Deer Luhan,

I think I might have ruined your reputation again, but this time in public rather than just among the EXO members.  On the other hand, at least people might start calling you a koala instead of a deer.

Leigh

I was a target for the security guards the instant I set foot on the ground floor of the mall.  To be honest, I was a little surprised they’d taken so long to get mobilised, but then again, I guess finding your gear in pitch black when none of your walkie-talkies are working probably isn’t that easy.  Particularly when you then also had to find the battery-powered torches.

Barely had I navigated my way off an unmoving escalator in the pitch black onto what I was hoping was street level when there was a low snarl and I was bowled over by what I discovered a few moments later from the torch beams was a long-haired, impeccably well-groomed white shih tzu.  Then there were footsteps and shouts, more barks and more dogs, a slobbery tongue my face, and a blindingly bright LED light hit my eyes and leeched everything out of my vision.  Dazed, winded and covered with drool, I let out a yelp and averted my head to the side.  A hand gripped my wrist and I heard a voice telling a dog to sit in Chinese.

There was a thump as a deadweight plonked its on my knees, and that was enough to make me flip.

The last time I’d switched into anti-mugger mode – which I think was at Incheon airport way back at the beginning of this whole debacle – I hadn’t had the opportunity to lash out properly, which, given I’d been posing as Luhan at the time, had probably been a good thing.  Now, though, it was dark and there were at least three dogs sitting on me and a minimum of two bodyguards shining torches in my face and slinging about words like “thief” and “police”, and I also hadn’t got my promised dose of Martin Freeman.  Granted, it was totally my fault, but I was still pissed.  And because it was dark, they didn’t know who I was – or rather, who I looked like – which meant I had free reign to go ape, so I did.

God only knows how I managed to get the dogs off me, and it probably doesn’t say much for my moral compass that I actually felt worse brushing them off than I did breaking one of the torches over one security guard’s head and flipping the other guy over my shoulder in about the only judo manoeuvre I was still sure I could accurately execute before snatching the remaining torch off the ground and bolting for what I hoped was a doorway.

Typically, it was of the automatic type, so I had to use the second torch to shatter the glass in order to get out, and that just attracted more attention.  By the time I came to my senses half a street later, five hulking security guards from the mall, two shih tzus with so much hair I couldn’t tell if they were moving forwards or backwards, a traffic warden, a stray pigeon, three kids with ice cream, two curious taxi drivers (one reversing down the street) and about fifty screaming fangirls were on my tail.  I dived for the nearest subway, losing the ice cream kids and the taxi drivers in exchange for a bewildered busker and a very drunk hobo who tried to kiss me, and pelted through the underground passages in an effort to lose everybody else.

Just how did I end up in this situation?

I had to deploy my elbows when I abruptly came up against a crowd, the shih tzus snapping at my heels, and suddenly found myself faced with ticket barriers.  Thankfully, Luhan’s transportation smartcard was in my trouser pocket as we’d taken the bus on the way down, so I swiped it hurriedly and rushed on through.

Security went absolute mental the second I did.  A brief glance over my shoulder showed me the shih tzus had got through and one of the guards from the mall was trying to vault the barriers, along with several fangirls and a devoted male fan who actually had and were now fighting tooth and nail with the subway staff to try to get to me.  Far too many people going the other way doubled back just before the barriers, and I heard a five-year-old girl screaming at her dad because he wouldn’t let her say hello to her future husband Luhan.

That’s right, I thought to myself as I power-walked after a pair of oblivious businessmen in the direction of the trains.  You are currently Luhan and you have not done anything to Beijing’s biggest shopping mall.

I was lucky enough to hit the platform just as a train was pulling in and managed to squeeze on board between an angry-looking teenager yelling into the phone at some relative and a young mother trying to shush a crying baby in a pushchair.  The doors hissed closed almost on the nose of the first of the shih tzus and I sagged with relief.

It was short-lived.  At least one fan had managed to get into the same compartment – either that or I was recognised (although technically I wasn’t, since I wasn’t Luhan) – and I had all of about three seconds before my personal space was invaded and the carriage suddenly resembled a sardine tin.  I blinked.  Where the hell had all the extra people come from?

Mere moments later, a metal pole was digging into my back and I was having to balance precariously so I didn’t land on the baby in the pushchair or squish the old lady who was eyeing my pink hair like it was a symbol of the apocalypse as I was assailed by groping hands and high-pitched voices, and it was terrifying.  It was actually terrifying.  I wasn’t particularly claustrophobic – or, at least, I hadn’t been until my latest trip to South Korea – and it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in that kind of situation before (hello Incheon airport), but it was the first time I’d been through it alone, and the fact that unlike in Korea I couldn’t understand half of what the fans and the angry citizens were yelling at me was beginning to make me panic.

By the time we arrived in the next station, I was really craving Sehun’s hand at the small of my back and his calm voice telling me to pretend we were playing human dodgems, which he’d done once or twice when we’d been trying to get out of t