#ourhankang

Panic surged through him when he saw Baku’s limbs crumple beneath him, sending the boy’s body crashing into a puddle of sodden leaves and muck. Sieun was instantly at his side, mind racing a million miles a minute, theories forming, and questions raised. He had only arrived seconds before, having missed what led to the scene laid out before him. All he knew was that whoever was responsible for Baku’s injuries was no longer present unless they were hiding in wait, lurking in shadows like dark omens ready to strike them both down in one fell swoop.

They could try; it wouldn’t stop Sieun from helping Baku.

“Can you stand?” He asked, his hand coming to rest upon his friend’s back, to help him rise to his feet. Blood speckled the rain-stained ground, and Sieun tried to figure out its source. Nose? Mouth? Head? Eyebrows were drawn together, concern etched into the tired lines of his face, a far cry from the apathetic expression he usually wore.

He managed to get Baku up, navigating the bigger frame to slump over his shoulders as he did his best to support the added weight. A clearer look at the other’s face gave Sieun the answer he’d been searching for — the blood was spilling from his nose and mouth. Baku also sported a bruised cheek, swollen eye, and a minor cut along his chin.

“Stay awake…” Not only because it would help if he was possibly concussed, but it would assist Sieun in transporting him to— where? Where would he take him? The hospital was too far unless he managed to flag down a taxi, which was unlikely given the weather; all of them were no doubt occupied by students desperately trying to escape the downpour.

Sieun made his decision.

“Come on... one step at a time.” As they began their journey — towards Sieun’s home — he kept on the lookout, scanning their surroundings for any sign of trouble. If they were attacked in this condition, it would be one hell of a bad time. Sieun gritted his teeth behind closed lips, chest rising and falling with the effort of half carrying, half dragging Baku. However, doing this, helping his friend get to safety, wasn’t an act he viewed as a burden. It was now second nature, and leaving Baku out here hadn’t ever been an option that crossed his mind.

A jerk of his head took him out of range of the teasing finger that attempted to brush along the cut healing on his cheek. Jaw set and lips downturned in a way that was more natural to Yeon Sieun than smiling, he studied the other before him. Of all the people he’d faced so far, Seongje was the most unpredictable. One minute he was laughing, joking, and acting buddy-buddy, and then the next he was lunging for the throat while a fist connected with bone.

“Where do you think?” It was like the words, spoken in that usual quiet tone, were being forced from his mouth. Like it was a chore to respond to what seemed like such a simple question. Yet, Sieun knew the other’s game. He knew how much glee Seongje would feel if Sieun admitted that the injury on his cheek was from his own hand. It was a mark, a branding, on his flesh that showed how much damage had been done. There hadn’t been a victory for either side, the fight only ending when the two of them simultaneously ran out of steam, but Sieun would prefer if they didn’t have a "rematch" so soon. Or ever, but he knew that was wishful thinking.

“You didn’t call me here to make small talk." So why am I here? That was the question that didn't make it past his lips.

The others didn’t know he was meeting with Seongje, and Sieun knew that this could be a trap. He knew that he should have told them so that they might serve as backup if the situation got out of hand. However, there was one main reason that stopped him: if they weren’t here, they wouldn't get hurt. Even as he thought it, Sieun could count all of the holes in his logic. That same mindset of keeping things to himself, fighting alone… that was the reason Suho was now in a coma. Sieun knew he should change his ways and let people break through the strong fortress he’d built around his heart, but it was difficult when his guilt kept chastising him. It told him that if he let anyone in, let friendships form, he’d only lose them in the end. And it would be all his fault.

He was here without a weapon. What use was his go-to pen technique when Seongje had stopped it before? No, fighting Seongje had to be done off the cuff, matching that unpredictability with his own. Of course, if he could get through whatever this meeting was without resorting to bleeding knuckles and snarling teeth, then it would be a rare win in this never-ending cycle of violence.