The smoke was too thick. It was no later than midday, the sun undoubtedly shining on them behind the black veil of deadly fumes. Nothing could be heard over the horrifying bedlam of the square, over the roaring fires and gunshots, over the screams and shouts and chilling cries.

Justice was what they called for. Respect. Equality…

…A fair chance to live decent lives.

Kyungsoo could barely hear his own voice mingle with the rest, muffled partly by the old bandana covering the lower half of his face, partly by the safety helmet he wore on his head, just a size too big, painted black and gleaming red.

It was hard to keep up with the protestors whilst dodging the brunt of the police force’s bullets and shock grenades, but the hand gripping tightly on the left sleeve of his jacket, the person pulling him along with harsh tugs, would always make sure they at least were never separated in the chaos.

Even amidst the smoke and fire and mountains of rubble, the tall man’s presence reminded him of a shining beacon each time Kyungsoo turned his head for a split second’s reassurance – to make certain that it truly was his friend who was still clutching his arm and holding him up as they went.

One single glance gave him the strength to take another hundred steps, to raise his voice in the common chorus of the democratic supporters around them in belief that with just a bit more effort they’d all be heard, to ignore the blood, and the death, and the hurt.

If only until both sides paused briefly to their wounds and survey the damage.

When the adrenaline and bravery gave place for the genuine reflection of reality it was much harder to ignore what damage the conflict was truly causing their beloved country. It was near impossible to keep the tears back when realization of who was missing in their tight-knit group of what used to be no more than allied strangers hit.

Now too, when they all gathered around a makeshift fire near the far edge of the square, away from the front line for a fleeting moment to replenish their energy as best they could, Kyungsoo refused to remove the bandana from his face, hiding his eyes behind a sooty, grimy hand as the morning’s loss sunk in. He couldn’t even tell if he was crying or not – the past few days his throat seemed to constrict at every breath, no matter how hard he’d been screaming half a beat earlier.

What greeted him after a few seconds’ strained breathing was his friend’s face, dirtier than he could ever remember having seen it before, yet with a smile no less radiant despite everything. Despite the mess their city was turning into, despite the heavy, thick, black clouds billowing off the raging flames around them. Perhaps it was because of the mayhem and eerie orange light of the burning streets that he appeared so much more empowering.

“Chanyeol…”

It was little more than a whisper through chapped lips, not even audible to Kyungsoo himself, yet the grasp on his jacket sleeve loosened and the safe touch drifted to the small of his back, guiding him closer to the controlled fire for more warmth.

“It’s hard… but, if we don’t fight now… when will we?”

Chanyeol’s deep voice had an allover comforting effect on him that he was grateful for, and Kyungsoo could do nothing but agree with the profound message of the simple question, because this was it. This was the time they’d been allotted, this was how far they and their fellow people had gotten after months of planning and discreet campaigns, after days of blood and death.

The other five who remained of what used to be a dozen were all determined to keep with the cause until the very end, no matter the cost. As Kyungsoo’s eyes swept over their faces in turn, only a sad frown adorned his face, because had he met them in a different time, under different circumstances, they might very well have become close friends.

Imaginary visions of what the twelve of them could have experienced together flashed through his mind – messing around in the park, going on a camping trip and failing miserably to put up their tents, watching movies on a near antique TV and none of them admitting to how boring they thought it was without color… sharing a proper meal around a proper table with proper smiles and proper laughs.

Passing around what food they hadn’t finished for breakfast, sharing tough pieces of bread and a few cups of warm soup under the awareness that the one who’d brought it that morning was no longer with them, proved much more tolling than Kyungsoo would’ve liked to admit.

A sudden crash brought him out of his temporary daze, and as the noise around them increased again after the short standstill the others slipped away to join the masses once more, one by one disappearing in the nightly dark and flickering blazes.

For a very brief moment Kyungsoo’s gaze coincided with Chanyeol’s, and a weight seemed to be lifted off his chest at the pure determination and absolute confidence on full display before him. Gone was every ounce of the boy who had been scared of his grandmother’s scoldings, who had always been the first to relent and shake his head in mock disappointment, who had awkwardly held his hand when they walked home in the dark evenings of fall.

“Let’s go.”

Kyungsoo’s nod was sharper than he had intended, eager to show the same conviction, yet the glimmer in his friend’s eyes and the way the man’s mouth had curved up ever so slightly at the corner didn’t linger on his mind for longer than necessary, and as the grip re the sleeve of his jacket other thoughts filled his consciousness.

He became aware of his own heavy footfalls against the worn tarmac, how he tripped every few seconds on the pieces of chipped sidewalk or had to sidestep a crater in the road, how people were lining up in a half-organized manner and how his own grip on a police officer’s dropped baton tightened at the sight of their makeshift weapons of rocks and bent scrap metal, how the smoke teased his eyes, how the noxious stench stung his nose with each inhale, and how the flames seemed to intensify along with the tension in the air – almost tangible now.

Stopping was never a good idea. Kyungsoo couldn’t help but fidget. Restless and feeling like a sitting duck even as they slowly started moving, he barely registered his hand flying up to fist into Chanyeol’s thick hoodie, perhaps for a sense of security.

The next time the tall man turned around to look down at him he appeared conflicted. Chanyeol’s lips were soft and dry, excruciatingly hot against his own, and the grip on his arm tight enough to hurt for a few seconds. He felt strangely at peace with the small display of affection.

Pulling his bandana up over his face once more Kyungsoo chanced a glance up at the tainted sky. Was the quick glimpse of blue merely wishful thinking?

A sharp tug on his sleeve forced his attention ahead, steps once more rushed with purpose.

There could be no more stumbling on his part.

All he wanted was to add his voice to the crowd’s.

In the end, they could only keep going forward, step after heavy step, past the point of no return.

Because the time for wishful thinking had long since passed.