Chapter Text
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Despite the countless visitations to the morgue, Jeongin still finds himself glaring at the plastic body bag situated on the examination table with a hollowed stare. There’s a dimmed lamp that hovers over it, revealing the rigid lines of a darkened silhouette that’s meant to shape an intact body, but Jeongin’s skilled eyes are quick to fill in the gaps between what was forcibly stuck together and what was not. It’s disfigured — brutally so.
Jeongin’s mouth falls inevitably dry.
“You were right,” Seungmin says with confirmation lacing his tone, careful to remove his gloves before he disposes of them into a nearby trash bin. He taps the bridge of his nose to adjust the frame of his glasses. “Just at a glance, there seems to be a few abnormalities.”
“So,” Jeongin starts, crossing his arms. “Can you do it?”
Seungmin’s line of vision flickers toward him with an amused expression.
“Can I do it?” He repeats with a somewhat humored scoff. “Of course I can. The real question is should I do it.”
A moment of silence runs a lap around the room. Then, Seungmin continues in a knowing voice.
“I’ve yet to hear anything from the church, so I’m assuming this is not exactly official business, am I correct?”
Maybe the wise decision is to relay the honest truth to Seungmin. Be as transparent as he can and maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright. Jeongin considers it — amongst the other, more secretive things roaming within the corners of his mind. He’s been hanging on to too much recently. It might even help ease a few of his concerns if he does and Seungmin is what they call a “friend” to Jeongin. He’s unarguably intelligent, extremely skilled in his craft and well-respected; the church only insists on employing a small few medical professionals to entrust special cases with and they’ve kept Seungmin. But factoring in all possibilities, the good and the bad, Jeongin simply can’t afford to take any risks.
“You owe me from last time, remember,” he answers instead.
Sitting at the edge of the medical stool, Seungmin evidently seems to understand where Jeongin’s going with this. He purposely begins to nod along as he delves his hands into the pockets of his white coat.
“Ah, yes. What was it? Fixing one of my busted pipes from a couple of months ago — yeah I do recall that. However, this is not the kind of favor I was referring to. Paying for lunch or your morning coffee was more of what I had in mind.”
“This is more important.” Jeongin says. He’s running on a slight three hours of sleep in the last 48 hours that have passed which have left him more frustrated — and desperate — than what he initially started as. He can’t stop here by any means.
“Look, I — I really need someone I can trust to get this done for me. I swear to you this is the first and final time I will ask this of you.”
Seungmin’s long eyes narrow, surveying his tense posture. How Jeongin’s muscles contract and keep firm as he runs one of his hands over his face indicating exhaustion and distress. This is as honest as Jeongin will get, he realizes. The closest he will get to an answer by a standard reading of body language. Jeongin hopes it’s enough to tell he’s being sincere.
“You’re asking me to perform an autopsy on a body that was savagely mutilated and torn apart less than eight hours ago.” Seungmin stills, voice lowering as if someone will pick up on their conversation. Jeongin only hears the incessant buzzing from the dying light beams and the overly aggressive sounding air conditioner making the whole ordeal much more eerie as it is dramatic.
“If I do this I am not only going behind the church’s back, I am putting my profession and livelihood on the line.”
“No one will know. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Let’s pray they don’t, because if word reaches the Vatican they’ll send people to take care of you and I, you know. Very unkind people.”
There’s a hint of stress at the word unkind. Yes, they are very unkind people. So notoriously known to be unfair and meddlesome and tight-lipped; they could be listening in to his proposition and know it was him and his doing before Jeongin could ever take account of that prospect.
But he has and he knows. He’s considered that much, atleast.
Jeongin can only hesitantly agree.
He’s aware of the unorthodox methods they’ve used to keep unwanted information from slipping into the ears of the general public.
On a completely separate occasion, several years prior to Jeongin joining the special operations team’s, an instructor of his had vanished a couple of weeks before the term could reach the end. A peer of his at the time, a renowned gossiper, had theorized their instructor’s impromptu departure as the result of an argument he had overheard between her and the Priest. She had expressed plans for the future, ones that hadn’t included the church. Plans which implied she wanted out, but had seen enough for the clergymen to consider her too knowledgeable of the affairs that ran behind those Narthrex doors.
Jeongin doesn’t have much memories left of the time spent inside her classroom, but he knew how much she loved her job, adored the children, and devoted most of her time toward their education. There was no way he believed she would just abandon them like that. Not unless she was given a reason to. Not if she was forced out before she could leave peacefully.
A reassuring response almost makes it past the tip of his tongue until a vibration of noise beams from his back pocket.
“I have to take this call,” he raises a finger to Seungmin as he reads the caller ID and swiftly exits the room. “Give me one minute.”
When Jeongin makes it to the hallway, debating whether to even engage, he finally comes around to accepting the call. He brushes over his screen, a hushed voice speaks uneasily from the other line.
“Where are you?”
“I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment,”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to get down here immediately. ”
“I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait—”
“Minho wishes to speak with you.”
Then Jeongin can feel his chest grow tight, the air in his lungs becoming unbearably heavy. His teeth grind against one another. It’s the first time Minho has summoned him in over 6 months, but he knows it can’t be anything well.
“He’s asked me to come collect you, so wherever you are I’d leave very soon before things get worse.”
There’s a pause. The line goes quiet. He should hang up. Show enough gratitude to take the advice that’s being fed to him, but Jeongin digresses anyway.
“Has he spoken to you?”
“Yes and he’s very upset. He noticed your absence and wants answers. ”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I was as vague as you were when you took off.”
So there’s still a chance to turn the situation in his favor. He’ll definitely use that as leverage.
“Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Wait for me at the doors.”
“I’ll be here.”
And then the line goes dead.
Jeongin feels the kink in his neck grow sore. The adrenaline in his body gradually wears off. God, it fucking sucked.
Reentering the room, Seungmin has already gathered his belongings. Seemingly perusing through a folder of files in his hands when he senses the return of Jeongin’s dreary presence.
“Leaving so soon?”
Jeongin grabs the bag he previously casted aside on a nearby counter by its strap, zips his jacket up to the collar, and sends him a nod .
“Something came up, so I have to go.”
Seungmin hums at that, understanding his attendance is demanded elsewhere. “I’ll start early tomorrow. When I’m finished, I’ll notify you and send over a few documents to discuss. Then we can go from there.”
“Sounds good,” and Jeongin is almost certain that maybe he’ll actually make progress this time. “Are you gonna stay here?”
“Just a little longer,” Seungmin clarifies as he turns to look at the covered corpse. “There’s some things I saw earlier that I want to inspect a bit more closely before I head out.”
Nodding, Jeongin makes his way toward the red illuminated light that reads ‘exit’. His joints instinctively cramp as he grabs the facility’s door by the cold steel handle. He pauses, speaking clearly one final time.
“Seungmin,” he says. “I mean it when I say absolutely no one can know about this. This is something that strictly stays between you and I. I’m a pretty decent person but if you tell anyone, I will have to get rid of you.”
A projected light-hearted laugh erupts from the other side of the room. It disappears as quickly as it started. “And here I thought you were beginning to warm up to me,”
“You have my word.” Seungmin assures as he motions towards the door. “Go.”
“Thank you,” is all that Jeongin replies with as he opens the door and breathes the cold air that penetrates his skin.
Daybreak litters the sky in orange hues. The early birds soar together, creating a choir of chirping and the flapping of their wings until they settle onto nearby trees with the slightest rustling.
Jeongin recognizes how indifferent they are to the extreme temperature. They should have migrated south by now, but they’re still — well, here. He finds it a bit peculiar. Almost as peculiar when they suddenly fly away all at once seconds later, seemingly disturbed. Except one. It hangs by the thinnest branch of a pine tree, eyeballing him without flinching at the other bird's flight.
He figures it must be something of their routine, or something they’ve yet to figure out as the winter continues.
Dumb bird. If it hasn’t figured it out by now, Jeongin assumes it won’t make it past the impending cold front forecasted in the next few days.
He stills. Then he stares only until he’s lost interest. Jeongin resumes his walk toward his car.
The lifespan of a bird is short, anyway. If it refuses to die from the extreme weather then it’ll most certainly be devoured by some other local predator born to feed from its innate naïvety. Its death is inevitable, Jeongin reassures himself as he takes one last look before starting the ignition. It’s a persistent cycle of sorts and like always, life will find a way and continue on, unaffected by those who cannot keep up.
Jeongin is cognizant of what’s coming the moment he ushers so much as the tip of his nose into the building. He shuts the door, listening to the reverberation travel north till it reaches the ceiling’s crevices. His eyes scan the cross that sits above the altar, then to the cathedral stained glass windows. The sound waves finally fade. Everything is dull again. Quiet, almost. Not entirely. Jeongin feels a spike in his limbs and the hair on his nape springs to life. An instinctive flare that screams at him to move.
By a mere millisecond, he manages to evade a pair of small, yet firm hands attempting to seize him by the arm but Jeongin is quicker. He hauls the perpetrator by the trunk of their body, making sure to shift their weight onto his back. He hurls them forward, over his shoulder, and onto the ground with a slam. A resounding echo filling the room as a result.
“What the hell, man.” He groans, rolling over to clutch his side. He huffs. “What d’you do that for?”
“Felix ?” Jeongin says, brows furrowed. A pant perched on his lips. “Fuck, are you d— are you alright?”
“Language,” Felix hisses. His face contorts into an expected grimace. “I think you might’ve broken one of my ribs.”
Jeongin sucks in a sharp breath of air and extends his hand out for the other to take. “Can you stand?”
“Barely,”
With Jeongin’s assistance he’s off the floor in seconds. The older staggers a bit, regaining the previously lost equilibrium from his core as he huffs again. His left hand ghosts over the skin that’ll likely bruise later. Jeongin leans over to inspect it. Reaches out with bent fingers to locate the source of his discomfort until they’re swatted away. Felix looks at him cautiously. As if he’s waiting for Jeongin to explain himself. It’s a subtle expression. Not one most could read right off the bat, but Jeongin knows Felix. Too well to ignore and play oblivious.
The only issue is he’s running off of borrowed time. Minho is expecting him. Is most likely waiting in his office, nostrils flared, face hardened, and tight knuckled as he awaits for Jeongin to drop by with an apology packed on his tongue and some convincing enough excuse to just get by.
Felix beats him to the punch.
“I’ve been saying those super senses of yours are really unfair,” he deplores. Shortly after, he offers Jeongin a smile. “You also look like shit, by the way. Where have you been?”
“Can we talk about this later,” Jeongin cuts in between. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Oh,” he responds, intonation shifting into something akin to disbelief. “So you, just — like, run off whenever you want, disappear for days, and now can’t even answer a simple question?”
Jeongin picks up on the ease that slips through his cracked smile. Fast and loose and conflicting. Felix smiles, but his words have trouble reflecting the affable sentiment veiled across his face. What more he really wants to say flushes down the drain of his parted mouth and through pipes of his throat without any further thought. Fast and loose and conflicting and aggressive. Like a passive threat. Tell me. Say it.
He doesn’t intend to give in at first. But now Felix can hardly maintain his composure with the idea that Jeongin really won’t answer anything he’s asked and Jeongin is just barely able to fight off the urge to tell him straight.
The realization must lay heavy on his shoulders Jeongin assumes, because as he’s about to walk away Felix wrings an arm around his stomach, slightly swaying him back.
“C’mon, man, I’m just concerned, is all,” Jeongin wears a grim look. Makes Felix hesitate and retract his touch to calmly say, “I don’t like it when you keep secrets. You get in your head and you shut down. I just want to know if you’ve been okay.”
“Minho has asked to see me.” He says. Direct. Short. Devoid of delay.
The air stills. Felix's eyes expertly sharpen with raised brows as if he’s been told the worst news to date. “Has he now?” It’s less of a question.
“Then, I’ll come with.”
“You can’t.” Jeongin doesn’t want a reminder of previous punishments Felix has taken in his stead. Those including ones neither one of them were responsible for, but took consequences for regardless. “This doesn’t involve you and I don’t want to create a bigger issue if I can avoid it.”
Felix loosens up around him. “Then I won’t speak for you. I’ll just be there to mediate the situation—”
“There’s no need. I’m pretty sure Changbin was called in too.”
His brow quirks up as if Jeongin’s possibly said anything worth considering humorous. “Well then, I guess that means there should be no problem having me as your plus one then, huh?”
He laughs.
Jeongin’s stubborn, sure, but Felix is hardly one to take no for an answer. And Jeongin does find it somewhat endearing: the lengths his friend would go to ensure he’s not caught in the crossfire. Despite his best attempts, however, Jeongin knows he’s in for an earshot, but he supposes it’ll be more bearable with Felix by his side. Knows Minho won’t be too consumed by his anger with onlookers around.
What if it’s nothing at all. What if what Minho wants is to speak about his yearly training evaluation? Discuss potential candidates for an upcoming second team? He’s definitely overheard Changbin and fellow co-workers speak about it over breakfast a while back. Jeongin toys with the slim possibility that what he’ll be met with will be of no importance at all. That his attendance is just as meaningless as any other monthly meeting they have without their team lead looming over them attentively. Quietly patching up the holes in their plans at the end of every week when they speak of recent cases of missing persons later found dead, dried, and butchered.
Butchered.
Dread sets into Jeongin’s aching muscles when he recalls the mangled victim from earlier. He falters. Juts out of place as he grows slightly fainter. Felix is already one step ahead, steadily at his side to assist him before his legs can fully give out on him.
“I don’t need your help.” Jeongin grumbles when Felix latches a hand on his forearm and presses the other onto his lower back for support.
Felix's look of disapproval re-emerges with slanted eyes. “Bullshit,” he says as they make their way painfully slow down the corridor, not letting up in his grip. “You need me for everything it seems, Cupcake. Can't even walk straight, are you kidding?”
Jeongin doesn’t reply. Only caters a side glare of judgment. That makes the other avert his eyes elsewhere.
The older shifts around a bit. “In all seriousness though, I advise you to get some sleep after this. Whatever you’ve been doing, your body is clearly ready to crash.”
Jeongin shakes his head. “You know I won’t do that. I can’t .”
“You can try,” Felix insists, voice dipping to sound less assertive and more benign. “Maybe it’ll be different this time.”
“It won’t. ”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Jeongin grits through the sharp ridges of his two front teeth, primal and ready to jump. “You don’t understand what it’s like. It’s an endless fucking loop and it’s almost always the same.”
Sure, there’s no reason to get so worked up about it, but if Jeongin has learned anything from his last twenty-one years of living is that he can recognize his own corporeal needs better than anyone else. “I just can’t, okay? I can’t—”
“Alright, alright,” Felix says, waving the white flag and yielding without probing any deeper. “Don’t force yourself to sleep, got it, but at least set aside some time to rest.”
Jeongin accepts the suggestion as some form of a middle ground.
He could lie down for days and that would likely calm the pervasive raw pain nipping away at his muscle tissue. There’s no arguing with that. So when they stop at the last door of the hall, Jeongin has a cooperative reply sheltered around his tongue as he darts it open to speak. To agree.
Almost as if on cue, the door is swung open. The small opening reveals a bulky shape of a man who he smiles upon making eye contact. The corner of Jeongin’s lips softly rises as he acknowledges him with a slight nod of his head.
Felix enters the room first. Caution following his footsteps and all of that other shit he does when he gets nervous. Like tapping his two fingers together in hopes that time will pass faster. As if he’s the one under persecution right now. It’s shortly after, when the room is quiet, that he’s beckoned over to the side, now leaving Jeongin alone at the center to fend for himself.
It shouldn’t surprise Jeongin when he finally rests his eyes towards the body of a man hunched over his desk writing away at what looks to be a newspaper article that reads:
Humanity Losing Its Grip: FOURTH VICTIM CLAIMED UNDER ONE WEEK!
_____________________________________________
Local police continue to investigate the reports of remaining mis…
News spreads fast, but bad news gets the heads of high standing people turning. High standing people like the ones above Jeongin and Minho alike. Way higher. Way too powerful. Jeongin knows it’s coming. The scolding of his life. An interrogation intricately staged to catch him in his web of lies. Jeongin knows this because it’s Lee Minho Jr., Team Lead of the Demon Hunting Special Operations Unit.
Lee Minho Jr., who has yet to address him as if he were a part of the room and not a man standing before him awaiting some formal response.
By intuition or a lucky guess, the Team Lead fixes his fingers to turn the page. Without looking up, he says, “Take a seat, Changbin. Felix.” Then he returns to annotating.
Jeongin watches as they oblige immediately. Thinks it’s fucking absurd how careful their movements are as they sit quietly, refraining from making any loud noises with the chair legs. Felix clutches the armchair, physically uneased. Contrastingly enough, Changbin remains more rested than alert. Whether it’s because he’s privy on what Minho will say or because he has way too firm of a faith invested in Jeongin to not somehow fuck this up for them all, Jeongin is unsure.
So for the following thirteen minutes that pass, Jeongin situates his weight from one leg to another. Rotating every two minutes until the burn of his thighs and back creep up against him. It’s at that moment that Jeongin clears his throat. Tries to signal to Minho to drop the hostility and get on with what he’s been wanting to hear out of Jeongin.
Neither of those options ever bloom into fruition. He ignores him, and Jeongin sees what he’s doing.
He’s followed orders, dropping everything just to stand with the two knees that nearly buckled five minutes ago.
Jeongin looks at Felix, gives him a wry smile without the crinkling of his eyes. Of course, Felix doesn’t reciprocate this because he understands how Jeongin intends to approach this now. He avidly shakes his head, signals a clear-as-day no. Repeatedly mouthing the words as Jeongin glances back to Minho, who may have heard the fidgety sounds of Felix, but is still outwardly engrossed in his reading.
That’s alright. Jeongin can play that game, too.
Minho is the temperamental type. He’s a lot of things, actually, but Jeongin will settle with just that for now.
On good days he’s stoic, sometimes cracks a hidden smile between the seconds that make up one whole minute. It’s fleeting. Almost as if it never even happened.
On worse days Minho is silent. Those who are unaware misinterpret it for peace. Say it’s the classic quiet that comes with anger. The big deal, however, is you don’t really know where he’s gone off to, but pretty much get the idea that he’s near and is more than likely watching. Waiting, watching, wondering. Then Jeongin can’t spend his day as leisurely as he’d like without considering the event in which Minho will resurface when he least expects it. Ready to assign him tasks that will power strike him with daunt.
Everything else in between are stern remarks that are either passively kept to a minimum or outwardly projected into a purposeful yell. There’s hardly ever a mix of both.
Somewhere in between the unsettling gaze Jeongin feels pierce his entire being and the pressure that is building up in his calves, the older finally puts the newspaper down.
“So you gonna tell me?” He’s starts. A face that bears frisked eyes and a straight line of lips. “About the little adventure you’ve gone on.” He clarifies. Jeongin knows he’s fuming on the inside. Can tell so easily-so when he doesn’t blink. Not even when the overhead lights beam down on him.
Jeongin nonchalantly cocks his head to the side. Sports a look of pseudo-confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Oh I think you do, Yang. Your excursion lasted for three days, two nights. I’m more than positive you have some memory of what I’m referring to, don’t you?” Minho points out.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
Minho slams a palm against the littered articles sprawled over his desktop and rises to his feet, curling over the dark oak and planting both of his hands at the refined carved edges.
Jeongin watches as Felix jolts in his seat through his peripherals. Sees Changbin begin to straighten his posture.
“Yes you do.” He answers with a nod. Venom trickled into his voice. Then he raises a finger, pointing in the direction to the center of Jeongin’s chest. “You do. Let’s not beat around the bush, alright? We don’t have all day.”
Jeongin stands completely unfazed, shoulders slackening as if he'd rather be anywhere else.
“I went out,” he admits with a shrug. “Was feeling a little suffocated so I bailed. Is that what you want to hear?”
Bad choice. A very bad choice to play dumb, because now Minho will more than likely — no, definitely — have him kicked out. Meaning the previous three days would have meant nothing if he no longer had the privilege to leave the grounds under the guise of a hunter.
Minho lets out a dry laugh. “Okay.”
And then he lowers his head, delving closer to the surface of his desk with an aggravated huff. Once he’s stood there for a few seconds, he makes his way toward the front, adjusting his back to normal and resting against the edge.
“Where’s the body, Jeongin?”
“What body, si—”
“Cut the shit, I know it was you who took it.”
“But, sir , I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So it magically disappeared? Coincidentally when you left without notifying anyone. Do you really think I’m a fucking dumbass?”
He licks his lips wanting to speak, but Felix suddenly springs forward, up and out of his seat before Jeongin can utter another response. Maybe that was for the best.
“He’s telling the truth, he spent the weekend over at my parents.”
Minho stops to stare at Felix earnestly. Anger visibly scatters away from his face. His attention refocusing on what the younger confession.
Probably an important fact he forgot to mention; Minho, albeit the absolute pain in the ass for Jeongin, is actually relatively not-so-much-of-a-pain-in-the-ass for Felix. He’s fond of him, is all. Not in, like, a weird way or anything. No, of course not. It isn’t like that. At least, to Jeongin , it wasn’t.
It’s more that he trusts his word. Has gained respect for the younger through his hard work and dedication as a hunter. It’s also worth noting that Felix’s parents are long-time loyal members of the church. Attending and providing their services since Felix was practically developing in the womb. Shit is freakish if you asked Jeongin.
“Why?” Minho asks.
Felix stares at Jeongin with helplessness painted over features and
Jeongin stares at him back. Partially confused, partially interested in what he has to say.
“Jeongin has had a slew of night terrors for the last few weeks,” he pauses. “I thought it might be good for him to get off the church grounds and stay in the city with my parents for a couple of days.” Felix explains.
Nothing is said after that. No automatic accusation of lying. No laugh to indicate that what Felix has said is too far fetched from reality, because it’s not.
Truthfully, the night terrors have returned. Terrible nightmares he’s had since he was a kid at the church’s orphanage. They come and go in phases. The hard part is nailing down a consistent pattern, because — well, because there wasn’t a pattern to discern.
He’d feel fine for months and then they would appear again. He’d go through periods of stress and they’d be there, unrelenting as ever. Then ultimately halting altogether.
There was that one time he had gone as far as a little over a year without getting any, but they eventually came back. More intense than the previous times. More violent and surreal. Jeongin doesn’t really enjoy revisiting those times. Especially after it led him to a state of psychosis for a couple of nights.
Minho crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowing.
“Listen, I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Minho. He seriously hasn’t been doing too well,” he starts. “He’s got nightmares. Wakes up in cold sweat, whimpering incoherent things like ‘get it out of me, it’s inside me, get it out’ as he lays there and cries until I can calm him down.”
The expression Minho makes is subtle. The kind where you blink and you might miss it. But Jeongin doesn’t. He catches the way his dark eyes squint. Face fixed into a pensive look. Then it was gone. The force keeping his eyebrows creased, gone. As if a sudden realization had dawned on him.
Jeongin thinks that’s worth remembering as he’ll certainly bring it up to Felix later.
The floorboards beneath his feet creak as Felix moves a foot closer to Minho. “I was only trying to help him. If anyone deserves to be punished, it’s me.”
For a minute, Jeongin is almost entirely sure Minho won’t buy into it and he goes a few minutes longer without saying anything, until audibly swallows.
“Is this true?” Minho directly asks him.
They’re close. So close it feels false.
“Go ahead and punish me.” Jeongin answers instead.
Felix snaps his head at him. “What are you doing,” he says, teeth clenched, voice mushed together from his aimed efforts of being discreet.
“That’s alright,” Then Jeongin smiles at him. This time with crinkled eyes and dimple-imprinted. “I don’t want you taking the blame for me.”
Then he takes in a deep breath of uncertainty. Playing the part up as best as he can.
“It’s true, I left the grounds without permission hoping I could get away from everything. The night terrors, the migraines, the nausea.” He says to Minho. “I know that was my mistake and I want to apologize. So if you want to kick me out, I understand.”
If it weren’t for the overall hostile environment in the room keeping Jeongin vigilant, he’d probably gag at the pitiful display he’s shown today. In front of none other Team Leader Lee Minho Jr. of all people.
“Minho, go easy on the kid, alright. I mean — look at him. He looks sickly, man,” Changbin rises from his chair. Careful when motioning over to Jeongin’s body as if the physical aspect of himself is far worse off than the disgusting pounding currently drilling his brain into two diverged hemispheres. “No offense, kid.”
Jeongin waves it off as a misdemeanor in his books. “It’s…fucking whatever.” He tiredly mumbles beneath his breath as he scratches the back of his neck. All airy, hardly any vibration generated to be heard.
“Alright, fine. You’ll do two weeks of clean up duty after our sessions of training and I don’t want to hear another complaint about you, okay?”
Jeongin nods along, the better part of his consciousness telling him to bitch and moan about his newfound chores in private.
Changbin has a grin plastered across his face as he approaches Minho with folded arms. “Admit it,” and Minho’s eye twitches amusedly, the tiniest inkling of what Changbin’s getting at. “You care about the kid. You do have a heart, Jr..”
“Get out, all of you.” He says, resigning himself back into his desk chair. Minho runs his hands through his face. “Except you, Yang. I have something I’d like to say to you privately.”
A groan gets lumped along his trachea walls, not making it past his uvula as it dies there. Unheard, unmade. Jeongin hears Felix say something along the lines of deny, deny, deny, but it’s mostly a blur as he’s pulled away by Changbin and tethered into the hallway.
When it’s just the two of them: Jeongin and Minho, things are eerily quiet. Static, almost.
A shiver wracks up his spine.
“I’m not gonna ask any further questions about the body. The truth usually reveals itself sooner or later. And to be honest, I don’t particularly believe you’re telling me the whole truth.” Minho says, hands weaving together across his stomach.
The lines of his mouth are embellished with austerity. “But I mean it, you misstep one more time and you’re done. I’m stripping you of your place here with the special operation’s unit and you’ll return to the ministry and they can decide where to place you as they see best. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” He replies. Insincere.“Can I leave now?”
And Minho eyes him for a little longer before giving him the green light. “You may.”
Jeongin makes a beeline toward the door. His hands are a bit shaky. Maybe out of hunger, maybe due to the lack of sleep. Whichever reason it is, he fiddles with the doorknob until he can steady his fingers to pry it open.
“I’m not Chan, Jeongin.” Minho suddenly says as he’s almost past the door’s threshold. “I’m aware of the soft spot he’s had for you all these years, but I will have you dismissed if this happens again.”
He sighs.
“He’s moved on, it’s time you start too. You follow my orders now. No more exceptions.”
Jeongin visibly stiffens. The air feels a little heavier to breathe now. Like a hand squeezing around his neck. Like his lungs have burst and now only remain as deflated balloons. His chest tightens. An uncomfortable sense of undoing spaces throughout his body, unfamiliar and incessant.
Without the obvious detail on display, Jeongin is aware that he’s dreaming.
That he’s an eight-year old boy again, in a room with a whiteboard that scribbles March 2009, ECT, fitted in a blue dress that the nurses provided for him because “beautiful boys can wear beautiful dresses too.” They had said.
A tactic they use to comfort him.
Jeongin knows this part all too well.
The nervous pace of his heart gradually increases. A woman in a white coat that approaches him with a hideously broad smile as she reassures him, “It’ll be over before you know it.”
And it’s bullshit. A complete dogshit of a thing to say. Jeongin knows he’s powerless in this situation. How he struggles against the leather straps that create a centimeter of a burn on his wilted skin. It’s counterproductive , unlike the help he’s receiving. He heard one of the nurses say that once.
“You’ll only feel a pinch, my boy.” Says another. Male this time with a needle nestled between his two fingers and a thumb rested on the plunger he’ll press down on.
He injects Jeongin with a clear substance, who releases a cry of pain in return. Tears gently flowing down his flushed cheeks.
Jeongin’s an eight-year old boy again. In his eight-year old body, frightened and equally distressed. He keeps a closed eye as the wide mouth woman reels him in a bit closer, listens as the wide mouth woman speaks to him. Tell him, “It’ll only hurt more if you resist, hon.”
And Jeongin doesn’t accept those words as comfort. Rather, he spits at her — crying still, sure — but lands an offensive enough amount on her face to drop her uncanny smile. She steps aside, a frown present as she leaves the room and enters the next behind a glass window.
The beeping of a monitor manages to tear his eyes away from the woman, centering them into the male nurse who reaches over for white squared patches.
“This goes here,” he announces, placing one of the wired square stickers onto the left side of his forehead. “And this one goes here.” The remaining square sticker is stuck on the right.
Jeongin grows tired. Drowsy, feels his body grow increasingly limp and lax.
“Looks like the anesthesia’s kicking in, buddy.” The male nurse says with a chuckle. This time Jeongin believes he’s asked something, but can’t recall as he passively hears him say, “…sends electrical currents… strong brain… we call stimulation… and you’ll feel… IV… be knocked out… need… scared,”
Then, before Jeongin’s eyes fall shut, he watches over the wide mouth lady through the glass window. Her back turned as she speaks with someone — a male wearing a similar white coat.
His face is difficult to make out, too blurry for Jeongin to discern.
But Jeongin finds it a bit odd, in his little blue dress, with his twenty-one year old consciousness tucked inside his eight year old body, that in this dream the man that speaks with a bright row of teeth holds an IPad near his chest. Unwavered until a nurse calls out for him and Jeongin is near to identifying the man’s face until he blinks and darkness overtakes him.
This is the second night in the row that he does this.
Wakes up with a warm sticky body, blood rapidly pulsing in his ears, and a wave of nausea pushing up his guts, crawling up his throat, like a parasite raving to have control inside of him. Nothing’s inside. Nothing’s inside. Nothing’s insid—
He speaks too soon. Something is definitely inside of him. Inside of Jeongin. When he vomits light brown chunks. Pasta from last night’s dinner and washes down the acidic aftertaste from the sink tap in his dimly lit bathroom.
He takes a look at the mirror, inspects how sunken his face is. Hollow. Barren. Similar to his scapula and spine. Bones that protrude unhealthily. The pale complexion of his skin looks ghostly. Like a specter. Like a phantom. It’s sickly enough to send a chill that crawls within the crevices of his vertebrae. Jeongin scratches at his arms. Then at his legs. Tears at his skin as if that’ll help return to his original color. The collected dead skin tissue and dried blood beneath his fingernails clump together and Jeongin almost throws up whatever may be left inside.
Something is there. At the corner of the mirror reflection until it’s not.
Something is there. Something uninvited and malicious that has managed to instill itself inside of him. Cling to him like a second skin.
Something is there, inside of Jeongin. Wanting. Possessing.