers into the room warily. Nothing is waiting for them. Repeatedly flashing a look down the hall, he closes the door with the heel of his foot.
"We have to pack." Sehun hisses through clenched teeth, running into their bedroom to get a bag.
He passes by the kitchen table and picks up some mail that Luhan can't make out. He doesn't question what it is because there is a distinct woodenness in Sehun's movements; he's corybantic and rightfully so. He enters the room tacitly and watches the lean back hunched over a duffel bag. Soundlessly, he pockets his gun, uncertain about being unarmed, picks up his own bag and absently stuffs a few articles in, not minding if they matched or whatnot. He already knows what to take and the fact that Sehun does too makes him shrink a bit.
The room glooms around them with accentuated tension while Luhan internally berates himself. He shouldn't have brought this upon Sehun. He made a kid grow up too fast. Forced a circle into a square hole and then made the opening smaller. The perfectly pure life, a pristine canvas albeit a few speckles here and there, exposed to his irreversible black.
It takes him a second to realize that his hands are trembling ever so slightly. Why? He asks. This is like dinner to killers. He glances to Sehun to find some solace and grabs his forearm, a streak of red snaking down smooth skin.
"And what, pray tell, happened here?" He hardens his voice, icy and sharp enough that Sehun winces.
"A gunshot wound. Can't you see that?" He replies mockingly, borderline cynical, as Luhan leads him out of the room.
"Haha." He retorts, not looking at him in the face.
The bathroom door bounces off the hinges and he pushes Sehun down on the toilet seat. He opens the cabinet and fishes out necessities- bandages, disinfectant, cotton, the usual. He dabs the wet cotton over the open wound repeatedly until a small gasp escapes tight lips.
It reminds him, Sehun is a kid. He protests that Luhan is only four years older but four years can make the all the difference. Four years ago, they never met.
"Baby brat. Trying to be all tough." Luhan purrs, throat rumbling.
"You're fricking rough." Sehun growls back.
He stands and whacks his forehead lightly.
"Don't go fixing me up and not expect the same." He scowls but he can't remain angry for too long, "You brat, don't take a bullet for me. Don't make me regret dragging you into this."
Even further. The words don't escape his tongue but it lingers in his head.
The shaking spreads like wildfire and he succumbs to it, chest quivering. Sehun stands, recognizing the pieces of composure flaking off, and puts comforting hands on his shoulders like he always does.
"Idiot. You can't drag me anywhere. I'm coming along for the ride, idiot. Idiot. Idiot" He mutters like there are hidden wires in the room.
Luhan's desperate arms wrap around his waist, rubbing against leather. It's moments like this and when he's behind a steering wheel that Sehun doesn't seem younger and vulnerable. The wound stings dully in the background, an anchor into reality. He feels skinny yet strong arms encircle him, a strange attribute because Sehun refuses to walk anywhere. He buries his head in the nape of the younger's neck, heaving deep breaths to disguise shaky sobs.
He's unbelievably vehement with frustration. He has never hated his job, his life, himself, this much. Life wasn't exactly cherry blossoms before he joined EXO. It was like trudging through muddy quicksand, all a blur with an inevitable unsurprising outcome. Nothing about killing bothered him either...much. It came with the job, to devoid yourself of feeling and bubble wrap your heart with ignorance to protect what little sanity remains. He's done it often enough that it became routine. Or habit. Depending on how he looks at it. Poking through his safety bubble was Sehun, unravelling what Luhan refused to admit.
There are soft kisses on his head and Luhan is once again astonished at how Sehun is not scared. Not terrified of what sticking with Luhan entails. Because Sehun never got used to the killing, spilling whatever he ate the morning of into the sidewalk even though he didn't see anything happen.
Luhan's okay with it. Sehun isn't. Sometimes, he(Luhan) catches a glimpse of poorly disguised fear, masked as anger or indifference, after returning from a job to their shared apartment. It's hidden in a single look. It splays the words into the air without so much as a flicker of movement. It spells out Sehun's greatest fear, one Luhan's long since accepted; that he's not okay. That he might vanish into smoke along some back alleyway one day. That he might crumble when the darn hoodie is one blood stain too many.
And that hurts.
To stop that look he has, the look that shows him everything that's wrong and that Luhan's actually breaking, despite what he repeats before sleeping, is why he wanted-had to leave.
There's a crinkle of paper against his cheek and he looks up quizzically at the taller child, replacing hopelessness and fear and guilt with curiosity. There was that familiar little habit of the tongue again.
"Let's run away." He sternly proposes, a flash of excitement in his voice.
Luhan leans back further as he registers the phrase, far enough to squarely face him. The idea tempts him. Beckons his attention. For a second, Luhan convinces himself that it's possible but reality splashes cold water over him. He doesn't want to say it because Sehun is full of hope, innoncence, and anticipation. The last spark of naivety. He swallows thickly and forces the syllables out, on the verge of tears.
"They won't stop. We have to fight out. We can't run or else they won't stop. I think that cop saw me at the ceremony. Unless I silence him, we're going to forever be running. Forever be hunted."
It's infinitely harder to live peacefully with a cop hounding you because cops have people who care.
"I'll get the guns. You go pack the food."
Sehun's entire being seems to drop and he feels his heart plummet along.
----------
His knuckles are white against the grey leather of Sehun's car as the screech of tires grating against asphalt reaches his ears. The rear of the car swings loosely before continuing their plow down the streets. It takes every bit of energy for Luhan to not fly out the open window, mind rattled, body resisting inertia and blood pumping. He begrudgingly sticks his head back out to discover their pursuer replicating the sharp turn with an identical shriek of rubber.
"HE IS FRICKING CRAZY! YOU ARE FRICKING CRAZY!" The wind smacks his face as he shouts over it, letting the air carry his voice.
Pulling himself in and hitting his chin, Luhan resettles into his seat and grips the armrest, forsaking the seatbelt. His other hand is pressing against the dashboard with the revolver ready. He managed to fire some shots out the window when they finally met the cop on the road but they didn't succeed in killing him. He was the same one from the cop ceremony. Young, tanned, crazed with a hint of misery. The car abruptly changes lanes and he stops himself from being jostled long enough to glare at the driver's smirk.
"DON'T. GO. ENJOYING. THIS" He screams.
The car jumps and he very nearly bumps his head on the roof before thumping down on the seat and feeling the reverberating scrape of metal on ground. He groans at the impact and feels a rising distaste for cars. His annoyance stops short when his eyes catch sight of where they're heading. He does a double take. Sehun's concentrated eyes. The ever approaching wall. Sehun's insane eyes. The wall.
"I haven't attempted this in a while." He prays he heard wrong.
"What are you-" Sehun is simply delirious and the car is literally inches away from impact, "HAVE YOU LOST IT?"
Sehun's fingers fly over the clutch, setting it to neutral, and his gaze is trained to the red meter flicking back and forth. The car responds to his touch and obeys, screaming out as the wheels turn. Luhan watches him and the street they had just travelled on nervously. If there had ever been a time when he didn't trust Sehun, right now would trump all. There was a narrow alleway on the right but there was no way their car could turn. A speckle of black comes from the distance and he is about to slap Sehun out of his lunacy when the boy swiftly changes gears, navigating his hands on the wheel, and plays with the pedal. The car roars in return and, much to Luhan's amazement, begins to pivot. The incoming SUV is forgotten, all thought lost in the smoke surrounding them.
The car turns 60 degrees. 70 degrees. 80 degrees. Luhan hitches a breath, gaping. 90 degrees.
He cannot muster comprehensive words until they're on the main roads again.
"How..." his mind still speechless, having no control over his facial expression, "how many times have you done that?"
Given a shrug in response, Luhan basks in the incredulity of what just happened at the hands of a boy, four years younger than him, with a slight lisp and heartwarming smile. A feeling bubbles in his chest. What was it? Pride?
"You are awesome. I take back everything I said about your driving."
There's a distinctive blush on Sehun's face and he holds back his own grin. The mood regains silence as Luhan busies himself with his injuries. Most of them were minor and not life threatening but they still burned like hell. The semi-automatic sits close to his chest, pristine compared to his own state. A secretive glance to his right displays Sehun in battered glory. His back upright and his face determined, as if they were doing this for some nobler deed other than survival.
"Actually," Sehun clears his shaky dry voice, "I have a little surprise."
Luhan stares at him fervently, setting down his scraped forearm. The boy looks back at him and he loses the world in those small eyes. There is something behind them, a message Luhan can't quite form yet, and he wracks his brain to figure it out. Slender lips begin to form a sentence when Luhan notices something behind him.
He wants to say something. His brain is screaming at him to do something. To pull the wheel. To hold the boy closer to him, away from the mass of metal and oil running at them. But the world doesn't listen and neither does his body. He watches the split seconds run into the thin body. He knows their time's run out. The metal breaks and crunches. The force flings him out the door, propells him through the intersection, away from the wreck that crashes into the ground. His body loosely bounces. His bones rattle and break from every impact until he rolls to a stop. Sticky blood drips over his eyes but he witness the horror clearer than ever.
He's dead already, his mind detached from the scene unfurling before his very eyes. He can only vaguely make out his hoarse voice thundering in his own chest, clawing at his throat before coming out as morbid shrieks.
One name. Sehun's name.
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He's still breathing.
Heavy and laboured wheezes. But breathing.
He inches his way towards the debris agnoizingly slow.
The only word possible plays on repeat through cracked lips.
His legs are limp and lumbering like stone behind him. His arms, not very thick originally, feel devoid of any muscle. Craggy rocks dig into his wrist and slide into his wounds but he pays them no mind.
Because Sehun's right there. And he's not moving. But that doesn't make sense. The impossible has already been fluked once.
A pair of shoes step in front of him but Luhan ignores it, dragging his body on.
"He's dead." He hears the voice dimly and shoves it away.
Because Sehun can't be dead. They were going to live a life of solidarity and happiness.
"He's dead." Lies.
Because Sehun is life. And look, life's still here.
The name feels harder to say but Luhan is compelled to say it until it's engraved in the world.
The looming figure squats in front of him and holds his chin. Luhan looks straight past it. They're so close. So close.
"He's dead." The persistent voice nags, "And so are you."
Finally, he focuses on the figure in front of him with vague recognition. Luhan has the urge to laugh as he feels something pressed against his head. It's really hysterical that he ends up like this. His mind flashes, a last burst of energy, and he wonders how things ended up like this.
The name leaves his lips a final time.
Sehun is dead but he can't be.
Because they were free.
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