California, USA

 

Name: Byun Baekhyun

 

Age: 20

 

Gender: Male

 

---

 

"What the is Baekhyun?" Snorts echoed the cafeteria, "Sounds like some Asian knockoff of bacon." 

"Dude, chill, you're so loud."

 

"Yeah? Well, you." He grinned. 

 

"He's a new kid, I heard he's twenty, got held back probably. He doesn't look like the type, though." Another quipped. 

 

"Please, like anyone ever looks the type." A deliberate pause, "So he's a retard, then." 

 

"Hi." The group looked up. In fact, the entire cafeteria peeked from their social circles. A delicately featured boy, no more than eighteen stood before the group. His hair a golden, strawberries blonde hue that danced in the light. "I'm Baekhyun." 

 

" me." One muttered, "He does not look twenty." 

 

"Well," a girl shrugged, "I've always wanted an older guy." 

 

"You're such a ." 

 

"Hi, can I call you Bacon?" 

 

He paused, "Bacon?" 

 

"Yeah, like you know, the pork?"

 

Baekhyun eyed the girl curiously, before nodding his head slowly. The group met eyes, before a girl interrupted the silence, "Cool bling, man. What is it?"

 

His features tightened, an easygoing smile in his face. "Nothing, just something I was left from my family." 

 

"Cool, cool. What classes you've got?" Another turned, gesturing him to join the group. Baekhyun smiled and happily perched upon the desk just as the group did. His hands burned, the milk he had spilt suddenly as his hands jerked upwards. 

 

"The ?" 

 

Baekhyun gazed down at his hands, he murmured, "Sorry, man." 

 

"It's cool," Trey, he had said to be, handed him some tissue. "Here, dude." 

 

Suddenly, Baekhyun's hands jerked upwards, seemingly towards to ceiling, effectively giving Trey a right hook. 

 

". What is your problem?" He spat, holding his jaw. He raised his fist back, Baekhyun couldn't help but marvel at the size of Trey's fist before a hand caught it. 

 

"Hey, he's just jittery." A low murmur, "I'm sure he meant nothing. Right, Baekhyun?" 

 

Baekhyun's hands burned neither heat nor cold, sweat lines his brow. He clutched his hands into fists, barely making out a, "Yeah." 

 

"Stay outta this, Kris." Trey spat. The former met him in height, both stared into each other's intense gazes, not bothering to turn towards the mutter of goodbyes as Baekhyun left to hold his fists from attracting to the ceiling. 

 

Running into the washroom, Baekhyun realized that his hands weren't tilted towards the ceiling, but the lights. The burning intensified between his fingers, an itching of release. He closed his eyes as an eerie hum filled his ears. A bright light as a flash met his open pupils as he collapsed, the darkness blinking as the light faded. 

 

It felt like a series of flashlights dancing in his vision, Baekhyun groaned. His hands burnt and felt connected with his soul. The door of the stall Baekhyun had not remembered getting into opened. A rough hand pulled him from his limp form on the floor, a metallic scent and liquid heat trailed from his heat. Baekhyun touched his head dizzily, he recognized blood. 

 

". What the ?" Trey, Baekhyun identified. His body swayed, his hands felt heavy and hot. 

 

"Trey?," he managed, leaning against the wall as the teen let him fall mercilessly. "Is," he trailed off, "Is that you?" 

 

A swift right hook answered his question. 

 

Baekhyun leant over the sink, the water wetting his hair and trailing an innocent stream of red down his clothes. He panted. A small continuous, beating of a metal against the sink rang in his head. It was a penchant, one that sat low beneath his clothing made it's way out through the ruckus, it beat with Baekhyun's heaving pants as he tried to focus his vision. 

 

The intense burning of his hands made him cry out. 

 

"Holy ." The foot steps stopped, "What the is going on? Dude. Your hands." 

 

Baekhyun touched his face, a bright light shone in his eyes. He was out, in the darkness, again. Awe, .

 

 

He awoke in chains, or the modern equivalent of a spotless stainless steel truck. One that rattled soundlessly and smelled of authority and money. Baekhyun tried to close his eyes, he tried to remember the orphanage and the children that woke him daily. He tried to listen to their cheers and loud pleads for songs. He wasn't sure how he knew the songs, but now, Byun Baekhyun wasn't sure how he was lying on a padded surface of a moving armoured truck. 

A slight crackle and muffled sounds came from the area behind his head, he strained to see. Baekhyun eyed the straps on his body, his hands and neck bound with technology that periodically sounded as his body held with leather straps. 

 

He stay eyed silent. A monitor perched on a corner of the moving vehicle, he felt his penchant, lying on a see-through bag off the walls of the mesh lining. Baekhyun closed his eyes, he tried to remember. 

 

Pictures of his days in the orphanage, the pretty girl that always a seemed to draw, the one that his eyes followed every time she was in the room. Pictures of the boy, the one that didn't eat, and a little girl that ed the food into his mouth. And then, blank. 

 

Nothing beyond a particularly clear sunny day, four months ago. Baekhyun's skin collected moisture as he lurched, the vehicle turned a sharp corner. The moderated temperature of the truck felt artificial. He caught his breath, I can do that, the thing I did before.

 

The movement stopped. Baekhyun paused from his attempts. He closed his eyes, he wasn't sure if it was in fear of the image of his captors. Or his plan to feign sleep. He took a deep breath, his heart slowed. Baekhyun saw darkness as personnel lifted his bed onto a rolling bad. The first and last thing his mind comprehended was the artificial light that gave no comfort to his body, and the distant scent of mint.  

 

---

 

Luhan had arrived. 

 

The door had been broken down, the scattered plastics littered the clutter on the narrow floor of the room. The entrance had been badly taped with ripped police tape, he had assumed, and items scavenged by people had left the room empty and the same grime dotted the walls. Luhan breathed out, a faint scent of lemon disinfectant tinged the air. He frowned. 

 

The entrance had been guarded with an aging old man that seem to eye him with understanding,  he couldn't help but quickly turn away. His mind determined to find her, Kyungsoo. The only clue to whatever it had been. Perhaps, it was to keep his mind from everything else. 

 

Luhan stepped out of the small apartment, plastics crunched under his feet. His Chinese had not been sufficient enough to get him around. Rather, he had scavenged a thin hand drawn map on one of the parchments of paper. Matching the thick, sturdy lines with the winding twists of the roads, he had come to this. 

 

An old lady approached him.  

 

She sat before a tarp of worn metals, each carved with deep grooves that seem to speak ages. Her hand pointed towards him, Luhan turned around, his duffel bag pressed against him. A younger boy had tried to mug him, Luhan's eyes narrowed, it was with distaste when he had repelled the boy so far, he had crashed into a fruit stand. The old woman pointed to his chest, where metal had met her shaking fingers.

 

Her long hair, grey and braided with care, tumbled into the wind. Her hands pointed towards the sun, she had forgone her items, her eyes bore into Luhan.

 

She shook her head, and pointed to the door of the apartment building. Luhan nodded, he turned away and began his trek towards the motel he had passed by. The sign had flashed brightly in several languages, boasting of its service and quality.

 

 Luhan briefly wondered, as he passed by roads and people. He wondered why he was in Beijing. Why he had found the paper, and more he had stuffed into his bag as he left Australia. He wondered about those men, and sometimes, Luhan would find the answers in the penchant that hung as a reminder of his cowardice. Sometimes, Luhan would find answers in the hovering item he manipulated between his fingers. And then, he would smile. 

 

Because, he was sure, because he wasn't lonely. Not anymore. 

 

That night, Luhan need not to understand the language when a picture of a brutal murder of an elderly woman appeared on the news. His eyes tore away from the small screen on the counter of the motel, a small man smiled politely at him. 

 

Luhan turned away, the scent of cigarettes and rotten eggs dusted the motel. He frowned. A shadow appeared, he pressed his bags against him, and him to the wall. 

 

The lights brightened.