“What did you needed to speak to me about in confidence?” Xiumin asked.

Sehun stiffened, taking a sip from his cup of tea. The younger boy shifted in his seat, sinking into the whiteness of the couch. Suho and Kai had left to attend to other business.

“Krystal,” Sehun began, “before she died, she mentioned playing the field.”

He paused, taking another sip of his tea, “It seems that the microgens are getting offers for their loyalty. Krystal came to us because she wanted to see what other sides were offering. . . She said she didn’t agree with their methods.”

Sehun quieted, giving Xiumin time to gather his thoughts. Microgeneration gods were weak by themselves but if enough of them were gathered who had complementary affinities then the possibilities were frightening. Lightning struck outside reminding Xiumin of the urgency of these events.  

As he thought, Xiumin watched Sehun. Now that the skirmishes were turning to battles, perhaps it was best to remove the boy. This war, Xiumin was certain now it would come to a war, never involved Sehun. Xiumin had been the one to adopted the boy into their pantheon, dragging him away from the human world that he belonged in.

“I understand,” Xiumin commented. “Return home for now, before you worry your mother, and await further  instructions.”

Deities had no family in the traditional sense. If humanity imagined a familial link between them, then they were family. It was not the same as a relationship born of flesh and blood.

Sehun was different. A demigod, he straddled the line between human and mythos. His limited lifespan, blood bonds, and ethereal existence grounded Sehun more in the realm of humanity than in Xiumin’s world.

“No,” Sehun growled.

Xiumin blinked, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, “Pardon me?”

“No,” Sehun clarified, “you’re not keeping me of this.”

Xiumin saw Sehun’s long fingers ball into fists.

“You’re not - I won’t let you keep me to the sidelines,” Sehun continued. “This fight is as much mine as yours.”

No, Xiumin thought, it is not.  

This fight dictates the continuation of his life, of the lives of Suho, Kai, and like. Sehun was more human than god. Even without faith, he could exist and prosper. Sehun was real whether or not others believed in him. Xiumin and his kind could only live for as long as they were remembered.

“I am not barring you from the battlefront,” Xiumin mollified, “At the moment, there is nothing any of us can do. All we can do is wait and watch their next move.”

The demigod unclenched his fists and watched Xiumin with sharp eyes.

“It’s frustrating,” Sehun muttered.

Xiumin nodded. To himself, Xiumin agreed it was best to limit Sehun’s interactions with mythos. Sehun had been born from the mingling of flesh and magic but he still had been born. If the EXO pantheon lost, then the demigod, at least, had a chance of a normal life. The shriek of wind reaffirmed his decision.

Luhan listened, slackjawed. The lonely song wrapped around him with the whistling of the wind. The crack of thunder snapped from out of his reverie. Shocked, Luhan straightened out. Pulling his raincoat closer to his throat, he stared at the singer in awe. The melody kept Luhan prisoner; it welcomed him into wild orchestra of the downpour.

He must be insane, Luhan thought.

The man was dressed too lightly for the weather in a dark-colored sweater, t-shirt, and jeans. It was as if he was prepared for a basic drizzle than the full-on storm that howled around him. The more Luhan watched him, the more he was struck by a general sense of recognition.

When the wind died down, with the quiver of the singing man’s voice, Luhan regained control of his mind and body. In a rush, he headed toward the singer’s side. The sheets of rain impeded him, numbing his flesh.  

“Chen,” the name slipped out from stiff lips.

Chen looked up at Luhan who stood behind him on the slide. Up close, Luhan noticed that Chen’s clothes were soaked through. A pond formed under the water-logged jeans that embraced Chen’s legs.

“You’re going to get sick!” Luhan exclaimed.

Worry washed over him. Luhan reached for Chen’s arm, tugging him up. He was met with laughter. Chen shrugged his hand off.

“I’ll be fine,” Chen crackled. A blush brightened the paleness of the man’s face.

“Are you drunk?” Luhan stated, surprised.

At least, Luhan thought, it makes sense why he’s literally singing in the rain.

That just meant that Luhan should double his efforts to get Chen indoors. Drunk people have terrible logic.

“Come on,” Luhan urged, “get inside before you die.”

“Ha!” Chen barked, “I won’t die as easily you.”

Chen plopped down on the plastic of the play set, further dousing himself in water.

“You have to have been born to die. . .” Chen muttered softly.

Luhan was certain now that the man was completely wasted.

“Go home, before you get hypothermia,” Luhan stated, firmly.

“Don’t have one.”

“Then come with me,” Luhan bent down.

Mentally, he prayed that Kris wouldn’t be bothered by his meddling.

“No,” Chen closed his eyes.

That wasn’t good, was it? Luhan racked his memory. Wasn’t that a sign someone was dying?

“Come on,” Luhan tried once more.

“Leave,” Chen growled, “I have no business with an annoying human.”

Luhan stood up, hesitating. Chen began humming and a gale swept across the park, threatening to steal his umbrella.

Just because Chen’s an , Luhan considered, that doesn’t mean I should leave him here to die.

It was irresponsible to just leave, but the man wasn’t listening to Luhan. Placing the umbrella next to Chen, Luhan backed off the play set. Leaving the umbrella was a fruitless action since Chen was already wet to the bone. Yet Luhan couldn’t go without doing something. If Chen was to die here, it wasn’t because Luhan didn’t try. At least, Chen’s death wouldn’t haunt his conscious.

Chen sang, ignoring the umbrella placed beside him. The song invited Luhan to stay but the rain forced him to leave.

Two men crowded over a small table. Two coffee cups sat untouched in their trays. The diner that the men occupied was sparsely inhabited. The howling storm kept any regulars from even venturing into the shop. From the look of their clothes, it was obvious that the two men were not regular. The taller of the two was finely dressed in a suit. His refined facial features contrasted strongly with the shabby decor. The shorter of the two looked young and wore a cashmere sweater that was too expensive for this part of the city.

“How’s he?” the shorter of the two inquired.

“Fine, he’s making a pretty big mess out there, isn’t he?” the other man gestured at the sky.

“He should rest,” the shorter one commented.

“He’s too angry to stop; I’m surprised you are so calm.”

“I’m not calm.”

“But…”

“At this rate, he is just going to self-destruct.”

“That’s better than just being forgotten.”

“A suicide act is just as pointless.”  

“I will watch him. How’s it going on your side?”

“Chen is a little antsy, but he certainly is not fond of humanity.”

“Perfect,” the taller man stood up, straightening out his suit.   

The monochrome suit was paired with a red tie. Pulling out a set of bills, the man placed his share of the bill on the table.

“I’ll head out now.”

“Bye,” the other man waved.

Now alone, the man whispered to him.

“What is the point in this?”

We’re all struggling against the inescapability of death: man and deity alike.

Sipping from his coffee, the man remarked, “I could make a better cup in my sleep.”

“Suicide or death?”

“Murderer or suicide?”

The result is the same, he thought. Death was unavoidable, but pain wasn’t.

Then again, he was probably the most distant of his pantheon. Perhaps that was part of his  job description. A deity of time shouldn’t meddle in it too much.

A/N: Can anyone guess who the people in the last scene are? Also, Chen's not nice even when he's drunk.