Xiumin had never cried so much over something somebody had said to him as he did in that underground carpark.  Semi had made her point so clearly that he knew there was no hope of persuading her to change her mind, and it felt like his heart had been twisted as though somebody was trying to rip it apart.  Time almost seemed to have paused in a vacuum as he slumped on the tarmac, weeping bitterly.

It was several hours after midnight that he became aware of his surroundings again and heaved himself into better posture.  For the first time in his life, the cold car metal felt comfortable and he almost welcomed the illusion of claustrophobia brought by darkness.  He also desperately wanted somebody’s shoulder to cry on, but the one person he would physically have been able to turn to probably wanted nothing to do with him at that moment, if she was even still awake.  Instead, he found himself ringing Luhan.

“What’s up?”

The cheerful tone had Xiumin biting at his lip in an effort to keep a fresh bout of tears back.

“Xiumin?”

He couldn’t bring himself to reply.

“Xiu, what’s wrong?”  Luhan sounded worried now.

This time, he made the effort to try to say something, but all that came out was a frantic gasp for breath.

“Is this to do with that girl again?” Luhan guessed.  There was no judgement in his tone.  Xiumin nodded, even though Luhan wouldn’t be able to see.

“Sh-she….”

“She said no.”

Xiumin felt like he was going to throw up.  “Yes,” he admitted in a whisper.

There was silence at the other end of the line as Luhan appeared to be struggling for the right thing to say.

“It’s not the end of the world,” was his cautious reply, though he was unable to keep the relief out of his tone.  Then, as a reluctant afterthought, he added, “you still have time to talk her round.”

Xiumin let out a sigh.  “She’s not going to come round, Lu,” he croaked out.  “We crossed the line way too long ago and Seungri’s stunt at the university was the final nail in the coffin.  She views it as a betrayal of the students caught in the crossfire to side with us.”

Again, Luhan seemed to struggle for an appropriate reply.

“Maybe this is for the best,” he concluded, this time with his relief more evident.  He sounded almost chipper again.  “It sounds incredibly likely she would have sold us out if she came with us and we accidentally cross some invisible line.  Or even if we didn’t.”

Xiumin sniffed and rubbed at a sticky, tear-stained cheek.

“So… what do you want to do?”  Luhan was back to being cautious.

“I don’t care anymore,” Xiumin said in a lifeless voice.  “I just want to die.  I just want to go home and curl up in a hole and die.”

“That won’t solve anything,” Luhan told him gently.  Xiumin managed a hiccup of agreement.  His eyes were beginning to sting again.

“I guess….”  Luhan’s voice trailed off, but then he seemed to regain courage and continued.  “I guess you could always just bring her with us anyway, whatever she says.  You’d pretty much have to quarantine her, but if she’s not going to compromise, it’s genuinely that or kill her.  If I don’t, Seungri will.”

“I’m not keeping her a prisoner for the rest of her life, Luhan.  She’ll hate me.”

“She’d probably try to escape, too, and then we’d be done for.”  Luhan hummed distractedly.  “Seungri thought it would be funny yesterday to point out that I could always turn myself in and he’d be able to kill her on my behalf when she testified, but there’s no chance that’s going to happen.  If Semi’s allowed to refuse to join you, then I’m definitely allowed to refuse sacrificing myself.  There’s no way I’m not going to get the death penalty if I’m ever caught.”

“There’s no obligation by the Code for you to do so, even if you owe me your life.”  Xiumin dashed away a stray tear.  “And I couldn’t expect you to.”

There was silence yet again.

“I know this is really tough for you,” Luhan said eventually, “but you’ll pull through, Xiumin.  Once you’re back with us, we can get you back on track and you can start afresh.”

Biting his bottom lip in an effort to keep another bout of tears back, Xiumin nodded and managed a small noise of agreement.

“We should talk about happier things,” Luhan decided.  “And to be honest, I think you need to sleep, too.  It’s nearly five.”

Nine o’clock had passed and several of the apartment residents had been in and out in their cars before Xiumin finally pushed himself to his feet, some vague part of his mind telling him that it was Sunday and that Mass started in an hour.  Hollow, he stumbled over to the lift and took it back up to the second floor: he was pretty sure he looked a mess, and he wasn’t going to turn up in Myeongdong Cathedral looking like a tramp.

Yawning as he began the security checks to get into the apartment, he failed to notice that he had company in the corridor until he was nearly knocked off his feet by a small blur that hit him from the side with full force.

“Cookie Hyung, Cookie Hyung!” yelled Taeyong, waving a piece of green paper headed by Buzz Lightyear at the top.

“Taeyong!” scolded his mother, scurrying up behind him.  “Behave and do it properly!”

Taeyong was way too excited to listen to her.  He brandished the Buzz Lightyear paper.  “You’re coming to my birthday party,” he announced, snapping Xiumi