Seoul, Korea

 

Name: Oh Sehun

 

Age: 17

 

Gender: Male

 

---

 

He had always been a runner. For as long as he could remember, but it was something he would say ironically. He would laugh as the wind tousled his blonde hair affectionately, he would laugh humorously as the kids of the sports facility complimented his talent. But, Sehun was sure, he would always be a runner. 

 

His mother - or she told him to regard her as such, would remind him of his name, Minho. He would nod politely, and leave to run. Because he was sure, from the tips of his blonde hair to the ends of his lean frame that his name was Oh Sehun. No, they had said, his name is Kim Minho. The son of a soccer coach, and a teacher. He had insisted, begged, pleaded. 

 

The wind had listened, yes, it had whispered soothing songs of its words in his ear. It had kissed his cheek as he sprinted down each finishing line. And it would leave, leaving a moment of fleeting warmth as he sighted his parents, petite and delicate, waving. 

 

Three months ago, his mother had explained tearfully, he - Minho - was missing. His father had eyed him with tears in his eyes, his expression stone cold. And three months later, Oh Sehun was found, in the backyard of the couple's newly bought home. Sehun had stared at the wall, he had gazed into the sky, and yet, not an image came to mind. The more pictures shoved beneath his nose, the more stories of his childhood, he was sure, from the ends of the hands that could push streams of air to the tips of his running shoes, he is not Kim Minho. 

 

"Minho-ah," his mother had called, he turned from his perch on the floor, legs crossed and thoughts blank as he the long chain he had found. A penchant that connected to it seem to thrum in his hands, Sehun shrugged it on. "Practice is starting soon, why don't you go walk Sehun," his mouth twitched, it was his insistence of the name that ended up on the dog. "And stretch before you go run?" 

 

"I'm going to stretch before running anyways." He called back, Sehun unfolded his legs and stood nonetheless. The golden retriever trotted behind him. 

 

"Be careful!" She called. 

 

Sehun waved a hand back. His feet carried him out the door as the wind howled outside, his hair flipped back. 

 

It was windy. 

 

He smiled, a small and rare turn of his mouth. It always seemed to be windy, the scents of mint and pollution danced in the air. "Let's go," he scoffed, a smile played on his mouth, "Sehun." 

 

The same ideas plagued his mind. The wind did little to soothe the heat of his thoughts as he jogged around the block, Sehun junior trotting at his heels. He unconsciously turned towards the park, the grass crunched. Sehun felt the calm thudding of a leathered chain, beating against his chest with each step he took. 

 

A swirl of wind danced beneath his feet with each long step, Sehun had not noticed his lack of garbage and leaves before his step. Who am I? Sweat lined his neck. His hands clutched loosely, his skin flushed red from the cold. I'm not Minho. But who is Sehun? Who is Oh Sehun? Who are they? Images of his parents, the thin hysteria in his mother's face with each gaze into his eyes. And the calming danger in his father's wrinkles with each word. 

 

His shoes laced untied. Sehun bent to tie his laces, Sehun junior whined and trotted ahead. The air whispered in his hair, cooling it quickly. Sehun shook his hair. 

 

"Sehun," he called, "Come, boy." 

 

Sehun Junior barked. Sehun hissed breaths from his mouth, he motioned for the dog to sit. He stood to walk slowly towards the pup, he cursed himself from heading out without a leash. My dog or not, I can't lose him. He shook his head, no, he is my dog. I am Oh Sehun.

 

His thoughts cut off. 

 

Sehun's eyes suddenly drawn upwards. The penchant heavy against his chest, it still swung, beating his chest. Or was it the thudding of his heartbeat as he spotted a man. Clad in a tweed jacket, he stood tall, taller than he, Sehun was sure. Before he could look away, the man vanished. 

 

His gaze followed the man's reappearance not a second later twenty feet away, by a bench. The large oak tree, a familiar one Sehun had often leant against to ponder of his life, loomed it's shadows. Sehun crouched down, his hands motioning for Sehun Junior as they both perched behind the bush. His phone slid from his pocket as he gazed dumbfounded at the man. 

 

The man who danced faster than then the wind. The man who had a power. Sehun realized, his hands shaking. The wind stirred around him. A sudden lack of activity disrupted the circulating air mass, Sehun eyed the man, who was gone. His phone beeped, Sehun gazed at the blackened digital screen. The wind chanted around him, the heaviness was back in his chest, the leaves and first scrapped against the frigid ground. Sehun breathed out. 

 

"Hello," a voice behind him, Sehun Junior barked. He slid his phone into his pocket, Sehun dusted himself. "Sehun, right?"

 

Sehun turned, his eyes drowned against a dozen men, clad in suits and thick scarves. Their hair had not danced to the coaxing wind, heavy with hats and gel. "No," he said, "I'm Kim Minho. I think you've got the wrong person." 

 

Where is that man? His eyes frantic, his fingers twitched. A sudden gust of wind burst about. He is not coming back. He, the penchant thudded as the wind grew, he is like me. 

 

Sehun's eyes reached past the dozen that blocked his route, the man, he recognized. In deep green tweed and a hunched saunter in his walk. He bowed, "I'm sorry, I have to go now." 

 

The man was picking a piece of paper up, Sehun Junior barked loudly. Sehun murmured a distracted, "Shhh." 

 

"Where?" One spoke up. 

 

"What?" Sehun tore his eyes away from the man, whom he wished would freeze. 

 

"Sehun, you are under arrest for identity theft of Kim Minho." A third announced to the right of Sehun, a trio of men stepped forwards as his dog whimpered. "I have to ask you to come with us." 

 

Sehun's eyes stared hopelessly behind the man, who seemed to stare into a paper. Stay, please. His hands suddenly bound, he turned. "Wait, what? You can't do this to me, I'm not Oh Sehun!"

 

A smirk appeared, "I never said your name was Oh Sehun." 

 

Sehun exploded, "You need to show me your badges, you can't arrest me!" 

 

The wind turbulent as he shoved an officer. His dog yelped and sped off, Sehun cursed. His eyes searched for the man, his phone tumbled from his pockets as he sprinted from the dozen. Quickly, he was detained as a badged was shoved against his face roughly. His hands twisted painfully behind him. 

 

"Help!" Sehun screeched, "I'm like you! Help me! I have po-" a bludgeon of a punch sacked his stomach, he collapsed. He grasped for air. "Help! You can telep-" another kick. 

 

A heavy mint scent as the wind sliced through the bitter air. Scarves flew and garbage danced dangerously into the faces of people. A heavy gust shoved several men to the side, they staggered, unharmed. Sehun yelled again, "You! You can teleport! Help me!" 

 

A click. 

 

Sehun froze. The wind froze, the air froze. The people froze. Several feared spectators had left to hide, digital cameras peeked from their havens. Kim Jongin stared as the boy, he was sure who had called him, kneeled on the ground clasping his stomach, and a gun to his head froze. 

 

Jongin stuffed the paper into his jacket. He could almost hear the hissed words as the suited male dragged the teen into the car, the blonde boy struggled. I can help him. The wind danced, bringing along the dirts, obstructing the view. 

 

He's like me. Jongin realized. With no hesitation, he stepped forward into the oncoming traffic. And vanished. 

 

Sehun's hands burned as he pushed against the force that rocked the vehicle. The wind sliced coldly against his skin, mercilessly. Another click, the safety. He realized. 

 

The other men in black managed to navigate the heavily dusted area to the duo, a heavyweight male picked a struggling Sehun up. He screeched again, "Help me! I am l-" dirt, and leaves from the wind clogged his throat. 

 

A warm hand appeared on his arm, unlike that of the minted scented men. Sehun choked to breathe as the wind's wrath overtook the area. He vanished. 

 

"Hi." Sehun opened his eyes, they adjusted into the dark. He sniffed, a closet. Cinnamon disinfectant tinged the air, a faint scent of leaves and autumn wind into the clogged space. Another male, a voice, spoke again. "I'm Jongin." 

 

He was pulled into the light, they both stepped out the closet. Sehun tumbled, his ears ringing and his throat raw. A deep flush from the bitter wind and disorientation. Turning back into the closet, the other male stared curiously, Sehun grappled the bucket and barfed. 

 

"Oh, wow. I did not expect that." A casual pat on his back. "That doesn't happen to me." Jongin quipped. 

 

"Shut up." Sehun moaned. Wiping the retched scent from his body, he disregarded his sweater, leaving a tee shirt and a thin coat. 

 

"So," Sehun stared at the man, one clad in green tweed and a lean frame. "I'm Kim Jongin. I uh, I can teleport." 

 

The shopping centre paid no attention to the duo, a woman stared curiously at the duo, she whispered to her friends, suspicious. 

 

Sehun smiled brilliantly, his hands a cool feel. A slight breeze tousled his hair, Jongin felt it, he looked on wondrously. Sehun stuck out a hand, "I'm Oh Sehun, I'm the wind kid."