His eyes snap open to the distinct impression that he’s buried alive.

He doesn’t dare move until the solid wall hanging over him turns from black to gray.  One finger at a time, he uncurls his hands from the blanket.  The ceiling seems farther away now, but he stretches up his hollow arm and forces himself to brush the ridges in the plaster with the tips of his fingers. 

When his hand falls back to land on his head, he presses his damp bangs into his forehead, hoping they’ll help cool the heat radiating from his body.

The pulse pounding on either side of his throat counts the minutes.

While he runs through the itinerary that tells him that he's in the Hanger on the top bunk in Xero's room he commits to the conclusion that, as he’d thought, sleeping above a furnace of raw electric energy had given him bad dreams. 

Pushing himself up into a sitting position with arms that feel new and untested, Hansol struggles to kick away the blankets that stick to him like unwanted hands.  His head swims for a moment after he succeeds in liberating himself.  He draws his knees up to press his forehead against them. 

Letting his senses open a crack, he can feel the energy from the bunk below him.  The tendrils of stardust curl in the stillness.  It’s strange; Xero energy is elemental.  It’s so different than his own or B—

He snaps his mind shut on his thoughts. 

The urge to move seizes him.  There isn’t a particular place he needs to go, but he can’t stay there.

As carefully as he can, he lowers himself from the top bunk and drops to the floor.  Crouched as he is, the first thing he sees is Xero’s white hair almost glowing in the dark.  The other boy is fast asleep, face clinging to a smile.

Hansol, for all of his envy, can’t help being endeared to the sight of the younger whose limbs are flopped about in awkward directions, his left arm thrown haphazardly behind his head, one leg sticking out from under the covers. 

“Nothing bothers you does it,” he mumbles with a quirk of his lips, watching for a moment longer before moving lightly toward the door.

When he slips out of the room, the whole house is buzzing in silence.  Hansol doesn’t usually notice the constant sound of consciousness in the air, but sometimes in the dead of night when the city is almost asleep, he senses it.  Somehow inside this house there’s nothing but a low buzz.

His feet direct him back toward the living room.

Someone shared his thoughts, apparently, as his hyper alert senses pick up on a crackling energy.  Assuming that it’s Sangdo because of the charcoal taste, he walks quietly into the room.

It isn’t Sangdo.  Having taken up his station in front of the empty fire place, P Goon doesn’t notice him enter the room.

A small voice tells Hansol he should back out before he’s noticed, but his feet keep pacing forward.  He thinks he’s being fairly quiet, but the leader suddenly lifts his head with piqued interest.  Hansol stops.

The older looks over his shoulder, in an echo of their meeting earlier in the night.

“What are you doing here?”

Hansol opens his mouth and raises his arm, pointing back the way he came like this is any indication of who he is and why he’s there.  Maybe Sangdo wasn’t joking when he said that P Goon would forget meeting him.

P Goon’s eyes slides from Hansol’s face to his arm.  Whatever has stolen his attention pulls his expression into a definitive scowl.

Alternating his gaze from his arm to the other, Hansol figures out quickly what has darkened the elder’s expression.  P Goon is staring at the accusing line of red dye stained into his wrist.  Hansol had stuffed the bandana into the garbage earlier in the night but the other apparently knows what the mark means.

In two steps P Goon bridges the space between them and grabs Hansol’s arm.  He stares at the mark with fire in his eyes.  “How long have you been with them?”

The temper flaring in the other has Hansol freezing and stuttering and burning.

P Goon shakes him by the arm, making his vision bounce.  “How long?” 

“Three months,” he forces through the fear clogging his throat.

“Are they going to come looking for you?”

At the painfully tight grip the older has on his arm, Hansol’s words hiss as a plea through his teeth. “No!  It was only for. . . I was just. . .”

“P Goon,” a voice interrupts.

 “What?”  His nostrils are flared, but the look Hojoon returns is as detached and yet alive as his tone managed to be.

Like a cobra’s hood folding back against its body, P Goon retracted into himself, the anger relaxing back to his sides.

He looks at Hansol, who doesn’t dare more even after P Goon frees his arm. 

Hansol casts his gaze to the floor, knowing his eyes are watery and pathetic.  For a long time, P Goon stares unflinching at him.

P Goon finally glances at Hojoon, but is clearly speaking to Hansol when he says, “I want you gone by tomorrow.”  He looks back at him before finishing, “Stay in your room.”

With a warning as ambiguous as his greeting, P Goon turns and trudges away, heading into the room to the left of the fireplace and closing the door behind him.

Even when he’s gone, Hansol can’t bring himself to move.

“Don’t mind what he said,” Hojoon says, coming to stand in front of him, “It’s just—”

“One of his moods?” Hansol finishes.

Hojoon nods and Hansol, freed from his frozen state by the feeling of something like humor between them says, “I’m glad I don’t have to find out about the other two.”

His words are met with an odd look. 

“Oh. Sangdo said. . .”

“P Goon is a good man.  You’ve caught him on a bad night, unfortunately.  By tomorrow he’ll change his mind.”

Past the lump in his throat trying to stop him, Hansol feels confident enough in Hojoon’s neutrality to test, “I don’t think he liked the people I associated with before.”

Hojoon studies him for a moment, eyes eventually touching upon the red dye set into his skin.  “Seokjin’s people?”

Hansol allows the confusion to show on his face.

“We have connections with that gang,” Hojoon hints, “And many more.”

Becoming more suspicious at how he had never heard anything about these Kingdom boys, but knowing Hojoon has nothing more to say, Hansol doesn’t ask.  He’s still trying to get his bearings. 

Apparently noticing how unsteady the younger is on his feet, Hojoon touches his elbow.  The older asks permission with his eyes before reaching a hand to Hansol’s forehead.  “Your pulse is a little erratic,” he comments.

“It’s no big deal.”

Hojoon doesn’t say a word, but after a moment or two of Hojoon’s hand at his forehead, Hansol feels less jittery.

“That should do it for now,” the older concludes, withdrawing his hand.

“How did you do that?”

Hojoon smiles slightly, taking a moment to ruffle his fingers at Hansol’s bangs to put them back into shape.  “I can smooth things out, I suppose.  Kind of like healing but not that dramatic.”

“And how did you know. . .?” He trails off when he can’t explain what he means.  This is the second time that Hojoon has shown up out of the blue exactly when he was needed.

“I have links laid out to everyone in the house.  I can tell when their heart rates rise or their breathing changes.  And,” his tone becomes pointed, “I can sense when something disturbs one of my connections.”

In a flash, Hansol gets the distinct impression of Hojoon like a spider sitting in the center of a web, knowing through the vibration of each thread what is happening in his domain.   

Apparently noticing Hansol’s unease, Hojoon attempts to reassure, “I’m not tracking you.  You haven’t been here long enough for me to anchor to you.”  His eyes wander to the closed door before Hansol can ask any questions, and the younger understands with a bit of guilt that Hojoon was checking on P Goon’s sudden anger, which he had caused.

“Sorry.”

“I was up anyway,” Hojoon assures.  “P Goon is right, though, you shouldn’t be wandering.”

Hansol wishes that someone would tell him what exactly he has to be afraid of in this house, but after his encounter with P Goon, he is starting to form some idea.

“Do you need me to bring you back to your room?”  Though the offer seems genuine, Hojoon’s eyes are still on the door next to the fireplace.

“That’s okay, I remember where it is.”

Hojoon nods at him then offers an airy, “Goodnight, then.” 

Almost disappointed by the edge, he is relieved when Hojoon casts a smile at him before heading to the closed door. 


 

A/N   Mercifully shorter chapter this update.  Thank you for reading!--coraroc