Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ride to the house has been terribly long. Although, calling this place simply a house is a bit of an understatement. It’s easily one of the largest mansions Wooyoung has ever seen. It’s resplendent if a bit odd looking. A contradiction, he knows, but he can think of no other way to describe it. Americans, he scoffs to himself. Always needing to show off. And being weird while they’re at it. Okay, so he’s a bit annoyed that he and the others had to cut short their precious time off to come to the middle of nowhere in New York for a party thrown by an unknown host, sue him. Truthfully, maybe more than a bit annoyed. Even more truthfully, he’s kind of pissed. If you ask him, this seems like a bad idea. Haven’t the higher-ups at KQ ever seen a horror movie? You never go to a house party where you don’t know who the host is. And what kind of weirdo throws a party on October 7th? What kind of occasion necessitates a party at the beginning of October? It’s too early for a Halloween party, plus they were told that this was a casual affair. Come as you are, doused in mud, soaked in bleach, the whole shebang. But, sadly, no one asked him what he thought about all this.

There’s a pit starting to form in his stomach but then he recalls what San told him in the car a couple hours ago. It’ll be fine Wooyoung… It’s just a party. He hates when San is right, which is, unfortunately, often. It’s annoying having a best friend as smart as Choi San, but it’s a mantle he’ll gladly carry. Or having a best friend as funny. A best friend as caring. A best friend as handsome… He needs to abandon the “complimenting San” ship otherwise he’ll be on it all night. Not that that would be a bad thing necessarily, but he's at a party. He needs to focus. It is just a party, he thinks to himself. It’s just a party.

The eight of them are unsure if they’re the only guests invited or if anyone else will be there, too. Frankly, they know very little about this party other than when and where it is. Yet another thing Wooyoung finds odd. However, for a sociable optimist like Wooyoung, he’s not terribly worried. About finding means of having fun at a party for a couple hours, that is. He’ll find somebody to chat up and some way to have a fun time. If there are no other guests, he’ll just find some way to entertain himself. Maybe he’ll annoy Hongjoong by kicking him under the table or try to get a rise out of Yeosang through shameless flirtation. His mind is quickly filling with ideas on how to be a menace. Okay, maybe this party will be fun after all… He and the others step out of the cars that brought them from the city to what Wooyoung refers to as the-middle-of-absolute-fucking-nowhere. The cars quickly drive off, which Wooyoung again finds a bit odd, adding to the seemingly endless list.

But back to the mansion. He’s always hated displays of grandeur like this. He is of the mind that no one needs a house this large. What do you even do with it? The electricity bill must be insane, not to mention all the hassle of trying to keep the inside clean and the grounds kept. Seonghwa would have a cow trying to keep this mansion tidy. He wonders how many people it takes to maintain a mansion like this. Surely more than a few. Five? Ten? He isn’t sure. Anyway, he thinks the owner of the mansion is a fool. All this expense and for what? A silly status symbol in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York? Nothing against upstate New York, of course! The drive here was stunning. He just thinks it a bit strange to have a house so ostentatious in the boonies.

The mansion is certainly beautiful, but also… weird. He’s no architectural history expert, but he knows that this design style is quite old, yet the house looks like it was built yesterday. Everything gleams a little too brightly and the exterior is free from any visible signs of wear and tear. It’s… disconcerting. It almost doesn’t look real, like if he turns away, it’ll disappear, only to rematerialize when he looks back. He shakes away that thought and realizes that he’s probably been reading too many of those urban fantasy novels Yeosang recommended to him. They’re messing with his head.

It’s just a house, he tells himself. A weird house, yes, but just a house. Sure, he finds it odd that the presumably multimillionaire owner would want to construct a house that looks so dated and so artificial, but who is he to judge anyone’s taste in houses? He doesn’t even have one. He’ll just chalk it up to “cultural differences.” He may never understand American home design trends and that’s okay.

Although if he had the kind of money it would take to own a house like this, he would certainly do a better job designing it. He’s thinking something cozy, but not so small that it’s uncomfortable. A nice, medium-sized house. There would be a sizeable kitchen with plenty of counter space and top-notch appliances so he can cook to his heart’s content. While he likes the way “Why, yes, these are marble countertops” sounds in his head, he knows that granite is much more durable, so he would have granite countertops. He’d have an island in the middle with comfortable, yet stylish chairs along the side so friends and family can keep him company while he’s in there. The kitchen would be as bright and inviting as the rest of the house, with swathes of natural light pouring in from windows with cute gingham valances. Or are swags what he’s thinking of? Cornices? He really needs to pay more attention when Seonghwa watches HGTV…

He's broken out of his reverie by Jongho lightly elbowing him in the side.
“Are you okay?” Jongho asks.
It takes Wooyoung a second to reply, still a bit lost in his kitchen design fantasy. He blinks and sees Jongho staring at him, eyebrows raised.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were okay.”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah, just thinking,” Wooyoung replies, shaking his head to clear it out.
“Well, knock it off. You look weird. What were you even thinking about?”
“Hmm… what I’m going to have you call me when I marry your mom,” he says, idly tapping his index finger against his lips.
“Ugh! Gross,” Jongho retches.
“Okay… what I’m going to have you call me when I marry your dad? Is that better? I didn’t think you of all people would be heterophobic, Jongho. Who raised you? I thought we taught you better than to discriminate against people for things they can’t control,” he jokingly admonishes.
Jongho simply rolls his eyes at this response.
“Or is it that you think I would make a poor stepdad?” Wooyoung asks, clutching his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, Jongho. I would make an excellent stepfather! I’m not the stepdad, I’m the dad who stepped-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, stepdad of the year, break it up you two,” Hongjoong mutters as he slides between them. Hongjoong continues forward a few steps, then turns around to face the group, holding up a hand to signal to them to stop.
“I don’t think I have to tell you all to behave, but I’m going to anyway. Behave. I know that none of us really wants to be here, but we are here, and we need to make the best of it. Just…” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make asses out of yourselves and don’t embarrass me and then we can go home. Sound good?” he asks.
Mingi straightens up and lifts his right hand in a salute.
“Aye aye, captain!”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes and turns back around to walk away before he says something he’ll regret. Wooyoung knows how to recognize Hongjoong’s tells. You don’t just spend nearly every waking moment with someone for a third of your life and not pick up a thing or two. That and Hongjoong is incredibly easy to read.

The group continues walking up the long driveway. It’s been quite the trek from where the cars dropped them off to where they are now, and farther still to the front door. Wooyoung guesses it’s good for keeping out robbers. He certainly wouldn’t want to have to creep all this way on his tiptoes with a bag slung over his shoulder to break into the house. But then, why would robbers even be out here? Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s ever been further removed from civilization. Or maybe it’s to keep Girl Scouts from bothering them. He doesn’t think he’d be able to resist buying ten boxes of Thin Mints from an eight-year-old at his door… Ah, who knows? Rich people are weird.

San leans over to whisper in Wooyoung’s ear.
“Doesn’t this look just like the hotel from The Devil in Me? But, like… nicer?”
Wooyoung tries to recall what The Devil in Me is and then remembers it’s a game he watched San play fairly recently. He thinks about it for a second, trying to conjure an image of that hotel in his mind’s eye. Huh…this house does look exactly like the hotel from that game.
“You’re right. That’s really weird. Maybe the game developers saw this house and used it as inspiration? Or…That game came out, what? A year ago? Maybe the owner really liked the game then expedited a complete reproduction? Can you even build houses this big that fast?”
“I don’t know, Woo. Maybe? To the first part. And… why would I know how fast you can build a house?” He asks. “Either way, it’s just weird. Gives me the creeps.”
“Aww… is our big strong Sannie scared of a video game house?” Wooyoung coos.
San snorts. “Says the guy who begged to spend the night after watching me play because he was too freaked out to go home.”
Wooyoung slaps San’s arm and says, “I wasn’t scared! I asked to stay the night because I knew you were scared and would want me there!”
“Whatever you say, Wooyoung,” San chuckles and walks away to tell Yunho something.

Truth be told, Wooyoung was scared of The Devil in Me. Who wouldn’t be? Getting lured to a creepy hotel in the middle of a lake under false pretenses only to be stalked by a crazed serial killer trying to replicate America’s first serial killer? That’s horrifying! If this weren’t real life and not a story or a video game, Wooyoung would be freaked out about the bizarre coincidence of the identical houses/hotels. Luckily for him, the real world is a lot more boring than video games and life is full of coincidences. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. The shiver that courses through his body is just because it’s cold. No other reason.

San has been on one hell of a horror kick lately. Video games, movies, shows, you name it, San’s played or watched it. He used to be such a weenie, but Wooyoung guesses that entering his mid-20s has made San braver. He wonders if the same will happen to him next month. It doesn’t seem to have happened for Mingi, though. Regardless, as any good best friend should, Wooyoung shares in San’s newfound interest. He always felt bad when none of his friends showed any interest in what he liked when he was younger, so he tries his best to show enthusiasm and interest in anything his friends like. Even if said thing isn’t exactly for him.

Is Wooyoung terrified every time San tells him he found a new movie for them to watch or a new video game for him to play and Wooyoung to watch? Of course! But Wooyoung is a big boy, he can swallow down his trepidation, sit on the couch, and be scared out of his mind if it means that San gets to have fun and share his excitement with someone else. And if Wooyoung gets to curl up with San when things get a little too tense, well, that’s nobody else’s business.

It’s not like Wooyoung hates the games and the movies. They’re really quite good if you can get over the I’m-gonna-shit-my-pants aspect of them. He really liked… oh which one was it? Silent Hill? The one with the terrible graphics and the pyramid head guy? He thinks it was Silent Hill. He’ll have to ask San later. That one was really good. He also liked Resident Evil 4 and if it was mostly because he has the biggest video game crush on Leon S. Kennedy, that’s between him and God. He definitely didn’t search out Leon S. Kennedy fanfic after watching San play. Nope. Not at all. But he did definitely envy Ashley when she got to jump down into Leon’s jacked arms. He’ll admit that. He thinks that if you don’t envy Ashley for that, you’re either blind or crazy.

While Wooyoung is lost in thought again, they reach the front door of the mansion. Hongjoong knocks on the door, but his knocks make no sound. He tries rapping against the door again, and still, no sound. Mingi snorts and strolls up to the door.
“It’s okay, buddy. Your little body just isn’t strong enough. I’ll take care of it.” He pats Hongjoong on top of the head.
Hongjoong kicks Mingi squarely in the shin and Mingi winces, sucking in air through his teeth.
“Fuck! God, that hurt.”
Hongjoong looks quite pleased with himself as Mingi lifts up his fist to knock on the door. Again, no sound is made when Mingi knocks. Strange. Yeosang notices a doorbell off to the side and walks over to press it. A very obnoxious and very loud bell sound reverberates through the air. Before anyone can react, the door swings open. A young woman, probably around their age, holds open the door and beckons them inside.
“Oh, Ateez! You made it! We were beginning to grow worried that you wouldn’t show up!”

The lights inside are far too bright after having made the trek up to the house in near total darkness. Wooyoung squints and tries blinking away the brightness. He looks over at the woman who opened the door, and he could have sworn her eyes flashed fully black for a second. When he glances at her eyes again, they’re a very normal dark brown. He’s watched too much Supernatural with San lately. She warmly smiles at him; he lightly inclines his head toward her and thanks her. He feels awkward at having briefly thought she had demon eyes. He hopes he won’t see her again.

She begins chattering and Wooyoung is glad that he isn’t the group’s resident English representative. He hopes he can get away with saying as little as possible tonight. He really isn’t in the mood for speaking in another language.
Unfortunately, though, Yunho taps his shoulder and whispers, “Woo, she’s talking to you.”
Well, that’s embarrassing. She probably thinks he’s weird or even worse: rude.
He opens his mouth to apologize but she beats him to it, asking in Korean, “Can I take your jacket?”
That’s unexpected, he thinks. But very welcome. Fingers crossed everyone at the party will speak Korean. Unlikely considering they’re in rural America, but a guy can dream. He nods and takes off his jacket, handing it to her. She adds it to the pile of jackets she has on her arm, and gestures ahead with her other hand.
“All the other guests have already arrived, so you all can go ahead into the drawing room, and I’ll take your jackets to the coat closet and hang them up.” She turns to walk away, and everyone looks to Hongjoong for guidance.
“You heard her, let’s go see everyone else,” he says as he walks toward the drawing room.

As they get closer to the drawing room, they can hear raucous conversation and Wooyoung wonders how they didn’t hear it near the door. Rich people houses must just have crazy acoustics. They enter the sprawling drawing room and Wooyoung realizes after quickly looking around the room that he at least somewhat recognizes everyone here. They’re all members of other idol boy groups. Now he’s really beginning to wonder which rich American K-pop stan brought them all here. He prays that they aren’t a weirdo. If they are, he’s not above hiding in a bathroom until it’s time to go home.

He looks around and sees some members of The Boyz, CIX, Cravity, E’last, Enhypen, P1Harmony, Treasure, and Zerobaseone milling about. This is really weird he thinks for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes. There’s a lot of people here. He shrugs. Sitting around stewing about how weird this party is is no fun and Hongjoong did tell them to make the best of their time here. Never one to be a wallflower, Wooyoung turns to his fellow members and tells them that he’s going to go explore. This place is massive, and he wants to see what he can see. As he weaves through the drawing room, he spies some appetizers on an unmanned tray and grabs one. He takes a bite of it, but he doesn’t like the taste and it kind of burns his tongue, so he spits it back into his hand. He starts to worry about the state of dinner if the appetizers taste this bad.

“Hopefully no one saw that,” he mutters to himself as he walks toward a trash can.
“Ah, too bad. Someone did see that. You’re awfully rude, Jung Wooyoung, spitting out free food in the middle of a party,” a voice says from behind Wooyoung. He knows that voice anywhere.
“Yeonjun, what the fuck is this party?” Wooyoung asks, turning around.
Yeonjun shrugs. “I have no idea. I’m just here.” He points to the tray with the appetizers Wooyoung just spat out. “They really that bad?”
Wooyoung nods. “They’re really gross. I think there’s something wrong with them. I wouldn’t try one.”
“Well, maybe I’ll disagree. Everyone else seems to like them. Maybe you just have bad taste,” Yeonjun says with a wink, grabbing one of the appetizers.
“Your funeral, man. I’ll be right back; I’m going to tell the guys not to eat these. Don’t go anywhere.”
Yeonjun gives a thumbs up and takes a bite of the appetizer.

Wooyoung scans the room trying to find one of his members and spots Seonghwa talking to Juyeon. He feels bad interrupting, but he doesn’t want anyone to eat those damn appetizers. They’re going to fly back to Korea tomorrow and he doesn’t think anyone will want food poisoning on a plane. Seonghwa will thank him later. He signals to Seonghwa to come over to him and Seonghwa excuses himself from his conversation. Ever polite Park Seonghwa.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Hey, sorry about that. This won’t take long. Could you just tell the others not to eat the appetizers on that table by the outside doors?” He points behind him to the table in question. “I took a bite of one and it was… I don’t even know. Bitter? It tastes like there’s something wrong with it and I don’t want anyone getting sick. Yeonjun said that everyone else seems to think they taste good but there’s definitely something wrong with them.”
Seonghwa’s eyes widen, and he quickly nods before setting off to tell anyone he can not to eat those appetizers. Wooyoung makes his way back to Yeonjun.

“Dude, you’re crazy. These appetizers are delicious. I think your taste buds are broken,” Yeonjun says when Wooyoung gets close enough.
Wooyoung snorts. “Okay, dude. But when you’re puking your guts out later because you have food poisoning, you’d better not come crying to me. Because I’m just going to laugh at you and say, ‘I told you so.’”
“Wooyoung, I love you, I really do, but if I get food poisoning, you’re kind of the last person I want to nurse me back to health.”
“Ouch. Let me guess, you want Soobin to nurse you back to health? ‘Oh Soobin, you’re so strong, could you please carry me back to bed? I’m so weak!’ ‘Oh Soobin, you’re so caring, will you please stay with me?’ Soobin, Soobin, Soobin!” Wooyoung says in a sing-song voice.
Yeonjun punches him in the shoulder.
“I do not sound like that.”
“Mmm… you kinda do.”
“Yeah? And what about you?” Yeonjun clasps his hands together and rests them on his cheek, adopting a high-pitched voice, and looks off into the distance. “‘San was so cute today!’ ‘I wish San felt the same way about me’ ‘Choi San, will you please marry me and give me your bab-’’
“OKAY, that’s enough out of you,” Wooyoung exclaims as he clamps a hand over Yeonjun’s mouth.
Yeonjun licks Wooyoung’s palm and Wooyoung quickly pulls away his hand in disgust.
“Ugh! God, you’re such a freak. I don’t even know why I’m friends with you. Where’s the rest of your crew?” He wipes his hand on Yeonjun’s sleeve.
“Because you looooooove me,” Yeonjun drawls, beckoning Wooyoung to follow him and Wooyoung obliges.

Yeonjun leads them out the French doors to the back of the house where there’s a large pool. The outdoor space looks vaguely familiar, but Wooyoung can’t place where he’s seen it before. He sees Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai in the pool along with some others he doesn’t immediately recognize and Soobin sitting on the edge with just his feet in.
“Aren’t you guys cold? Why are you swimming in your clothes?” he calls to the three in the pool.
“The pool’s heated! And we’re just going to change when we’re done,” Taehyun tells him.
“You brought extra clothes? Why?”
Kai tilts his head and furrows his brow at this. “What do you mean? Did you not bring bags with you? Are they not giving you guys rooms for the night? I thought this place was just a mansion, but I think it’s a hotel; it’s huge. There are tons of rooms upstairs.”
Wooyoung hadn’t heard anything about spending the night here. They were all planning on leaving in a few hours. Or at least he thought they were. Maybe he just hadn’t been listening? He knows that he definitely didn’t bring a bag. Hopefully, San did and Wooyoung can filch something out of it.
“Uhhh…no? I don’t think we’re spending the night.”
“I don’t know how you’re gonna get anywhere else. The girl at the front door told us that once everyone arrived, there wouldn’t be any cars to take anyone anywhere until the morning,” Beomgyu says, far too relaxed, Wooyoung thinks, considering the bombshell he’s just dropped.
“Wait wait wait, hold on. So, you’re telling me that we’ve got, what, seventy idols in this house in the middle of fucking nowhere and there’s no way for anyone to leave until the morning?”
“Yeah?” Beomgyu replies.
“What do we do if there’s an emergency?”
“There’s staff here. It’s not like we’re completely alone. Our managers all know where we are and there’s tons of hotel staff. Don’t worry, Wooyoung, everything is going to be just fine!” Taehyun tells him with a smile before swimming off toward Kai.
This does nothing to soothe Wooyoung’s worry, but there’s not much he can do about it right now. Yeonjun got into the pool at some point while Wooyoung was talking to the others, but Wooyoung thinks it’s far too cold for swimming, so he joins Soobin on the pool’s edge.

“Not swimming tonight, Soobin?” Wooyoung asks.
“Nah, not tonight. It’s too crowded.”
Wooyoung counts the people in the pool besides Soobin’s bandmates and there are only three other people. And this is a pretty big pool. He raises an eyebrow.
Soobin sighs. “Okay, just between the two of us, this pool kinda freaks me out. You ever play The Devil in Me?” he asks.
There’s that damn game again. It appears that Wooyoung is haunted by it.
“Nah, but I watched San play it. What about it?”
“You know toward the end when Mark goes to the pool on the property? This pool looks… just like that pool. That part of the game… ugh,” he shudders. “So yeah, this pool gives me the creeps. I’m perfectly fine just… sitting here and not getting in. But don’t tell them” he gestures to his bandmates “I told you that. They’ll never let me live it down.” Ah, that’s why it looks so familiar, Wooyoung thinks.

Wooyoung zips his lips and throws the key like one would throw a baseball. Soobin laughs and Wooyoung can see why Yeonjun has such a massive crush on him. His laugh makes his whole face light up and he’s just so nice. And so tall. And he happens to know that Soobin also harbors feelings for Yeonjun. Anyone can see it. And Wooyoung really does mean anyone. These two couldn’t be less obvious if they tried. The only people who can’t see it are the two people actually involved. He wonders how two people can be so blind and not see the blatantly obvious signs in front of them.

He figures… what’s the harm in trying to play matchmaker? It’s much more fun to meddle with other people’s love lives than try and think about his own. If he can’t find the courage to tell San how he feels, at least he can try and help one of his best friends. “So, Soobin, Yeonjun looks really hot with this new hairstyle, wouldn’t you say?” Some people might think Wooyoung too direct, but he doesn’t think Soobin is the kind to pick up on subtleties. Judging by the blush that creeps up on his cheeks, Wooyoung was right in that assumption.
“He looks- he does look really nice, yeah,” Soobin stutters. Bingo. Yeonjun owes him big time.
“Just nice?”
“Well, he looks…” the blush on Soobin’s cheeks grows even darker. Okay, Wooyoung will give him a break.
“What would you do if a little birdy named Jung Wooyoung told you that Yeonjun has a big, fat crush on you?” Well, Yeonjun owes him if he doesn’t kill him first for telling Soobin in the first place.
Soobin sputters. “Wha-? What? What do you mean? Are you serious? Are you just messing me with me?”
Wooyoung gasps in offense. “I would never joke about matters of the heart!” Soobin looks unconvinced, one eyebrow arched.
Wooyoung drops the humor from his voice and plainly tells him, “I’m serious. I promise. I wouldn’t mess with you about something like this.” He pauses and lowers his voice to a whisper. “But if I were you, I’d make a move because he,” Wooyoung points at Yeonjun, trying in vain to dunk Beomgyu’s head under the water, “is never going to make one. And if I have to hear about his crush on Choi Soobin much longer, I’m gonna lose my mind. So, really, you’re doing me a favor,” Wooyoung says as he stands up to head back inside.
It’s too cold out here for him without his jacket. And he’s starving. And he needs answers about their plans for the rest of the night.
“Just think about it, will you?” he asks. Soobin nods, looking a bit dazed as he stares at Yeonjun.
Oh, young love.
Wooyoung gives him a thumbs-up and goes back inside the mansion.
Jung Wooyoung, part-time Cupid.

Chapter Text

Wooyoung steps back into the mansion, or he guesses the hotel since Kai seems to wholeheartedly believe this place isn’t just a weird mansion, and is met with a wave of warm air. He’s thankful for it because it’s far too cold outside for his liking. Unusually cold considering it’s only the beginning of October. He thinks it feels like a mid-January blizzard outside, but maybe that’s just how the weather is in America. It’s not like he knows the usual weather patterns for this part of the country. Or any part of the country. Why should he? He’s not American.

He’d hate to live somewhere that gets this cold this soon though. Global warming my ass, he thinks. Okay, that’s not fair. He’s not a climate change denier, he’s just annoyed that it’s so cold and he wasn’t expecting it. That’s all. It wasn’t this cold back in the city, so he wasn’t expecting an arctic chill. But they have gone farther north… yeah, that’s probably it.

He doesn’t know how the guys outside are swimming in this weather. Taehyun said the pool is heated, but what about their heads and the parts of them that aren’t in the heated water? They can’t be fully submerged the whole time. Aren’t they worried about their wet hair freezing? And how was Soobin not freezing his ass off just sitting on the edge of the pool in nothing but a T-shirt and rolled-up jeans? None of them seemed bothered by the cold at all.

Growing up, Wooyoung’s mom always told him that being cold will “build up your constitution,” whatever the hell that means, and that “nothing makes you feel more alive than being cold.” He thinks his mom is crazy. Why would you want to be cold and why does he have to build up a constitution, anyway? He doesn’t even know what a constitution means in this instance! He knows about the Constitution of South Korea, but that has nothing to do with him, so that definitely isn’t it. Maybe his mom just made up words to justify all the time they spent outside in the winter. Winter is her favorite season, and their family spent many winter days playing in the snow and making silly little snowmen. He’ll have to tell her that upstate New York gets downright frigid in October. Or maybe not. He doesn’t want her to move to America just for their winters. Anyway, he supposes that his friends must have stronger “constitutions” than he does. His mom would be proud. More power to them, but he’s cold and is grateful for central heating.

Now that he’s back inside, he needs to find the others so they can discuss the information Wooyoung learned from Beomgyu about how no one will be here to take them back to the city, or anywhere else for that matter, until the morning. He stands on his tiptoes and searches the room for his friends and then he thinks: Why am I doing this? I can just text them. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and sees that he doesn’t have any service bars. That makes sense, they are in the middle of nowhere after all. It’s fine, I’ll just connect to the hotel Wi-Fi. He opens his phone’s settings, goes to the Wi-Fi tab, and waits for the available networks to load. Nothing shows up. He turns his Wi-Fi off and back on, thinking that maybe his phone just needed to refresh before it could find the hotel’s Wi-Fi. Still nothing. Okay…he’ll just have to find his friends the hard way. He’s been having some trouble with his phone lately, so he bets that one of his friends will have better luck with either cell service or Wi-Fi. He puts his phone back in his pocket and starts walking through the drawing room, scanning all the faces in the crowd for his team.

Wooyoung feels dumb having thought the hotel was a house, but in his defense, this might be the weirdest hotel he’s ever been to. Not the worst, that distinction goes to a hotel they stayed at once in Paris a few years ago. He and Mingi were rooming together and were exhausted after their flight, so all they wanted to do was flop down onto their beds and rest. Rest they did, quite soundly, but then they woke up to see their skin covered in bites. And, because the world is cruel, of course Wooyoung had an allergic reaction to the bites, and they all swelled up to make a few giant hives. He looked like a hot mess. Mingi didn’t look much better. He’d never been so itchy in his life. Their makeup artists had a field day trying to cover up all these bright red welts all over their bodies. It took all his strength to focus on performing and not on scratching off his skin.

Not only were there bedbugs, but there was a rat in the bathtub, too! He and Mingi may have screamed (Wooyoung may have also cried a bit), slammed the bathroom door shut so the rat couldn’t escape to their room, and called Jongho to come take care of it. Calling Jongho, however, was apparently the wrong move because he said that he wasn’t going to come touch this rat.

“Do you know how many diseases rats carry?!” He asked them.

“No? Do you?” Mingi asked.

“Well… no… but I’m sure it’s a lot and I don’t want to get any of them!” Jongho exclaimed and hung up. Wooyoung chose to believe that Jongho was just scared of the rat and came up with the disease angle to seem more rational.

Since Plan A had been foiled, they then called the person who would have to help them: their captain. Hongjoong also refused to take care of the rat himself, but he was at least more helpful than Jongho and came to their room to see the rat and figure out their next move. He called the front desk but unfortunately, the man working the desk barely spoke English and the English he did speak was heavily accented.

“No! No, it’s a rat in the bathtub,” Hongjoong huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. That was the fourth or fifth time he had explained that, and frustration and annoyance were starting to radiate from his body. Wooyoung didn’t envy him having to explain the problem over the phone. He could hear the man on the other end of the call but couldn’t pick out a single word he said.

“I- I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying, you can’t understand what I’m saying, can you please just send someone up here? We’re in room 1218… Twelve… eighteen… One… Two… One… Eight…” he covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered to Mingi, “Can you look up how to say your room number in French?”

Mingi nodded and began typing on his phone. After a couple seconds of listening to the woman on Google Translate, he tried sounding out the names for the numbers.

“Doo-zuh… dee…jweet?”

Hongjoong repeated the sounds to the man on the phone and all three could hear the scoff and muttered French words he let out. Then he hung up. Though the three didn’t know French, they did understand his tone, and it was a nasty one.

“What an asshole,” Wooyoung said, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe he’ll send someone up?” Mingi offered, but he didn’t sound too convinced.

Hongjoong groaned and flopped backward onto Mingi’s bed, rubbing at his temples, but Mingi and Wooyoung screamed at him to get off the bed.

“What’s the matter with you two?” he asked, not getting up.

“This room has bedbugs!” Wooyoung cried out.

Hongjoong shot right out of the bed yelling, “This room has bedbugs?! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!” He started swatting at his clothes, trying to knock off any bugs that may have made it onto him.

Mingi and Wooyoung shared a look. Wooyoung shrugged and Mingi said, “We didn’t want to cause any trouble” under his breath, scratching at his arm.

Hongjoong let out a laugh of disbelief and shook his head. “Mingi, you dumbass, this isn’t causing trouble! You have to tell me about these things! Once we get this rat taken care of, I’m telling the manager and we’re getting you two a different room.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung said sheepishly.

A minute or so later, three loud knocks sounded on the door. Wooyoung looked out the peephole, saw a very annoyed-looking man, and figured he was their guy. He opened the door and the man strolled right in without a single acknowledgment of Wooyoung. What an asshole indeed.

Hongjoong waved at the man and beckoned him closer to the bathroom. Hongjoong opened the bathroom door, pointed to the rat in the bathtub, and dryly said, “It’s a… rat. In the bathtub. Can you get it out?”

The man scoffed and stepped right into the bathtub. The rat was trying to climb up the side of the tub to get out but kept slipping back down. Even though Wooyoung was grossed out by the rat, he still felt bad about its futile escape efforts. Only a little though. The rat was really gross. And really big. The Frenchman turned to look at the other three men and said, “I’ll take care of it.”

Except “taking care of it” meant that the guy just stomped on the rat, picked it up with his bare hands, and stepped back out of the bathtub, muttering “T'es une poule mouillée” as he left the room. You’re a sissy. He didn’t even clean up! There was rat blood all over the tub and bloody footprints on the bathroom and bedroom floors. It was such a hassle to clean! And the sound of the rat getting stomped to death… it was so visceral. So, yeah. That’s definitely the worst hotel he’s ever been to. This one is just weird.

There’s not a name for the hotel anywhere that he’s seen, there’s not a parking lot what kind of hotel doesn’t have a parking lot?, there’s not a check-in desk, and the only person he’s seen who isn’t an idol is the girl from the front door. Where’s the rest of the staff? Taehyun said there was plenty of staff, but where are they? Why hasn’t Wooyoung seen them yet? And where are any other guests? Has the hotel been bought out just for the idols? Is their host the owner of the hotel or did they rent it out for this party?

Not to mention that they’re in the middle-of-absolute-fucking-nowhere. Granted it was dark for the last little bit of the drive, but while he could still see his surroundings, he saw nothing but boonies. Beautiful boonies, upstate New York is lovely in the fall, but still boonies. Who builds a hotel this big in the middle of nowhere? He doesn’t think there’s anything remarkable about the area that would warrant such a big hotel. It just looked like woods.

Also not to mention… what kind of hotel has a “drawing room?” He’s pretty sure those are only in houses. The only reason he even knows what a drawing room is is because of those books he read, and they’re set in the 1800s! That girl from the front door can’t be any older than they are, so why does she talk like such an old person? And she said, “We were beginning to grow worried that you wouldn’t show up.” Who is we? Where are these other people? He thinks these coworkers of hers are awfully rude for making her take care of everything… Maybe they’re just working behind the scenes? Yeah, that makes more sense. One girl can’t take care of a hotel this big by herself.

He realizes he hasn’t been here that long, and he’ll see the rest of the staff eventually. And the girl from the front door is probably just nervous and that’s why she’s so formal, so he tells himself to calm down and quit jumping to conclusions. He can’t help it though! It’s like his brain is hardwired for mysteries, speculation, and theorizing. Which also means that his brain is hardwired for jumping to conclusions. While he knows it’s probably just his anxiety and overactive imagination getting the best of him, he can’t shake the feeling of… wrong that this place gives him. No one else seems to be bothered though, so it probably is just anxiety. He’ll talk to either San or Yeosang and they’ll calm him down. They always do.

The first person Wooyoung finds on his quest is Yunho who is filling up a glass with water out of a dispenser that looks to Wooyoung like a pickle jar. Americans. Yunho finishes filling his glass, raises it to his lips, and takes a drink. He screws up his face in disgust and sets the glass down. Wooyoung tilts his head in curiosity.

“What’s wrong with the water?”

Yunho grabs the glass and hands it to Wooyoung saying, “It’s so weird. It tastes like pool water, and it dries out your mouth. The mouthfeel is awful.”

“The mouthfeel? What the fuck is mouthfeel?”

Yunho shrugs. “You know, how it… feels in your mouth. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Woo. This water has a really dry mouthfeel. Like, you drink it, and your mouth dries up and you feel thirstier than you did before you drank it. Just- just try it.”

Wooyoung takes a sip from the glass in his hand and swallows it down.

He scrunches his nose and grimaces. “Ew.”

Yunho throws up his hands and huffs out a laugh. “Right? It’s awful! How do the people who live here drink this shit all the time?”

“I dunno, they’re probably used to it by now,” he shrugs, setting down the glass. Gross water and gross food. Wooyoung is starting to grow concerned about the state of dinner.

“Hey, have you tried using your phone since we got here? I don’t have any service and can’t connect to the Wi-Fi.”

Yunho shakes his head. “Nah I haven’t looked at my phone since we got here. I can’t imagine we’d get any service since we’re, ya know,” he gestures vaguely around him, “out here.” He pulls out his phone and glances down at it. “Yeah, no bars,” he remarks, showing his phone to Wooyoung. Sure enough, no bars.

“I’ll check to see if there’s any Wi-Fi though.” A pause. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung asks, trying to peer over to see Yunho’s screen.

“I don’t think they have Wi-Fi here. No networks are showing up.” He shrugs, shoves his phone back in his pocket, and claps Wooyoung on the shoulder. “I think it’ll be nice though, being off the grid. We can finally get some peace and quiet and disconnect for a little bit.”

Wooyoung’s face falls. So it’s not just my phone, he thinks.

“But I’m sure they’ve got a landline here if we really need anything, Woo… Don’t worry. If anything happens,” he cracks his neck and his fingers, “I’ll save you.”

“Ooh my suave knight in shining armor,” Wooyoung mutters lowly.

Yunho furrows his brow in concern. “Wooyoung, are you okay? You seem a little… off.”

Wooyoung sighs. “I don’t know. I just feel weird. I want to go home. Or, you know, just leave.” He runs a hand over his face and into his hair. “Do you feel weird?”

“Not really, no. I mean, I’m a little confused about what we’re doing out here and why there are so many people, but… I don’t know. Everything is going to be fine though, Wooyoung. I promise.”

Wooyoung shrugs noncommittally.

“And if it’s not, I’ll whisk you out of here to safety myself,” Yunho says as he puffs out his chest.

Wooyoung giggles and tells him, “Yun, we’re like forty kilometers away from anything. You can’t carry me that far!”

“Says who?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Says… anyone,” Wooyoung sputters. “Plus, it’s like pitch black outside! And it’s freezing! You’ll get hypothermia and die and then what’ll happen to me?! I could get eaten by a bear!”

Yunho’s eyes widen and he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Are there? Bears out here?”

“I don’t know, maybe! How should I know? But I don’t wanna find out!”

At that moment, Mingi comes over and asks, “What are you guys talking about?”

“Bears.” Yunho and Wooyoung say in unison.

“Uh… okay?”

“Do you know where the others are?” Wooyoung asks. He doesn’t feel like explaining the context of his conversation with Yunho.

“Yeah, I actually came to find you two because the rest of us were already together.”

“Perfect. I’ve got some dirt to spill.”

Once Mingi brings them back to the group, Wooyoung divulges the information he gained from Beomgyu earlier. He also asks them all to see if they have any cell service or if they can connect to any Wi-Fi networks. Nope. Not a one. Hongjoong implores everyone not to freak out, he’s sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Surely this place has a landline, so he’ll just call their manager and get everything sorted out. No big. “And,” he tries to convince the others, “it’ll probably do us some good not being able to access the outside world for a night.”

They walk back toward the main hall since that’s the last place they saw the girl from the front door, and they see her walk out of a door to a room Wooyoung hasn’t been in yet. She looks up and says, “Oh! Is there anything I can help you all with?”

“Do you have a landline we can use? We would like to call our manager and none of our phones has service out here,” Hongjoong tells her.

“Ah, yes, we are a bit removed from the outside world out here,” she laughs awkwardly. “I’m not surprised your phones don’t work. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a phone.”

She leads them back toward the drawing room, then turns right, leading them down a hallway until they reach the end. She opens the door on the right and says, “The phone is in here. I’ll leave you to it but do let me know if you need anything else.” She walks back down the hall as the eight of them enter what looks like a study. San gasps and smacks Wooyoung’s arm.

“Woo! This looks just like the reading room in Resident Evil! Look!” He points to an object sitting on a table along the wall. “They’ve even got the phonograph!”

Wooyoung laughs. “San, you’re such a dork.” But San isn’t listening, he’s rushed ahead of everyone else deeper into the room trying to get a closer look at all the furniture. “It’s perfect!” he exclaims. “They’ve got everything!” He starts pulling books off a bookcase and gasping in surprise at all the titles.

“What’s he going on about?” Jongho asks, joining Wooyoung leaning against one of the other bookcases.

Wooyoung keeps looking at San, a small smile on his lips, as he tells Jongho, “It’s this game called Resident Evil he played a while ago. This room looks just like one of the rooms in the game.”

“I see.”

“Woo! They’ve even got the botany book!” San yells across the room. Hongjoong throws up a hand, points to the phone, and puts his index finger up to his lips. San flushes and returns to looking at the bookcase. Wooyoung laughs and shakes his head. San might be the only person he knows who would get excited about a botany book from a zombie video game.

“Now, this is just a suggestion, but you might want to wipe that dopey smile off your face. You look really obvious,” Jongho whispers.

Wooyoung turns his head to face his friend. “What are you talking about?”

Jongho huffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars himself or whatever the saying is. You look like a lovesick puppy. Either make a move or knock it off. It’s embarrassing to watch.”

Wooyoung blanches. Am I really that obvious?

“You are that obvious.” Oops. He didn’t know he’d said that out loud. “He doesn’t know. I don’t know how he doesn’t, but he doesn’t. I’m pretty sure everyone else in the world does though.” He sighs. “You should tell him, Woo. The universe has a way of making things work out exactly as they should,” he says cryptically.

Now what does that mean? Wooyoung wonders.

San returns to them, a spring in his step, and his eyes alight with mirth. “This place is awesome! The exterior looks just like the hotel from The Devil in Me, this room looks just like the reading room from Resident Evil, what’s next? I can’t wait to explore the rest of this place!” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet now and Wooyoung thinks San might explode from his excitement.

Jongho laughs. “Calm down, big guy. We need to get our rooms and then we can explore. I wanna know what’s in the room across the hall.”

Wooyoung frowns. “Am I the only one here who has a bad feeling about this place?” he asks softly.

San stops his bouncing, cocks his head to the side, and asks, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but neither San nor Jongho seems to like that answer. He continues.

“It’s just weird! We’re out in the middle of nowhere with no cell service, there’s no Wi-Fi, and the only way to get a hold of anyone is on this landline,” he points to Hongjoong, pacing around the desk the phone rests on as far as the cord will allow. “We still don’t know who invited us here, that girl is the only person I’ve seen who works here, this ‘hotel’ doesn’t seem like a hotel at all because there’s not a lobby, there’s not a check-in desk, there wasn’t a parking lot outside, and what’s this place even called anyway? Why are we here? Why are all these other groups here? Why can’t any of us leave until the morning? Does that not bother anyone else?!” He sees that Jongho and San’s eyes have widened, and they look surprised. Wooyoung may have gotten a little carried away and raised his voice and the speed of his speech, but he’s weirded out! There’s nothing wrong with that!

“I guess I hadn’t thought about that,” San casts his gaze all around the room. “I mean… we could always walk back to the last town we saw?” he suggests.

“Ugh, San, don’t be crazy. We’re not walking anywhere. I already talked about this with Yunho. It’s like forty kilometers back to the nearest town and there could be bears out there!”

“Mmm…” San shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think so, Woo. I don’t think there are bears in this part of New York.” He turns to Jongho. “Jongho, you know bears. Are there any in this part of New York?”

“What makes you think I know anything about bears?”

San scoffs like this is the silliest thing he’s ever heard. “Because you’re our bear. You should know your own kind.”

“What? San, I don’t know shit about bears. Ask Yeosang, he probably knows.”

“Yeosang!” San calls out. Yeosang perks up his head toward them. “Come here.”

Hongjoong glares at San again. Sorry! he mouths back. Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

Once Yeosang is close enough, San asks, “You know shit about bears?”

Yeosang looks between Wooyoung, San, and Jongho, confusion etched into his features. “Umm… that depends on what you want to know...?”

“Are there any bears in this area?” Jongho asks. Yeosang’s face lights up.

“There are! This region of New York has quite the sizable black bear population.”

Oh no. “Do black bears… eat people?” Wooyoung quietly asks.

Yeosang laughs like Wooyoung just told the world’s funniest joke. “Don’t be silly, Wooyoung. Everyone knows black bears are rarely aggressive.”

Wooyoung flushes in embarrassment. No, actually. Everyone does not know that.

Yeosang doesn’t notice Wooyoung’s embarrassment, but Jongho does and redirects the conversation.

“Are there any other bears besides black bears here? Ones that are more aggressive?” Thank you, Wooyoung mouths to him. Jongho just gives a small nod in response.

“I’d punch a bear for you, Wooyoung. I wouldn’t let it eat you,” San says so quietly that Wooyoung almost doesn’t catch it. Wooyoung looks at his face, expecting to find San laughing, because what a ridiculous thing to say, but his face is so serious and genuine. He really means that. Wooyoung’s heart swells as he swoons. He doesn’t think anyone has ever said anything so romantic to him in his life. Even though San doesn’t mean it like that, Wooyoung is going to let himself have this. Let himself believe that San would punch a bear for him, however ill-advised, because he loves Wooyoung as much as Wooyoung loves him.

“Hmm… No. Black bears are the only kind of bears that live in New York. Why? Do you think you saw a bear outside?” Yeosang asks.

“Nah, we were just curious, that’s all,” San says. It seems the moment of quiet vulnerability has passed. “Why do you know so much about bears anyway?”

Yeosang shrugs. “I don’t know. I got bored one night and went down a bunch of internet rabbit holes about random things. Somehow I wound up learning about North American bear ranges.”

San chuckles and wraps his arm around Yeosang’s shoulders. “And this is why we love you, Yeosangie.” Yeosang blushes.

Hongjoong walks back from the desk where the phone sits and calls Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mingi over.

“So, I just talked to our manager, and they said that we’re going to have to spend the night here.” A collective groan.

“I know, I know,” Hongjoong continues. “But it’s just one night. In the morning, we’ll go back into the city. The plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow evening anyway, so as long as we’re up decently early, we can get out of here first thing and start heading toward home. We were already planning on spending the night at a hotel, now we know it’s just going to be this one, so we’ll keep the room assignments the same. So, I’m with Yunho, San’s with Seonghwa, Jongho you’re with Mingi, and Yeosang and Wooyoung are together.”

“But what about our stuff, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa asks. “We didn’t bring our bags with us.”

“I’m sure they’ll have toothbrushes we can take. And hotels always have little bottles of shampoo in the bathroom.”

Seonghwa pouts. “But what about my facial cleanser?”

“We can go one night without our skincare routines, Seonghwa. It’ll be fine. And tomorrow we can just wear these clothes again. So maybe don’t sleep in them.”

Seonghwa sighs in defeat, voice small. “Fine.” He kicks at the floor like a little kid. “Can we get our room keys though? I’d like to lie down for a bit before dinner.”

Hongjoong nods. “Did anyone see a check-in desk?”

Everyone shakes their head.

“There’s not one,” Wooyoung says.

“Are you sure?”

Wooyoung nods, a bit annoyed that Hongjoong is questioning him instead of just taking his word, but Wooyoung does need to work on his temper a little bit, so he lets it slide.

“Okay… that’s strange. I guess we can just ask that girl.”

They leave the study and walk back down the hallway toward the drawing room and main hall. None of the other guests pay them any mind for which Wooyoung is grateful. He’s a bit on edge right now. Hongjoong leads them to the main hall, and they see the girl from the front door walking out of a door on the opposite side of the room as the door she walked out of last time. She starts upon seeing them but quickly schools her features back into a pleasant, if impersonal, smile and moves her hair out from behind her ears. Wooyoung hadn’t noticed it before, but her ears are kinda pointy, like a cat or dog’s ears.

“Did you resolve your issue with your manager?” She asks.

“We did, thank you. Our manager said that there were some rooms available for us? Are you the one we ask for our room keys?” Hongjoong asks. Being the leader, captain, Wooyoung corrects himself, seems exhausting. He’s been so caught up in his own world that he hasn’t realized the strain that Hongjoong is probably feeling here, having to be in charge of everything. He resolves to do better by his friend once he calms himself down.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would ask for them!” How did she know that we were going to stay here before we did? Wooyoung wonders. “Let me fetch them for you and I’ll be right back.” She walks back into the room she just came from for a moment and returns holding four keys.

“Let’s see, you all will be staying in rooms twelve, thirteen, nineteen, and… seventy-one,” she says, inspecting the tags on each of the keys before handing them to Hongjoong. “I apologize that you’re not all on the same floor…”

Yunho waves off her concern. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine.”

She looks visibly relieved, letting out a breathy laugh. “Thank you. I was worried that you would be cross with me…” she shakes her head and continues, “Now, each floor of the hotel, with the exception of this floor, holds twenty rooms. So, the second floor has rooms one through twenty, the third floor has twenty-one through forty, the fourth floor has forty-one through sixty, and the fifth floor has sixty-one through eighty. The stairs on either side of us,” she points to the stairwells on their left and right, “will take you up to your floors: two and five. The third and fourth floors are off-limits, but there are barriers put in place between the stairs and the rest of the floor, so you won’t wander in accidentally.”

“Why are the third and fourth floors off-limits?” Seonghwa asks. Wooyoung wanted to ask the same thing.

“Ah. They’re undergoing renovation, so the floors are off-limits for guest safety,” she says mildly. “Now that you have your room keys, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“We, um, we weren’t expecting to stay the night here, so we didn’t bring anything with us. Do you have things like toothbrushes and toothpaste we could use?” Hongjoong asks sheepishly.

She smiles. “Not to worry. I noticed none of you brought anything with you, so I took the liberty of stocking your rooms with extra toiletries.”

“Oh, well that was very kind of you. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure. Dinner will be served in about thirty minutes so please come back to the drawing room before then so I can escort everyone to where you’ll be eating.” She inclines her head and takes her leave. Wooyoung wonders where she keeps disappearing to.

Wooyoung and Yeosang are given the key to room thirteen. San and Seonghwa are the unfortunate pair staying in room seventy-one, and Wooyoung is happy he doesn’t have to climb all those stairs. He doesn’t think he saw an elevator anywhere, so what do guests with mobility issues do? He’s pretty sure America has laws saying that buildings need to be accessible to everyone, but he isn’t totally sure. There are far too many things wrong with this hotel for him to keep track of them all.

They reach their room and Yeosang uses the old-fashioned-looking key to unlock the door. Their room is cute. Quaint. Beige and brown damask wallpaper covers the walls, and all the furniture is made of the same heavy medium-brown wood. There are two twin-size beds in the room, a far cry from their typical two queen-size bed hotel setup, but it’s just for one night, so Wooyoung won’t complain too much. The beds have different patchwork quilts which he thinks adds to the charm. The room looks like the kind of room one would see in a sweet old lady’s house. A sweet old lady who probably smells like mothballs, but a sweet old lady, nonetheless.

There’s a vase filled with beautiful white flowers on the table between the two beds. The petals are triangular, and the centers of the flowers are yellow. Wooyoung doesn’t know anything about flowers, but he thinks they’re pretty. The room smells sweet, and he thinks the scent probably comes from the flowers. He goes over to smell them, but Yeosang asks from the bathroom, “So what do you think about all this?”

Wooyoung changes direction and plops down on the bed farthest from the door, claiming it for the night. If a crazed killer comes into their room during the night, they’ll most likely go for Yeosang first since he’ll be closer, giving Wooyoung a chance to escape. It’s nothing personal, it’s just survival… Then he remembers the Jenga interview they did in London at the beginning of the year where Mingi said he would sacrifice Yeosang in a zombie apocalypse and though it was just a funny joke, Wooyoung feels bad for trying to make his best friend the sacrifice again.  

“What do I think about all of what?” he asks as he moves to the other bed. This bed has a cuter quilt anyway. It’s a soft lilac with darker purple paisley patches. He thinks San would like it.

“I don’t know, this party, this hotel, anything. I guess what I’m really trying to ask is how you’re doing,” Yeosang looks at him in the bathroom mirror.  

Wooyoung falls back onto the bed and buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know, Yeosangie.” He groans. “I feel like I’m going crazy because I guess I’m the only one weirded out by this place. Nothing has happened, but there’s just this pit in my stomach and I don’t want to be here…” he trails off.

Yeosang comes back out of the bathroom and sits on his own bed, and Wooyoung can feel Yeosang’s gaze on him even though his hands are covering his eyes. He knows Yeosang is just waiting for him to continue.

“And then Jongho told me something that I wasn’t expecting and now I feel all weird and I don’t know what to do.”

Yeosang hums in understanding. “So he told you about San, huh?”

Wooyoung rises until he’s sitting upright and turns to face his friend. “How did you know it was about San?”

Yeosang laughs then cups his hand over his mouth to stop himself. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just so surprised that you still don’t know how obvious you are when it comes to how you feel about San.”

Wooyoung flops back down on his back, screwing shut his eyes, and groans again. “Are you and Jongho conspiring against me?” he asks, peeking one eye open.

“No, Wooyoung, we just want you to be happy.”

“…does everyone really know?” he asks under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Does everyone really know? How I feel about San?”

“Ah, well,” Yeosang scratches the back of his neck. “I can’t speak for everyone… but probably. I mean, I know.”

Wooyoung lets out his loudest groan yet.

“If it makes you feel any better, San has no idea!”

Wooyoung rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow. “It doesn’t,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“Come here, Woo,” Yeosang says, patting the spot next to him on his bed. Wooyoung gets up and walks over to the other bed before curling up and putting his head in Yeosang’s lap. Yeosang lightly cards his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, and he feels so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep right then and there. Then he wouldn’t have to have the conversation he knows is about to happen.

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

Wooyoung takes a minute to answer. Finally, he sighs and whispers, “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

Well, that’s the billion-won question, isn’t it? He thinks. What is he scared of? Is he scared of rejection? Scared that San doesn’t feel the same way? Scared of the vulnerability it takes to admit to someone that you love them in a romantic instead of platonic way? Scared of how the love he feels for San is so big that it could and probably will consume him? That last one feels a little too vulnerable for this moment, so he settles on, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” He picks at a loose thread on Yeosang’s pants as tears well in his eyes. “Losing San would be like losing you. I don’t think I could handle it.” Don’t cry, Woo. Don’t cry.

“Why do you think telling him would ruin your friendship?”

The first tear rolls down his face. Well, shit. Then the second. Next thing he knows, he’s letting out a choked sob and Yeosang picks up his upper body to bring him into a hug. He cries into Yeosang’s neck and sobs out: “Because he’ll never feel the same way about me.”

More sobs. “I love him so much, Yeosangie. I think he’s it for me. I don’t think I can love anyone like I love him. But there’s no future here! He’s San and I’m just… me.”

“Why do you say you’re ‘just you’ like that’s a bad thing? You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, Wooyoung. Sure, he’s San but you’re Wooyoung. He should count his lucky stars that someone like you loves him. I know I count mine that I can love you and call you my best friend.”

Wooyoung somehow manages to cry even harder at that. Here he is, sobbing into Yeosang’s neck, probably smearing snot everywhere, and Yeosang is telling him that he counts his lucky stars that he gets to love Wooyoung and call him his best friend?

“You’re my best friend, too,” he mutters lamely between sobs. There’s so much more he wants to tell Yeosang, about how much he means to him, how much he loves him, how he doesn’t want to imagine his life without him in it, but he can’t find the right words right now. So, he just cries more. He’ll find the words one day. Yeosang takes Wooyoung’s sobs like a champ, just patting his head and letting him ride out this wave of emotion.

When Wooyoung finally feels like he can breathe again, he looks at the giant wet spot left on Yeosang’s collar from all his tears.

“I’m uh-” he points at the wet spot. “Sorry about that.”

Yeosang looks down and shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll dry up fast.”

Wooyoung flops onto his back again. “I can’t believe I got this upset over a boy. Ugh, that’s so embarrassing.”

“Hmm… just a little.” Yeosang chuckles. “Do you feel better having talked it about though?”

Does he? “Yeah. Thank you for always being there for me, Yeosang. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Do what?”

“Life.”

Yeosang goes into the bathroom and Wooyoung can hear the faucet run. He comes back into the bedroom with a cold, wet washcloth that Wooyoung puts over his eyes to calm the swelling and redness.

Under the damp washcloth, Wooyoung counts his lucky stars that he gets to call Kang Yeosang his best friend.

Chapter Text

“Are my eyes still swollen?” Wooyoung asks Yeosang. “They feel like they’re still swollen.”

Yeosang gazes down onto Wooyoung’s face and studies it. He sucks in air through his teeth and says, “Yeah. They’re not bad, but they’re not… great.”

“Is it super obvious?”

“Define what you mean by ‘super.’”

Wooyoung grabs his pillow and smacks Yeosang right in the face with it. He’s so dense. “I mean, is anyone gonna know that I spent fifteen minutes sobbing my eyes out?”

“Uh… No?”

“What the hell happened to you?” Hongjoong asks as soon as Wooyoung and Yeosang make it back into the drawing room. Yeosang, I’m gonna kill you.

Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest and refuses to answer. Hongjoong looks over to Yeosang and just asks, “San?”

“How does everyone know?!” Wooyoung whines as Yeosang nods.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. Again. Everyone is so sassy tonight. “Only the world’s biggest dumbass wouldn’t be able to tell that you’re stupidly in love with San.”

Wooyoung whimpers. He thought he’d done such a good job hiding it.

“But, as it turns out, the world’s biggest dumbass is still upstairs with Seonghwa.” Hongjoong shakes his head and puts a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better about,” he vaguely gestures at Wooyoung’s face with his other hand, “this… your lips are really swollen, too, so he’ll probably be looking at those instead,” then he winks.

Huh? Wooyoung raises his fingers to his lips, and they do feel swollen. He doesn’t want to see what they look like if they’re so hideously swollen that San wouldn’t notice anything else. He probably looks scary.

Everyone else makes their way back to the drawing room and San and Seonghwa are the last to arrive. As soon as San sees Wooyoung’s face, he rushes over in a panic.

“Woo! What’s wrong?” San grabs Wooyoung’s shoulders and pulls himself back, darting his eyes all over Wooyoung’s body.

Wooyoung shrugs off San’s hands. “I’m fine,” he whispers, trying to look anywhere but at San. Don’t look at me! I don’t want you to see me like this.

Hurt flashes across San’s face. Well damn, now you’ve made him feel bad, Wooyoung.

“Did something happen?” he whispers where only Wooyoung can hear.

Wooyoung whimpers, again, because why is San so caring?! It’s annoying.

He rubs at his eyes and tells him, “I’m okay. Really. I’m just tired and hungry. You know how I am. I’m like a giant baby. Cry when I’m sad, cry when I’m tired, cry when I’m hungry…thankfully I’m potty-trained.”

San tries hard not to laugh. Good. Distract him by being funny.

“You can laugh, San. It was a joke. Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

San lets out a small chuckle. “Are you sure you’re okay? If someone said some shit to you, I’ll punch them, too. These fists are equal-opportunity punchers. They’re not just for bears.” He raises his fists and gets into a fighting stance.

Wooyoung shakes his head and pushes down San’s fists. “Calm down, tough guy. We’re not punching anything tonight, okay?”

San pouts.

Wooyoung repeats, “Okay?”

“Okay…” San says, sounding about as sad as Wooyoung has ever heard him before.

Soon enough, they’re informed by the girl from the front door that it’s time for dinner. I wish she had a name tag. Since she’s seemingly the only person who works here, he figures he should learn her name just in case. If he has to shout for help at some point, he’d like to be able to shout a name instead of, “Girl from the front door! Help!” ‘Girl from the front door’ is too long. He’s going to need to conserve his air for more shouting and screaming.

She leads them out of the drawing room and Wooyoung feels like he’s back in school, he and his classmates following their teacher through the halls. Except this is the biggest class he’s ever been in. Seriously, where is everyone going to sit? They walk down a long hallway until they reach a set of doors. She opens them and motions everyone inside.

Once the last person has entered the room, she abruptly turns to leave, but Wooyoung slides in front of her before she can go. He has to know her name. He waves to her and says in English, “Hi! I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before. I’m Jung Wooyoung, but you can just call me Wooyoung. What’s your name?”

She looks startled at first, but then holds her hand up to her mouth and giggles. “I know who you are, Wooyoung. And you don’t have to apologize for not introducing yourself, I’m just the help. We’re supposed to be nameless and faceless… But you can call me Kumi.”

She then switches to Korean. “I know you don’t want to have to speak English tonight, so we can just speak Korean. It’s no issue, truly. Now, I do apologize, but if you’ll excuse me, there are many more preparations to be made. I hope you enjoy your meal, Mr.…” her eyes widen for half a second, and she clears her throat. “I hope you enjoy your meal, Wooyoung.” Kumi bows at him and walks away.

Wooyoung unfortunately realizes that introducing himself didn’t succeed in making her less nervous. She’s still speaking so formally to him. She sounds like she came straight off the set of Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo. He and Yeosang may have watched the whole thing when it was airing, and they may have cried once or twice. Or more. But who’s counting? At least he knows her name now and doesn’t have to keep calling her the girl from the front door. Kumi… he likes it. Short and sweet. He thinks it’s sweet of her to speak with him in his language in her home country. She’s right, he really doesn’t want to have to speak English tonight. Wait… Wooyoung freezes, mouth slightly agape. How did she know that?

“Is everything all right, Wooyoung?” Seonghwa asks, placing a warm hand lightly on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed that Seonghwa had come over.

“When we first got here and we were talking to that girl, did I tell her I didn’t want to speak English tonight?” He knows he didn’t say anything when she brought them to the phone in the study or when they were getting their room keys because Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Yunho were the only ones who spoke.

“Hmm…” Seonghwa hums while he thinks. “I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think you’ve said anything at all to her. It’s not like you to be so quiet with strangers, are you feeling sick?” He places the back of his hand against Wooyoung’s forehead. “Hmm, no fever, maybe you’re just hungry? You didn’t get to eat anything earlier, so be sure to eat plenty now, okay? Then you’ll be back to the chatty Wooyoung we all know and love.” Right at that moment, Wooyoung’s stomach growls.

“Aha! So I was right, you are hungry!” Seonghwa smiles. “Come on, let’s go see where we’re sitting and get some food in that belly of yours.” He grabs his hand and leads him farther into the room.

Since there are so many people in attendance, they’re all in what Wooyoung assumes is most likely a ballroom. There’s a song playing over speakers he can’t see and while he vaguely recognizes it, he can’t think of what it’s called. It has the same lyrics and melody as this one Twice song he knows, but the singers here are all boys. Weird. He likes the Twice version more; this one is too slow. The song ends and another begins, but Wooyoung doesn’t know it. There’s something about mountains and valleys “low enough” but he's quit paying attention, so he doesn’t know much else about it.

There are very few sources of light in the room, so it’s a bit hard to see anything beyond a few feet in front of him. There are eleven large round tables, each with a different colored tablecloth, scattered throughout the room. Wooyoung assumes that Ateez will be seated together, but when he sees that Yeosang is his only member assigned to table one, that assumption is quickly dashed. They all split up to try and find their seating assignments and Wooyoung hopes that at least one friend will be at his table. While he goes from table to table searching for his name, he tries to get a good look at the room. It’s difficult since it’s so dark, but he can see a stage at the far end of the room and a dance floor in the middle. Yep, he thinks, definitely the ballroom, but the dance floor is covered up by the dining tables. Unfortunate. There are navy blue and silver velvet curtain sets along the side walls and a silver chandelier with crystal icicles hangs from the ceiling. The chandelier is stunning, and he wonders why it isn’t lit. A lit chandelier would certainly liven up the place. If this were his party, he would have a lot more lighting.

He would stick with the winter theme of the lit icicle chandelier and blue and silver curtains and have softly twinkling silvery-white fairy lights draped on the curtains to brighten up the walls. Is that a fire hazard? He hopes not. He doesn’t want to ruin the aesthetic because of a fire hazard.

His party’s tablecloths certainly wouldn’t be all the different colors they are now. He’s envisioning navy blue tablecloths with silver embroidered leaves and branches. Even though they’re just tablecloths, the fabric would be luxe and sumptuous. Not the cheap-looking fabric of the tablecloths here. Vases with tea lights inside and wrapped with more fairy lights would adorn every table. The handles of the silverware would look like branches to keep on theme. Very woodsy and whimsical, he thinks. Like a winter fairy dinner party. If being an idol ever starts not to work out, he thinks he has a future in interior design and party planning. Jung Wooyoung, part-time Cupid, part-time interior designer/party planner? It has a nice ring to it. As the room stands though, it looks more like San or Jongho decorated it. Neither of them really has much of an eye for interior design.

Mingi grabs Wooyoung’s attention and happily informs him that they’re at the same table.

“Thank God,” Wooyoung says. “At least there’ll be someone I know I can talk to, even if it’s just you,” he says, sticking out his tongue.

“Hmm, you’re no Yunho. Or Seonghwa. Hongjoong. Yeosang. San. Jongho… but I guess you’re better than nothing?” Mingi shrugs.

Wooyoung scoffs. “I’ll have you know that anyone here would jump at the chance to be seated with me at a dinner party! Plus, would Yunho or any of the others know all the hot gossip?! Didn’t think so. But I do. Consider yourself lucky that you’re one of the chosen ones at my table, Song Mingi!”

“Whatever, just sit down,” Mingi says with a shove and goes over to his seat.

They’re seated at table seven with Yeonjun and Kai plus Jiwoong, Zhang Hao, and Gunwook of Zerobaseone. Everyone else is already seated and Wooyoung realizes he may have spent a little too much time daydreaming about interior design instead of finding his seat. He spots his name on a folded piece of paper resting atop his dinner plate. He’s seated between Yeonjun and Jiwoong while Mingi is across the table from him, seated between Zhang Hao and Kai. He knows of Jiwoong, but he hopes he can just talk to Yeonjun during dinner, at least at first. He has to know if Soobin made a move after Wooyoung left the pool. Then he can make friends.

But Yeonjun is already deep in conversation with Zhang Hao. Rude. He’s come to expect this being such good friends with an extrovert, though. He’s waited this long to find out the gossip, he can wait a little more. He’ll talk to Yeonjun in a minute.  

His table has a gold tablecloth and is located next to a small fountain built into the wall. Water flows from a cat’s mouth and Wooyoung thinks it’s cute if a little silly. Above the fountain hangs a painting of two constellations. One of the constellations just looks like a stick figure with neither a head nor arms. He can’t even begin to think how to describe what the other one looks like. He counts twenty-one stars in the second constellation, which is just too many stars for a constellation in his opinion. He thinks that the people who came up with the constellations may have had a few screws loose because how anyone is supposed to derive any meaning from a stick figure without a head or arms is beyond him.

He looks back to the table and laments at how the gold clashes so strongly with the cool tones of the rest of the ballroom. This place really should have hired him for the party decorations. Seriously, who pairs gold with navy blue and silver? That’s so tacky! It’s one or the other, navy blue and silver or navy blue and gold. Wooyoung himself is partial to navy blue and silver, but like with so many other things, no one ever asks him.

He notices that in front of each person at the table, stands a single flower in a vase. Pure white triangular petals with a yellow center. Just like the ones in his and Yeosang’s room. He idly traces the petals with his fingertips. The petals are silky and a light, sweet scent greets his nose. He knew that the flowers were why their room smelled so good.

“That’s a narcissus,” Jiwoong tells him, pointing at the flower.

“Really? It’s very pretty,” Wooyoung says.

“They are. Some people call them daffodils or jonquils, but those are just specific types of the same flower. Technically, they’re all narcissus.” He pauses. “Did you ever hear the myth of Narcissus?”

Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Well, according to the myth, Narcissus was a hunter who was renowned for his beauty. He rejected anyone who showed any interest in him and was cursed by a goddess never to be loved by the one he loved. He unknowingly fell in love with his own reflection in a pool and when he realized that the person in the pool would never love him, he died. His body disappeared and the narcissus flower bloomed where his body had been. He’s the origin of the word narcissist.”

“Yikes,” Wooyoung grimaces.

“Yeah, no kidding… I guess beauty can be a curse if that’s all anyone recognizes in you. Narcissus had been told his whole life how beautiful he was and probably nothing else, how sad is that? To be reduced to nothing but your appearance…” Jiwoong trails off. He shakes his head and turns back to Wooyoung. “But the flower probably isn’t named after him. No one really knows though. Supposedly the name comes from an old Greek word meaning ‘I grow numb’ because of its intoxicating fragrance. So… maybe don’t sniff it too much.” Wooyoung pulls away from the flower, having wanted to smell it after Jiwoong said its scent was intoxicating.

“How do you know so much about all this?” Wooyoung asks him.

Jiwoong blushes. “Ah, I used to work as a florist for a little while,” he softly rubs a petal of his own flower between his thumb and forefinger.

“The narcissus is one of December’s birth flowers along with holly. It’s actually my birth flower.”

“Oh, that’s really cool. What’s November’s? My birthday is the twenty-sixth.”

“Yours is a chrysanthemum. A bit… unfortunate,” he says delicately, “considering they’re funerary flowers… sorry about that. They’re still very beautiful flowers though.”

The only time Wooyoung thinks he’s seen chrysanthemums is when one of his relatives died. Why couldn’t chrysanthemums be, he doesn’t know, February’s birth flower? He doesn’t think he’s close to anyone born in February. Why do they have to be his birth flower?

“What are the other months’ flowers?”

Jiwoong purses his lips and furrows his brow for a second.

“Let’s see, January is carnation; February is violet; March is daffodil, so basically the same as December; April is daisy; May is lily of the valley; June is rose; July is larkspur; August is gladiolus; September is aster; and October is marigold.”

Wooyoung nods, even though he’s probably not going to remember any of this. It’s not that he isn’t interested, there was just too much information thrown his way too fast. Though he’ll have to try and remember to tell Hongjoong, since Hongjoong's favorite flowers are marigolds, that he was born in the wrong month.

Gunwook taps Jiwoong on the shoulder, so Jiwoong tells Wooyoung, “Well, it was nice to talk to you, Wooyoung. Thank you for listening to me go on and on about flowers,” and turns to face Gunwook.

Wooyoung takes the narcissus out of the vase and sees that there’s gold and ruby-red tulle wrapped around the stem. He doesn’t really think those colors match the flower or that the already beautiful flower needs any additional adornment, so he takes off the tulle. He ties it into a bow and places it on his plate before getting Yeonjun’s attention. And by “getting Yeonjun’s attention” he means smacking Yeonjun’s back until he turns around.

It takes three smacks to get his attention. That conversation with Zhang Hao must have been interesting because it normally only takes one or two. He wonders what they were talking about.

“What?” Yeonjun hisses.

Wooyoung juts out his lower lip and lets it wobble for a second. “You’re so mean to me.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes and lets out the most dramatic sigh Wooyoung thinks he’s ever heard. And that’s saying a lot. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you looooooove me,” Wooyoung parrots what Yeonjun told him earlier in the night.

They just stare at each other for a second.

“Well?” Yeonjun barks.

“I was just… wondering… if perhaps something had developed over the last hour? Something perhaps… in the romance department?”

“I should’ve known you had something to do with it,” he mutters, then laughs softly. “Imagine my surprise when Soobin strides over to the other end of the pool where I’m trying to knock over Beomgyu in a chicken fight, squats down, right next to us, and says, ‘Yeonjun, I think I’m in love with you.’ Right in front of the other three!”

Wooyoung cringes. He’d hoped that Soobin would have had that conversation anywhere else. At least he acted quickly?

“What did you say?”

“Nothing at first. I think I just stared at him for a whole minute. It’s like my brain completely shut down. Next thing I know, he’s looking at me like I just kicked his puppy and says, ‘I’m just gonna go.’”

“Damn. Then what?”

“Well, I just… stayed on Taehyun’s shoulders. What was I supposed to do? My brain was mush. I thought I was dreaming! Beomgyu knocks me back into the water and the others start yelling at me to ‘get the fuck out of the pool and go after him!’ I finally come back to reality, hop out of the pool, and run back inside, dripping water everywhere. Can’t find him anywhere, so I grab the first person I see who just so happened to be Heeseung, and ask him: ‘Have you seen Soobin?!’, he doesn’t know, hasn’t seen him, nobody fucking knows, nobody’s seen him, it’s like he just disappeared! I run and throw open every door I can see trying to find him, and I finally find him in this really weird room with a statue of half a naked woman and a couple of paintings. He’s just sitting in the corner, head in his hands, so I run over to him, fall to my knees, and ask, ‘Did you really mean that? What you said at the pool?’ He nods, tells me it’s okay that I don’t feel the same way, he must’ve misunderstood, and so I tell him, ‘Soobin, you damn fool, of course I feel the same way!’ And then… well that’s none of your business.”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I just said it’s none of your business!”

“But I’m one of your best friends!” Wooyoung whines.

“Ugh, fine! We may have kissed on the floor of this creepy-ass gallery while I was dripping pool water everywhere. Not exactly the most romantic spot for a first kiss, but it was… perfect.”

“Gross. But I’m really happy for you. Really. It was about damn time, too! Are you two going to talk about it more later? Define the relationship?” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows.

Yeonjun flushes. “I think so. Soobin and Kai were originally rooming together, but Kai said he’d switch with me…”

“You’d better use protection tonight! I’m not ready to become an uncle!”

Now it’s Yeonjun’s turn to smack Wooyoung. “Shut up! We can’t talk about this at the dinner table!”

Wooyoung sighs in annoyance. “Okay, grandma. I wish I could have seen you running around this place looking like a drowned rat though. I always miss the good stuff,” he pouts. “I wish Changbin could’ve seen it, too. He would’ve recorded it and then played it at your wedding. Speaking of Changbin, do you know why they aren’t here? You’d think with everyone else who’s here that they would be, too.”

“I dunno. Maybe the host really hates Stray Kids?”

Their conversation is interrupted by the sight of the ballroom doors opening. Kumi and a man Wooyoung hasn’t seen before wheel in carts with food. Thank God. The two of them begin serving tables on the other side of the room. Shit.

“I hope this food is better than those fucking appetizers. They were inedible, I don’t know how you ate them,” Wooyoung says.  

“Wooyoung, they tasted perfectly fine. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

He chooses not to dignify that statement with a response. “And I hope they have something to drink other than water. The mouthfeel is awful.”

“The mouthfeel? Wooyoung, what are you talking about?”

Wooyoung huffs. “Yeah, the mouthfeel. How it feels in your mouth. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Yeonjun.” He shivers. He feels like he just got possessed by Yunho there for a second.

“Now there’s no need to be rude!” Yeonjun scolds and glances over Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You know, you complain a lot for someone who’s getting free food and a free place to sleep.”

“Well, so far the free food has been ass.”

“Oh,” a small, dejected voice comes from behind Wooyoung. “I’m really sorry you haven’t liked the food so far, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung whips around and sees Kumi holding a bowl in her hands, her face crestfallen. Oh shit.

“Kumi! I am so sorry. I think earlier I just ate a bad appetizer; I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!” Wooyoung stumbles out an apology.

She cocks her head. “Which of the appetizers was it?”

“Ah, um, I don’t know what they’re called. It was like a hotdog wrapped in… bread? But not like a bun. They were on the table by the door to the pool,” he explains.

Kumi laughs. “Oh, you mean the pigs in a blanket?”

What the fuck kind of name is that?

“I-I guess?”

She sets his dinner bowl in front of him. “It’s okay, I know it’s a silly name. Americans apparently love them though.” Wait, aren’t you American? You sound American, Wooyoung wonders but doesn’t ask. “Luckily for you, I didn’t make those, so all is forgiven. They were all him,” she says as she points at the man serving Jongho’s table. “Between you and me, I don’t think he really knows his way around a kitchen,” she whispers. She moves back to her cart to grab a glass and a water pitcher, placing the glass next to his bowl and filling it up. “This water came from the Brita, so it should hopefully have a better mouthfeel,” she gives him a small smile and starts serving the others at his table.

Once she leaves, Yeonjun remarks, “Damn, that girl has got some crazy good hearing. I’m surprised she heard you talk about the water’s mouthfeel. It’s not exactly quiet in here and she wasn’t even over here yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was right behind me?!” Wooyoung hisses.

“I wanted to see you dig yourself into a hole. It’s too bad she gave you a rope to get back out,” he replies tonelessly. “I think she’s got herself a crush on you. San had better make a move before she steals you away and turns you into a lumberjack.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s just doing her job. Now eat your food,” Wooyoung commands.

The meal is simple. It’s a fragrant stew filled with potatoes, carrots, chickpeas, spinach, and a kind of meat Wooyoung can’t identify. Hmm. It smells and looks fine, but he doesn’t want to eat anything before he knows what it is, so when he sees Kumi walking toward the doors, he calls her over.

“Is there anything you need, Wooyoung?”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it is that we’re eating.”

“No worries! What you’re eating is actually a recipe of mine. It’s a stew made with… hmm let me think… locally raised ground turkey, potatoes, carrots, chickpeas, spinach, tomato paste, and chicken broth. Seasoned with oregano, crushed red pepper, and garlic powder! Yep, I think that’s everything.” Okay, that seems normal.

“Thanks, Kumi. It smells really great; I can’t wait to try it.”

Kumi’s stew is served with a small loaf of French bread. It does smell delicious, but smells can be deceiving, so he still raises his spoon toward his mouth with apprehension. He takes his first bite and it’s… fine. It actually tastes really good. He takes another bite, and it warms his body. The vegetables taste so fresh and Wooyoung laughs to himself when he thinks about how Hongjoong is probably dodging all the vegetables he can right now. This is delicious. He’ll have to find Kumi later and ask her for the recipe. He takes a drink of his water, and it tastes like… nothing. Not pool water. The mouthfeel is perfectly normal, too.

“Good?” Yeonjun asks.

Wooyoung nods as he takes a piece of his bread and dips it into the stew.

“Good. Glad you like your little girlfriend’s cooking,” Yeonjun winks. He takes a bite of his own stew and Wooyoung notices that his looks a little different. The pieces of meat in Yeonjun’s bowl are bigger and a slightly different color…

“Oh shit!” Mingi yells.

Wooyoung looks up in alarm and sees Mingi moving behind Kai, wrapping his arms around Kai’s midsection. He starts performing abdominal thrusts until Kai hacks up a chunk of meat. Kai gasps for air and falls back into his seat.

“Holy shit,” Yeonjun breathes. “Mingi… thank you. I didn’t notice a thing.”

Mingi blushes as he sits back in his own seat, “Ah, don’t mention it. You’d’ve done the same thing if you’d been sitting next to him...”

Wooyoung asks Kai, “You okay?”

Kai weakly gives a thumbs-up and slumps farther back into his seat.

Well, that was scary.

The music playing over the speakers suddenly stops and Wooyoung hears a couple of taps of a microphone. He looks to the stage, but the ballroom is so dark he can’t see who’s up there.

He hears Kumi’s voice a second later. “Hello, everyone. This announcement will take just a moment. I hope each of you found dinner to your liking. Unfortunately, our host is still a bit delayed in their arrival. They send their deepest apologies. When you’ve finished eating, you may return to your rooms or continue to socialize in any of the rooms here on the main floor. I’ll let you know when our host has arrived. Thank you.” She steps away from the microphone and off the stage.

Wooyoung pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees that it’s already almost nine. This is gonna be a long night.

After dinner, Wooyoung and the others meet near the ballroom doors.

“So, what are we gonna do until the party really starts?” Yunho asks.

“I guess we keep mingling. Exploring. I don’t know. Does anyone have any suggestions?” Hongjoong replies.

San and Jongho give each other an excited look. “We wanna explore!” They say in unison. No one else suggests anything.

Hongjoong shrugs and gestures in front of him. “Lead the way.”

They lead the group to the door across the hall from the study and Jongho opens the door. San squeals and races toward a statue of half a naked woman in the middle of the room. I think this is the room Yeonjun was talking about. Wooyoung follows him in surprise and a bit of jealousy that San is so excited to see a naked lady statue, then he sees that San isn’t looking at the woman at all but a plaque on the statue’s pedestal instead. It just says Woman Drawing Water, so Wooyoung isn’t really sure what San is so excited about.

“Another video game thing?” he asks.

“Yeah! This is the exhibition room! Don’t you remember?”

Wooyoung does not remember. “San, I spend most of the time you play these games hiding under a blanket. I can’t see shit.”

Yunho walks over to them and asks San, “You know this room, too?”

San nods. “It’s another room from the first Resident Evil game! Fun fact: if you push that dresser,” he points to a dresser against the far wall, “over to this statue and climb up, inside her water jug is a map of the first floor.” He grabs both Wooyoung’s and Yunho’s hands and pulls them through a small doorway near the dresser.

“Resident Evil?” Yunho asks. “Is that the zombie game I watched you play that one time?”

“I mean, Resident Evil is a series and I’ve played all of them so while I don’t know if you watched me play this exact game, you’ve definitely seen me play at least one of them. Anyway, this room,” San gestures around them, “is the art supplies room. In here, you can find a dagger. Daggers are always handy because you can use them to fend off zombies in a pinch.”

He grabs their hands again and leads them back to the doorway. “Once you try to leave this room for the first time, a zombie spawns and forces you back. Woo screamed so loud when he saw it! He scared me more than the zombie did! Anyway, then you just use the dagger to get away. You can only use daggers once though so you don’t get to keep this one, but there are a bunch you can find all over the mansion.” He walks through the doorway back into the exhibition room and heads toward some of the pictures on one of the walls.

“Bet you didn’t expect the love of your life to be such a nerd, did you?” Yunho asks with a grin once San is out of earshot.

“Oh fuck off, not you, too,” Wooyoung groans. “I thought you were on my side!”

Yunho laughs and holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. Though you might want to make your move before San decides that he wants to move into this place. I imagine it would be hard to keep up with our schedules from America, so not only are you saving your love life, but you’re saving Ateez, too! You’d be a hero, Woo!”

Wooyoung scoffs, shoves Yunho out of his way, and walks over to San. He’s looking at a portrait and Wooyoung feels like it’s watching him. Creepy. He tears away his gaze and asks San, “Guess what I found out at dinner?”

“What?” San asks without looking at him.

“Yeonjun and Soobin had their first kiss in this very room!”

San whirls toward Wooyoung and asks, “What? Since when are they a thing?”

“Hmm…Since about an hour and a half ago. Isn’t it so romantic?” Wooyoung swoons.

San snorts. “You think a first kiss in the exhibition room from Resident Evil is romantic?”

Wooyoung slaps San’s arm. “No, you dummy, new love! Yeonjun’s been pining after Soobin forever! And now they can be together! All thanks to me,” he says smugly.

“And how’s that?”

“I may have told Soobin that Yeonjun had been pining after him forever…”

“Woo!”

“What? It worked out, didn’t it? One of them would have admitted it eventually, I just made it happen a little faster! Although it is too bad that it had to happen at this freak-ass hotel and that their first kiss happened when Yeonjun was dripping pool water all over the floor of a room from a video game about zombies…”

 “Yeah… that’s not exactly how I would want my first kiss with the person I’ve been pining after for years to go,” San says. Has San been pining after someone? Who?

“Oh yeah? How would you want it to go?”

“Well, first thing, it’s not happening in a room from Resident Evil,” San laughs. “The ambiance of the Spencer Mansion is terrible.” He thinks for a moment, then looks right into Wooyoung’s eyes. “We’re outside. It’s dark and there are no clouds in the sky so we can see all the stars. So, we’re definitely not in Seoul. More like where I grew up. Nice and quiet and peaceful. It’s really cold and he complains about how cold it is because his constitution is terrible. He hates to be cold, so I offer my jacket because I’m a gentleman.”

He? San’s not straight? Wooyoung feels like he might pass out. Who is he talking about? Do I know him?

“He accepts of course and now I’m cold, but it’s okay because he’s warm and that’s more important. Maybe it’s even snowy and snowflakes land in his hair and on his eyelashes, which only makes him look more beautiful. He blows onto his hands to try and warm them up because he’s smart and he knows you’re not supposed to rub them together. I grab one of his hands, put it between both of mine, and blow air on it to warm it up, then do the same thing to the other. I’m getting a bit anxious at this point, but he won’t notice because he’s not the most observant person on the planet. He’s always off in his head. But he’s not dumb, no. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Just not always the most observant. He looks back up at the stars and says, ‘They’re so beautiful tonight.’ And then I say, ‘You’re even more beautiful.’ He probably slaps my arm and makes fun of me, but I see the blush on his cheeks. He loves shit like that.”

Wooyoung feels like he’s in the weirdest and cruelest dream, hearing San describe a beautiful first kiss with a guy who isn’t Wooyoung.

“I’m so wound up from nerves at this point that I probably just blurt out, ‘Can I kiss you?’ He’s surprised, but God I hope he says yes. So, then I lean in and-”

Wooyoung doesn’t get to hear what happens next because right then, a bloodcurdling scream tears through the air.

Chapter Text

Wooyoung has never heard a scream like this in his life. He doesn’t want to hear one like it ever again. This isn’t the kind of scream he hears on a roller coaster, the kind of scream he lets out from under the blanket on the couch when the jump scare comes, or the kind of scream he and Mingi let out when they saw the rat in their bathtub in Paris. No, this is the kind of scream he can only hear when something has gone terribly wrong. The kind of scream that curdles his blood, splits his ears, raises all the hairs on his body, and chills his bones to the marrow.

Without a word, all eight of them race out of the exhibition room and find the hotel in a state of chaos. It seems that everyone had the same idea to run toward the sound of the scream. It’s intense sensory overload: he sees so many guys packed together tightly, the smell of the air is almost sickeningly sweet, and it’s so loud. He can’t even hear himself think over the din of seventy other guys all trying to figure out what happened, who screamed, and why they did it. Being so far down the hallway, Wooyoung is at the back of the mass of people, but he has to know what happened and he has to know it now. He abandons his friends to rush forward into the wall of his peers, using his smaller stature to his advantage, weaving between bodies deeper and deeper into the throng. He throws a few elbows and mutters a couple of half-assed apologies to those he bowls over but doesn’t pay much mind to the guys surrounding him beyond that. He catches parts of conversations:

“…think it was that girl-”

“Someone drowned?”

“What a horrible accident…”

And he feels his stomach sink even further. Did Kumi drown? He shoves people even harder and walks even faster, fueled by fear of finding Kumi hurt or even worse. Can’t think like that, Wooyoung, he chides himself. She’s gonna be fine. She’s been so kind to him all night…

He emerges from the crowd and sees through the glass in the drawing room’s doors that Kumi is standing near the pool. He breathes a sigh of relief. Thank God she’s alive. She holds her face in her hands as her body shakes. She’s out there by herself and he wonders angrily why no one else has gone to check on her. They’re all just… standing in the drawing room. Assholes. Wooyoung throws open the doors, rushes over to her side, and moves her long orange hair from her tear-stained face, exclaiming: “Kumi! Are you okay? What happened?”

She heaves a sob and throws herself into Wooyoung’s arms. “Oh, Wooyoung! It’s horrible! Look!” she wails as she points to the pool. She buries her face in his chest and sobs even harder.

Wooyoung looks at the pool and sees a body floating face down, perfectly still. The body is clothed in a familiar-looking T-shirt and jeans. Oh God, no, no, no, no, no. Without thinking, he steps out of Kumi’s grasp, crouches at the edge of the pool, and reaches forward, pulling the body toward him to see the owner’s face. Please don’t let it be him, please don’t let it be him.

“Wooyoung!” Kumi yells. “What are you doing?” No, no, no, no, NO!      

He doesn’t answer as he lifts the body’s head and prays to any benevolent entity who will listen that he’s not about to be met with the face of Choi Soobin.

He drops the head back down as though it scalded him and feels bile rise in his throat. Holy fucking shit. He turns his head to the side and retches, the delicious meal Kumi made falling to the ground beside the pool. He keeps retching as he hears the doors open and a minute later, Kumi lays a hand on his back, lightly smoothing over it until Wooyoung has nothing left in his stomach. She pulls him back and away from the puddle of vomit before she settles him against her chest, handing him a glass of water. He can feel her body heaving with her sobs, but he’s so dazed that he can’t do much more than sit there and hold his glass.

He hears the doors thrown open again and he can hear someone or, actually, a few someones calling his name, but he can’t focus on anything other than trying to breathe. When his eyes come back into focus, he realizes that he’s now not only standing and missing his water glass, but he’s also in Seonghwa’s arms instead of Kumi’s. He’s tucked Wooyoung’s head under his chin and is petting his hair, softly rocking them back and forth.

“Where’s Yeonjun?” Wooyoung whispers.

“We don’t know. We didn’t see him or the others when we were trying to get out here. Hongjoong sent everyone else in to look for them… but don’t worry about that right now. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Wooyoung nods and grips Seonghwa’s shirt even tighter, taking in a shuddering breath.

“There we go, that’s it,” Seonghwa breathes. “You’re doing so well, Wooyoung. Just keep breathing.”

Wooyoung hears Kumi’s small voice behind him. “Is there anything else I can do or get for him?” She asks and he can hear her sniffles.

Seonghwa shakes his head and whispers, “No, but thank you…”

“Kumi,” Wooyoung says where only Seonghwa can hear. “Her name is Kumi.”

“Kumi,” Seonghwa finishes. “Thank you for taking care of him until we got out here.”

He hears her footsteps recede into the hotel and Wooyoung mutters, “Can we sit down?” His legs feel a little weak.

“Of course,” Seonghwa says as he leads him to one of the tables by the pool. Wooyoung still doesn’t feel like he’s totally in his body, so Seonghwa has to help him into a chair. He pulls up another chair right next to his and sits, grabbing Wooyoung’s hand and holding it in his lap. Wooyoung feels like Seonghwa’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality right now. Neither of them says anything more, but Seonghwa rubs his thumb in little circles on Wooyoung’s hand. The comforting gesture brings Wooyoung back to Earth a little more and he sees Hongjoong walk over to their table. He looks like he’s been crying. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it. He just ruffles Wooyoung’s hair instead before sitting in one of the other chairs at the table.

Wooyoung isn’t sure how long the three of them sit in silence, but soon enough he hears the doors open again. Mingi walks out with Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai, but Yeonjun isn’t there. Wooyoung can see that they don’t know what’s happened because all three wear confused expressions. Oh God please don’t make me have to tell them. Hongjoong takes a deep breath and rises, walking to the other group. Wooyoung can see Hongjoong’s hands shake even though he’s trying to hide it.

He can’t hear what Hongjoong says to them, but he can see their faces crumple. It pains him to see their faces in such agony. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. He lets go of Seonghwa’s hand and steels himself with a deep breath. He stands and walks over to the others, digging his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from breaking down. I have to be strong for them. Once he’s close enough, he can see the devastation, confusion, and emptiness on their faces. Be strong, you have to be strong.

He nods at Hongjoong. Wooyoung hopes he’ll understand his message: I’ve got this. You don’t have to do it all. Hongjoong gives him a small smile and walks back toward Seonghwa.

“Is it really him?” Beomgyu asks in a small voice. “Are you sure?”

Wooyoung takes a shaky breath. Stay strong. “I’m sure, Gyu. I saw his face.”

The three are silent for a moment, shock evident, and tears well in their eyes.

Kai presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Oh God, what are we gonna do?”

Wooyoung hopes his voice doesn’t waver as he says, “We’re going to wait right here until Yeonjun comes out and then you all are going to do whatever you need to do. And we,” Wooyoung gestures to himself and his other bandmates, “are going to do whatever you need us to do. If it’s be there with you, we’re there. If it’s leave you alone and make sure no one bothers you, we’ll post ourselves outside your door and make sure no one comes near-”

Taehyun surprises Wooyoung when he throws himself into his arms with a small whimper. Wooyoung reacts quickly, grabbing for the other two and pulling them in as well. The three of them cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping them from sinking and he thinks that right now, he might be.

“I mean it,” Wooyoung tells them. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it, for as long as you need it. I’m there.”

The drawing room doors open again and Wooyoung sees Jongho lead Yeonjun outside.

“What are you doing?” Yeonjun asks. “Why are you all hugging? Why are you crying? Where’s Soobin? Jongho wouldn’t tell me anything other than I needed to come outside.”

Oh fuck.

He wishes he knew how Hongjoong told the others, so he’d have some idea what to say. How do you tell one of your best friends that one of his best-friends-turned-new-boyfriend is lying face down in the pool behind them? Wooyoung isn’t one to beat around the bush or sugarcoat anything, so he chooses to be direct. It’s what he would want if the roles were reversed.

“Yeonjun,” he takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what all happened, but Soobin’s... dead. He drowned in the pool. I am so sorry for your loss.” He thinks he probably could have softened that a little or worded it better, but he can’t change it now.

Yeonjun scoffs, crosses his arms, and glares daggers at Wooyoung. “That’s a sick fucking joke, Wooyoung. It’s not funny.”

Wooyoung feels his temper heat up. “You think I would joke about something like this? Who do you think I am?”

“Soobin didn’t drown in a goddamn pool! Now where is he?”

“Why don’t you believe me? I saw his face!” Wooyoung yells.

“This guy is face down in the pool, Wooyoung! How did you see his face?”

“I pulled him over and lifted his head-”

“You touched a dead body?!” Hongjoong exclaims from the table.

“I had to make sure it was him!” Wooyoung hollers back.

“Oh my-” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wooyoung, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Kai detaches himself from Wooyoung and shouts, “Stop! Getting angry and yelling at each other isn’t going to do anything!”

Wooyoung, who had opened his mouth to defend his decision to inspect the body to Hongjoong, immediately closes it. He can see Hongjoong flush in embarrassment, called out by the youngest one out here.

Kai walks over to the pool and investigates it for the first time. He gasps and claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, it’s really him. There’s no way it’s not, Yeonjun.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yeonjun huffs. “He’s not fucking dead. Whoever is in the pool is someone else.” He stalks over to the pool and pulls the body to the edge to examine.

“Yeonjun! Don’t you touch that body, too!” Hongjoong scolds.

Yeonjun ignores him and lifts the body’s head. He stills and a choked gasp escapes his lips. He starts to waver and Mingi races over to catch him before he falls in the pool. Yeonjun goes completely boneless in Mingi’s arms as Soobin’s head splashes back into the water.

“Oh fuck,” Mingi murmurs as he readjusts his hold for an unconscious man. “He’s out cold.” Probably for the best right now.

“Shit. Okay, we need to go inside. It’s freezing out here and we don’t need to keep staring at the body. Min, can you carry him up to their room?” Wooyoung asks.

Mingi nods and picks up Yeonjun bridal style.

“Wait, did anyone call the police?” Jongho asks.

“Our phones don’t work, remember?” Mingi replies.

“Can’t you still call the police even if you don’t have any service?” Seonghwa asks.

Hongjoong shakes his head. “You can if your phone says ‘SOS Only’ but we’re so far out we don’t even have that.”

“I meant did anyone try the landline?”

Everyone shakes their heads.

“I bet Kumi called once she went back inside. Let’s get them up to their room and then we can ask her.” Wooyoung says.

“Who’s Kumi?” Hongjoong asks.

“The girl from the front door! Am I seriously the only person who knows her name?”

Nearly everyone avoids eye contact with him after he asks.

“I know her name now!” Seonghwa protests.

“Yeah, only after I told you!” Wooyoung huffs. “Well, her name is Kumi and she’s very nice. You should try talking to her,” he scolds.

Then a shiver runs through his body. Damn, it’s cold out here. He can see fat snowflakes start to fall. In October? He wonders.

“It’s starting to snow; we need to go inside.” He looks down and sees Beomgyu and Taehyun still tightly clinging to him, so he asks Kai: “Can you take us up to your room?”

Kai nods and starts walking back inside, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi carrying Yeonjun, and Jongho in tow. Wooyoung starts to move, but neither Beomgyu nor Taehyun seems to notice, and they stay still. He starts rubbing circles into their backs and says, “Hey guys? You can keep holding onto me, but we need to go up to your room, okay? Can you walk with me?”

They both absently nod, so Wooyoung tries to move again. It’s a bit awkward and clumsy walking with pretty much two sets of dead weight, but he manages to get them back inside.

All the other guests are seemingly in the exact same positions they were in when Wooyoung went outside. He definitely can’t get two near-comatose men through the crowd, nor can Mingi carry Yeonjun through.  

Wooyoung shouts, “Get the fuck out of the way! What the hell is the matter with you guys?”

He notices the guys closest to him blink and shake their heads like they just woke up before parting to let them through. Fucking freaks. They pass through the crowd and make it back to the foyer.

“We’re in room seventy-five, can you carry him up all the stairs?” Kai asks Mingi.

Mingi nods. “Yeah, I can manage.” He, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa follow Kai up the stairs.

Wooyoung looks back down at Taehyun and Beomgyu. But I don’t know if I can make it.

Jongho walks over and wordlessly peels Beomgyu off Wooyoung before reattaching him to his own body.

“Thanks, Jongho,” he sighs in relief.

“C’mon, Wooyoung, can’t have you slowing us down!” he says as he starts heading up the stairs.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘You’re welcome,’ you know!” Wooyoung says to Jongho’s retreating figure.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “Now hurry up!”

Around the fourth floor, Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s sure he’s going to be able to make it all the way up to room seventy-five. Luckily for him, Taehyun becomes conscious enough to be able to walk on his own and lets Wooyoung go with an embarrassed flush.

“I’m sorry about that. I just…”

Wooyoung waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. You would’ve done the same for me. Can you make it another flight?”

He nods and they walk up the last flight in silence. Wooyoung feels awkward not saying anything, but what is he supposed to say? He looks over at Taehyun and he’s in his own world, so Wooyoung doesn’t think he'll mind the silence.

They reach Taehyun’s room and he knocks on the door. Seonghwa opens it and lets them inside. Wooyoung can see Yeonjun lying on one of the beds while Kai and Beomgyu sit on the other. Everyone else stands against the walls.

“Seonghwa, can you find the others and bring them back up here?” Hongjoong asks.

“Of course,” he says then whispers something in Hongjoong’s ear that Wooyoung can’t hear. Hongjoong nods and Seonghwa leaves, softly closing the door behind him.

No one says anything for the few minutes Seonghwa is gone. The silence is driving Wooyoung crazy, but he’s not about to be the one to break it.

The door opens and Seonghwa walks in with just Yunho.

“Where are the other two?” Hongjoong asks him.

“I couldn’t find them anywhere. I went back to my room and left a note telling San where we are if he goes back and I stuck a note on Yeosang’s door, too. I didn’t want to spend too much time away, so I just brought Yunho back with me.”

“San probably got overwhelmed and needed somewhere quiet to clear his head. You know how he is. And I bet Yeosang is probably looking for him,” Wooyoung says.

“Okay, we’ll just stay here until they come back,” Hongjoong says. “But if more than ten minutes pass and they haven’t shown up, I’m going to go look for them.”

The others nod and Jongho says, “I’ll go with you.”

“Now,” Wooyoung says to the three sitting on the bed as he moves to sit on the foot of Yeonjun’s bed, “is there anything you guys need? Do you wanna talk about anything?”

“I think we need to wait until Yeonjun wakes up before we talk about this,” Beomgyu says absently.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Wooyoung replies. The room is silent again for a few minutes. He wishes he could think of something to say to them, but nothing feels appropriate. He shut off his emotions earlier to take care of the others, but now that he’s confronted with silence, he can feel them creep back in. He thinks he hears a door slam and two different voices, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. What the hell?

Kai suddenly laughs but there’s no humor in it. “You know what the last thing he said to me was? ‘Don’t forget to take a shower when you get out. Chlorine’ll turn your hair green, you know.’ And I just said, ‘It’s actually the copper that turns your hair green.’ That’s the last thing I said to him. Now I’m going to have to live the rest of my life knowing that’s the last thing he heard from me.”

He places his head in his hands and starts to laugh again but the laughter soon turns into sobs.

“I think we probably need to be alone right now,” Beomgyu says as soon as the crying starts. He stands and starts corralling the others toward the door. “I’ll let you know when Yeonjun wakes up, Wooyoung.” Once they’re all in the hallway, Beomgyu pauses before he shuts the door. “Thank you.”

Since their host still isn’t here and the party can’t really start, Jiwoong decides it’s okay if he takes a shower after everyone starts to leave the ballroom. He wants to wash the day of traveling off of him. He spent way too long cramped in a car with the others and he just feels grimy. He also hopes that taking a shower will relieve the nausea he’s feeling. His dinner tasted a little… funny and he feels queasy. He thinks he must just not be accustomed to American cuisine because Wooyoung devoured his stew and Gunwook also ate all of his. He heard the servant girl tell Wooyoung what was in the stew, and it sounded good, but American meat must be processed differently. He knows they pump their foods full of preservatives and all sorts of other things that he believes people should be more concerned about, so he thinks that’s probably the culprit. From the first bite, something tasted off. After a few more bites, he decided to cut his losses and just be hungry. He’d had some of the appetizers earlier and they had tasted fine to him, and now he wishes he’d eaten more of those.

He also wishes he’d been able to talk to Wooyoung a little more. He was very polite and a good listener, and Jiwoong feels bad that he dominated their brief conversation. Not that he was angry with Gunwook for interrupting, but he’d spent pretty much all day in a car with him. He only got to talk to Wooyoung for a few minutes and he only talked about flowers and Greek mythology! All he learned about Wooyoung was his birthday! He resolves then and there to find Wooyoung later and have a better conversation with him. After his shower of course.

It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. Once he was done talking to Gunwook, he moved to tap Wooyoung’s shoulder, but he was deep in conversation with Yeonjun. And what a conversation it was. Jiwoong wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the two of them were quite loud, so he heard everything. He found Yeonjun’s story about Soobin endearing and learned that Wooyoung could be quite the menace it seemed. He never would have guessed based on his conversation with him. Nonetheless, he wishes nothing but the best for Yeonjun and Soobin’s budding romance.

Once the first guests leave their tables, Jiwoong stands and wobbles a bit, placing his hand on his stomach. He really hopes this shower will make him feel better. He spots Hanbin and hurries over to him before he gets lost in the crowd. He tells him that he’s going upstairs to take a shower, so if anyone looks for him later, that’s where he’ll be. He leaves the ballroom and starts to walk back to the stairs in the main hall. He was already annoyed at being on the top floor, but now he’s dreading the walk up to room seventy-four. But the sooner he gets up there, the sooner he can let the warm water wash over him, so he starts his trek up to the fifth floor.

The trip up to his room drained him a lot more than he thought it would and now he feels even more nauseated. He unlocks his door, and a wave of sickeningly sweet fragrance assaults his nose. These are really strong flowers. He feels his stomach roll and he knows he has to get these flowers out of his room. He feels bad for what he’s about to do, but once he feels better, he’ll bring them back and hopefully no one will be the wiser. He grabs the vase in one hand and pulls his shirt over his nose with the other. He walks to the laundry room on this floor and opens the door, placing the vase on one of the tables. When he reenters his room, the scent is still there, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was, so Jiwoong hopes that it’ll dissipate soon.

He enters his bathroom, and his stomach is still rolling, so he decides to run some bathwater instead. He isn’t sure he can stand long enough to take a shower. Plus, if he takes a bath, he can stay in there for however long he wants and not feel bad for wasting water. A genius plan, really. He turns on the water, fiddling with the double-handle faucet until the water is just at the edge of being too hot, but not quite there. He really wants a bubble bath, but he worries that the hotel soap will smell too strongly and make him feel worse. After debating with himself for all of two seconds, he thinks, Fuck it. I’m taking a bubble bath. He pours some of the soap into the rapidly filling tub and bubbly foam starts to form. Perfect. He grabs a plastic cup from beside the coffee machine and fills it up with cold water from the sink while the bathwater runs. He sips slowly so as not to upset his stomach even more as he scrolls through his phone until he finds the song he’s looking for. He presses play, sets his phone down, and goes back into the bedroom to get a change of clothes. He sets his folded clothes on the toilet lid and shuts off the water. He undresses, leaving his discarded clothes in a pile, and steps into the softly scented, beautifully bubbly, and wonderfully warm bathwater. He sinks into it and lets the warmth seep into his body as he closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how long he rested his eyes in the tub, but when he wakes up, the water is cold and his fingers more closely resemble prunes, so he figures it’s been a while. He quickly washes up since the water is so cold. His nausea has thankfully subsided, and he looks forward to rejoining everyone downstairs once he’s dried off and gotten dressed. He decides that he’ll broach a new conversation with Wooyoung by telling him how much he liked Dune off their latest EP. Everyone loves compliments. Hopefully, this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.

He pulls up the drain stopper and sets it on the edge of the tub. The draining water coupled with the music playing from his phone is quite loud, so he doesn’t hear the bedroom door open and close.

He towels off, grabs his clothes off the toilet lid, and gets dressed. He messes with his hair in the mirror, and he knows it won’t look as good if he doesn’t blow dry it. So even though he doesn’t want to, he grabs the hairdryer and turns it on. Once his hair is almost fully dry, he shuts off the hairdryer and leans closer to the mirror to fluff up his hair. He sees a shape move in the mirror and when he looks closer at it, he sees that it’s the servant girl from dinner. He drops the hairdryer in surprise and exclaims, “How did you get in here?!”

She giggles at him. She’s broken into his room and he’s the one getting laughed at?

“Through the door, silly. You really should’ve locked it. I could’ve been a very bad person.” What the hell?

“What? I locked the door! I always lock the door.”

“Hmm… I guess you did. My mistake.” She takes a small step toward him. He’s pressed flush against the vanity so he can’t retreat. She’s probably just in here to clean. He thought that Hanbin had put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob, but maybe not.

“Is there something I can help you with? I’m almost done, so if you’re here to clean the room, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

She doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at him in the mirror. This girl is so weird. He wonders why Wooyoung seemed so friendly with her.

“You know, you’re very handsome, Jiwoong. One of the most handsome men here tonight.”

“Um… thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

Again, she doesn’t respond. He’s thoroughly weirded out at this point and decides that whatever his hair looks like, it’s good enough. He just wants to get out of here.

He starts to turn around to leave, but she sternly says, “Don’t turn around, Jiwoong. Keep looking in the mirror.” What the fuck? She takes another step toward him. His heart starts to race, but something overrides the part of him screaming Get out of here! so he listens to her and slowly turns back around to face the mirror. He looks at her again and he sees a large knife in her hand. Holy shit!

He gasps and starts pleading, “Oh my God, oh my God, please don’t kill me. I’ll give you whatever you want, please just don’t kill me!”

The first tears begin to fall, and she brings forward her free hand to wipe them off one cheek.  

“Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t kill me! Just put the knife down and we can talk, okay? We can talk! About whatever you want, I promise!” He sobs.

She tilts her head at this in confusion. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

“What?!” Tears fall faster down his face. “I swear, I’ll give you whatever you want, okay?”

She laughs at him again. “What I want is your soul, Jiwoong,” she purrs. Her eyes turn completely black and Jiwoong screams. He wants to run but she’s blocked him in, and he can’t move.

She shushes him as she brings the tip of the knife to his throat and rests it there. He’s afraid that if he keeps screaming, she’ll cut his throat, so he stops. He screws shut his eyes and she tuts, using her other hand to slap his cheek harshly. “I told you to keep. Looking. In. The. Mirror.”  

He opens his eyes, and she gives him a sweet smile, completely at odds with the knife she has pressed against his throat.

“Wow, you’re so handsome and you can listen? I bet you’re popular with all the boys and girls! Here I thought you were just a visual!” She uses her free hand to smack her own forehead. “Silly me!”

“Are… are you really going to kill me?” He asks between sobs, careful not to press too far into her knife.

“Oh, sweetheart, I think you already know the answer to that.” She mockingly pouts at him. “You know, I was really inspired by that story you told Wooyoung at the dinner table. I’d never heard of Narcissus, but you’re a lot like him, aren’t you?”

Jiwoong stays silent and she rolls her eyes, which have returned to dark brown. She gestures her free hand as if to say Go ahead.

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” he stutters.

She coos in derision. “Oh, Jiwoong, you’re so smart, don’t play stupid with me now. I don’t like stupid men.” She presses the knife a little harder against his skin.

“I’m not playing stupid, I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he sees blood trickle down his neck.

She sighs. “You told Wooyoung that Narcissus had been told his whole life that he was so beautiful and nothing else. No one saw him for any of his other attributes. Isn’t that all people do to you? Reduce you to your appearance and nothing else?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head as much as he can without piercing his own throat. He has felt that way at certain points in his life, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No? Hmm… we must run in different circles. All I ever hear people say about you is that you’re just a visual. I disagree of course, but what can you do, you know?” She shrugs then stills for a moment like she’s trying to listen for something. She looks at her wrist, but Jiwoong can’t see a watch. “Ah, look at the time. I hate to cut our little chat short, but I think they’re about to get kicked out.” Who are you talking about?

“You may not have the vanity of Narcissus, but you’re going to die just like him: staring at your own reflection. Poetic, isn’t it?”

Before he can react, she slits his throat and steps back, letting his body fall to the floor. On his way down, he puts his hands to his throat, trying in vain to staunch the bleeding. He gasps for air after slamming to the bathroom floor, and she peers down into his face in confusion. Her eyes are black again and he closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see them.

“Aw, you don’t wanna look at me? Am I really that ugly? Is it my eyes? You can be honest.”

Jiwoong doesn’t answer.

“So rude! But I guess I can’t be too upset at a scared, dying man; it’s bad form.”

Is this really how I die? He wonders. He can feel himself slowly drifting away as he hears a door open.

“Why isn’t he dead? I cut his throat like you told me to, but he’s still alive. Did I do something wrong?” She asks the new person as their footsteps draw closer to the bathroom.

He feels warm hands move his own from his neck. “Ah, you didn’t cut deep enough. He’ll still die, it'll just take a little longer with a shallower cut because he has to bleed out.” The second voice is a man’s. It’s so familiar, but Jiwoong is slipping and can’t think who it is. I’m so tired.

“That’s it, Jiwoong. Just go to sleep…”

Once Beomgyu closes the door behind them, Wooyoung leans back against the wall and sighs, rubbing his temples. “What the actual fuck, guys? How did this happen?”

Hongjoong lets out a loud exhale as he leans against the opposite wall. “I don’t know. Freak accident? What was he even doing out there by himself?”

Wooyoung furrows his brow. What was Soobin doing out there by himself? Where was Yeonjun? He’ll have to ask him later…

Seonghwa interrupts Wooyoung’s contemplation and says, “I’m worried about Yeosang and San. Can we go look for them now?”

Wooyoung had almost forgotten about Yeosang and San. Oops. He’s had a lot on his mind! They’d understand.

Hongjoong straightens back up and says, “Yeah, let’s go find them. And we need to find Kumi to ask her if she was able to get a hold of the police.”

When they reach the first floor, Wooyoung sees San and Yeosang walking out of a room he hasn’t been in yet.

“Where were you? I couldn’t find you anywhere,” Seonghwa asks the two of them.

Yeosang answers first. “Well, I was looking for Yeonjun and the others like Hongjoong asked but couldn’t find them myself. Then I saw Mingi and Jongho bring them outside and I’d just seen Yunho but hadn’t seen San. Since I knew everyone else was together, I wanted to find San. Looked everywhere and eventually found him in the kitchen.”

“Why were you in the kitchen? We just ate dinner an hour ago,” Jongho asks.

San looks away, embarrassed. “It was just so… loud. And crowded. Then I saw Soobin’s body and Woo in shock and… I don’t know. Everything was too much. I walked through the first door I found, and the room was empty and quiet, so I stayed. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.” Poor San.

Wooyoung walks over to stand in front of San, grabs his hand, threads their fingers together, and looks into his face. “It’s okay, Sannie. Are you okay now?”

San nods and Wooyoung offers him an encouraging smile before turning back around to stand beside him and lean his head on his shoulder. Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow at the interaction. Wooyoung flips him off with his free hand, his hand low so San can’t see.

Hongjoong snorts and says, “Don’t worry about it, San. Did either of you happen to see Kumi? We need to ask her if she called the cops.”

Yeosang and San both shake their heads.

“Okay, well let’s go try to find her.”

She finds them first when she rounds the corner. She jumps a little when she sees them and quickly wipes tears from her face. Wooyoung drops San’s hand when he sees her. Can never be too careful.

“Oh, I’m sorry you had to see me like that, crying on the job,” she says self-deprecatingly. “I guess I’m still a little shaken up. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah, actually. Did you call the police after you went back inside earlier?” Hongjoong asks.

She shakes her head.

Why didn’t you call the cops? Wooyoung wonders in a tad more than mild annoyance. But then he feels guilty for his annoyance when he realizes she must have been too shaken up to describe the situation to the police. She is still crying after all.

“Would you mind calling them? They’ll understand you the best and you’re the only one who knows where we are. I can go in there with you if you want?” Wooyoung offers.

She nods and he sees her wringing her hands. “I would like it if you came with me, Wooyoung.”

He grabs one of her hands and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right there with you, Kumi.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Wooyoung turns around and tells the others, “We’ll be right back. Stay here, okay?”

They all nod then Wooyoung and Kumi start walking toward the study. Her grip on his hand is tight, almost painful.

“Are you okay, Kumi? I know that finding…” How can I put this delicately? “…What you found couldn’t have been easy. I know it wasn’t for me.”

She takes a shaky breath. “I’ll be okay. Thank you for asking. You’re actually the only person who has asked me that. I appreciate your concern… You’re a good friend.”

God damn, why is everyone so shitty to you, Kumi?

“You don’t have to thank me for asking if you’re okay. That should be something you expect. And not just from friends. It’s basic human decency.”

She waves him off and they reach the door to the study. She grabs the door handle and pauses. She exhales softly and says, “You don’t have to hide, you know. Not from me, at least.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks.

“You and San. I saw you drop his hand when I walked in.” Shit. Wooyoung is starting to realize that he is very bad at hiding things.

She continues, “I think you two are really sweet together. So, you don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“We’re- we’re not together like that,” Wooyoung sputters as a blush creeps across his face.

She claps a hand over her mouth as a blush of her own forms. “I… I am so sorry, Wooyoung. I- I didn’t mean to- I just- I just thought you two were together- I’m so sorry,” she stammers.

“No! No, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I know that’s what it looks like to a lot of people,” he says quickly, waving his hands to further emphasize his no.

“So, you two are… just friends?” she asks.

His blush deepens and he rubs the back of his neck. “Well…”

Her face lights up in understanding. “I see. Well, I hope that you can work it out. For what it’s worth, I think you two would make a very cute couple,” she says as she opens the study door.

They walk to the desk with the phone and Wooyoung hops up to sit on top of it. Kumi grabs the receiver and starts punching in the emergency number. Wooyoung kicks his feet and darts his eyes all over the room until he hears Kumi make a small noise.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers.

She holds up a finger and tries dialing the number again.

Her face falls and she tells Wooyoung, “The line is dead. We can’t call anyone.”

You have got to be kidding me.

Chapter Text

“Are you serious?” Wooyoung asks.

Kumi passes him the handset and he lifts it up to his ear. Nothing. He places the handset back where it belongs and then buries his face in his hands.

“Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. We’ve got a dead body outside and we can’t even call the fucking cops,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung,” Kumi apologizes. “I don’t know why it’s not working. I would try to see what’s wrong, but I don’t really know anything about phones like this…”

Wooyoung sighs. “It’s not your fault, Kumi.” He lifts his head out of his hands and offers her a wry smile. “I don’t know anything about phones like this either. You and I are a little too young for landlines.”

Kumi laughs awkwardly and says, “Right…”

He drums his hands on his thighs while he thinks about if he knows anyone who might know how to fix a landline. “Let’s ask Yeosang. He probably knows.”

“Wooyoung, what makes you think I know anything about landline phones?” Yeosang asks when Wooyoung and Kumi return to the main hall.

“I don’t know!” Wooyoung exclaims as he throws up his hands. “You knew shit about bears!”

“What do bears have to do with phones?” Yeosang genuinely asks, trying to find a connection between the two topics.

“Well- nothing, I suppose, but you know about a lot of different things! I thought you might know how to fix the phone, too.”

Yeosang gives his head a small shake. “I don’t. I’m really sorry.” He looks absolutely heartbroken that he doesn’t know how to repair a broken landline. Oh Yeosang. Only you would be this broken up over a landline.

Wooyoung waves off his apology and turns to face the oldest two. “Seonghwa, Hongjoong, you’re old. Old people know how to use landlines. Got any ideas?” he asks.

Hongjoong smacks him upside the head and says, “I am one year older than you, Wooyoung.”

“Yeah, that’s like, ancient. Are landlines too new for you, Grandpa? Would you prefer a carrier pigeon?”

Hongjoong looks like he’s about to jump Wooyoung, but Seonghwa pulls him back, diplomatically saying: “No, Wooyoung, we do not know how to fix a landline.” He looks to the others. “Does anyone else?”

Unsurprisingly, no one does.

“Well, shit. There goes that plan,” Wooyoung purses his lips and thinks for a second. “Plan B: we go to the police ourselves. Kumi, do you have a car?”

“I don’t,” Kumi replies.

“Then how do you go home when you’re done here?” Mingi asks, his face puzzled.

Kumi doesn’t answer Mingi and instead tells Wooyoung, “You should ask the butler. He has a truck and I’m sure he’d let you use it.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I would assume that he’s out in the conservatory. He’s a bit… shy, so he likes to stay out there with his plants. Plant husbandry is the only thing he’s good for,” she says bitterly.

“Uhh… okay,” Hongjoong says awkwardly. “Does he speak Korean, too…? Or should I go with Wooyoung?”

“They’ll be able to understand each other,” she vaguely answers.

That doesn’t really answer the question, Wooyoung thinks. He shakes away the thought though because Kumi’s slightly strange manner of speaking is the least of his concerns right now.

“Where is the conservatory by the way?”

Kumi points to the doors in the drawing room. “It’s out by the pool.”

Great. That’s where Soobin is, too. He shudders, then points at Yunho. “Yun, you’re coming with me.”

Yunho points back at himself, confused. “Me? Why?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and says, “Because you’re driving, duh. Now come on!”

Thankfully the crowd in the drawing room has dispersed and instead of the mass of seventy people there earlier, the room now has around twenty. There’s a spirited game of Mafia happening and Wooyoung hopes that they’ll still be playing when he and Yunho come back from the police station. Wait…

Wooyoung stops walking. “Yunho, we need Hongjoong.”

Yunho stops a few steps in front of Wooyoung and turns around. “Why?”

“Do you know how to explain to American police officers that somebody drowned while surrounded by almost eighty other people but ‘No officer! I swear it was just a horrible accident!’ Because I don’t.”

“…We’ll grab him on the way out.”

Yunho opens the drawing room doors and holds them open for Wooyoung, then he takes his place on Wooyoung’s left side, walking perfectly in line with him, matching his pace step for step. When Wooyoung dramatically slows his steps, Yunho dramatically slows his steps, too. What the hell?

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung asks. “Why are you walking so slowly?”

“Is it a crime to adjust my pace so my short-legged friend doesn’t fall behind?”

Wooyoung stops and turns his body to look directly at Yunho. Yunho matches his movements, effectively blocking Wooyoung’s view of the pool. Understanding dawns on him. He’s trying to keep me from seeing Soobin.

Thankful for this, but unsure how to express his gratitude, Wooyoung turns back and starts walking toward the conservatory again. “You’re such a gentleman, Yunho. You really are my knight in shining armor,” he sighs, placing his hands over his heart. Joking always works.

Yunho snorts, quickly catching up to Wooyoung. “Save your flattery for your man. I’m not interested.”

Wooyoung gasps in offense. “Not interested in me?" He pauses. "This has never happened to me before. My affections have never been spurned like this!”

Yunho only rolls his eyes in response.

“But seriously, send my thanks to your parents for making you so tall.” Wooyoung’s voice lowers and grows more somber. “I don’t want to see him like that again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Happy to do it.”

Yunho opens the door to the conservatory with a deep bow and flourish and says, “After you, Your Highness,” trying poorly to contain his laughter.

Wooyoung cackles and says, “Get up! You look ridiculous.”

Yunho refuses to move out of his deep bow. “I can’t get up until you go through the door.”

Wooyoung doesn’t move, wondering if Yunho will really keep this up.

“So, please, Your Highness, hurry up. This is getting uncomfortable.”

Wooyoung gives it about another twenty seconds before he steps over the threshold. “There! I’m in! Now get up!”

Yunho straightens and takes a deep breath before heavily exhaling like he’d just run up a few flights of stairs. “Thank goodness, Your Highness. Any longer and I think I might’ve been a goner.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Wooyoung laughs as they step farther into the conservatory. It’s considerably warmer in here than it is outside, for which Wooyoung is immensely grateful. He sees countless narcissus flowers growing in rows throughout the entire length of the room. He also spies a few chrysanthemums and another kind of flower he doesn’t recognize. These other flowers are tall, skinny, and deep purple. He wonders if anyone would notice if he took one to give to San.

Before he can commit grand theft flower, a deep voice sounds from the far end of the conservatory. “Can I help you?”

“Are you the butler?” Wooyoung asks, finally spotting the source of the voice.

“Who’s asking?” the man gruffly replies.

So rude. “I’m Jung Wooyoung and this is Jeong Yunho. We’re here for the party tonight.”

“Y’all brothers?”

What the fuck, Wooyoung mouths to Yunho.

Yunho shrugs and says, “No sir, no relation.” He motions Wooyoung forward so they can walk closer to the man at the other end of the room.

The stranger has his back to them, hunched over something Wooyoung can’t see yet.

Wooyoung and Yunho stop a few feet away from the man, who mutters something in a language Wooyoung doesn’t understand before he straightens and turns around to face them.

When Wooyoung looks at the man’s face, he swears that the man’s eyes are completely gray. What the hell? Wooyoung takes a step back in shock and the man lightly snorts, like he finds Wooyoung’s actions ridiculous.

Wooyoung glances at Yunho and he’s wearing a shocked expression that Wooyoung assumes mirrors his own. So, he saw it too.

Wooyoung looks back at the man and his eyes are perfectly normal. Green irises, black pupils, white sclera.

The man annoyedly asks, “What do you want? I’m a very busy man.”

Wooyoung has to fight against his temper not to react to this man’s gruff and rude demeanor. No wonder Kumi doesn’t like him.

Yunho thankfully takes the lead and says, “There’s been… an accident and the phone line is dead, so we can’t call the police. Kumi said that you might be willing to let us borrow your truck to drive into town to the police station?”

The man snorts again. “Kumi, huh?” He reaches his hands in a few different pockets until he finds a set of keys. He carelessly tosses them to Yunho, who catches them. Nice, Wooyoung thinks.

“Truck’s off to the right of the front door under a carport. Try not to crash it, kid.” He gives Yunho a disapproving look. “And tell Kumi not to bother me anymore. Unlike her, I actually have work to do.” He turns back around to what he was working on before, which Wooyoung saw earlier was a beautiful bouquet of chrysanthemums and the other flower Wooyoung doesn’t know.

All that Wooyoung knows this man has done is cook disgusting pigs-in-a-blanket and fuck around with flowers, meanwhile Kumi is pretty much running this entire show all by herself, but Wooyoung holds his tongue. It doesn’t stop him from making obscene faces at the man’s back though. He isn’t that strong.

Yunho grabs Wooyoung’s hand and leads him back toward the entrance of the conservatory. He opens the door and carefully closes it behind them, taking up his post on Wooyoung’s right side this time.

“Did you see his eyes?” Yunho whispers. “They were completely gray! Then I look again and they’re totally normal! What was up with that?”

“I have no idea,” Wooyoung admits as he shivers. They weren’t inside the conservatory that long, but it feels so much colder outside since the conservatory was so warm. The snow is falling harder now, too. “We need to hurry. It’s a long way into town and I don’t think the snow is going to let up.”

They hurry back inside the hotel and find the other six still standing where Wooyoung and Yunho left them. Kumi is noticeably absent, though.

“Where’d Kumi go?” Wooyoung asks.

“She said she had some things she needed to take care of before our host arrives,” San tells him.

Wooyoung nods in understanding and grabs Hongjoong’s wrist, dragging him toward the front door.

“Wooyoung, what are you doing?” he asks but goes along with Wooyoung for the moment.

“We need you to come with us to tell the cops what happened,” Wooyoung replies.

Hongjoong whines, “Do I have to? Your English has gotten so much better! You can do it! I believe in you!” He tries to shake out of Wooyoung’s grip but is unsuccessful.

“Nope. You’re coming with us.”

Hongjoong sighs in defeat. “Fine.” He lets Wooyoung continue dragging him to the door.

“We’ll be back in about an hour and a half!” Yunho calls to the others.

Once they’re outside and Wooyoung knows that Hongjoong won’t try to run back inside to avoid having to go into town, Wooyoung lets him go.

“When we get back home, I’m forcing you to take more English lessons, so I don’t always have to be the one to talk,” Hongjoong grumbles.

“We love you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung smiles sweetly. “You’re so smart and so good at English and such a good captain and the perfect one to talk to the cops so Yunho and I don’t have to.”

Hongjoong flips him off.

Wooyoung mimes wiping away tears and says, “Wow, I can’t believe you love me, too.”

Hongjoong ignores this and asks, “What was the butler like?”

“He’s a real asshole. Be glad you weren’t out there,” Wooyoung tells him.

“And his eyes were completely gray for a second! I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yunho says.

“You’ve never seen gray eyes before?” Hongjoong asks incredulously.

Yunho shakes his head emphatically. “Not like that. His were completely gray. No pupils or anything. They were like pencil lead!”

Hongjoong furrows his brow and asks, “Are you sure?”

Yunho and Wooyoung both nod.

“What the fuck?” Hongjoong breathes. Then he shakes his head. “But we can worry about the butler’s weird eyes later.” He looks at the rapidly falling snow. “Can you drive in this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it slow, don’t worry.”

They reach the carport and see a very old truck parked underneath. The cab only has one row and Wooyoung immediately yells, “I call shotgun! Hongjoong, you get the bitch seat!”

“I get the what?” Hongjoong bewilderedly asks.

“You know, the bitch seat. The seat that no one wants but you’re the unfortunate bitch who gets it,” Wooyoung explains.

Yunho shakes his head at Wooyoung. “Woo, that’s not really what bitch seat means.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s not. But your version is a lot nicer and a lot less misogynistic, so we’ll just go with that,” Yunho says as he unlocks the driver’s side door. “Uhh… guys?” He says in concern.

“Yeah?” Wooyoung and Hongjoong ask in unison.

“This truck is a stick. I can’t drive a stick.”

“It’s a what?” Wooyoung asks.

Yunho points at the gear shift. “This truck has a manual transmission. I don’t really know how to use it.”

“Can’t you just… figure it out?” Wooyoung asks hopefully. They have to make it to town.

Yunho sighs and scratches his head. “I mean, I can try. I know how they work in theory; I’ve just never done it before…” He settles into his seat and stares a bit forlornly at the gear shift.

“Great! Now let’s get the truck started so I don’t have to keep standing in the cold!”

Yunho reaches across the cab to unlock the passenger's side door and Wooyoung climbs in after Hongjoong. Hongjoong looks like a grumpy toddler sandwiched between Yunho and Wooyoung.

“Aw, you don’t like the bitch seat, Hongjoong?” Wooyoung coos.

Hongjoong pouts and crosses his arms. “Can’t you call it something else? I’m not a bitch.”

“You’re my little bitch,” Wooyoung says lovingly, pulling Hongjoong into a side hug.

“Wooyoung, that’s- that’s not what that means either,” Yunho says but Wooyoung isn’t listening because now he’s pinching one of Hongjoong’s cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

Hongjoong, for his part, looks murderous but doesn’t say or do anything to retaliate. Boring, Wooyoung thinks.

Yunho sticks the key in the ignition and turns it, but the truck doesn’t respond. He takes out the key and tries again, but still nothing. He holds up a finger to Hongjoong and Wooyoung before he steps out of the car, popping up the hood. He stays under there for a minute then he opens his door, but doesn’t get back in.

“I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know anything about fixing trucks. I have no idea what’s wrong, but the truck won’t start.”

Wooyoung opens his door and he and Hongjoong step out, coming around to the front to look under the hood.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he’s doing this either. He doesn’t know the first thing about trucks. But as he looks, a sense of déjà vu washes over him. I’ve seen this exact setup before. He sticks his head closer and spots what he's looking for.

“The rotor arm is gone. That’s why it won’t start.”

“What?” Yunho asks in disbelief. “How do you know that?”

“In The Quarry, Jacob doesn’t want to leave Hackett’s Quarry because he doesn’t want his relationship with Emma to end. He asks Kaitlyn how to break their van and she says either to break the fuel line or remove the rotor arm. You choose which one you want to do and then the van won’t start, so they can’t leave. Which doesn’t make any fucking sense by the way because Kaitlyn knew Jacob was upset about Emma and once the van wouldn’t start, alarm bells should’ve been ringing in her head that Jacob probably fucked with the van. That’s such a glaring plot hole!” Wooyoung huffs. “But anyway, San chose to remove the rotor arm in case you were wondering.”

“Wooyoung, what’s The Quarry? Who are you talking about?” Hongjoong asks.

Wooyoung heaves an exasperated sigh. “It’s a game San played! You guys need to pay more attention to his interests! But that’s not the point! The point is that someone has fucked with us. If we don’t find the rotor arm, we can’t go anywhere.”

“Wait wait wait, slow down. You think someone did this on purpose?” Yunho questions.

“Think about it! This whole night has been so weird! We get an invite out of the blue from an unknown person to a party out in the middle of nowhere, we fly thousands of miles here once we finally have a break, our host still isn’t here, everyone is acting weird, the landline is suddenly dead, and now the rotor arm of our ONLY way out of here is gone? Someone is fucking with us!” He spoke so quickly that he’s a bit out of breath when he’s done.

“Wooyoung, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason for all these things. One that doesn’t involve sabotage,” Hongjoong says calmly.

“No!” Wooyoung exclaims. “No one has been listening to me! This place is fucking WEIRD! There is something deeply wrong and I feel like I’m the only one who’s noticed!”

Yunho reaches out a hand, but Wooyoung bats it away, yelling: “Why hasn’t anyone else noticed? And why are you looking at me like I’m insane?” He asks, pointing an accusing finger at Hongjoong. “You all are just so… fine with everything that’s going on and I’m the only one who’s rightfully freaked out!”

“Woo, I know you’re freaked out, but you can’t yell at us and accuse us of things just because you’re upset,” Yunho sternly tells him. “If you can’t calm down and not talk to us out of anger, then Hongjoong and I are going to leave, and you can find us once you’ve cleared your head.”

Wooyoung feels like he just got scolded by his dad. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten in his head as he exhales. He breathes in and out again before he apologizes.

“You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry I yelled at both of you and accused you of thinking I’m crazy and not being weirded out by everything. I’m just… really freaked out. I’m worried something is wrong, but you’re probably right that there’s a logical explanation for all of this. I really am sorry.” He ducks his head in embarrassment.

Yunho looks at Hongjoong who gives a small nod.

“We accept your apology. Now let’s go back inside. I think being cold is making you cranky,” Yunho says, wrapping an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders. Wooyoung burrows himself into Yunho’s side. He’s so warm. Yunho holds out his other arm and gives Hongjoong an expectant look. Hongjoong scoffs but shivers immediately afterward. He rolls his eyes and then burrows himself into Yunho’s other side.

“This is only because I’m cold,” he mutters.

“Of course,” Yunho says as the three start to walk back to the hotel.

Once they walk back inside, Yunho, who still has Hongjoong and Wooyoung tucked under his arms, announces, “My bitches and I…” he yelps in pain when both Hongjoong and Wooyoung pinch his ribcage after being called bitches. “Sorry, my friends and I unfortunately have bad news. The truck’s rotor arm has been removed, so it won’t start, and we can’t go into town.”

San tilts his head and asks Wooyoung, “Like The Quarry?”

“Exactly like The Quarry.”

San knits his brows together and mutters, “That’s so weird.”

“So, unless we can find this rotor arm, we can’t do anything until morning. Which means…” Yunho pauses and sighs. “I think we’ll have to move Soobin’s body inside. It’s starting to snow really hard out there, and I don’t think we should just… leave him in a pool.”

“Where are we going to put him?” Seonghwa asks.

“This place has got to have a walk-in freezer, right? I think we should dry him off, change his clothes, then put him in there. To keep his body… preserved? And out of the way?” Jongho interjects.

“Yeah, I saw a walk-in freezer when I was in the kitchen earlier,” San says.

“For fuck’s sake, I am not the mafia!” a voice roars from the drawing room. “It’s obviously Sunghoon, but you guys are too fucking dumb to see that!”

“They’re playing mafia? Can we please please please play?” San asks excitedly.

Wooyoung looks into the drawing room and sees that the group from earlier is still playing.

What were we talking about before? He wonders… but the game looks so fun and looks like it’s about to end, so hopefully they can play the next round.

Wooyoung pulls his best pleading eyes on the others. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase?” He begs.

His pleading eyes work for once because the others agree, so they walk into the drawing room to catch the rest of the current game. Sunghoon was, in fact, the mafia, and everyone else was too fucking dumb to see that.

A few guys leave after that game ends, but Juyeon, Q, Kevin, Haknyeon, Sunwoo, and Eric of The Boyz and Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon of Enhypen stay and when Wooyoung asks if he, Yeosang, San, and Jongho can play, they enthusiastically agree.

Q resumes his role as the game’s narrator and tells everyone to close their eyes and lower their heads.

“First I am going to pick three mafia.”

Wooyoung can hear footsteps slowly make their way back and forth across the semi-circle the other players are in. He feels a tap on his shoulder. God damn it.

“Next, I will choose the doctor.”

He hears the footsteps again make their way back and forth across the semi-circle of players.

“Finally, I will choose the detective.”

The footsteps make their rounds for the last time.

“Mafia, wake up and see your fellow members.”

Wooyoung opens his eyes and lifts his head. Yeosang and Jake are his fellow mafia. He pumps his fist when he sees Yeosang because no one will ever suspect him of being the mafia. They never do.

“Mafia, go to sleep,” Q says and Wooyoung closes his eyes again.

“It’s finally morning, everyone, wake up. On our first day, you all must decide who to kill, majority rules.”

Juyeon speaks first. “Should we all go around and share our identities?”

San tuts, leans back, and crosses his arms. “Only a mafia would immediately ask that.”

Juyeon sputters. “That’s- that’s how you start the game!”

“Yeah, that’s what a mafia would say. I’ve got my eye on you, Juyeon.” San points two fingers from his eyes to Juyeon’s but stays silent after that.

For a minute, no one says anything at all, probably not wanting to be accused of being mafia by San, but finally, Wooyoung gets sick of the silence.

“I’m a citizen, by the way,” he says.

Yeosang tells the group, “I’m a mafia.” No one’s gonna believe you, Sangie.

San immediately laughs and shakes his head. “No, you’re not, but okay tough guy. We can pretend. Who’s next?”

“I could be the mafia!” Yeosang protests.

San just shakes his head and says, “It’s not you. Heeseung, you’re up.”

Everyone between Yeosang and San says they’re all citizens.

When it’s San’s turn, he just shouts, “I’m doctor!” Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho laugh because they remember one of their botched mafia attempts where San shouted the very same thing but then raised his head to see the other mafia members and they had to end the game. Good times, Wooyoung thinks.

San nominates Juyeon to be killed, but no one gets a majority of yes votes, so no one dies on day one.

“It has become nighttime. Mafia, please wake up and choose who you would like to kill.”

Wooyoung opens his eyes and immediately points at Juyeon. Is this taking the easy road by making everyone think San is a mafia? Yes, but he thinks it’s a good idea.

That’s too obvious, Yeosang mouths.

Fine, Wooyoung mouths back and randomly points at Jay. Yeosang shrugs and points to Jay, too.

Jake nods and mouths, Okay, before pointing at Jay. Q gives them a thumbs up and motions for the three of them to lower their heads and close their eyes again.

“Doctor, please wake up and choose who you want to save.”

What Wooyoung doesn’t see is that San immediately points to save Wooyoung, then lowers his head and closes his eyes.

“Detective, please wake up and choose who you think is mafia.”

It’s silent for a moment as the detective chooses who he thinks is the mafia.

Then Q says, “Morning has arrived. The innocent citizen Jay was killed last night. The doctor failed to save the citizen and the detective did not discover a mafia.”

For this round, Wooyoung decides that he wants to go on the offensive. He accuses Sunghoon of being mafia since it was Jay who was shouting about Sunghoon being the mafia in the last game. The other players are skeptical, so Wooyoung doubles down on his aggression.

“No, listen to me! It would be genius for Q to choose Sunghoon again because we’d never expect him to be mafia twice in a row! And why else would the mafia kill Jay? He barely said anything. Sunghoon has to be mafia again and got the other two to go along with him!”

Sunghoon tries to protest his innocence, but Wooyoung isn’t having any of it. He raises his voice and drowns out Sunghoon’s protests.

Wooyoung’s argument about it being genius for Sunghoon to be mafia two rounds in a row works because when it is time to nominate and vote to kill a player, Sunghoon gets a majority of votes and is killed off. The only player who didn’t vote to kill Sunghoon was Juyeon, and Wooyoung doesn’t like that.

“It has become nighttime. Mafia, please wake up and choose who you would like to kill.”

Wooyoung points at Juyeon again. This time it’s Jake who shakes his head. He suggests Sunwoo instead, but Wooyoung insists. Trust me, he mouths.

Jake holds up his hands in surrender and the three agree to kill off Juyeon.

“Doctor, please wake up and choose who you want to save.”

Again, San immediately points to save Wooyoung.

“Detective, please wake up and choose who you think is mafia.”

Then it is morning again and Q informs the players that the player killed was Juyeon, the doctor failed to save the player, and the detective discovered a mafia. Probably me, Wooyoung thinks.

“Whoever the doctor is fucking sucks,” Jongho says, trying to seem like he’s saying it under his breath, but everyone can still hear him easily.

“How am I supposed to read the mafia’s mind? I’m trying my best!” San yells back.

“You should try harder,” Jongho deadpans.

“Instead of yelling at San for not being a good doctor, maybe we should talk about who we think the other two mafia are? We got Sunghoon out, so there are only two left. Jongho, who do you think is a mafia?” Kevin asks.

He ponders for a second, then points to Yeosang.

“It’s not Yeosang,” San sternly says.

“It could be me,” Yeosang mutters sadly.

“It’s not you,” San waves him off. Then he places his chin in his hand and rests his elbow on his knee. He taps the side of his nose with his index finger for a second, then says, “Kevin, how are you so sure Sunghoon was mafia?”

“Weren’t we all sure? The only one who didn’t vote for him was Juyeon, so you were pretty sure it was Sunghoon,” he replies.

“No, no, no, don’t turn this back on me. I just think it’s suspicious that you seem so positive.” San crosses his arms and leans back, leveling Kevin with a raised eyebrow.

Kevin raises his voice and says, “You know what, San? I actually think it’s you! Killing Juyeon off night one would have made you look really suspicious after you accused him day one, but night two wouldn’t have been so bad. Are you mafia, San?”

“I told you, I’m the doctor!” San roars back. Wooyoung can see San’s face start to turn red with his fury. He tries hard not to laugh at how serious this game has become, but he fails just a little. Thankfully no one else notices; everyone is too distracted by the argument between two players who aren’t even mafia.

“You’re a damn liar, Choi San!”

“I am not a damn liar!”

Wooyoung just leans back in his seat and lets all this drama play out. He hopes that this outburst will have people forget about how aggressively he campaigned to eliminate Sunghoon.

“It’s now time to vote to eliminate who you think is a mafia,” Q interrupts right as Kevin is about to yell back at San.

“I nominate San,” Kevin says venomously, glaring daggers at San.

“Well, I nominate Kevin,” San replies, just as caustically as Kevin.

All the other players glance nervously at each other, unsure for whom to vote, if anyone. This voting round takes a little longer than the others, but neither Kevin nor San gets a majority of votes, so no one is killed during the day.

When it’s time for the mafia to kill again, Wooyoung knows that going after San or Kevin is too obvious, so when Jake points to Sunwoo again, he agrees.

San once again chooses to save Wooyoung.

The rounds continue until it’s just Wooyoung, San, and Haknyeon. San never once gave any indication of believing Wooyoung to be the mafia, so when Wooyoung says that Haknyeon is the last mafia member, San agrees, and they kill him off.

“And with the death of the citizen Haknyeon, the mafia officially win!” Q announces afterward and San’s jaw drops at the betrayal.

“You were the mafia this whole time?!” San asks in utter disbelief.

“Sorry baby,” Wooyoung winks.

San blanches at the pet name, then clears his throat and tells Wooyoung, “Well, you got me good. I had no idea. Well played, Woo.”

“I can’t believe the mafia won two games in a row. Why are we so dumb?” Jay asks, dragging his hands down his face.

“What can we say? Sometimes the bad guys win and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Wooyoung lazily gloats, pointing to himself, Yeosang, and Jake.

“Wooyoung, we don’t have to gloat,” Yeosang quietly admonishes.

“Of course we do! Gloating is the best part!” Wooyoung argues back.

“San, were you actually the doctor? I was the detective, but as soon as I learned Wooyoung was a mafia, I was killed so I couldn’t do anything,” Juyeon says after he realizes that Yeosang wasn’t going to continue arguing with Wooyoung.

“I was actually the doctor,” San replies, then faces Wooyoung again. “You know, Wooyoung, every single round I saved you. No one else. And the whole time you were mafia!” San laughs and shakes his head.

You did?

“See, I told you the doctor fucking sucked,” Jongho grumbles.

San tries to defend himself and the two start to argue, but Wooyoung isn’t listening, still hung up on San’s admission that he always chose to save Wooyoung. He’s such a dumbass, he thinks, but he also can’t ignore the butterflies that stir in his stomach. If he loved San any more than he does at this moment, Wooyoung is sure that his heart would explode. Admitting that to himself sends him into a spiral, and he buries his face in his hands, whispering, “I am so fucked.”

He didn’t think anyone heard him, but a few seconds later, Yeosang leans over and whispers, “You are not fucked, Wooyoung. You just have to tell him.”

Wooyoung sinks even farther into his hands. “I can’t.” He knows he sounds pathetic, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“He just admitted that he saved you every single round, Woo. Just you. I don’t think this is one-sided.”

Wooyoung shakes his head and mutters, “It’s just because we’re best friends. That’s all.”

Yeosang snorts and then says, “I’m his best friend, too. He never saved me.”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond because he knows he won’t be able to convince Yeosang that San just saved him out of friendship, nothing more. It couldn’t possibly be anything more… right?

He looks back up and sees that all the other players left at some point between the end of the game and now, so the eight of them are alone in the drawing room for the first time. It’s eerily quiet and now that there aren’t so many people blocking his view, he can see vases brimming with narcissus flowers on every single flat surface. He hadn’t noticed the smell before, but it suddenly hits him and nearly bowls him over. The intensity of the smell makes his head throb, and he tries shaking it to rid himself of the pain, but to no avail. However, a thought does come back, and he gasps when he remembers. How did we all forget about Soobin?

“We forgot about Soobin!” he shouts.

The others look at him in confusion and Wooyoung sees that their eyes look a little dazed. What the fuck?

“Wooyoung, what are you talking about?” Seonghwa asks.

“In the pool! We left him out there!”

This seems to break through the haze and their eyes start to clear. They all look like they just woke up from a long nap.

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Jongho mumbles, slowly standing up and rubbing his temples. “Yeosang, will you help me get him out and open the doors? And Wooyoung, can you go upstairs and get some towels and a change of clothes?”

Wooyoung knocks on room seventy-five’s door and Taehyun opens it just a crack.

“Hey, Taehyun. Yunho, Hongjoong, and I tried to go to the police station back in town because the phone doesn't work and… um…” Wooyoung isn’t sure if telling them that the truck may have been intentionally tampered with is the best move right now, so he doesn’t. “There’s something wrong with the truck, so we can’t leave. It’s starting to snow pretty hard outside, and we don’t want to leave Soobin out there, so Jongho and Yeosang are bringing him inside. Since he’s wet, we want to dry him off and change his clothes. If you guys want to do that, of course you’re welcome to, but I understand if you don’t.”

Taehyun thinks for a moment. “Are you sure you guys don’t care to do it?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Wooyoung doesn’t necessarily want to be the one to play mortician, but Taehyun doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay, just a second.” He closes the door and then re-emerges holding a key. He leads Wooyoung to the room next door, and Taehyun opens the door, motioning Wooyoung to follow.

“This is Soobin’s room. I’ll get his clothes and a towel for you.” He searches through a bag and pulls out another shirt and jeans before going to the bathroom to get a towel. He thrusts them into Wooyoung’s hands without making eye contact. “I think I’m just going to stay in here for a few more minutes,” he says a bit shakily.

“That’s fine. Thank you for doing this for me.” Wooyoung knows the signs of someone trying not to cry, so he doesn’t linger and quickly leaves the room.

When he reaches the bottom of the staircase in the main hall, Seonghwa runs up to him and distractedly says, “Hey Wooyoung!” He grabs the clothes and towel out of his arms. “I’ll just take these for you real quick.”

“Um… thanks?”

Seonghwa smiles at him, but it looks a little strained. “We’ve got this taken care of, so if you just want to go sit on one of the couches, that’s perfectly fine.”

What’s going on?

“Seonghwa, why are you acting so weird?”

He laughs, but it’s stilted. “I’m not acting-”

“Cut the bullshit, Seonghwa. What’s going on?”

Seonghwa’s smile falls and he sighs. “Woo, I promise that you don’t want to know. Please just stay out here.”

“I’m not a little kid. You can tell me what’s going on. Is it something with Soobin?”

Seonghwa shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more.

Wooyoung steps around Seonghwa, ignoring his protests for Wooyoung to stay out here, and walks into the kitchen. San’s head perks up at the sound of the door opening and he quickly makes his way to Wooyoung. Wooyoung barely made it three steps into the kitchen, but he can see the others standing in a doorway at the other end of the room.

“Hey, Woo. Didn’t Seonghwa tell you to stay out there? We’ve got this taken care of in here. The freezer is really cramped, so we don’t need all eight of us in there, you know?” San is obviously trying to sound lighthearted but is failing miserably.

“What’s going on?” Wooyoung asks, growing annoyed that everyone is acting so suspiciously.

“Nothing!” San protests too quickly. Wooyoung raises his eyebrow, so San amends his statement. “Nothing that you need to worry about, Woo. We’ve got it handled.”

But Wooyoung is worrying about whatever this is. He takes a step forward and San blocks his way.

“San, get out of the way. I wanna see what’s going on.”

Curiosity has always been Wooyoung’s besetting sin and San knows this better than anyone.

“Woo, please listen to me. Do not go in there,” San pleads, gripping Wooyoung’s upper arms to try to hold him back and block his view of the freezer.

Wooyoung struggles in San’s hold. Why is he so strong? Fighting against San would have been a lot easier three or four years ago when he was still a beanpole, but now? Now Wooyoung doesn’t have a chance to overpower San physically, but if there’s one thing Wooyoung is, it’s cunning. He’ll apologize later for the cruel trick he’s about to pull.

He whimpers, “Sannie, please let me go. You’re hurting me.” He sniffles and a few fake tears spring in his eyes.

San immediately lets go, apologizing profusely, and he genuinely looks like he’s about to cry. Wooyoung takes his chance and darts around San to push through his other friends to enter the freezer. Though what he finds in there chills him far more than the freezer could.

Hanging from a hook lodged in his shoulder like a pig carcass is Kim Jiwoong. His face is so serene that if Wooyoung didn’t know better, he would think Jiwoong was just asleep. He looks down and sees a massive gash in Jiwoong’s throat and he gags. Jiwoong's clothes are completely soaked in drying blood. Wooyoung didn’t know that people could even bleed that much. He starts to feel a little dizzy. He tears away his gaze before he gets sick again and notices something sticking out of Jiwoong’s fist. His curiosity wins out over his disgust and nausea, and he steps closer to the body. He can hear San and Yunho yelling at him to get away from the body and can feel someone’s hands trying to pull him back, but he has to know what Jiwoong is holding. He breaks out of the hold he was in, and Wooyoung unfurls Jiwoong’s fist. He sees a purple flower and a ruby red and gold tulle bow. He recognizes the bow as the one from his narcissus he tied at dinner because his rabbit ears are always so big the laces barely stay tied together. Yeosang tried for years to get Wooyoung to be less aggressive when tying his shoes, but he never learned. He likes the way giant loops look.

He isn’t sure why this bow is the final straw and not the dead body holding it, but the events of the last few hours have finally caught up to him. The last thing he feels before he loses consciousness is San catching him under his shoulders and whispering in his ear, “It’s okay, baby, I got you.”

Chapter Text

God, I hate Mafia, Kim Younghoon thinks from one of the couches in the drawing room. He slouches back farther onto the couch until his head dangles over the edge.

“Can’t we play literally anything else?” He asks to no one in particular.

“What do you want to play instead? Charades?” Jacob asks.

Younghoon straightens and gives Jacob a look that he hopes reads as What the fuck? “Really, Jacob? Charades? How old are we, nine?”

“You’re only saying that because you’re terrible at charades. If you’re actually good at it, it’s a lot of fun for all ages.”

“Oh, I’m terrible at charades?” Younghoon scoffs. “Says the guy who couldn’t even get his team to guess ‘airplane.’”

“That was one time, Younghoon!”

“Well yeah, I would hope that wouldn’t happen more than once. What kind of person mimes feeding a baby instead of spreading out their arms and spinning around?”

“I-” Jacob tries to argue, but Younghoon cuts him off.

“Save it.”

Jacob closes his mouth and crosses his arms.

Younghoon thinks he may have hurt Jacob’s feelings, so he apologizes. He really was just messing around. “Hey, I’m sorry. You’re right, that was just one time.”

Jacob’s face softens, but he doesn’t uncross his arms, so Younghoon decides to leave him alone for now. With nothing better to do, he tries to pay attention to the current game. The players are all just shouting at each other, accusing everyone else of being mafia and Younghoon quickly grows bored. He spies Yunho and Wooyoung walking through the room heading to the doors that lead to the pool. They stop about halfway through to talk about something, but Younghoon can’t hear what they say over the shouting match ongoing between the players. He decides he’s had enough of Kevin yelling at Juyeon about being mafia.  

“There’s gotta be a deck of cards somewhere in this place,” he says as he stands.

“Ooh, are we gonna play ERS?” Jacob’s eyes light up in eagerness.

“Obviously.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He walks toward the main hall and thinks, If I were a deck of cards, where would I be? He soon realizes he has no idea where a deck of cards would be in a hotel, so he decides that he’ll just check every room.

Once he’s back in the main hall, he knows that the door to his right leads to the room where they had dinner, and he doubts he’ll find playing cards in there. He hasn’t been in the room to the left, so he opens that door and walks in.

He finds himself in a giant library, or, at least, he thinks it’s a library. There are bookcases built into the walls, but almost all of them are completely empty. He can only see one that has any books, and it just has three. But he’s not here to read, he’s in here to find playing cards. He opens the cabinet doors underneath one of the bookcases, but these shelves are empty, too. He moves to subsequent bookcases, but the closer he gets to the side wall, the darker it gets, so he pulls out his phone to turn on the flashlight. Each of the cabinets under the bookcases is totally empty. Once he’s checked the last cabinet, he stands up, shines the light against the wall, and sees that the wallpaper is torn and peeling. He walks to the other side of the room and finds a pile of debris in the corner. Planks of wood and chunks of drywall are scattered all over the side of the room and everything is coated in a thick layer of plaster dust. The other rooms he’s been in are so nice; he wonders why this one is in such a state of disrepair.

He sees a ladder and realizes that this room has a second floor. He hadn’t noticed that this room was so tall and when he looks up, he sees a massive skylight in the ceiling.

What on earth? How does this room have a skylight?

He could have sworn that this room was flush with the rest of the hotel because he didn’t see any rooms sticking out from the front when he got here, but if it was flush, how is there a skylight?

He climbs up one of the ladders and reaches the second floor. He has to watch his step because there are huge gaps in the flooring. He shimmies along a bookcase, carefully stepping across what little bit of floor there is until he reaches the other side of the gap. He hears more pieces of the floor fall to the lower level as he continues exploring the second floor. He pulls his phone back out of his pocket and turns the flashlight on again. Even with the skylight, this part of the room is somehow even darker than the lower level. It’s a new moon tonight and the stars don’t offer much illumination. He looks up to the skylight and sees that what had been a light snow flurry earlier has turned into heavier snowfall. He hopes that they won’t get snowed in.

He points his flashlight at the walls and finds two framed landscape photos on one of them. The first is of a lake with what he thinks are cherry blossom trees in the background. The other is of a village. A street runs through the middle and is lined by white houses with orange roofs. He sees mountains in the background. While the places do look familiar, he doesn’t recognize either place, so he turns his attention to a doorway he hadn’t noticed before. He steps over more small piles of debris until he reaches the door. He isn’t sure why, but he feels compelled to see what lies behind the door. He opens it and is met with more pitch darkness. He holds up his flashlight and lets out a small scream when he sees that he isn’t alone.

“Mr. Kim? What are you doing up here? This floor is off-limits,” the girl who served him dinner asks, completely unfazed by his scream.

Unlike at dinner, her long orange hair is pinned up and Younghoon notices that her ears are remarkably pointy. He wants to ask what she is doing up here in the pitch darkness without a flashlight because how can she see? He also wants to ask how he made it to the off-limits third floor because he only climbed up one ladder, but something tells him not to.

“I was looking for a deck of playing cards,” he says instead.

“Ah, I was wondering when you would get tired of watching Mafia. I know how much you dislike it. If you’ll follow me, I can find a deck for you.” She walks deeper into the darkness and Younghoon has to jog to catch up with her. Damn, she’s fast.

“How did you know I hate mafia?” he asks her once he’s caught up.

“I know a lot of things, Mr. Kim,” she says plainly. What’s that supposed to mean? Younghoon doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t seem to mind, though.

The air up here is sweetly fragranced, and he takes in a deep lungful of air, warmth spreading through his body. The pair walks in silence and darkness down the hallway that seemingly stretches endlessly for a while. After a minute or two, there’s a very small voice in the back of his head telling him that he should turn around and go back to the others, but when he tries to stop and turn back, he can’t. What the hell?

“Is something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

His thoughts start to move through his mind very slowly, like they’re trying to walk along the ocean floor.

“I- I want to go back downstairs,” he says slowly, his lips and tongue not wanting to form the syllables.

“Why? There’s nothing left for you down there.” What?

His head and his body feel like they’ve been filled with lead, and it takes him a minute to formulate a response. He blinks, slowly and heavily.

“Jacob. He wants to play ERS.” Every word he utters is a struggle. He looks down and sees that his legs are still moving farther down the hallway even though he wants to stop. But his brain refuses to communicate with his legs.

The girl from dinner stops and faces Younghoon. “If you want Jacob, all you have to do is ask, Mr. Kim. He can play with us, too.”

“Please,” he asks weakly. He doesn’t think he can get his mouth to say anything more. He feels like he’s wading through molasses both mentally and physically.

Suddenly, they reach the end of the hallway. The girl pulls a key from her pocket and opens one of the doors, gesturing for him to enter the room. He tries to shake his head because that small voice is screaming now for him to leave, but it’s getting drowned out by an overwhelming need to obey. He sees a couch inside the room. His head aches so badly and his body is so tired. I just need to sit down for a minute. Then I can go back downstairs. As soon as he takes a step toward the couch, the fog in his mind clears a little and the pain dissipates. He heaves a sigh of relief. The girl from dinner rubs his shoulder and tells him, “You’re doing so well, Mr. Kim. Just sit down, I’ll take care of you.”

How long does it take to find a deck of cards? Jacob wonders. Younghoon has been gone for a while. The game has only grown in intensity in Younghoon’s absence, and Jacob thinks some players might be about to get into a fight. Normally he wouldn’t think anything of it, but some of the guys look like they’re actually about to start throwing punches. He sees Yunho and Wooyoung pass through the drawing room again, both of them wearing freaked-out and worried expressions, respectively. He idly wonders what they were doing outside and what’s got them looking the way they do. He doesn’t think there’s anything outside other than the pool and neither of them is wet, so they definitely weren’t swimming. Whatever. It’s none of my business. He tries to focus on the game playing out in front of him, but there’s a voice in the back of his head telling him that he needs to go look for Younghoon. He trusts his intuition and besides, two sets of eyes looking for a deck of playing cards are better than one.

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes, so he doesn’t tell any of his friends where he’s going. He has no idea where Younghoon would have checked for playing cards, but it’s like his body knows exactly where to go. He walks to the main hall and climbs up the stairs until he gets to the third floor. He sees the barrier chain and a sign that reads, “This floor is under renovation. To ensure guest safety, the floor is off-limits.” He knows that Younghoon would never break the rules to look for a deck of cards, but that voice in the back of his head returns, telling him that Younghoon is somewhere on this floor.

Ignoring his own desire to follow the rules, he steps over the barrier chain. He turns on his phone’s flashlight because the floor is completely dark. That makes sense since it’s under renovation, but it still makes him nervous. He sees two paths before him: straight ahead or go right. He doesn’t see any lights coming from straight ahead and he sincerely doubts Younghoon would look for cards in the dark, so he goes right. If this floor is set up anything like the floor his room is on, there should be another corridor running perpendicular to the one he’s in right now coming up soon. Sure enough, there is. He looks to the right and the corridor ends in about twenty feet. He looks to the left and the corridor stretches farther, plus he can see light emanating from a room at the end.

He sets off toward the light and as he approaches the end of the corridor, he thinks he can hear… moaning? What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Younghoon? But there’s something weird about the noises. They’re so loud, like whoever is making them is trying to draw attention to themselves. And they’re obviously fake. No game, huh, Younghoon? Wait, that’s a bit hasty. He isn’t totally sure Younghoon is on this floor. For all he knows, he may not even know who’s in there. If Younghoon is in that room though, Jacob definitely doesn’t want to be here. There are some things that he just doesn’t need to know about his friend. The moaning suddenly gets even louder and more dramatic and he takes that as his cue to leave. He turns to leave but that voice in his head tells him that there’s something weird here and he needs to investigate. Against his better judgment, he creeps down the corridor closer to the room. I’ll just take a peek, make sure everything is okay, and leave. He feels a bit like a peeping tom, actually, he feels a lot like a peeping tom, but he’ll address that later. There’s just a sick feeling in his gut and it won’t go away until he’s sure everything is okay.

He tiptoes closer to the door and crouches until his eyes are level with the keyhole. The pornographic moaning has thankfully stopped, and he brings one of his eyes close to the keyhole so he can see into the room. He can’t see much, but he can see Younghoon sitting sideways on the couch and a head of bright orange hair slowly working its way down the column of his neck. Gross. Now that he knows Younghoon is fine, Jacob feels comfortable leaving. As soon as he’s about to pull back from the keyhole, the girl from dinner pulls out the long pin holding up her hair and quickly tilts her head in the opposite direction. Jacob hears an animalistic snarl then she tears back her head, and he sees blood from what used to be the front of Younghoon’s neck spraying everywhere. Before Jacob can react, a sharp point pierces his right eye, then is roughly ripped back out. He falls back onto his ass, screaming as he brings both hands to cover his injured eye, blood running down his cheek. The door is thrown open and he sees the girl from dinner standing in front of him, haloed by the light from the room behind her: bloodied hairpin in one hand, blood splattered all over her face and dripping down her chin. She still has some of Younghoon’s flesh hanging out of her mouth. She looks like a feral animal as she brings her other hand up to push the flesh into her mouth and starts to chew. Oh fuck no. Jacob clumsily stands and runs down the corridor faster than he’s ever run before.

“You don’t want to watch anymore, Jacob?” The girl calls from the doorway. Jacob forces his feet to move even faster. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go at the moment, the only thing he can think about is getting away from that girl.

“That’s okay! Sometimes the chase is the best part!”

He hears unnaturally fast footsteps start to race toward him and he realizes in horror that he’s been running down this corridor a lot longer than he should have. He should’ve reached the end by now, but the corridor still stretches in front of him. He’s passed at least ten rooms even though there should’ve only been seven on this side of the corridor. He tries to run even faster because he can hear the girl’s footsteps grow louder.

“Where’s the end?!” he cries out as he pushes his body harder than he ever has.

His efforts are in vain because he’s suddenly tackled and lands on his stomach. The wind is knocked out of him and as he tries to catch his breath, the girl flips him over so he’s lying on his back. She straddles his hips and with one hand pins his wrists to the floor above his head. His phone fell out of his hands when he fell, so the girl is only partially illuminated, but he can see through his remaining eye her fully black eyes staring him down in hunger. Holy shit.

He draws in rapid breaths as she traces a sharp fingernail down the injured side of his face, idly fingerpainting with his blood. He looks over and sees that she has actual claws, not just long and sharp fingernails.

“Did you enjoy the show?” She asks.

Jacob doesn’t answer, trying to steady his breathing so he doesn’t start hyperventilating. He needs to keep his wits about him if he’s going to get out of this.

She slightly digs the claw into his skin and drags it down. Jacob winces and feels more blood start to run down toward his ear.

“I asked you a question, Jacob.”

He figures that honesty is probably the best policy here. He shakes his head back and forth. He did not enjoy the show.

She shrugs. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste. I think I did an excellent job.” She removes her hand from his face and taps her index finger against her pursed lips. “And whose opinion matters more right now, anyway? My own or yours? Only one of us is pinned down and it’s not me, so I’m inclined to think that you should agree with whatever I say.”

“Please don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” he brokenly begs.

She sighs and Jacob assumes she rolls her eyes, but since they’re fully black he can’t really tell. “You all are so boring.” She cuts his cheek with her claw. “Begging me not to kill you.” She swipes her claw on his other cheek. “Telling me you won’t tell anyone, it’s all so dull.” She painfully grips his hair in her fist and brings her face right in front of his. “And so pointless. As if any of you are worth more to me alive than dead.”

She leans back and studies his face before giving him a disapproving look. “Now look at what you’ve made me do. You made me disfigure your handsome face!”

Tears fall from his good eye, and he pleads, “Fine! Just kill me already!” He really hopes she won’t but he’s still trying to figure out his plan and needs her to keep talking.

She purses her lips and hums. “You know what?” She slowly shakes her head as she says, “I like that even less. I’d rather hear you beg for your life than beg me to kill you.”

She gives him a pointed look. He starts to wail and thrash in her hold. He’s running out of time. She starts to laugh.

“Ooh! Somebody’s getting a little feisty!” She digs her claws into his wrists, and he cries out even more at the sharp pain.

“Please. Just let me go,” he wails as he continues to thrash. He’s out of time and he starts the only plan he can think of. He brings his right leg up at an angle and with all the force he can muster, kicks her in the head. In her surprise, she lets go of his wrists and he pushes her the rest of the way off him and stands up to run.

“Oh, Jacob. You fool, you absolute buffoon. That wasn’t very kind of you.” Before he can get very far, she slashes through his right Achilles tendon. He immediately falls to the floor screaming but still tries to crawl away from her. His right leg drags behind him and she roughly grabs his ankle and starts dragging him back toward her. He screams again and her grip tightens.

“Ugh, will you be quiet? God, you’re so loud. No one can hear you up here, Jacob!”

He spins in her hold and tries kicking at her with his left leg, but she’s prepared for his attack now. She sinks her claws into his left calf and keeps them there as she finishes dragging him back to her. She crawls up his body until she’s straddling his lap again and if Jacob thought she looked feral before, he was sorely mistaken. Now she looks absolutely rabid.

“Huh, would you look at that? Somebody finally put up a fight! Soobin, Jiwoong, and Younghoon all died so willingly, but not you! I’m impressed, truly.” She smiles down at him, and her expression is crazed. “As much fun as this was though, I’ve grown tired of it. I can’t spend all my time playing with you, Jacob! Do you know how many people are left? It just wouldn’t be right. Besides,” she brings her lips right against his ear and whispers, “my mother always told me that it was impolite to play with my food.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream before she bites into his neck and rips out his throat.

“For fuck’s sake, I am not the mafia!” Park Jongseong roars. “It’s obviously Sunghoon, but you guys are too fucking dumb to see that!” Jay really isn’t sure how Sunghoon has managed to evade suspicion for as long as he has. Call it a gut feeling, intuition, whatever, but as soon as the game started, he just knew. So, on night one, he asked Q if Sunghoon was mafia and sure enough, he was. Jay has unsuccessfully tried to convince everyone else of Sunghoon’s guilt and now he feels like Cassandra, doomed always to prophesize the truth but never to be believed. He must have campaigned a little too hard because now he’s just been eliminated by the other players.

“Fine! Have fun losing, dumbasses,” he says as he throws up his hands in defeat. He then crosses his arms over his chest and maybe he pouts just a little. He’s pissed, sue him. Thankfully no one is paying him any mind now that he’s been eliminated. The rest of the game plays out and he’s vindicated when the citizens lose because they never figured out that Sunghoon was mafia. Some of the other players leave once the game is over, but none of his groupmates do, so he decides to stay, too. He hears Wooyoung ask if he and some of his groupmates can play and somebody says yes, but Jay isn’t really paying attention. The game starts and he’s still barely paying any attention. He tries to, but his mind just can’t focus on the game before him.

On day one, San immediately starts accusing Juyeon, but Jay doesn’t catch why. No consensus is reached that day, so no one dies. But when morning comes, Jay finds out that he’d been killed overnight. At least now I don’t have to pay attention, he thinks. As soon as the players are allowed to speak, Wooyoung starts accusing Sunghoon of being mafia since Jay was the first to die and how that was such a random kill. Jay doesn’t buy that theory since that isn’t something he thinks Sunghoon would do. He’s too smart to do that. But Wooyoung manages to convince everyone else and Sunghoon is killed off during the day. Since Jay was killed, he gets to see who the mafia are once it’s nighttime again and he’s surprised to learn that it’s Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jake. With how aggressively San had accused Juyeon earlier, Jay was sure that San was mafia. He had a feeling Wooyoung was projecting his own guilt onto Sunghoon, but he never would have guessed Yeosang as mafia. He shoots Jake a glare and mouths, What the fuck, dude? But Jake just shrugs and mouths, Sorry.

The game continues and Jay isn’t sure how Wooyoung manages to evade suspicion the entire time. Jay thinks he’s been pretty obvious throughout the whole game, but no one even considers Wooyoung as mafia. When it’s down to just Wooyoung, San, and Haknyeon, Jay knows that the citizens are about to lose. He may not know them that well, but he can see the heart eyes San keeps giving Wooyoung. Yeah, we’re definitely going to lose. When Wooyoung tells San that he was mafia, Jay has to try hard not to laugh at the complete shock that comes across San’s face. He manages to keep his cool though, even through feeling like a tenth wheel when Wooyoung calls San ‘baby.’ But he doesn’t want the flirtation to go any further right now, so he dramatically drags his hands down his face as he says, “I can’t believe the mafia won two games in a row. Why are we so dumb?”

This gets Wooyoung and Yeosang arguing about gloating, which Jay takes as his cue to leave. He doesn’t really know where he wants to go, he just wants to leave. However, his feet move on their own accord, leading him to a room he hasn’t been in before. He sees an old-fashioned phone on a desk, and he holds the handset up to his ear, but he doesn’t hear anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the cord has been taken out of the jack in the wall. He plugs it back in, places the phone next to his ear, and he hears the dial tone. He wonders how it got unplugged, but he doesn’t dwell on the question very long. He sets the phone down and mindlessly wanders over to one of the bookshelves. He scans the titles, and most are uninteresting. There’s a botany book, a book about the history of Motown, a book on monsters in Korean folklore, and a book about mountains. One book catches his attention though: a book about different kinds of umbrellas. When he tries to take the book off the shelf, he can only pull it about halfway. The bookshelf opens to reveal the start of a staircase going down.

The staircase is shrouded in darkness and Jay doesn’t really want to investigate, but his feet move on their own accord again, and he begins his descent. He feels around his pockets trying to find his phone to turn on his flashlight, but then he remembers that he left it in his jacket, which he gave to that girl when he first got here. He holds his hands out to his sides until he can feel the walls around him. Once he’s located the walls, he keeps his hands on them to maintain his balance. The walls are wet, and he wonders why this stairwell is so damp. When he makes it about five steps down, he hears something drag and click in place. He turns around and all the light from the room with the phone is gone. He goes back up the stairs and tries to push the bookcase back open, but it won’t budge. He pounds on the back of the bookcase and shouts, but after a few minutes of this, he gives up.

Seeing no way forward other than down, he starts his descent again, hands placed out to his sides to feel for the walls. The staircase is a very narrow spiral and he counts twenty steps before he reaches the bottom. The walls around the staircase disappear and Jay stumbles in the darkness, trying to find another wall. He finds one and runs his hands all over it, praying that he’ll find a light switch. He does and flicks it on, blinking away the startling brightness since he's just spent a few minutes in pitch darkness, but once he can see, he kind of wishes he couldn’t. He looks down at his hands and sees that they’re covered in blood. It isn’t his; he can’t see any wounds on his hands, and nothing hurts. That must have been what he felt on the walls. His stomach turns, but he tries his best not to think about it. As he frantically wipes his hands on his pants, he looks around the room. It’s very spartan: a naked fluorescent bulb hangs from the ceiling and the walls are a shade of dark gray. Nothing but shelving adorns the walls and the only thing on the shelves is a vase with a few of the flowers that were on his table at dinner. In one corner he sees a giant rectangular-shaped tub, but what he finds in another corner makes him yell “Fuck!” and fall onto his ass. He wants to scramble away, but he has nowhere to go: the staircase leads to nothing, and he can’t find another door. He stays on the floor, legs splayed in front of him, and his arms braced behind him, supporting the weight of his upper body. He takes a few deep breaths as he tries to get himself not to panic. After about a minute, his body betrays him by forcing him to stand and walk toward what frightened him so badly.

He sees the heads of a man and a woman attached to metal skeletons. Their heads are the only parts of them that are human. Where's the rest of their bodies? He doesn’t recognize them, but they look middle-aged. The closer he looks though, the more he realizes that the man looks quite a bit like the man who helped serve dinner, actually. They look like they could be brothers. Surely not though, right?

The skeletons are crude, exposed wires and clunky hydraulic joints. They look like the stick figures he drew as a kid come to life. The heads’ eyes are open, but cloudy and lifeless. More metal and wires prop their mouths open, and Jay can see the tears in the sides of their mouths and all the blood on their cheeks and jaws. He looks down and sees their robotic hands, metal fingers interlaced with each other.

“This can’t be real, this can’t be real,” he repeats to himself, shaking his head back and forth and closing his eyes. He pinches his arm, fingernails digging in so deep he draws blood and reopens his eyes. The man and the woman are still there, blankly staring back at him. Maybe they’re not even real! He tries to convince himself. They’re probably just hyper-realistic mannequin heads. Those are a thing, right?

Against his better judgment, he reaches a hand toward the woman’s face and feels her forehead. It feels pretty real to him. He turns his head to the side and gags. While his head is turned, he notices a button sitting on the table next to the woman. Written on a sticky note under the button is ‘Press me!’ He knows that this is objectively one of the dumbest decisions he’s ever made, but he can’t stop himself from pressing it. When he does, the two heads jerk to the side to face each other, then jerk back to face Jay. The man’s mouth opens wider, and Jay can see a speaker behind his teeth.

“Park Jongseong! How lovely of you to join us!” The man’s mouth moves along with the words coming out of the speaker. His head slowly swivels to face the woman, then to Jay, then to the other wall and his free arm makes big, jerky, robotic movements. Jay takes several steps backward until his back reaches the wall. The voice doesn’t sound robotic at all. It sounds like the man is actually sitting right in front of Jay.

“Jay, honey, won’t you come closer?” The woman asks, voice saccharinely sweet and vaguely familiar. Her head rapidly jerks to the side, so it looks like she’s just tilting her head and asking him a question. He shakes his head. Her head jerks back to its original position and she says, “I can’t hear you, sweetheart,” her voice sounds like such a mom’s and Jay chokes back a sob.

“I don’t wanna come closer,” he whispers.

“Come on, son! We won’t bite,” the man says, then his mouth extends wide, and he chomps down.

“I just wanna get out of here,” he says, a bit louder. He’s trying to summon all the bravery he can.

“Of course you do, sweetie. If you want to leave, just step into that tub over there,” the woman says as her arm straightens and she swings it over to gesture at the tub in the other corner.

“That’s not a door,” he argues pitifully.

“Son, there are no doors,” the man replies.

“What do you mean there aren’t any doors? I can’t leave from a fucking bathtub!” Jay yells.

The woman’s head jerks back and forth a few times, getting faster with every shake. “I don’t like swearing, Jay.” All the sweetness in her voice is gone. “Get. In. The. Tub.”

“No!” He shouts, and he decides that he’s going to take his chances with beating on the bookcase at the top of the stairs until someone hears him. Surely these things can’t walk, right? When he turns around, he’s hit with a wall of perfumed air, and it forces its way into his lungs. He turns back toward the man and the woman, and his mind is screaming at his body not to get any closer, but his feet propel him toward the tub.

“What are you doing to me?” he cries out as he gets closer to the tub.

“We’re getting you out of here, son. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” the man asks.

Jay tries to fight his body not to step any farther, but his body refuses to listen. He starts screaming in fear and frustration as the toe of his shoe meets the edge of the tub.

“The only way for you to leave is through that tub, honey. Just get in,” the woman says.

Against his will, Jay lifts one of his legs and steps into the tub. He doesn’t feel any pain, but he can see the liquid in the tub start to turn pink. Am I bleeding? He asks himself. He brings his other foot in and stands there for a second. Then he brings his hand up to his face, inspecting it, before he plunges it into the liquid he’s standing in. When he brings his hand back up, the skin is gone, and he can only see bone. He screams, but then his body collapses so he’s kneeling in the tub. The bloodied liquid goes up to the bottom of his ribcage and he wails as he begs someone to save him.

“Take a deep breath and dunk your head, son. It’ll all be over soon,” the man says. They’ve both swiveled their heads to look at Jay in the tub, but other than that their bodies haven’t moved. They’re still holding robotic hands, watching as Jay’s flesh is melted off his bones.

Jay screams even louder as tries to fight against his back and neck bending forward to meet the liquid, but it’s no use. He submerges his head, and everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

“Hey, have you seen Jay anywhere?” Park Sunghoon asks Heeseung, who is currently trying to fold the cloth napkin in front of him into… well… Sunghoon isn’t exactly sure. But one thing he is sure about is that Heeseung shouldn’t quit his day job to become a professional napkin folder. Heeseung doesn’t look up from his project and makes a noise that Sunghoon takes as meaning ‘I don’t know.’ Thanks for all the help there, buddy. Sunghoon sighs, looks at the place setting in front of him, and sees what Heeseung’s cloth napkin used to look like. It kind of looks like a… tower? A cup? One of those hats that the pope wears? He isn’t really sure. He notices the whole dining table is set up with place settings though, not just where he and Heeseung are sitting; he counts nine. He wonders why this table was set for dinner even though no one ate in here.

This dining room is a lot fancier than the ballroom where they ate dinner, and he wishes that they could have eaten in here. The walls are papered with deep red damask wallpaper; the wainscots are made of mahogany and feature carved clover insignias; and while the parquet floors are a bit lighter than the wainscoting, the mismatch doesn’t detract from how old and classy the dining room feels. The only downside he can see is the frankly unreasonable number of candelabras on the dining table.

He’s struck by how mismatched the hotel is as a whole though. It seems like a bunch of random already set-up rooms were thrown together without any regard for cohesion. This room feels decadent and expensive, the ballroom feels cheap and chaotic, his room upstairs feels quaint and cozy, and the drawing room feels fresh and modern. Each of the rooms has a completely different aesthetic and he wonders why they’re all so different.

“I’m gonna go look for him,” Sunghoon tells Heeseung as he stands up.

Heeseung doesn’t look up from his napkin and mutters, “Okay. Good luck.”

As Sunghoon walks past Heeseung, he picks up the napkin, pulls out some of the fabric that had been tucked in, and the whole thing falls apart. He drops the napkin as he bolts to the door leading back to the drawing room, Heeseung’s colorful curses trailing behind him. As he closes the door to the dining room, he hears the doors leading outside open and sees Yeosang walk back inside, followed by Jongho carrying in what looks like a body. He looks closer and sees that the body is Soobin’s. Oh. I forgot about that. They walk past him without sparing him a second glance.

Yeosang didn’t close the door behind Jongho, so Sunghoon walks over to shut it, not wanting the heavily falling snow to come inside and make the room cold. When he gets to the door though, he sees footprints in the snow walking past the pool toward a room he hasn’t been in yet. Maybe Jay went out here? He follows the footprints to a door that he opens and then steps inside. It’s considerably warmer in here than it was both outside and back in the main part of the hotel. It looks and feels like a greenhouse; he sees rows of planters filled with soil, but there’s nothing in them. The whole room itself is nearly empty. He looks up and there’s suddenly a very angry-looking man glaring down at him.

“Another one?” he barks.

“What?” Sunghoon asks dumbly, still a bit caught off-guard.

The man lets out an aggressively heavy sigh. “I told those two gay boys to tell Lottie to leave me alone.”

Gay boys? And who the hell is Lottie?

Sunghoon shakes his head and tries to explain, “Look, sir, I’m just looking for my friend. He’s about my height, blonde. Have you seen him?”

The man gives him an appraising look. “What’s your name, son?”

“Park Sunghoon. My friend is Park Jongseong.”

The man’s face lights up. “Oh, well, in that case, I have seen your friend.” He waves a hand and Sunghoon hears a faint whoosh. “He went through that door over there.” He points to a door in the back right corner of the room.

Sunghoon inclines his head and thanks the man before he heads over to the door, opens it, and is greeted with complete darkness. Jay, why the hell did you come in here? He thinks as he fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn on the flashlight. He sees that he’s in a narrow spiral stairwell with the option either to go up or down. Something tells him to go up, so he begins climbing up the stairs. The walls around him are dark gray stone and the stairwell is cold and dank. Whoever designed this place must really hate cohesion because now he feels like he’s in a medieval dungeon. He climbs up these stairs for what feels like forever before they abruptly end, and he sees a wooden door in front of him. With no more stairs before him and a long walk back down behind him, he decides to try his luck and see if Jay really is in here. The door loudly creaks as he opens it and steps inside the room.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up, Sunghoon,” Jay says as he stands up from one of the couches in the room. Sunghoon looks around in surprise and sees that all his group members are in here. What the fuck?

“Heeseung, how the hell did you get here?” he asks. He left Heeseung in the dining room and he didn’t see or hear him in the room with the planters.

Heeseung chuckles and gives Sunghoon a look he doesn’t quite understand. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah? I left you in the dining room. How did you get up here before I did? Why are you guys even up here anyway? It’s freezing,” he says as he wraps his arms around himself and shivers. He scans the room, trying to find a thermostat or a blanket, but the room is bare, with only two couches and two side tables. One has a vase filled with those flowers he saw at dinner and the other has a jug of something. He reads the label, and it says in English, ‘drain cleaner.’ He looks around for a sink but doesn’t see one in here, so he’s confused as to why there’s drain cleaner.

“You can have my seat,” Jay says, interrupting Sunghoon’s train of thought. “Maybe my residual body heat will warm you back up.”

Sunghoon sits on the couch, but Jay’s residual body heat is unfortunately nowhere to be found; the couch is ice cold. He blows warm air into his cupped hands then places his fingers under his armpits. “Nobody answered me by the way. What are you doing up here?” He asks, teeth chattering.

Heeseung gives a noncommittal shrug. “Waiting for you.”

“What do you mean ‘waiting for me?’”

“You’re the star of the show. The man of the hour,” Jake says.

“Can you stop speaking in riddles and just give me a straight answer?” Sunghoon shivers even harder. “Whatever. Forget it. I’m going back downstairs where it’s warmer. You’re all welcome to come back with me.” He stands up but pauses when Jungwon opens his mouth for the first time.

“I don’t know how you think you’re gonna leave, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon moves to point to the door he came through earlier, but there’s nothing there. Just an empty wall.

“Guys, what happened to the door?” His voice is shaky with something other than cold now.

“You don’t need it anymore,” Jungwon replies tonelessly.

Sunghoon races to where the door had been and runs his hands all over the wall, trying to feel for anything. Maybe he just can’t see the door from this side? His search grows more frantic the longer he spends feeling up the wall. He turns back around to face his friends.

“Okay, ha-ha guys, very funny,” he fake-laughs. “Seriously, where’s the other door?”

Sunoo tilts his head in confusion. “What part of this aren’t you understanding? There is no other door.”

“What are you talking about?” Sunghoon asks incredulously. “There has to be a way for us to get out of here! We can’t just be trapped up here!”

When his friends don’t reply and just give him pitying looks, he huffs and goes over to a different wall and starts running his hands all over it to find a door. “You know, you guys could help me! Instead of just standing around staring at me!” He bites in annoyance.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Niki asks.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes as he moves to the third wall. There’s nothing here either. He moves to the final wall and when he can’t feel any indication of a door, he pushes one of the couches up against a wall and lifts up the rug. He falls to his knees and starts feeling around the floor for a hidden door. Everyone is silent as Sunghoon crawls all over the floor, moving furniture as he goes. When he moves one of the side tables, the vase falls off and shatters. He curses and begins picking up the glass shards and the flowers. He can smell the flowers and they smell lovely, so he brings them to his nose and takes a deep breath, wanting to breathe in as much of the sweet scent as he can. His head starts to feel warm and fuzzy, and he forgets what he was doing before. He looks back down at his hands and sees blood dripping onto the floor. Why do I have pieces of glass in my hands? He wonders as he drops everything he was holding and brings his injured hands closer to his face. The cuts look fairly deep, but he doesn’t feel any pain. He places pressure on one of the deeper cuts and blood flows a bit harder, but he doesn’t feel anything.

“Sunghoon, you look really thirsty. Would you like something to drink?” Jay asks, breaking Sunghoon out of his reverie. Sunghoon lowers his hands and stands up. He is really thirsty.

“Yeah, I am thirsty,” he says slowly. His tongue feels too heavy for his mouth and it’s hard to speak. “Water?” he asks.

“There’s something for you to drink right here,” Jay says as he points to the jug on the other side table. “It tastes really good. I think you’ll like it.”

Sunghoon walks to the side table and lifts up the jug. “This doesn’t look like water,” he mutters weakly.

Jay smiles sweetly at him. “It’s even better than water. Just try it.”

Sunghoon’s head gets heavier and heavier, and his thoughts move slower and slower the longer he stands, but something just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t want to drink this.”

Jay’s voice grows slightly sterner. “You’ll feel better when you drink it, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon tries to set the jug back on the table, but his arms refuse to go down.

“Jay, I don’t want it,” he slowly pleads. “Please, just give me some water.” One of his hands moves to remove the cap from the jug. “Jay, please, I don’t want this.” He sets the cap on the side table. He looks over to his other friends and pleads with them to give him some water. They all shake their heads and say in unison, “Just take a sip, Sunghoon.”

His arms start to move, lifting the jug up to his lips. He can smell strong chemicals and the rim of the jug burns his lips. Tears well in his eyes and he weakly begs, “Please stop. I just want some water. This burns.”

They all stare at him intently, but no one says anything. Sunghoon tilts his head back and lifts the jug higher. Thick liquid flows into his mouth and he gulps it down. He can feel it burning as it travels down his esophagus to his stomach, but he can’t stop drinking it. He starts to cough up blood and feels it run down his chin, but he can’t stop drinking. He seizes and finally drops the jug, following closely behind it. He coughs up more blood and it mixes with the thick liquid slowly flowing from the overturned jug. The last thing he sees is his friends standing over him, making no moves to help, just watching. His body seizes for another minute, then stills.

A man opens the door of a small closet in the back corner of the conservatory. He pulls on the chain attached to a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the tiny space. The closet is completely empty save for three things. On the floor in a puddle of his own blood and drain cleaner lies Park Sunghoon. A jug of drain cleaner and a broken vase of narcissus flowers lies next to him. The man picks up the corpse but leaves the overturned jug of drain cleaner and flowers. He pulls on the chain again, shrouding the closet back in darkness. If only Sunghoon were still alive… he could just open his eyes and recognize the man carrying his body. The man closes the door and walks back through the conservatory before handing the body to someone else. The man says, “Put him with the rest of them, will you, Lottie?”

“Kevin, I love you, but if I don’t leave right now, I’m gonna piss my pants,” Lee Juyeon says as he stands up from his chair. He walks as quickly as he can toward the door without disturbing his bladder too much as Kevin tries to continue their conversation.

“Juyeon! You can’t just leave right now!” Kevin calls out.

“Dude, I’ll be like five minutes. I’ll be right back! Put me down fifty thousand won on Wooyoung!” He replies without turning around, breaking into a jog.

“Only fifty thousand? You’re such a wimp!” Kevin hollers.

Juyeon severely underestimated how full his bladder was. Thank God his and Younghoon’s room is just on the second floor. If he had to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his room, he’d just piss outside in the snow. When he makes it up the stairs, he sprints to his door and shoves the key into the keyhole. He doesn’t even spare Younghoon lying on his bed a glance, too focused on making it to the bathroom.

“Dude, where’d you go? You missed a crazy game of mafia!” Juyeon calls from the bathroom. “Kevin and San almost got into a fight and neither of them was mafia! It was insane! And we lost because San was too much of a lovesick puppy to see that Wooyoung was mafia,” he says as he washes his hands. “Speaking of San and Wooyoung, we have a bet going on who’s going to admit they’re whipped for the other first. I’ve got fifty thousand on Wooyoung, Kevin has a hundred thousand on neither of them ever saying anything, and Hyunjae has fifty thousand on San. Want in?” Silence.

“Younghoon?” He asks because Younghoon hasn’t said anything the whole time Juyeon has been back. He dries his hands off on his pants as he walks back into the bedroom and sees that Younghoon is lying on his side, facing the wall. Is he sick?

“Hey man, are you feeling okay?” Juyeon asks as he grabs Younghoon’s shoulder. Younghoon flops over onto his back with just the little bit of force Juyeon applied. Juyeon looks down and sees that Younghoon is missing part of his neck, and his front is drenched in blood.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, his mind not fully comprehending the scene in front of him. He takes in a shuddering breath and presses his fingers against Younghoon’s wrist, hoping against hope that there’s a pulse. There isn’t one. He backs up slowly, reaching behind him until he feels the doorknob. He clumsily twists it open and runs down the hallway, trying to go back downstairs to get some help. He knows where his strengths lie, and dealing with a crisis like this is certainly not one of his strengths. When he reaches the stairwell, he sees the girl who served him dinner walking up the stairs. She works here, she’ll know what to do! He runs down to her and grabs her by the shoulders. “Please, you have to help me!”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She asks, pointing to his hands that are covered in blood.

He shakes his head vehemently. “No, no. It’s not mine. My friend though… he’s… dead!” he sobs out.

“Oh?”

Juyeon takes in shuddering breaths as he continues, “I think there’s some kind of animal in here… part of his neck was gone!” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Are there… bears around here?”

She gasps and whispers back, “You really think it was a bear?”

He throws up his hands and exclaims, “I don’t know!”

She looks down, purses her lips, and hums while she thinks. “Well, if there’s a bear in here killing people…” She looks up and smiles at him. “I think it’s hunting season.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that we’re up here?” Juyeon asks as he steps over the barrier chain blocking entry to the fourth floor.

She doesn’t turn around but waves her hand in dismissal. “We won’t be up here very long. I’m just getting some things.”

He looks ahead of them and sees that the hallway soon becomes completely dark.

“Are you sure you don’t need a light?” He asks as he pulls out his phone and turns on the light.

“I can see perfectly well but thank you,” she replies.  

She leads him down the hall for about a minute, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a key. She opens the door, reaches inside, and flicks on the light switch, then gestures for Juyeon to enter the room.

He walks into a fully stocked armory and thinks, What the fuck is this doing here?

“Hey…” he starts to ask and then trails off, realizing he doesn’t know this girl’s name. “Wait, I’m sorry, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Hmm…I’ve gone by a lot of names over the years… You can call me Sinhye though,” she says airily, opening up a cabinet to an equally impressive and alarming number of firearms.

“So Sinhye… what’s up with this room?” Juyeon asks in mild concern as he continues to look around the room. It looks like they’re preparing for war in here: he sees swords and bows hanging on the walls and there’s another glass cabinet filled with even more guns. She walks past him holding a shotgun and rifles through a bin in the corner. She pulls out two nasty-looking bear traps and a small coil of sharp wire with two orange handles. She hands him one of the bear traps and tells him, “Be careful with that. Wouldn’t want to lose a hand.”

Juyeon nods and thrusts his arms out straight in front of him, keeping his hands as far away from the teeth on the bear trap as he possibly can.

“Ready to go hunting?” She asks, and Juyeon notices that she looks a little too excited to hunt a bear in a hotel.

“I- I guess?”

She squeals in delight and exclaims, “Perfect!” She nudges him through the door until they’re both standing in the hallway. She shuts off the light in the armory and closes the door behind her, plunging them into darkness. Juyeon shifts the weight of the bear trap to one hand so he can get his phone, but he stills when he feels slight pressure on his chest.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen, Juyeon. I have a bear trap. You have a bear trap. We have this whole floor to ourselves. We’ll get…” she pauses. “Three minutes. To hide our traps and ourselves. And then the fun can start!”

“…What?” He asks dumbly. “You think the bear is on this floor?”

“Oh, Juyeon, you’re so silly,” she giggles. “You really think there’s a bear stalking this hotel? Don’t be ridiculous!” She presses the barrel of the shotgun harder into his chest. “I’m the one who killed your friends! And now I get to hunt you down!”

Friends? “You killed more than one?”

She sucks in air through her teeth. “Ooh… did you not know about Jacob? Doesn’t matter, you’ll join them soon enough.” She removes the shotgun from his chest. “You’d better get to hiding, Juyeon. You’ve only got two minutes now and you didn’t pick up a single weapon! You’re lucky I’m so nice and gave you a bear trap!”

“Sinhye, what are you talking about? You can’t possibly be serious!”

“Clock’s ticking, Juyeon. You could just stay here, but that wouldn’t be any fun for me. And when I’m bored, I tend to get a little more… creative.” She presses the barrel of the shotgun back to his chest and prods him along. Not knowing what else to do, Juyeon runs toward the stairwell. This girl is fucking crazy. When he reaches the stairwell, both the steps leading up and down are blocked by walls that weren’t there before.

“One more minute, Juyeon!” Sinhye yells from down the hall. “Oh! And no flashlights! I don’t have one, so that just wouldn’t be fair, you know?”

He runs down the other hallway, testing all the doorknobs, praying that one of the rooms will be unlocked so he can hide. He finally finds one and as quietly as he can, he opens the door. He places the bear trap right in the middle of the doorway and sets it before he steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. He assumes that this is another bedroom and will be set up like his and Younghoon’s room. He feels around for the wardrobe and quickly locates it, opening the door and climbing in, settling against the back corner. He feels something slightly squishy under his feet that are curled against the opposite wall of the wardrobe, but he doesn’t want to think too much about what it is. He can’t see it so he can just pretend it isn’t there. He tries to slow his breathing and his heart rate so he can hear his surroundings, taking in a deep breath for four seconds, holding it for seven, and breathing out for eight. He then takes more deep breaths and feels his heart rate slow as he calms down. He hears a gunshot and a high-pitched laugh; he bites his fist to keep himself quiet. Loud footsteps race down the hallway, and he hears a fist slam against a door three times in quick succession.

“Oh Juyeeeeoooon,” Sinhye sings. “You know you can’t hide from meeeeeeeeeee!” He hears what sounds like a door getting busted down. Holy fucking shit, holy fuck, oh my God, what am I gonna do?! He doesn’t have any weapons! He’s a sitting duck in a wardrobe! He really didn’t think this through. He doesn’t have any semblance of a plan!

He hears a doorknob twist. Please God no, he prays in his head. The door opens slowly and he hears the light switch flick on, light filtering in through the crack between the doors of the wardrobe. He bites down on his fist even harder, and he tastes the coppery tang of blood. Please don’t look in here, please don’t look in here. God obviously didn’t hear Juyeon’s prayers because the doors to the wardrobe open. Sinhye’s face falls and she looks at him in pity. “Oh Juyeon. This was a horrible place to hide.” She points to the squishy lump Juyeon felt under his feet and he breaks eye contact with her to look over at it. He lets out a choked sob when he sees Jacob’s mangled body carelessly tossed against the wall of the wardrobe.

“How about I give you a second chance to get away, hmm?” Maybe God was listening after all.

Juyeon doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and he unfurls himself, leaping out of the wardrobe and breaking into a run. He doesn’t make it very far before he steps on the still-set bear trap in front of the door. The teeth tear into his calf and he falls to the floor and screams. Sinhye huffs in annoyance and crouches down closer to him. “You disappoint me, Juyeon. You’re not much fun to play with. You seriously forgot about the bear trap you set?”

He tries to pry apart the bear trap with his hands, but he can hardly see through his tears, and he can’t get a good grip on the trap.

“Would you like me to help you get out of that?” Sinhye asks him.

“Please!” he screams. He’ll do anything to escape this pain.

She grabs the wire with the two orange handles and wraps the wire around his calf above the bear trap. “Mmm... You really shouldn’t have said that, Juyeon. I think this is going to be even worse.”

She pulls the two orange handles in opposite directions, and he feels the wire slice through his skin. He screams even louder, clutching his leg in agony, and she loudly shushes him, saying, “Hush now. You asked for this; I’m just giving you what you want!” She tugs the handles even harder, and he suddenly lurches forward, falling onto his stomach. He looks behind him and sees his foot and ankle still caught in the bear trap, but that’s all that’s left. He looks at his leg, sees a bloodied stump, and immediately retches.

“Ugh!” Sinhye recoils in disgust. “I can’t believe you threw up on me!”

Delirious with pain, Juyeon mutters, “I can’t believe you cut off my foot.”

Sinhye cracks her neck and seethes, “Oh, that’s not the only thing that’s getting cut off.”

She wraps the wire around one of his wrists and yanks with inhuman strength, almost immediately severing his hand from his body. In a stroke of grace, Juyeon loses consciousness after losing his hand, but it doesn’t take long before Sinhye notices. She goes back into the room, overturns the vase filled with flowers, and enters the bathroom to fill it back up with ice-cold water. She unceremoniously dumps it on Juyeon and repeats the process until he wakes back up. When his eyes flutter open, she rears back and smacks him across the face. “Don’t,” she growls, “pass out on me again, Juyeon. You’re gonna take this like a man.”

She crawls on top of him, facing his feet. She grabs his other ankle and wraps the wire around it. She pulls the orange handles apart slower this time, so Juyeon feels the wire slice through every layer of his skin and muscle before finally cutting through the bone. His screams have only grown louder in intensity and Sinhye moves around so she faces his head, tearing off the bottom half of his shirt with… are those claws he feels? Then gags him with the newly removed fabric.

“We’re so close to being done, Juyeon! Isn’t this so exciting? But here’s the question: do I put you out of your misery by cutting off your head or do I embrace the chaos gremlin and leave you to bleed out?” He shakes his head back and forth and thrashes, trying to scream behind his gag.

“No what? You’re not being very clear. No, you don’t want me to cut off your head? Or no you don’t want me to leave you to bleed out?” She blows a raspberry as she wraps the wire around his other wrist. “I think I want to embrace the chaos gremlin,” she says as she yanks the handles apart, severing his other wrist. She leans close to Juyeon's face and whispers, “If I were really mean,” she reaches behind her, grabs his crotch, and digs in her claws, “I’d cut this off, too.” Juyeon frantically shakes his head, tears streaming down his face.

“Luckily for you, I have other matters to attend to.” She stands up and drops the wire saw onto Juyeon’s stomach. “Thank you for a thoroughly entertaining hunting season,” she says as she curtsies. “Maybe I’ll mount you on my wall?”

She walks away and Juyeon doesn’t have the strength to move, so he stays still, slowly bleeding out until finally, graciously, he gets to die.

Kim Sunwoo hears a scream coming from upstairs and immediately breaks into a sprint toward the main hall. He races up the stairs, unsure which floor the scream came from, but it sounded far away, so he bets it was on the fourth or fifth floor. When he reaches the fourth floor, he leaps over the barrier chain and listens for any more noise. It’s completely dark so he turns on his phone’s flashlight and he sees the girl who served dinner standing in front of him, covered in blood and vomit and eyes black as night.

“You must be joking. You heard that?” She asks, tossing back her head in annoyance.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asks in return. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” she replies, reaching into one of her pockets. She pulls out what looks like a gigantic remote and looks up at him. “Kim Sunwoo, right?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“You were next anyway, so this works out nicely.” She takes a deep breath. “Well, it was nice knowing you, buddy,” she says as she presses one of the buttons on the remote.

The floor drops out from under Sunwoo’s feet, and he falls a short distance before he’s impaled through the throat, chest, and one of his legs on spikes sticking up from the ground. He didn’t even get a chance to scream.

“‘You cut me,’ he said. His voice was pleasant. British. Very ordinary. He looked at his hand with critical interest. ‘It might be fatal.’”

These words sound so familiar to Wooyoung, but he’s caught in between the sleeping and waking worlds and his mind is working slowly, so he can’t place them right now. He just knows that he’s curled up with something warm and he can hear a comforting voice. He snuggles closer to the warmth and the voice continues.

“Tessa looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Are you the Magister?’ He tilted his hand to the side. Blood ran down it, spattering the floor. ‘Dear me, massive blood loss. Death could be imminent.’”

Wait. Will Herondale says that. Wooyoung forces himself to return to the land of the conscious.

“‘Are you the Magister?’”

He blinks away his grogginess and sees San reading from a copy of Clockwork Angel. San hasn’t noticed that Wooyoung is awake now and Wooyoung makes no moves to alert him. He has such a lovely reading voice.

“‘Magister?’ He looked mildly surprised by her vehemence. ‘That means ‘master’ in Latin, doesn’t it?’”

Wooyoung wonders how long he’d been asleep. He knows that this passage comes from chapter two and San isn’t speed reading, so it must have been a while.

“‘I…’ Tessa was feeling increasingly as if she were trapped in a strange dream.”

You and me both, bestie, Wooyoung thinks.  

“‘I suppose it does.’ ‘I’ve mastered many things in my life. Navigating the streets of London, dancing the quadrille, the Japanese art of flower arranging, lying at charades, concealing a highly intoxicated state, delighting young women with my charms…’ That sounds a lot like you, Woo,” San whispers before looking down, surprise crossing his face when he sees that Wooyoung isn’t still asleep. A blush creeps onto his cheeks and he immediately slams the book shut.

“Aw, I love that scene,” Wooyoung pouts. “Why’d you stop reading?”

“I don’t know how you can read these books. They’re awful.”

Wooyoung smacks San’s arm and exclaims, “They’re not awful! They’re incredible!”

San rolls his eyes and replies, “They’re so melodramatic, Woo.”

“That’s what makes them so great! You get so invested in the characters only to learn that they’re all doomed, never to be together the way they want! It’s such delicious angst and pain! I cry every single time I read Clockwork Princess!”

“Yeah, I know,” San laughs. “You were inconsolable for days the first time you read it. And you just keep rereading them! You’re such a masochist.”

Hearing San talk about masochism makes a blush of his own crawl up into his cheeks and he clears his throat. Yep, we’re changing the subject now. “How long was I asleep? I just remember playing Mafia and going up to Taehyun’s room… and now I’m… in your room?” Wooyoung asks, looking at his surroundings. The quilt he and San are under is black and so is the quilt on the other bed, so this definitely isn’t his and Yeosang’s room.

“Yeah, I brought you up here after… um…” San trails off. He looks like he’s debating with himself about something.

Wooyoung grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze. “You can tell me, San.”

“Once you came back downstairs from Taehyun’s room, you saw… Jiwoong in the freezer. He was dead. And then you passed out.”

The memory of finding Jiwoong's bloody body in the freezer comes back, but Wooyoung forces it away. “Fuck. That’s embarrassing that I passed out like some little bitch,” Wooyoung laughs self-deprecatingly, looking down at their hands. At some point, one of them must have interlaced their fingers, but Wooyoung doesn’t remember doing it.

“Nah, it’s not embarrassing. I mean, you were also the one who found Soobin in the pool. You’ve seen a lot of shit today. Speaking of which, are you okay? Be honest with me.”

Wooyoung runs his thumb over San’s index finger. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It’s been… a lot. I don’t know that I’ve really processed it.”

“It’s fucking insane. I should have listened to you when you said you were worried about tonight. I’m really sorry I didn’t.”

Wooyoung sidles even closer to San. He looks at San’s shirt and sees a little bit of blood on his shoulder. “Did you get hurt?” He asks, pointing to the bloodstain.

San looks down at the bloodstain and his eyes widen. “It’s not mine I don’t think.” He pulls his collar down to look at the skin on his shoulder. “Yeah, it isn’t mine. It’s probably from Jiwoong.”

Wooyoung hums in understanding. That makes sense. “It’s okay, by the way. Trying to talk me out of my worries about tonight,” he whispers. “You were just trying to make me feel better.”

San shakes his head. “No, it’s not okay. I didn’t listen to you, and I didn’t take your concerns seriously. That was shitty on my part. And now we’re stuck here until morning with two dead guys and a murderer after us.” He snorts in disbelief. “How the hell did we get here?”

“Well, we drove to the airport, then we got on a plane, you fell asleep watching Ringu while I read Clockwork Prince, then we landed, got in another car, and drove here. Pretty simple, really.”

San shoves Wooyoung with his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Wooyoung holds up one of his hands in surrender and chuckles, “You’re asking the wrong questions, San. A fairy would trick the fuck out of you with their wordplay.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I have you then. You can make sure I don’t get tricked and accidentally give away my firstborn child.”

“I have to protect my future niece or nephew, you know!”

San’s face falls when Wooyoung says niece, and he mutters, “Right…” He quickly schools his features back into a more pleasant expression. “Jongho and I have this bet going on whether Hongjoong or Seonghwa is going to make the first move. Want in?”

What the fuck? “Where’d this come from?” Wooyoung asks.

San shrugs and says, “I dunno. Just thought of it. My money’s on Seonghwa. Hongjoong is definitely too chicken shit to do anything.”

“Really? The way I see it, Seonghwa will do… I dunno something Seonghwa-esque and Hongjoong won’t be able to take it any longer and will just pull him in for a dramatic make-out session. He’s so tightly wound; he’s bound to snap one day. Plus, I don’t think Seonghwa even considers the possibility that Hongjoong is into him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one…” San trails off. “Listen, Woo. There’s something I need to tell you and I just need you to let me get it out in one go, okay?”

“Okay…? What is it?”

San closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “So, there’s this guy.”

Oh great. Now I get to hear about this wonderful guy San has a crush on who’s so much better than me. Wooyoung grimaces but tries to pass it off as a smile. “Mmhmm,” he mumbles without opening his mouth.

“I’ve been into him for years, but I don’t think he has a damn clue. I’m so scared to tell him because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? And then I ruin the best relationship with the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“San, are you into Yeosang?” Definitely didn’t see this one coming.

“I told you not to interrupt me!” San whines.

Wooyoung holds up his hand again and gestures for San to continue.

“Anyway, as I was saying. I’m scared, right? Because this guy is the best person I know. He’s smart, he’s kind, he’s hilarious, he makes everyone feel like they belong, he’s generous, he’s the hardest worker I know, he’s so creative, he’s an amazing performer, has a criminally underutilized vocal tone, he’s such a good dancer, not the mention he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

Wooyoung pulls his hand out of San’s. He doesn’t think he can handle the love of his life tell him about the fat crush he has on their best friend.

“I don’t think I’m the person you should talk to about this,” Wooyoung replies as tonelessly as he can, but he doesn’t think he succeeded when he looks at San’s heartbroken face.

“Woo, baby, no, I think you’re misunderstanding me-” San is cut off by the door opening. Seonghwa peeks his head into the room and Wooyoung scoots as far away from San as he can manage on the small bed. Seonghwa opens the door the rest of the way and walks inside.

“Hey, you, you’re finally awake,” Seonghwa smiles brightly at Wooyoung. He crouches next to Wooyoung’s side of the bed and puts a hand on his knee. “How are you feeling?”

Wooyoung hates when people ask him that because it always makes whatever emotion he’s feeling even worse.

The tears he’d tried to fight as San told him about his crush on Yeosang spill over and Seonghwa stands, pulling Wooyoung into his torso. “Hey… it’s okay.” He rubs circles on Wooyoung’s back and shushes him. Wooyoung can feel San get off the bed and then he hears the door slam.

“Wooyoung, did I interrupt something?” Seonghwa asks him gently.

“Just San telling me that he’s in love with Yeosang,” Wooyoung mumbles lowly into Seonghwa’s shirt.

“What was that?”

Wooyoung pulls back and pats the spot next to him on the bed. Seonghwa sits and gives him an expectant look.

“San just told me that he’s in love with Yeosang. Then you walked in and San left.”

Seonghwa looks puzzled. “Did San say that he was in love with Yeosang?”

“I mean, not by name, but the person he was describing could only be Yeosang,” Wooyoung replies as he messes with a loose piece of skin by one of his fingernails. Both of them are silent for a minute.

“Can I tell you something?” Seonghwa asks him. Wooyoung nods. “When you passed out downstairs, San caught you and carried you all the way up here, to the fifth floor. That’s a lot of stairs. Once he tucked you in bed, he asked me to stay with you while he went downstairs to the library to find a book to read to you. Said something about how people in those books you like read to each other when they’re unconscious. Very romantic, by the way. Came back up and begged Hongjoong to let him stay with you, just the two of you. We were all going to stay in here since two people have died and we shouldn’t separate, but San didn’t want your sleep to be disturbed by seven other people and he swore he’d protect you. What does that tell you?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I dunno? That San is a gentleman and a good friend?”

Seonghwa heaves a big sigh and buries his face in his hands. “Wooyoung, San is in love with-”

Three loud knocks interrupt what Seonghwa was about to say. Wooyoung gets up and positions himself about a foot away from the peephole and adjusts until he can see out of it.

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa asks.

Through the peephole, Wooyoung sees that it’s the rest of his group out in the hall. “Checking the peephole. Don’t wanna get my eye stabbed out, you know?” He says as he opens the door.

“Seonghwa! What the fuck? What took you so long? Why did San come back but not you and Wooyoung? Your job was to bring both of them and yourself back!” Hongjoong exclaims in exasperation and worry.

“There was something I needed to talk about with just Wooyoung, which you interrupted by the way!”

“We don’t have time for solo chitchats, Seonghwa! In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a fucking murderer here and we don’t have any way to get a hold of the authorities or leave! We need to stick together!”

Wooyoung can hear Jongho whisper to San, “They’re definitely gonna fuck after this.”

“Wooyoung and I were together! If anything, you should be yelling at San! He’s the one who keeps going off on his own!”

San’s eyes widen and he exclaims, “Leave me out of this!”

“I already got onto him for that, but way to throw him under the bus to try and save your own ass,” Hongjoong says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Enough!” Wooyoung yells. “This fight isn’t getting us anywhere! Hongjoong, what’s our next move?”

“We can’t tell anyone about Jiwoong,” Hongjoong says in a tone that brooks no contradiction. “We don’t know who we can trust. Jiwoong’s death definitely wasn’t an accident and I’m starting to think that Soobin’s wasn’t either. So that means that somebody here is a murderer and the only people I trust are in this room. We keep our cards close to our chests and we don’t tell anyone anything. One, not to cause chaos that we can’t contain and two, if the killer doesn’t know we’re onto them, we have more time to try and figure out who it is.”

“And what do we do when we find out who it is?” Seonghwa asks.

“We kill them before they kill us,” Wooyoung replies.

Chapter Text

“Kill them, Wooyoung?!” Mingi exclaims in utter disbelief, his mouth agape. “Are you serious?!”

“What other choice do we have, Mingi?” Wooyoung asks in annoyance. “It’s either them or us! I don’t know about the rest of you, but if I had to kill someone to save one of you, my conscience would be pretty clear.”

Mingi flops down on the other bed. “I don’t…” he sighs and drops his voice to a whisper. “I don’t know that I can kill anyone, Woo.”

“But- we won’t have to kill anyone, will we?” Seonghwa asks reluctantly. “We could just… stay up here? Barricade ourselves in this room and wait until morning?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to say something then scoffs in disbelief himself. “I dunno. Maybe?” He throws up his hands. “But there’s no guarantee that we’d survive until morning. If we stay in here, sure we’re safe now but we’re sitting ducks.” He sits on the opposite side of the bed from Wooyoung and Seonghwa and crosses his feet under his thighs. He squishes up his cheeks with his palms and taps the top of his head with his fingers. He then rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and sighs. “I don’t fucking know,” he says as he drops his hands from his face and shrugs one shoulder. “Anyone got any ideas?”

“Well…” Wooyoung starts cautiously. “I mean, we were brought here under the pretense of a party. Maybe figuring out who invited us here would help us figure out who’s behind all this? Who’s trying to kill us and why?” He looks around at his friends: Yunho leans against a wall and worries his lip between his teeth, lost in thought; Yeosang stands rod straight, slowly wringing his hands; San… Wooyoung doesn’t think he can look at San right now; and Jongho has moved to sit next to Mingi on the other bed, hand comfortingly placed on Mingi’s knee. I can’t let anything happen to them. “Regardless, I don’t think we should just stay up here and hide. Hongjoong is right: we’d be safe now, but if the killer came in here, where would we go? I think we need to keep moving, stick together, and figure out who it is so we can stop them. Not to mention… If anyone else dies, that would kinda be on us, don’t you think? Since we knew about the danger, didn’t tell anyone, and didn’t do anything to try to stop it?”

San inhales deeply then blows it back out through pursed lips. “I agree with Wooyoung. Staying in here is a bad idea.”

Jongho laughs lightly. “God, you’re such a simp, San.”

San glares at Jongho, but continues, “Suddenly disappearing will only draw attention to ourselves and everyone knows where we’d be anyway. We don’t exactly have a reason to hide ourselves away like Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai.”

Holy shit, Yeonjun! “I need to go to their room right now,” Wooyoung frantically says as he stands and rushes to the door. San is already there and has his hand on the doorknob. He looks past Wooyoung and slightly nods his head.

“Why do you need to go to their room?” he asks, bringing his eyes back to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung scoffs and tries to push San away from the door, but he doesn’t budge. Why are you so jacked?! It’s so annoying!  “Because I have to warn them! Yeonjun is one of my best friends, San, you know that!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says warily. “We can’t trust them.”

Wooyoung whips around and angrily asks, “What do you mean we can’t trust them?”

“What do I mean we can’t trust them? Are you serious, Wooyoung?” Hongjoong stands and raises his voice. “I don’t know, maybe because the first person to die was one of their own? Why was Soobin by himself, Wooyoung? Why wasn’t he with Yeonjun? You’re really going to sit here and tell me that instead of spending time with his brand-new boyfriend, he wanted to go for a dip in the pool all by himself? Where was Yeonjun?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Hongjoong?” Wooyoung roars. “You think Yeonjun is the murderer here?!”

“I don’t know what I think, Wooyoung! But don’t you think it’s a little weird?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to shout something back, but he has to admit, it is more than a little weird. He recalls his conversation with Soobin about how he was freaked out by the pool because it looked like the one from The Devil in Me. Why was he out there then? And why wasn’t Yeonjun with him? But no matter how suspicious it seems, he owes it to one of his best friends to let him offer an explanation.

“Okay, how about this?” He asks after a minute. “I go to their room and ask Yeonjun why they weren’t together. If it’s a good answer, then I’ll warn them and if it’s not, then I’ll leave. Is that fair?”

Hongjoong sighs and says resignedly, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Thank you for giving him a chance to explain-”

“But you’re not going by yourself,” Hongjoong interrupts.

San says, “I’ll go with you, Woo,” and starts to open the door. I can’t deal with this right now.

“Yeosang, can you come with me?” Wooyoung quickly asks, avoiding eye contact with San. Yeosang looks startled but nods in agreement. San steps out of their way and tries to say something, but Wooyoung interrupts, quietly whispering, “I’m sorry,” as he passes.

When Wooyoung closes the door behind them, Yeosang lightly says, “You’re never gonna get your man if you keep hanging out with me.”

“There’s no getting my man. He’s into someone else,” Wooyoung mutters, starting their short trek to the other room. He does not want to talk about this right now. Maybe ever. "And besides, is it so wrong to want to spend time with my best friend?"

“Of course not, I always love spending time with you, Wooyoung. I'm just confused. What do you mean that San is into someone else?” Yeosang asks as he catches up to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung runs a hand across his face and more aggressively than he means to, he says, “San’s into you, Yeosang! Not me! Okay? Now can we stop talking about it?” As soon as he says that he regrets it. No matter how upset he is that San doesn’t feel the same way, it was really shitty of him to spill San’s secrets. And he shouldn’t raise his voice at his best friend. He’s working on things like this, he swears! Progress is slow, but all progress is good progress, right?

Yeosang breaks into loud laughter but tries to conceal it by placing his hand over his mouth. “Wooyoung, you dumbass! San isn’t into me! Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to him go on and on about how he’s so in love with-”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it!” Wooyoung interrupts. He wants this conversation over now, so he knocks on the door a bit harsher than he intended to.

Yeonjun slightly opens the door and asks in a small voice, “Wooyoung? Is everything okay?” His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and he looks pathetic and absolutely devastated. Immediately, Wooyoung knows, There’s no way he killed Soobin. But Wooyoung made a deal with Hongjoong, and he wants to stick to his word.

“Can we talk? It’s about Soobin.”

Yeonjun inhales sharply, then nods. He opens the door the rest of the way and invites Wooyoung and Yeosang in. The others vacate the second bed and all pile together on the first. Wooyoung and Yeosang sit on the empty bed and Wooyoung struggles to find the right words to start the conversation. He takes a deep breath and decides to rip off the Band-Aid. No sugarcoating, no beating around the bush.

“Yeonjun, there’s no easy way for me to ask this, so I’m just going to ask directly. Why weren’t you and Soobin together before he died?”

The others blanch at Wooyoung’s bluntness, but Yeonjun just looks down at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know,” he whispers softly. Wasn’t expecting that, Wooyoung thinks.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Yeosang asks, not unkindly, but not exactly hiding his suspicion either.

Yeonjun still doesn’t look up. He rubs aggressive circles on his thumb with the other. “I mean I don’t know. After dinner, we were together in our room and then the next thing I know I’m in a laundry room without Soobin and Jongho is there, telling me I need to go with him outside to the pool.”

Wooyoung lightly shakes his head back and forth as he thinks about what Yeonjun said. “So, you just… blacked out?”

Yeonjun’s voice shakes as he replies, “I know how it all sounds.” He looks up at Wooyoung and pleads, “But you have to believe me. I would never do anything to hurt Soobin. I loved him so much-” he breaks off in a sob.

“Okay, thank you for being honest with us. Can you take us to the laundry room you were in?” Yeosang delicately asks once Yeonjun has calmed down. “Maybe there’s a clue in there.”

Yeonjun rubs his eyes with his sleeves and stands. “Yeah, it’s not that far.” He leads them out of the room and down the hallway, past San and Seonghwa’s room, and opens the door to a laundry room. There’s a washing machine and dryer, a few tables piled with towels and spare bedding, and a table almost completely empty except for a vase filled with chrysanthemums and those purple flowers Wooyoung saw in the conservatory.

“Huh,” Yeonjun says as he absently runs his fingers over the petals. “The flowers in here were different earlier.”

“What do you mean they were different?” Wooyoung asks.

“When I was in here earlier, this vase was filled with those flowers that were on our table at dinner and in my room. But these are different.”

“Do you know what kind of flower these ones are?” Wooyoung asks, pointing at the purple flowers. Yeonjun shrugs but Yeosang steps closer and leans down to inspect. “I’m pretty sure these are larkspurs,” he says, straightening back up. Wooyoung thinks Jiwoong said something about larkspurs at dinner, but he can’t remember what he said.

“When Yunho and I were in the conservatory, I saw the butler make this arrangement. But what’s it doing in a laundry room of all places?” Wooyoung wonders aloud. He also remembers that Jiwoong was clutching a larkspur in his fist in the freezer, but Yeonjun doesn’t know that Jiwoong is dead, so he keeps that information to himself. Yeosang and Yeonjun shrug at Wooyoung’s question. Wooyoung wasn’t really expecting an answer anyway. They silently search the rest of the laundry room for any clues, but the vase of flowers is the only thing of interest in here.

“I don’t think there’s anything in here that’s gonna help us,” Wooyoung says as he rises back up to his feet after crawling around on the floor searching for clues, brushing off his knees. “What’s the absolute last thing you remember before you blacked out, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling while he thinks. “I remember Soobin complaining that his head hurt and something about a strong smell. After that though, I’ve got nothing.”

“Did he say what it smelled like?” Yeosang asks.

Yeonjun shakes his head. “Not that I know of. But it’s all kinda fuzzy. I know our room smelled like something, but it wasn’t that strong to me, and I don’t remember what it was.” That sounds like a clue to me, Wooyoung thinks.  

“If you smelled it again, do you think you’d remember?” He asks.

Yeonjun gives a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno. I might. What does it matter though? Soobin drowned, why do you care what our room smelled like?”

Wooyoung gives Yeosang a look. Do we believe him?

Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line, then nods.

Wooyoung takes a deep breath. “We… don’t think Soobin’s death was an accident. When Jongho brought his… body... inside to get it out of the pool, we found Kim Jiwoong hanging from a hook in the walk-in freezer. His throat was slashed. And while you were in the pool with the others, Soobin told me that he was scared of it because it reminded him of this scary video game, so I thought it was weird that he went in there. There was so much going on though that I didn’t really think too much about it. I thought his drowning was just a horrible accident, but after seeing Jiwoong’s body… we think he was killed, too.”

All the color drains from Yeonjun’s face. “Oh.” He gulps. “So not only is my boyfriend dead, but now you think there’s a murderer after us?” He buries his face in his hands and starts laughing hysterically. “What the fuck, Wooyoung? Are you serious?”

“I am.”

“God,” Yeonjun breathes. “What are we gonna do?”

“You aren’t going to do anything. You can’t tell anyone. Okay? We’re going to check out your room and then you’ll go back to the others; you can tell them by the way. Just not anyone else. And you stay in there. Do not open the door for anyone other than the eight of us. Under any circumstance. You all have been up in your room for a while, just keep it up. We can’t act like anything has changed. Got it?”

Yeonjun nods.

“Good. We’ll check out your room then take you back.” Wooyoung pauses. “I’m serious, Yeonjun. Barricade yourselves in your room. Don’t leave unless one of us comes and tells you to.”

“What are you guys gonna do? Are you gonna stay in your room, too?” Yeonjun asks.

“Not exactly,” Yeosang says. “Our pal Wooyoung here has volunteered us to kill whoever is trying to kill us,” he chuckles awkwardly as he points his thumb at Wooyoung. Wooyoung pinches the bridge of his nose and tries hard not to laugh or smack Yeosang. Holy shit, Yeosang, why did you phrase it like that?!

“I’m sorry, what?!” Yeonjun sputters. “You’re gonna kill someone?!”

Why is this everyone’s response? “If it comes down to it, yeah, I will kill someone! What else am I gonna do? Just let myself or one of my friends get killed?”

Yeonjun doesn’t answer and turns his attention to Yeosang. “Don’t tell me that you might kill someone, too.”

Yeosang straightens his shoulders and says, “I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep them safe.”

Yeonjun puts up his hands and takes a step back. “Well, you guys have fun with that. I’m going to stay in my room where no one can get me.”

“Good,” Wooyoung nods. “That’s what I told you to do. Now let’s go.” Yeonjun leads them out and Wooyoung gives a parting glance to the beautiful flowers in the vase. Maybe he could just take one larkspur to give to San…? He shakes his head clear of the thought. Bad idea. Giving San flowers is too romantic and Wooyoung already feels embarrassed enough as it is. He still can’t believe that San is in love with Yeosang. Well, he can because who wouldn’t love Yeosang, but it still hurts. It’s one thing to be hopelessly in love with your best friend when you think he’s straight. It’s entirely another to be hopelessly in love with your best friend who does like boys, just not you but your mutual best friend instead.

He follows Yeonjun out of the laundry room, Yeosang bringing up the rear. When they reach Yeonjun and Soobin’s room, Yeonjun digs around in his front pockets until he finds the right key before unlocking the door and walking in. Wooyoung remembers which bag was Soobin’s from when he was in here with Taehyun earlier, and the bag’s contents have since been dumped on the bed and scattered everywhere. Yeonjun draws in a sharp breath when he sees Soobin’s belongings and quickly turns around to face Wooyoung and Yeosang instead.

“Do you smell it? What you smelled earlier?” Wooyoung asks, knowing that Yeonjun needs a distraction right now.

Yeonjun sniffs the air a few times. “Kind of? It’s really faint. Even fainter than it was earlier.” He walks around the room, sniffing the air and giving the bed with Soobin’s things a wide berth. He approaches a vase of narcissus flowers and inhales deeply. When he looks back up at Wooyoung, his eyes are slightly glazed over. “These are what I smelled earlier,” he says slowly. He steps away from the flowers and slowly blinks a few times. His eyes clear and he shakes his head. Weird.

“I don’t know if this was what Soobin was smelling, but those flowers are definitely what I smelled,” he says at his usual tempo as he sits on the other bed.

“Was Soobin normally sensitive to smells?” Yeosang asks.

“I don’t think so? It never really came up. Like I said, my memory is pretty fuzzy, but I remember him saying that whatever it was was really strong.”

“Hmm…” Yeosang ponders this for a second. He then walks to the vase and smells the flowers for himself. “I can’t smell anything at all. Wooyoung, come over here and smell these,” he says as he waves Wooyoung over.

Wooyoung places his nose right in front of one of the flowers and takes a deep breath. Nothing. “I can’t smell anything either… Surely this couldn’t have been what he was smelling, right? A flower’s scent wouldn’t fade this fast, would it?”

Yeosang sighs. “I think this is a dead end. This is so faint that I don’t think it would bother anyone at all, let alone enough to make them sick.”

Wooyoung looks over at Yeonjun, who’s staring straight ahead at the door. He offers his hand, asking, “Are you ready? Do you need another minute? Yeosang and I can wait in the hallway if you need some time by yourself.”

Yeonjun looks behind him at the bed with Soobin’s things. “No,” he whispers. “I’ll come back later.” He grabs Wooyoung’s outstretched hand and allows himself to be pulled off the other bed. “Can we go now?” He asks.

“Of course,” Wooyoung replies, giving Yeonjun’s hand a reassuring squeeze and leading them to the door. Yeonjun doesn’t look back.

When Yeonjun closes the door to the room with his groupmates, Yeosang reaches into his back pocket and pulls out one of the larkspurs from the laundry room. He hands it to Wooyoung with an expectant look.

“Are you propositioning me, Kang Yeosang?” Wooyoung flirts as he accepts the flower.

“What? Wooyoung, no. I saw you looking at these earlier and grabbed one for you. I thought you could give it to San as a way to apologize for being an ass.”

“What do you mean I was being an ass? When?”

“When San came back to Hongjoong and Yunho’s room after Seonghwa left to go check on you? He looked so upset and I thought you said something to him.”

That fucker. Wooyoung scoffs and says, “If anyone should’ve been upset after that conversation, it should’ve been me.”

Yeosang cocks his head in question. “How so?”

“You try sitting there as the man of your dreams tells you about how he’s stupidly in love with your best friend and not you and try not to get upset!”

“Wooyoung, oh my God, for the last time, San isn’t in love with me!” Yeosang groans as he slowly pulls at his hair in frustration.

“Yes he is!”

Yeosang grumbles and throws his head back. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything! I just told him that I probably wasn’t the person he should talk to about this, then Seonghwa came in and San got all pissy. Not everything is my fault, you know!” Sure, Wooyoung probably could have handled the San situation better, but San didn’t need to storm off like a big baby!

“I know that not everything is your fault, Wooyoung,” Yeosang says apologetically, his face guilt-ridden. “I’m sorry I thought that you did something to make San upset.”

Wooyoung sighs dramatically. “You’re really hard to be mad at, you know?”

“So you’ve told me,” Yeosang says with a small shrug.  

Wooyoung chuckles. “You know I love you, right? You and me to the end. No matter what.”

“I love you, too, Woo. Now can we go back to San and Seonghwa’s room? We’ve just been standing outside Yeonjun’s door for like three minutes like a couple of weirdos.”

“Oh! Yeah, they’re probably wondering what happened to us.”

They start walking back down the hall and Yeosang asks, “Are you going to give it to him?”

“Obviously. He may not love me back, but how can I not give this to him? It suits him so well!”

“Wooyoung, I think you might just be the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met,” Yeosang says.

“Aww…” Wooyoung bats his eyelashes. “You flatter me too much, Sangie. Do you say that to all the boys and girls?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. He raps on the door and it opens, revealing San’s face. He steps aside and lets Yeosang and Wooyoung enter, but Wooyoung stops in the doorway and grabs San's hand with his free one.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he thrusts his hand holding the larkspur out in front of him. He feels like a kid again, handing his mom the pretty flower he picked right out of the ground.

San takes the flower and brings it to his nose to smell it. “Sorry for what?” he asks.

San why can’t you just take the flower without any questions?

“Sorry for being a bad friend,” Wooyoung says instead, breaking eye contact and lightly kicking at the floor with his foot. “I should’ve listened to you and-” he stops himself before he says something embarrassing. “I just should’ve listened. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

San knits his brows and shakes his head. “Why are you sorry? I was the asshole who got mad and left. You made it clear that you’re not interested like that, and I need to respect that.”

“What do you mean ‘not interested like-”

“What are you two chatting about over here?” Mingi bounds over and interrupts. San jumps and drops Wooyoung's hand. Ouch.

“Mingi!” Yunho hisses. “Leave them alone!” He grabs Mingi by the shoulders and whispers to Wooyoung and San, “You two enjoy your conversation.” He then walks Mingi back to the others, farther into the room.

 Wooyoung doesn’t miss the sly wink Yunho sends his way as he leads Mingi away. Quit trying to set me up with San! He wants to scream. Set Yeosang up with him!

“This is a larkspur, right?” San asks, interrupting Wooyoung’s one-sided internal shouting match.

“I dunno, but that’s what Yeosang said it was. How’d you know?”

“I…” San responds as he rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “I actually don’t know. Maybe I read about it once?”

“Since when do you read books about flowers?” Wooyoung asks incredulously.

“I read,” San protests.

“Sure, San,” Wooyoung brushes off the protest as he walks deeper into the room to join everyone else. San follows at his heels, further protesting about his reading habits, but Wooyoung can’t really hear what he’s saying over the din of his other friends.

Hongjoong notices Wooyoung approaching and prompts him, “So? You learn anything?” Damn, can’t even sit down before I’m grilled.

The two beds are populated by Hongjoong and Seonghwa on one and Mingi and Yeosang on the other. With nowhere else left to sit, Wooyoung takes his rightful place on Yeosang’s lap.

“He didn’t do it. I can just tell. You can ask Yeosang; he agreed with me, too. So, I told him about what’s happened and told him to barricade himself and the others in their room. They’re not supposed to open the door for anyone other than us, so if one of you has to go and not me, that’s fine.” Hongjoong rests his head on his hand and nods along with Wooyoung’s story. “Yeonjun did say a few weird things though. After dinner, they went back up to their room and Soobin complained about his head hurting and a really strong smell in the room. Yeonjun said he smelled something, but it wasn’t strong, and when we went back into his room, he said that what he smelled was these flowers,” Wooyoung says as he points to the vase on the table. “But that’s not the weirdest thing. He totally blacked out at some point then woke up in the laundry room on this floor. He said the first thing he saw was Jongho…” He looks over at Jongho and asks, “Did he seem weird to you when you found him?”

Jongho thinks for a second then responds, “He was really out of it. I was surprised to find him in the laundry room of all places, but I didn’t want to ask a question I didn’t want to know the answer to. I just told him that we needed him outside and he followed me, no problem. I don’t think he said a single word to me the whole time.” That’s not like Yeonjun at all.

“Wooyoung, that was smart of you to tell them to keep hiding in their room. There’s no point in adding more potential victims if we don’t have to and now they know what to expect so they can defend themselves. I wish we could just stay in here and hide," Seonghwa bites as he glares at Hongjoong. "I am curious about what Soobin smelled though…" he continues. "Maybe there’s something in a different room that has a really strong smell that we could find? We said we were going to check out all the rooms anyway, so we might as well, right?” 

“Yeah. So…” Wooyoung looks to all his friends. “Are we ready for the ultimate murder mystery party?”

Zhang Hao has found himself in quite the predicament. There is absolutely nothing to be found in the refrigerators in the kitchen. They’re completely empty! He was so desperate for some food that he even tried to break into the walk-in freezer, but it was securely locked. And it’s not like there’s room service; his room doesn’t have a phone and he’s fairly certain only two people work here. His stomach’s growls grow louder and if he doesn’t get some food soon, he very well may keel over and die. And what would his group and zeroses do without one of their main vocalists? Finding food isn’t just good for him… it’s good for the rest of the world.

He leaves the kitchen and opens any door he can find looking for the servant girl because if anyone knows where to find some food, it would be her. He really doesn’t want to try to find the man who served dinner on the other side of the room because he’s creepy. He opens each door, scanning for that head of bright orange hair; he finally finds her in a small room at the end of the hallway. He walks in and sees a statue of half a naked woman and a bunch of creepy pictures on the walls. When he gets cell service, he’s definitely leaving a one-star review for this place. It’s just too weird.

“Excuse me?” He calls out and the servant girl turns around to face him.

“Can I help you?” She asks. At that moment, his stomach growls the loudest it has yet. Her eyes widen in surprise, and he curses his loud stomach.

“I’m a little hungry,” he says bashfully.

“Please, don’t be embarrassed. Dinner was a while ago; I think we’re all starting to get a little hungry again.” She looks him up and down. “If you just want to stay in here, I’ll find some food and bring it back to you,” she says with a smile. Thank God.

“Yes, please,” he breathes. “I looked in the kitchen and couldn’t find anything, so thank you.”

She inclines her head and leaves the room.

Now left alone, he wanders around. He looks at the framed portraits on the walls and he swears that one woman’s eyes are following him around the room. It feels different than the usual eyes-following-you-around-the-room sensation he feels at an art museum. It’s almost like the woman in the portrait has real eyes that move where he moves. Freaky.

He turns away from the portrait and realizes that the room is incredibly dark. Would it kill them to have more lights in here? The walls are dark walnut and the only lights in the room are spotlights on the ceiling and bulbs illuminating the artworks. The light gray tile floor reflects some of the light, but the room is just too dark for the little lighting there is. In the back left corner, he sees a red curtain leading into another room. He wants to escape the creepy lady portrait, so he decides to investigate. He walks into a narrow corridor, lined with furniture covered by beige fabric. At the end of the corridor stands a tall painting of a castle. He isn’t terribly impressed with the artist and thinks the depiction is a bit amateurish. The corridor continues to the left, so he follows it before it forces him left one more time. There are paintings on the ground covered with more of the same fabric, but another painting of the same castle and a portrait of a man are still hanging on the green damask wallpapered walls. He finds this corridor more than a little creepy, with the dark walls and only a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling back here. He walks down the final part of the corridor and sees more paintings leaning against the wall on the ground and a covered-up globe. A large shelf abruptly ends the corridor and there are a few decorative plates and a vase with white flowers on one of the shelves and some frames placed haphazardly on top of each other on the top shelf. There are somehow even more paintings leaning against the whole structure. There’s also an easel, two planks of wood, a short lamp missing its shade, and a small vase. He’s so confused about why there’s all this stuff lying around a hotel. Is he in a storage room? He sees a glint underneath a discarded frame on the shelf and inspects it closer. He grabs the object and realizes that it’s a fully functional dagger. He immediately drops it because what the hell is he supposed to do with a dagger? Not wanting to make a mess though, he picks it back up and places it where he found it, although a little more hidden so no one else stumbles upon it. He doesn’t exactly trust everyone here to be responsible with a weapon.

He faintly hears a door open and sends a thanks to the universe that the servant girl is back, and hopefully with some food. He walks back down the winding corridor, but before he steps back into the room he started in, he sees what is decidedly not the servant girl. No, what he sees instead is a group of five… beings. He claps his hand over his mouth and ducks back farther away from the doorframe, using the red curtains to conceal himself better. He sticks out his head slightly to get a better look at what’s in here with him. He wants to run to the door and get out of here, but they’re blocking his only way out. He doesn’t think they’ve noticed him, so maybe whatever they are will get bored and leave? He sees that all of the beings have greenish-white skin and long white hair, are wearing old-timey clothes, and have their arms sticking straight out in front of them. Wait… green skin, white hair, old-fashioned clothes… are these fucking jiāngshī? He pulls his head back behind the curtain as he tries to stifle his gasp. There’s no fucking way. Those are just a myth! This is just a practical joke. He doesn’t know which group of assholes is harassing him, but he’s got some words for them. He takes a deep breath and steels himself, then emerges from behind the curtain, saying “Haha, you guys are so funny, trying to scare the Chinese guy by dressing up like a Chinese monster, so clever! Where’d you even get a mandarin’s uniform, anyway?” He walks closer to them. The guys dressed as jiāngshī turn and meet him with a stare that he can only describe as… hungry. They don’t say anything or make any movements. One darts out his tongue and licks his lips.

“Okay, seriously, knock it off,” Hao says as he tries to push past them to get to the door. He doesn’t want to tell them off anymore, he just wants to leave. The one closest to him grabs his arm with a freezing cold hand. Hao tries to shake himself free, but the grip is strong, almost painful. In his struggle, his arm is slightly cut with what looks like talons. What the fuck? Where did they get these fake talons?

“Let me go,” he demands, trying to keep his voice even. The hand releases him and he reaches the door, but he can’t make the handle move. He tries again and it still won’t move. He whips around, about to order one of them to open the door for him, but then he sees them hop toward him, mouths agape, and he sees two long and sharp canine teeth in each mouth.

“What are you doing?” he asks as they hop even closer to him. None of them respond, but one growls and Hao thinks he might actually be dealing with a real jiāngshī because no human can growl like that. So, he does what anyone would do when confronted with a monster who wants to suck out all his qi. He runs like hell. He races past the jiāngshī toward the curtain and back into the corridor. He knocks over all the covered furniture behind him to try to slow them down. Think, Hao, think! What’s he going to do? The corridor ends with the bookshelf! Where’s he going to go? He doesn’t have any way to defend himself! Any weapons… wait! The dagger! Can I even use daggers against jiāngshī? There’s only one way to find out. When he reaches the end of the corridor with the shelving, he picks up the dagger and brandishes it in front of him. Knocking over the furniture obviously did nothing to deter the jiāngshī because all five of them approach him in a semi-circle. They’re eerily silent but he can see blood drip from the sides of their mouths and their sharp teeth. He doesn’t know who they’ve killed here, but they’re not about to kill him if he has any say. They all step toward him in unison, teeth bared, but Hao rushes one and stabs the dagger into its neck. He yanks out the dagger and the jiāngshī falls to the ground. He thinks that was a little too easy, but he’s not about to complain about a lifeforce-sucking monster being too easy to kill. The second looks at him in what looks like surprise, but the surprise doesn’t last long because Hao stabs it in the neck with the dagger, too. The remaining three jiāngshī try to hop away, but Hao tackles the one closest to him, stabbing it in the neck as well. He stands and wipes the dagger on his pants and wonders why the jiāngshī are running away and not trying to ambush him. There are two of them left and only one of him, plus they’re supernatural creatures who should be able to overpower him. So why aren’t they attacking me? He catches up to the other jiāngshī who struggle to open the door leading out of the room and repeats the process with the final two. Even though they didn’t attack him, he can’t take any risks and let the jiāngshī hurt anyone else later. He drags the bodies from the main room back into the corridor with the bookshelf to get them out of the way. He doesn’t want anyone else to have to see the monsters, and as he drags the bodies, he thinks about how he’s going to get himself and his friends out of here. Because they do, in fact, need to get out of here. If there are jiāngshī, who knows what else is here? Zombies, kumiho, wendigos, who knows?

He takes a deep breath once he’s dropped the last body. Who knew that slaying and moving jiāngshī was such a workout? He smells something he hadn’t smelled before, but it’s sickeningly sweet and he recoils in disgust. He picks up the dagger he’d discarded on the ground and his hand moves closer to his neck. He tries to move his hand back down because what the fuck is happening right now? But his body won’t listen to him. He positions the dagger with the sharp tip directed right at the side of his neck. Before he even has time to think, let alone scream for help, he plunges his dagger into his neck and drags it down, severing his carotid artery and falling to the ground on top of the jiāngshī.  

Chapter Text

“Yeah, I just can’t believe that two guys from Chungcheong are here, you know? Wherever here is. Why we got brought to the middle of nowhere in America is beyond me, but still.”

Sung Hanbin is currently in the middle of a conversation with someone he doesn’t recognize, but this other guy clearly knows Hanbin. Hanbin never wanted to be one of those celebrities, but he honestly just cannot think of who this guy is.

“Right… so crazy,” Hanbin responds awkwardly, hoping that his face doesn’t betray his confusion and lack of recognition. This guy looks really familiar, but Hanbin just can’t place him. Truthfully, he feels that way about a lot of people here tonight. Is he from Treasure? He idly wonders, but even if the guy is from Treasure, it isn’t like Hanbin knows his name. His mind is unfortunately devoid of names right now. The guy continues talking but Hanbin is only half-listening, instead scanning the room for one of his friends or anything even remotely interesting that he can use as an excuse to escape this uncomfortably awkward conversation.

“Did you know that Yeonjun and Soobin had just gotten together before Soobin drowned?”

Well, that certainly grabs Hanbin’s attention. He drags his gaze back to the guy who has been talking at him instead of to him for the last few minutes.

“Are you serious?” Hanbin asks.

The other guy nods. “Yeah, somebody told me that he overheard Wooyoung talking about it. That guy just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he? All he does is fucking talk!”

Hanbin is taken aback by the blunt and frankly rude statement and disapprovingly says, “That’s a really rude thing to say. If you’ll excuse me.” He takes his leave, leaving the guy he’d been talking to standing there, mouth agape. Hanbin knows he was just being rude, leaving so abruptly, but he does not want to be involved in a shit-talking scandal later if someone happened to overhear the conversation. He’s just a rookie, getting caught up in a scandal about trash-talking a respected member of a senior group would probably be career suicide. And he’s not ready for his career to be over before it really even gets the chance to bloom. He’s worked too hard for too long for his dreams to die because some guy wanted to talk shit.

He does wish he’d been able to get more information on this hot piece of gossip though. Two idols from the same group in a relationship? That would be the hottest scoop of the year! If it’s true, that is. If it’s just an unsubstantiated rumor, old news.

He sees Gunwook on the other side of the room who gives Hanbin a small wave. He knows that Gunwook was at the same table as Hao who he saw was at the same table as Wooyoung and Yeonjun, so if anyone would know if the rumor is true, it would be Gunwook. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true though. He’d definitely seen some suspicious looks between Yeonjun and Soobin before. What is it that people say online? Slay? Go off, kings?

“I heard a little rumor just now and wanted to know if you could confirm?” Hanbin asks quietly when he’s close enough to Gunwook not to be overheard.

Gunwook knits his brows together and asks, “Okay? I haven’t heard any rumors lately but if I know something I’ll tell you.”

Now how to approach this delicately… Hanbin thinks to himself. If the rumor is patently untrue, he doesn’t want to spread it around even more. Soobin, the poor guy, just died, he doesn’t need Hanbin spreading rumors this scandalous if they’re unfounded.

“Did you…” he starts and pauses, trying to find the right words. Gunwook slightly shakes his head and throws up his hands, prompting Hanbin to continue. “Did you happen to overhear anything at your dinner table?”

Gunwook stares at him blankly. “I’m gonna need you to be a lot more specific than that.”

Hanbin takes a deep breath and tries again. “Could you hear what Wooyoung and Yeonjun were talking about? At any point?”

Gunwook shakes his head. “Nah, it was really loud in there and they were on the other side of the table. Jiwoong was sitting next to Wooyoung and Hao was next to Yeonjun so maybe you could ask one of them? They probably would have heard something. Why? What’s going on with them?”

Hanbin sucks in a sharp breath and scratches his forehead. Should I say anything? He looks at Gunwook who is giving him the most pathetically obvious puppy dog eyes, but Hanbin can’t resist. He sighs and says, “You can’t say anything to anyone, okay? I don’t know if it’s true and I don’t wanna start shit.” Gunwook nods in understanding so Hanbin continues. “I heard from someone, no idea who the hell he was, that apparently Yeonjun and Soobin had just gotten together, like together together, right before Soobin died.”

Gunwook lets out a low whistle and responds, “Damn. Good for them though. Well… at the time. Less so now. Rest in peace. Oh!” He exclaims. “There’s Hao over there, go ask him and let me know what you find out. I’m so invested now!”

Hanbin looks where Gunwook is pointing but Hao looks like he’s on a mission. He doesn’t want to get involved in whatever it is.

“Hmm… he looks busy. It’s not that important. I can just ask him later.”

“Or you could find Jiwoong and ask him.” True.

“Do you know if he came back downstairs? He told me after dinner that he was going up to take a shower, but I haven’t seen him since then.”

“Nope. I’m sure you’ll find him though. Doesn’t being the leader give you a sixth sense about where we all are at all times?”

Hanbin snorts and replies, “I wish. That would make my life a helluva lot easier.” He scans the room to see if Jiwoong has reemerged. He has not. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go look for him upstairs. If you see him, let him know I’m looking for him. I’ll see you around.”

When Hanbin reaches the fifth floor, he finds it eerily silent. Hotel floors are never particularly loud per se, but he can at least hear something. But up here, the only thing he can hear is his own blood pulsing through his body. He looks around and notices that there are a lot of tables placed along the walls of the hallway. Like, a weirdly high number of tables. Each table has a massive bouquet of white flowers and he’s fairly certain that there weren’t this many flowers in the hallway before. He supposes it’s just last-minute decorating before the party really starts, but why they need to decorate the top floor is beyond him. Surely the guests aren’t going to hang out in the hallways? That would be ridiculous… but why else would the décor suddenly have changed? The smell emanating from the flowers is so strong that he hopes they won’t be up here because he can already feel a headache forming. But he concludes that he has far more important things to worry about than the weird decorations at this hotel, so he drops the issue.

He walks down the hall to Jiwoong’s door and firmly knocks on it three times. He listens for footsteps on the other side of the door or Jiwoong’s voice telling him just a second, but Hanbin hears nothing. He knocks more forcefully and asks, “Jiwoong? Are you in there?” More silence. He tries the doorknob, but it’s locked, and it won’t budge. He shrugs his shoulders and thinks, Must’ve gone back downstairs. Since he can’t find Jiwoong, he needs to find Hao. He isn’t sure why exactly he’s so concerned with finding out the veracity of this rumor, but he just can’t drop it for some reason. There’s something in his brain telling him that he has to know and who is he to argue with his own brain? If it’s that important to the gremlins running the show in his head, he may as well appease them.

Once he gets back to the ground floor, he tries the first door he comes across, opening it and looking for Hao. There’s only one person in the room, but thankfully Hanbin knows who he is.

“Hey Keeho, have you seen Hao anywhere?” He asks.

“No, but I can help you look,” Keeho responds as he stands.

The two leave the room and Keeho opens the next door they come across. Again, there’s only one person in the room.

“Hey, Byounggon, have you seen Hao anywhere?” Keeho asks.

Byounggon shakes his head and replies, “No, but I can help you look.”

Now a group of three, they make their way down the hallway to another door, which Hanbin opens and yet again, there is only one person in there.

“Hey, Serim, have you seen Hao anywhere?” Byounggon asks.

Serim thinks for a moment then says, “No, but I can help you look.”

Okay, now this is just getting weird, Hanbin thinks. Why is everyone saying exactly the same thing? And why are they all so willing to help find Hao? Not that he isn’t grateful for the assistance; he just finds it strange.

The four of them walk to the next room and Hanbin opens the door. He sees the guy he talked to earlier, the one who started this whole mess, and he hopes the annoyance he feels doesn’t read on his face.

“Hey, Junkyu, have you seen Hao anywhere?” Serim asks.

Junkyu! That’s his name.

“No, but I can help you look. I’m not doing anything else,” Junkyu says.

Hanbin avoids eye contact with Junkyu, instead turning around and leading the group to what will hopefully be their final room. They’re reaching the end of the hallway, so surely that means that Hao is nearby. He opens yet another door and looks inside, but the room is empty. He walks in and beckons the others to come with him. Junkyu closes the door behind them and Hanbin swears he hears the door lock.

“Hao? Are you in here?” He asks. He hears rustling and a gasp at the far end of the room and sees some dark hair duck behind a curtain. He takes a step forward, and then Hao emerges from behind the curtain, mirthlessly saying, “Haha, you guys are so funny, trying to scare the Chinese guy by dressing up like a Chinese monster, so clever! Where’d you even get a mandarin’s uniform anyway?”

Hanbin stops in his tracks. “What are you talking about?” He looks behind him at Keeho who just shrugs his shoulders. “What’s a mandarin?”

Hao pushes past him, saying, “Okay, seriously, knock it off.” Hanbin reaches out and grabs Hao’s wrist to try to get his attention. Hao turns back and Hanbin sees that his eyes are completely unfocused and glazed over. Ah great, he’s doing drugs. We’re in America for one fucking day and we’re doing drugs. Hao violently shakes the hand that Hanbin grabbed, trying to escape his grip, and in the struggle, Hanbin’s nail lightly cuts Hao’s skin. He immediately starts to apologize, but Hao cuts him off.

“Let me go,” Hao demands coldly, so Hanbin obliges. Hao reaches the door and tries to open it, but the handle won’t move. He tries again more forcefully, but it still won’t move. Hanbin walks closer to the door to try to help Hao open it, and Hao whips around to face Hanbin and the others. He looks like he’s seen a ghost because all the color drains from his face.

“What are you doing?” Hao asks shakily; he sounds terrified. He’s definitely tripping right now.  

“Huh? What do you mean?” Hanbin asks in return.

Hao bolts past him and the others, racing toward the doorway he emerged from just a minute ago. What the fuck?

“Do we go after him?” Keeho asks.

“What the fuck is his deal?” Serim asks at the same time as Keeho.

“Come on, he needs help,” Hanbin doesn’t really answer either question as he follows after Hao. He hears loud crashes coming from Hao’s direction and he is so unbelievably embarrassed that one of his members is high off his ass and making a fool of himself in front of other idols. The other four follow after him and they have to step over the furniture Hao knocked over in his wake. This hallway is littered with so much junk that it’s hard to walk, and the situation is only worsened by all the furniture that Hao knocked over. They reach the end of the hallway and see Hao standing in front of a bookshelf, brandishing a gigantic and very sharp knife, and his pupils are blown wide. He looks feral.  

Hanbin inhales sharply and turns to the others with him. They all take a small step toward Hao with their hands raised to show that they aren’t threats. Hao obviously takes this as a provocation because he rushes forward and stabs the knife right into the side of Junkyu’s neck.

“Oh my God,” Serim breathes out, which gets Hao’s attention. He plunges the knife into Serim’s neck and rips it back out. Hanbin, Keeho, and Byounggon turn and start running back down the hallway and Hanbin hears a loud thud and a scream, but he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have the time since there’s a feral and murderous Hao hot on his heels. He runs faster than he’s ever run in his life and leaps over all of the obstacles in the hallway and gets back to the door they entered from. Keeho soon catches up with him, breathing heavily, eyes wide in terror. No matter how hard Hanbin tries, he can’t get the door to open. Keeho pushes him out of the way and tries to open the door himself, but he’s unsuccessful. They hear Hao approach and Keeho lets out a small whine as he frantically tries the door handle another time. Hanbin takes a step away from the door when he sees the determination on Hao’s face. He’s never seen him look so singularly focused before. Sorry Keeho, he thinks when he realizes Hao is after Keeho, but I’m not trying to be a hero today.

Keeho doesn’t even have a chance to plead for his life before Hao rears back and plunges the knife into his neck. Hanbin stifles his scream behind his hand because he hopes that Hao will somehow have forgotten about him. Unfortunately for Hanbin, his hand wasn’t enough to muffle his scream because Hao turns around and makes direct eye contact with him.

“Please, Hao, please don’t hurt me,” Hanbin begs, raising his arms to cover his face, but it’s like Hao can’t even hear what he’s saying because his face remains impassive. Hao steps closer and Hanbin has nowhere left to run. He wants to fight back or do something, anything but his body won’t listen to him. He lowers his arms and looks up to see Hao coming right for him with the knife. The last thing Hanbin thinks is how that stupid fucking rumor about Yeonjun and Soobin just got him killed. Guess this is what I get for being a gossip.

“Wooyoung, could you at least pretend not to be so excited to risk our lives to find out who’s trying to kill all of us?” Hongjoong asks with only a little malice.

Wooyoung pouts at this and quietly says, “But… ultimate murder mystery party.”

Yeosang pats Wooyoung’s shoulder comfortingly and tells Hongjoong, “Come on, let him have fun. We’re gonna need someone with high morale to get us through this.”

Hongjoong sighs loudly and says, “Fine. Whatever. Have fun with your ‘ultimate murder mystery party,’” raising his fingers to use air quotes.

“I will, actually,” Wooyoung responds with as much sass as he can muster in just three words as he stands to address the other seven. “We’re going to start with the room we ate dinner in. I saw a few things that might be helpful in there. After that, I think we just need to comb through every room on the ground floor. Sound good?”

Nods and noises of assent follow. Wooyoung claps his hands together in glee and exclaims, “Great! Let’s go!” He bounds over to the door and throws it open. As he pads down the hallway, temporarily lost in his own little world, he hears whispering between Mingi and San and there’s no way that he can resist eavesdropping on whispering! What scandalous scoop could they be discussing? He slows down his strides and shifts all his focus on listening to what they’re saying.

“…Down so bad, San. Maybe even down tremendously,” Mingi playfully whispers.

What does that mean? Down tremendously? Down for what? Wooyoung wonders.

“Mingi, stop!” San whines so quietly that Wooyoung almost can’t hear what he says. “He’s right there!”

Who’s right where? Wooyoung turns around and sees San’s beet-red face, but Wooyoung is the only one close to Mingi and San. The others are definitely out of earshot of Mingi and San, so why the whispering? Were they talking about me? He’s going to have to ask Mingi what “down tremendously” means later. He hopes they weren’t making fun of him. But he doesn’t have time to think about that right now.

“Come ON, slowpokes!” He hollers to the stragglers. “We’re wasting precious mystery-solving time!”

“Wooyoung, we’re not even fifty feet away from you, calm down. The mystery will still be there in fifteen seconds,” Jongho calls back.

Wooyoung hopes Jongho can see his eyes roll and he impatiently taps his foot and beats his index finger against his wrist. “The clues are disappearing as we speak, Jongho!” He turns back around and flies down the stairs, no longer checking behind him to make sure he hasn’t lost his friends. They’ll find him eventually. They are all going to the same place, after all.

He opens the door to the ballroom and if it was dark before, it’s nearly pitch black now. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flashlight. He checks his battery and sees that he’s at about half charge; he’ll need to find a charger later. Maybe he can ask Yeonjun if he can borrow his for a while.

He shines his flashlight around the space and spots the giant chandelier. That would certainly provide a lot of light if he can figure out how to turn it on. He turns away from the center of the room and shines his phone all over the walls, trying to find a light switch. He finds one almost immediately and flicks it up. The chandelier lights up and music starts to play loudly over the speakers. He jumps at the sudden attack on his ears but once the surprise fades, he realizes that he's listening to Changbin at the beginning of “God’s Menu.” What the hell?

The doors behind him open and his friends file in.

“How’d you turn on the lights?” Yunho almost shouts, trying to be heard over the din of the music. “I thought the chandelier was broken since it wasn’t on earlier!”

Wooyoung shrugs and points out the light switch on the wall. “I dunno!” He shouts. “I just flicked it up and the lights turned on!”

“Forget the lights, where’d all the tables go? And why is the music so loud?” Hongjoong yells as he walks deeper into the room. Sure enough, the ballroom is almost completely empty of furnishings. The eleven tables from earlier are all gone.

“I-” Wooyoung starts then stops. “I don’t know!” The music is so loud that he’s struggling to focus his thoughts. He feels his heart start to race, and he takes a breath to calm himself. “Maybe this is where the party is gonna be? And the tables were in the way?”

“Does it matter?” Jongho asks the group. “I think we have other priorities than missing tables-” As Jongho finishes his statement, the music cuts out and the ballroom falls quiet. Wooyoung sees Yeosang standing near a speaker holding a power cord in his hand. He raises the plug sheepishly and says, “It was too loud in here and I didn’t want to have to yell.”

Wooyoung lets out a deep sigh of relief. It’s not like hasn’t been in more than his fair share of loud rooms, but he’s been so on edge for hours that an incredibly loud room was just too much for him to handle. A flood of thoughts washes over him now that he can finally hear himself think and he wades through them trying to remember the weird things he saw when he was in the ballroom earlier. He remembers the portrait of the constellations hanging on the wall and thinks that could be a clue. This is just like a Dark Pictures game; the items that glint are clues to help the player solve the mystery and Wooyoung has a feeling that if this were a game, that constellation portrait would definitely glint.

“Seonghwa!” He calls out. “You know astrology, don’t you?”

Seonghwa looks at him, puzzled, but nods and walks toward Wooyoung. “Why are we talking about astrology?” He asks when he’s close enough that he doesn’t have to yell for Wooyoung to hear him. “I can’t tell you your horoscope if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and says, “I read my horoscope every morning, Seonghwa, don’t be ridiculous. All mine said for today was to sign up for computer classes. But that’s not the point!” He grabs Seonghwa’s hand and drags him to the portrait. “Are these constellations zodiac signs?” He asks as he points to the two constellations.

Seonghwa studies the portrait for a moment then raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung. “You said you read your horoscope every morning?”

“Yeah…? What does that have to do with this though?”

Seonghwa heaves a deep sigh, and he takes his turn to roll his eyes at Wooyoung. “This big one,” he says as he points to the constellation with twenty-one stars, “is Sagittarius. You of all people should know that.”

“And the other one?” Wooyoung asks.

“Is Cancer,” Seonghwa finishes. 

“San's a Cancer, isn't he?” That’s so random. Why are our zodiac signs in this painting?

“Yeah,” Seonghwa answers absently, his attention turned to the cat fountain. “Don’t you think this cat looks just like Byeol? Like, just like Byeol?”

Wooyoung steps closer to get a better look at the cat spewing water from its mouth. “Huh… It really does.” He turns and shouts San’s name. Seonghwa wanders back over toward Hongjoong, temporarily leaving Wooyoung alone by the fountain. When San reaches him, Wooyoung asks, “Doesn’t this cat look just like Byeol?”

San’s face softens as he nods, and he reaches a hand out to pet the stone cat’s head. “I miss her,” he says, sadness tingeing his words.

Wooyoung grabs his other hand and cheerfully tells him, “Ah, don’t be silly, Sannie. We’ve only been gone for about a day and we’ll be back home tomorrow! You can tell her all about the ultimate murder mystery we had to solve in America!”

San grips Wooyoung’s hand tighter and whispers so softly that Wooyoung almost doesn’t hear, “I don’t know that we’re getting out of this one, Woo.”

“What do you mean-”

“I don’t think there’s anything useful in here,” Hongjoong shouts. “We need to move on.”

Wooyoung spares the room another glance, but the only things he remembers being interesting were the constellation portrait and the cat fountain. San still looks uneasy, so he motions the others to go ahead, and he’ll bring up the rear with San. Once everyone is out of earshot, Wooyoung leads San forward to the door and the rest of the group and asks, “What did you mean that you don’t think we’re getting out of here?”

San shrugs and won’t look Wooyoung in the eye. “I dunno.”

Wooyoung stops and stands directly in front of San, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at Wooyoung. “San, what aren’t you telling me?”

San’s face grows even more distressed, and he exhales heavily, eyes darting everywhere but at Wooyoung’s face.

“San,” Wooyoung says firmly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

San whimpers and shuts his eyes. “Woo, I think there’s something wrong with me. Like really wrong.”

“Wooyoung! San!” Mingi yells from the door. “Come on! Everyone else is already in the kitchen!”

“Give us a minute!” Wooyoung yells back, not unkindly but not exactly kindly either.

Mingi snorts and says, “Okay, but be careful, you two. I’m not ready to be an uncle!” He closes the door behind him as he leaves.

Wooyoung is so worried about San that Mingi’s comment doesn’t even register. His anxiety ramps up again as San still won’t look him in the eye.

“San, what do you mean you think something is really wrong with you?”

San quickly shakes his head, saying, “I’m sure it’s all just in my head.”

Wooyoung grips San’s hand tighter in warning. “No, you’re not gonna stand here and invalidate your thoughts and feelings. What. Is. Wrong?”

San finally opens his eyes but casts his gaze to the floor. “I don’t… I don’t remember certain things from tonight,” he says shakily.

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“And it’s not just tonight. For the past few months, there have been times when I just don’t remember anything that happened. I’ll be in one place one second then the next thing I know I’m somewhere completely different and I don’t know how I got there.”

Sounds like what happened to Yeonjun.

“What don’t you remember from tonight?”

San looks up at Wooyoung and pleads, “Please don’t tell anyone. They’re gonna think there’s something wrong with me or that I’m on drugs and I promise I’m not.”

“San, you know you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to.”

“Earlier, when Yeosang found me in the kitchen, I said I was in there because it was too loud but that wasn’t true. I was suddenly in there and didn’t know how I got there, and I was scared and didn’t want to tell anyone that. What’s wrong with me? Do you think losing my memories means I’m next to die?” San starts breathing so heavily that he’s almost hyperventilating. “I don’t wanna die, Woo! There’s so much I haven’t done! Who’s gonna take care of Byeol? Who’s gonna take care of you? I haven’t even seen the Grand Canyon!”

Take care of me? What does that mean? Wooyoung wants to ask but is afraid of the answer. Does San think that he’s not capable of taking care of himself? Does he really think that Wooyoung is that pathetic and needy?

Before he starts to spiral, he asks, “Really? Seeing the Grand Canyon is at the top of your bucket list?”

San throws up a hand and exclaims, “I don’t know! That’s something that’s on everyone’s bucket list!”

“Isn’t it pretty much just a giant crack in the ground? Sounds boring as hell to me. I’d rather see the castle at Disney World personally.”

The door to the ballroom opens again and Mingi pokes his head in, hand covering his eyes. “If you two are indecent, get decent. Hongjoong’s getting annoyed that you’re still in here. There’s plenty of time for you to fuck when we get home!”

“Mingi, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Wooyoung yells back and looks at San to back him up, but San is blushing furiously and drops Wooyoung’s hand, striding purposefully to the door. Gee, thanks for the assist, San.

Wooyoung jogs to catch up with the other two and together the three enter the kitchen. Hongjoong looks between Wooyoung and San and holds up a hand. “I don’t wanna fucking know. We looked in here and aside from the completely empty fridge, there’s nothing of interest.”

Damn it. His disappointment must have been evident on his face because Yunho perks up and says, “So the last two rooms were duds. The next room will be good; I can tell. I still haven’t been in the dining room, and you know what they say: there’s always something good in the dining room!”

“Dude, what are you talking about? Who says that?” Mingi asks.

“You know…” Yunho trails off and gestures vaguely with one of his hands. “…They.” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter! What matters is that we’re gonna go to the dining room and we’re gonna find a clue that blows this case wide open and we’re all gonna get out of this place and go home and soon tonight will be nothing but an awful memory!” He inhales deeply to catch his breath after having said all that on one exhale.

“Okay, well… to the dining room it is,” Mingi says as he opens the door and leads the group on their very short trek to the next room.

Jongho whistles when they enter the dining room. “Damn, this room is nice. Why couldn’t we have eaten in here?” It does look nice, and it also looks incredibly familiar.

The others, except for San, voice their agreement. San looks troubled again and when San is troubled, Wooyoung is troubled.

“What’s wrong, Sannie?” he asks quietly as San fiddles with a napkin folded up to look like… a crown? Wooyoung isn’t sure.

“This is the dining room from Resident Evil 4. Well, the remake.” That explains why it looks familiar. He looks Wooyoung directly in the eye with an equal measure of intensity and trepidation. “Why are all these rooms modeled after video game rooms? This room, the exhibition room, the hotel itself, hell even the ballroom kinda looks like the ballroom from Man of Medan. Someone is fucking with me, Woo. Why else would all these rooms be rooms from my favorite video games?”

Great, San is spiraling. Wooyoung needs to find a way to talk San down from the ledge and fast. It’s unsettling having to be the one to ease anxieties. Most of the time he’s the one getting talked down from the ledge.

“I mean…” he hedges. “You’re not the only person in the world who likes these video games. They’re really popular, aren’t they?”

San nods.

“See?” Wooyoung continues. “You just have a lot in common with the weirdo who built this hotel. Maybe you horror game weirdos have a magnet in you that draws all of you together? And what are the odds that our killer is fucking with you in particular, you know? They’re probably just some sicko.”

San shrugs but doesn’t look convinced. “I guess.”

When they get home, Wooyoung is going to start working on being a more reassuring presence. Because trying to reassure San so far is not going well. Reassurance obviously isn’t working, so Wooyoung decides to try distraction. “You know that pyramid guy? Is he from Silent Hill 2?”

“Pyramid Head? Or if you want to be an asshole and get really technical, Red Pyramid Thing? Yeah, he’s from Silent Hill 2. Don’t you remember? I played that game not that long ago. He’s a manifestation of James’s guilt and desire for punishment.”

“So… what you’re telling me is that James is a masochist?” There's been too much talk of masochism with San tonight, but at least Wooyoung initiated it this time. 

San groans and rolls his eyes. “No, he’s not a masochist. Well… maybe. But that’s not the point! His wife was really sick, and he couldn’t handle it, so he suffocated her with a pillow. He’s in Silent Hill because he wants to kill himself and Pyramid Head is how his guilt over killing his wife manifests.”

“Well… that’s dark.”

“It’s a horror game, Wooyoung; it’s not gonna be like Animal Crossing. Just be sure not to kill your wife in the future otherwise you might get your own Pyramid Head.”

Wooyoung snorts at that. He can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing that San is so oblivious to Wooyoung’s feelings for him. “Right… I’ll be sure not to kill my wife in the future.”

If he had any hopes that emphasizing the word "wife" would alert San to the truth that he has no intention of ever having a wife, they would certainly be dashed by now because that flew right over San’s head. He’s feeling a little chaotic now though, so he decides to up the ante and be a little more obvious. It’s not like San is gonna pick up on it.

“It’s a shame that James is so ugly. If he were as hot as Leon S. Kennedy maybe I would have paid more attention to the game.”

“You-you like Leon?” San sputters, the blush coming back to his face.

“Why are you saying it like that? Of course I like Leon; he’s fine as hell. I’d love for him to carry me around and catch me from ledges like he does with Ashley…” He trails off dreamily, thinking about Leon’s muscles again. Leon could definitely do a lot more to him with those muscles than just carry him around or catch him when he jumps, but that’s a line of thought for later.

“I wonder who this table is set up for,” Yeosang says as he approaches Wooyoung and San. He points to the place settings around the table. “There are nine of them, but dinner is over. Who’s eating in here?”

“I think they’re for us since we’re the best,” Jongho says as he joins them.

“There are nine seats and only eight of us, dumbass. Who’s the other one for?” San asks him.

“Hell if I know. Maybe we’re cursed and JYP will take the other seat?”

“Oh God, don’t even speak that into the universe,” Wooyoung groans. “Changbin hates him. It’s constantly “Fuck PD-nim” this and “I swear to fucking God I’m gonna kill him” that.”

“Maybe it’ll be Shawn Mendes instead?” Yeosang offers.

“Now that,” Wooyoung says, “would be amazing. Where is he when you need him?”

Hongjoong strides over and asks, “Are you guys even looking for anything over here? Or are you just fucking around?”

No one answers.

“This was your idea Wooyoung!” He scolds. “Seonghwa, Yunho, Mingi, and I have looked all around, and we haven’t found anything-”

“Wait!” Wooyoung interrupts. “There are nine place settings at the table!”

Hongjoong gives him a look, imploring him to continue, but Wooyoung doesn’t have anything else to say.

“And I should care that there are nine place settings because…?” Hongjoong trails off, trying to get Wooyoung to elaborate.

“I dunno,” Wooyoung replies with a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeosang is the one who pointed it out.”

“Okay, well, Yeosang, I appreciate that you actually tried finding a clue in here, but I don’t know what the nine place settings is supposed to mean. We’ll keep it in mind though. Now let’s go,” Hongjoong herds them out of the dining room and into the crowded drawing room. Why can’t everyone else just stay in their rooms? Wooyoung whines to himself.

He pulls Hongjoong close so he can talk to him without having to shout. “Do we have to look in here?” He asks. “We’ve been in here so many times that we would’ve noticed something.” Hongjoong considers this for a second then nods. “Yeah, and if we’re poking around, we’re going to draw attention to ourselves. We need to move on.”

“Exactly!” Wooyoung exclaims. “Glad we’re on the same page. The conservatory?”

“Might as well, we’re right here. You think the butler is still in there?”

“I hope not.”

“Hey guys, can you come over here?” Seonghwa calls from the far side of the conservatory. Wooyoung gets closer and sees that Seonghwa is standing in front of a storage closet, but Wooyoung doesn’t remember seeing this closet when he was in here with Yunho earlier. To be fair though, there were a lot more plants in here at the time than there are now. In fact, all the plants in the conservatory are gone. When Wooyoung gets to the closet, he looks inside and sees an overturned jug of drain cleaner, a broken vase of narcissus flowers, and, most disturbingly, a pool of blood.

“Oh shit,” he says.

“Yeah. That’s putting it mildly,” Seonghwa replies. “I think we’re gonna find another body!” He calls out when no one other than Wooyoung joins him in front of the storage closet. This gets the others’ attention and soon all eight of them stare into the small closet at the scene of random items before them.

“Do you think… that someone drank the drain cleaner?” Mingi timidly asks. Yunho nods and Mingi breathes, “God, what a horrible way to go.”

Wooyoung hopes, probably naively, that whoever died in here passed quickly. He closes the closet door, having seen enough, and turns to face the group.

They all look at him expectedly, but Wooyoung can’t find any words. He tightens his grip on the closet’s door handle and takes a deep breath. He needs to keep it together and thinking too long about the poor guy who died in here will only upset him. “Let’s go to the library now. There’s nothing left for us here.”

This is definitely the worst library Wooyoung has been in. There are no books except for two on a shelf near the wall. He goes to check what the two books are and sees that the only books in this whole library are Clockwork Prince and Clockwork Princess. He knows that Clockwork Angel is upstairs in San’s room and he’s willing to admit that he’s a little freaked out that these are the only books here. What are the odds that the only books in this library would be his favorite books? Ever since San mentioned thinking someone is fucking with him personally, Wooyoung hasn’t been able to get the thought out of his mind. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. No matter how freaked out he may be, his desire to solve this mystery outweighs his fear. He looks at the random planks and plaster dust in piles in the corners of the room and the torn, peeling wallpaper. This library looks old which doesn’t make any sense because everything else in the hotel looks brand new.

“Wooyoung!” Wooyoung hears San’s voice calling for him, but he can’t see where San is.

“Where are you?” He calls back.

“On the second floor! Climb the ladder!”

“Second floor?” Wooyoung mutters under his breath. How can the library have a second floor?

He looks up and sure enough, the library does have a second floor. He also notices that there’s a skylight in the ceiling, but no light passes through because of all the snow on top of it. As he climbs the ladder to San, he wonders how the library has a skylight because it should be right underneath the floors with their bedrooms. He shouldn’t be able to theoretically see the night sky from in here. Nothing about this room makes any sense, which only adds to the stress he can’t let go of. Not to mention how worried he is about all the snow. He’s been banking on them being able to leave in the morning, but if it keeps snowing like this… can’t think like that, Wooyoung, he chides himself. Gotta stay positive.

San is there at the top of the ladder and gives Wooyoung his hand to help him the rest of the way up. “Come look at this,” he says, leading Wooyoung to one of the walls where two photographs hang. “Do you recognize either of these places?”

Wooyoung studies the photographs, and he realizes he does recognize one of the locations in the photographs. He whispers, “What the fuck? This is Ilsan Lake Park.”

San nods and points to the other photograph. “Yeah. And this is fucking Namhae. Still think we’re not getting fucked with?”

Wooyoung’s heart drops and every thought he had flies right out of his head.

“Why us?” He asks in a small voice.

“Because it seems that we’re the butt of some cosmic joke,” San answers angrily. “They brought us here to kill us.”

“But what about everyone else? Why would there be so many other people if they just want us?”

“Practice for the main event? Forget trying to figure out who’s killing us, we need to leave. Let’s go,” he grabs Wooyoung’s hand and starts to lead him back to the ladder down to the first level. Wooyoung stops and San turns back, looking at him in annoyance.

“San, we can’t just leave! What about our friends?”

“I don’t give a shit about them. You’re the only one I care about.”

Wooyoung’s head tilts to the side and he looks closely at San. He almost doesn’t look like himself. “San, you’re not acting like yourself. What do you mean you don’t care about our friends?”

San tries to gently pull Wooyoung toward the ladder again, but Wooyoung stands firm. “What’s the matter with you? You know we can’t leave right now; we’ll die of hypothermia. And I won’t leave my friends. You wouldn’t either! Why are you acting like this?”

San lowers his head and sighs before straightening back up. “You’re right. I’m just scared.”

Wooyoung isn’t totally convinced and is still concerned about San’s well-being, but he laces their fingers together anyway and gives San’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know, I am too. But as long as we stay together, we’ll be safe.”

“I love you,” San forcefully tells him.

“I love you, too, Sannie,” Wooyoung responds warmly, but also in slight confusion.

“No, not like that-”

“You two finding anything up there?” Jongho interrupts from the first floor.

Wooyoung untangles his fingers from San’s and walks to the railing to peer down at Jongho. “Yeah, actually. There are two photos up here of Ilsan and Namhae.”

“What the fuck?” Jongho asks. “Why?”

Wooyoung looks at San, who shakes his head no. “Not yet,” he whispers.

Wooyoung turns back to look down at Jongho. “I dunno. Maybe they just found the pictures online and printed them out?”

Jongho doesn’t look convinced. “Wooyoung, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would this random American have random pictures of Ilsan and Namhae in their library?”

“I dunno!” Wooyoung throws up his hands. “Americans are weird! They just do what they want!”

“Can we stop yelling at each other?” Hongjoong scolds. “Wooyoung, San, come back downstairs.”

After explaining to the others that there are pictures of Ilsan and Namhae upstairs, but, at San’s request, nothing else that San and Wooyoung previously discussed, the group comes to the conclusion that they, specifically, are indeed being fucked with.

“Who stands to gain from this?” Yunho asks. “Targeting us in particular?”

No one offers an answer. Who would gain from this? A company executive? Or is this just a random stroke of bad luck and Wooyoung and San are just the butt of some cosmic joke?

“Let’s check out the last two rooms on this floor and then we’ll go up to one of our rooms and talk theories. We’re too exposed on this floor; we need some privacy. Does that work for everyone?” Wooyoung asks. Everyone nods except Hongjoong.

“Trying to take the captain role from me, Woo?” He asks in a tone Wooyoung thinks is only half-joking. He sounds genuinely annoyed, too.

Wooyoung shakes his head no and Hongjoong continues speaking as he walks toward the door. “We’ll check out the room with the phone next and then the room with the weird naked woman statue. Sound good? Great.” He throws open the library door with more force than Wooyoung thinks is necessary and stalks out of the room.

Seonghwa rushes ahead of the others to catch up with Hongjoong without so much as a backward glance.

“What crawled up his ass? Why’s he so mad at me?” Wooyoung asks San as they walk out of the room.

“Probably just on edge,” San responds as he shrugs. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“Am I overstepping?” Wooyoung asks worriedly. “I don’t want him to think I’m trying to take over.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I promise,” San lowers his voice to a whisper when they enter the room with the phone, so no one overhears.

“Are you sure?” Wooyoung whispers back.

San nods and Wooyoung feels some of his anxiety ease. Now is quite possibly the worst time for them to be mad at each other; they need to work together if they want to make it home.

This room has a lot more to look at than most of the other rooms they’ve been in, so Wooyoung makes a plan to start right by the door and work his way backward since everyone else is already at the far side of the room. He walks over to the phonograph that San was so excited about earlier and takes a better look at it. It rests on a table with two doors and two drawers beneath the doors. Wooyoung tries to open the doors, but they’re stuck, and no amount of yanking gets them to budge. He moves to the drawer on the left and finds it empty. When he opens the drawer on the right, he finds a small disc with grooves etched into it. It looks like a vinyl record, but it’s a lot smaller and it doesn’t feel like any record he’s ever held before. He can’t think of any other purpose it would serve though, so he places the disc onto the phonograph and moves the needle to the edge. Nothing happens. Duh, I need to turn it on. He looks around the phonograph for a power button, but the only thing on the exterior is a key. He tries to pull out the key, but that doesn’t work, so he twists it a few times instead. Suddenly, music starts playing from the phonograph’s horn and a man’s shrill voice emerges from the background music. God, this guy fucking sucks, Wooyoung thinks. A different man then starts to sing, and his voice, while an improvement, isn’t much better. Both voices sound really familiar, but Wooyoung can’t place them, and he’s definitely never heard this song before. They keep saying “Please switch to me” but all Wooyoung wants to do is switch off the song.

“Wooyoung, can you shut that shit off? I don’t wanna listen to Rain right now,” Jongho says.

Wooyoung lifts the tone arm, and the music stops. He picks up the record and puts it back where he found it, saying, “That was Rain? I didn’t realize he was so ass.”

“He’s like eight billion years old, what do you expect?” Jongho replies.

Jongho does have a point, Rain is like eight billion years old. Wooyoung supposes if he were that old, his voice wouldn’t be that great either. Poor Rain, how the mighty have fallen.

He leaves the phonograph to check out the bookcases along the wall. He sees the botany book that got San so excited and notices a bookmark sticking out from the pages. He flips open the book to that page, which features a beautiful illustration of the purple flowers he saw earlier that Yeosang told him were larkspurs. The page is written in English, so Wooyoung only briefly scans it, but one point does catch his eye: larkspurs are the birth flower for July. Suddenly he remembers his conversation with Jiwoong about birth flowers and how he told him that chrysanthemums are November’s birth flower. We’re not getting fucked with. San and I are getting fucked with. First the constellations, then the photos of Ilsan and Namhae, and now the birth flowers? There are too many things relating to the two of them in particular to be a coincidence. He slams shut the book and places it back on the shelf, scanning it for any other interesting books. There’s a book about something called Motown that he ignores, but a book about Korean folk monsters catches his eye. He picks it up and thumbs through the pages, landing on a page about kumihos.

The kumiho, or nine-tailed fox, is a creature that can turn itself from a fox into a beautiful woman. However, the transformation is incomplete as there will always be something persistently fox-like about the woman, whether that is the color of her hair, the shape of her facial features, or her nine tails. Kumihos were once human, so they transform into beautiful women to seduce humans to consume their souls to regain their humanity. Some legends say that kumihos may also consume human flesh. What distinguishes the kumiho from the related Japanese kitsune, Chinese huli jing, and Vietnamese hồ ly tinh is the presence of a yeowoo guseul or knowledge bead. The yeowoo guseul provides the kumiho with its power and is also used by the kumiho to absorb human souls. The kumiho will transfer the yeowoo guseul into the mouth of the human through a kiss to absorb their soul. If a human can swallow the yeowoo guseul and immediately look up to the sky, the human will be granted preternatural knowledge…

Wooyoung slams the book shut and throws it back on the shelf. Kumihos have always freaked him out. He would like to keep his soul, thank you very much. The thought of a fox demon taking the form of a pretty girl to try to steal his soul…? Terrifying.

The last book on the shelf that looks interesting is a book about umbrellas. He’s never seen a book specifically about umbrellas and thinks it may be important. Is he also partial to umbrellas because they remind him of his relationship with San? Maybe… yes. Yes, he is. As he tries to take the book off the shelf, he encounters resistance, then the shelf opens to reveal a secret room.

“Guys!” He hollers. “I found a secret room!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Mingi exclaims. He races into the secret room and flicks on the lights. Inside the secret room, there’s a desk and a small bookcase. Sitting atop the desk is a pink cake ringed by plump strawberries. In careful lettering, the icing reads, “Happy Death Day.” A knife sits next to the cake and beside the knife are eight plates and eight forks.  

“Are we… are we supposed to eat this?” Wooyoung asks cautiously.

“With ‘Happy Death Day’ written on it? No way,” Mingi responds, seemingly horrified that Wooyoung would even suggest such a crazy thing.

“Seonghwaaaaaaaaa...” Wooyoung whines. “Come in here, I’m scared!”

Seonghwa steps into the secret room and looks at the cake Wooyoung and Mingi are staring at in horror. “Uhh… Joong? Can you come in here? Actually… can all of you just come in here?”

Hongjoong and the others crowd into the small room and gather around the cake on the desk.

“Well, we have to cut into it,” Hongjoong says with finality.

“But what if there’s a bomb in it?” San asks from behind Yeosang’s shoulder.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes and grabs the knife. “San don’t be ridiculous. There’s not gonna be a bomb.” He hesitates right above the cake then thrusts his arm forward, offering the knife to Jongho. “Would you care to do the honors?” he asks.

Jongho huffs and rolls his eyes, but there’s clearly no anger behind it. “You guys are such babies. It’s just a cake.” He cuts the cake into eight equal slices, and nothing happens. No bomb explodes, no one jumps out and scares them. The cake looks completely normal.

Jongho places a slice on each plate and hands one to everyone else, serving himself last. He grabs a fork and cuts off a bite of his own slice, then pauses and brings the plate up closer to his face. “What the…” he says as he digs his fingers into the cake and pulls out a small tank figurine. “Check your slices before you take a bite,” he tells them.

Wooyoung roots around in his cake with his fingers until he feels hard plastic. He pulls out the object and wipes off the bits of cake stuck to it. He brings it up to his face to inspect it and his figurine is the Cheshire cat wearing a crown. The others proceed to dig into their cakes looking for figurines and San finds a bicycle, Seonghwa finds a turtle, Yeosang finds a dinosaur wearing a giant clock, Yunho finds a champagne flute, Mingi finds a phoenix, and Hongjoong finds a gun.

“What are these?” Yunho asks as he stares intensely at his plastic champagne flute that he’s holding right in front of his eye.

“I have no idea, but they feel like clues. Just put them in your pockets and we can think about them later,” Wooyoung says as he tries to squeeze past Mingi and Seonghwa to look at the other things in the room. He looks at the wall and sees a digital clock that reads two pm. It’s definitely a lot later than two pm, so he knows that the clock is broken, and he turns away. He crouches in front of the tiny bookcase, and he sees quite a few books with no words on the spines and when he opens them, they’re blank. The only thing in the bookcase that has words is a DVD case of the seventh season of Game of Thrones. He finds it weird that there’s only the seventh season, but he has far more important things to worry about right now. On top of the bookcase is a framed photograph of a woman and two little girls, but Wooyoung has no idea who they are, so he ignores the photo.

By the time he’s finished inspecting the bookcase, everyone else has left the secret room and gone back into the room with the phone. He returns to the desk to see if there was anything he missed from being so distracted by the cake. He looks through the desk drawers but only finds a calendar. He lays it on the desk and sees that the sixth of October has been circled in red pen. He flips to September and the sixth is circled in red pen. He goes to August and again, the sixth is circled in red pen. Each month going back to January features the sixth day of the month circled in red pen, but no other markings. He’s sure that has some meaning, but he can’t figure out what that meaning is right now.

Once he’s satisfied that there are no other clues in the secret room, he walks back into the main room. It seems that everyone else is also done investigating because they're all standing and talking with each other, waiting for Wooyoung to finish.

“Find anything?” San asks hopefully.

“I think so, but I’ll tell all of you later. We only have one room left, so let’s look in there for a minute and then we’ll debrief.”

As Wooyoung walks into what San called the exhibition room, he can’t help but remember what Yeonjun told him about kissing Soobin in here just a few short hours ago. Grief washes over him, but he can’t break down now, so he takes a deep breath and tries to think about anything other than Yeonjun and Soobin. San said this room was from Resident Evil, right? He’ll just daydream about Leon then. Easy peasy. Although… he barely remembers anything about this room and if Leon had been in this game, he would’ve remembered this room…. It’s okay, his imagination doesn’t have to be canon. If he wants Leon to be in this room even though he’s not in this game, Leon is gonna be in this room even though he’s not in this game.

“I’m gonna check the back,” he tells the others as he strides toward the red curtain at the back of the room.

“I’ll go with you,” Yeosang says as he jogs to catch up with Wooyoung. As he jogs, he slips a little but rights himself before he falls. Wooyoung looks at the floor where Yeosang slipped and gasps. “Is that-?” he starts as he kneels on the floor and brings his face closer to the puddle on the ground. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns on his flashlight. Yep. That’s definitely blood. He stands back up and grabs Yeosang’s hand, pulling him into the weird set of corridors that makes up the back part of the exhibition room. There’s even more blood in here and all the furniture and objects that were covered with cloth earlier have been overturned. The two stay silent as they maneuver the minefield of overturned items and puddles of blood until they reach the final corridor leading to the bookcase. In front of them is a pile of six bodies all covered in drying blood. At the top of the pile is Zhang Hao with a giant dagger sticking out the side of his neck. Yeosang immediately puts his hand over Wooyoung’s eyes and turns him around, tucking Wooyoung’s head into his shoulder and backing them out of the corridor. Wooyoung takes a shuddering breath and burrows his face deeper into Yeosang’s shoulder. He steps blindly and trips over an overturned table, but Yeosang is there to catch him and keep them both from falling. Once they’re out of the back room, Wooyoung slides out of Yeosang’s grip and falls to his knees, choking back a sob.

“Woah, what the hell happened back there?” Mingi asks.

Wooyoung crumples and places his forearms on the floor, dropping his head into his hands.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes out.

“There are six more bodies back there. It looks like they were all stabbed in the neck and there’s blood everywhere. We need to hurry and either figure out a way to stop the killer or a way to leave,” Yeosang informs everyone and Wooyoung is immensely grateful that Yeosang is somehow able to stay level-headed right now because he sure as hell isn’t.

“Okay,” Hongjoong says. “That’s it. No more investigating. We’re going upstairs and locking ourselves in my room until we know what we’re dealing with. Yeo, can you get Wooyoung up and out of here?”

Yeosang gently picks up Wooyoung under his shoulders until Wooyoung gets his feet back under him. “Do you need my help or are you okay?” He asks quietly. Wooyoung thinks for a second, then answers, “I’m okay, but can you walk with me? Just stay close?”

“Absolutely,” Yeosang answers as he grabs onto Wooyoung’s hand. “I won’t go anywhere without you.”

As they leave the exhibition room, Wooyoung notices that the hallway is a lot busier than it was just a few minutes ago. As they keep walking down the hall and he can see into the drawing room, it looks like everyone has come down from their rooms because he can’t even see the doors leading to the conservatory through the throng of people.

“Why do you think everyone is back down here?” He asks Yeosang.

“Maybe they think the party is about to start? Or that the host is here?”

“Maybe… I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Yeosang sighs.

They squeeze their way through the crowd and stop in the main hall when they see Hongjoong and Seonghwa in the middle of an argument. Uh oh. Mom and Dad are fighting.

“Joong, we can’t just go upstairs now. Everyone is back down here; they could be killed!” Seonghwa whisper-exclaims.

“That’s not my fucking problem, Hwa! My problem is making sure none of us ends up dead!” Hongjoong seethes in return. “And besides, you’re the one who wanted to stay in the room anyway! What’s with the change of heart?”

Seonghwa’s face reddens further in his rage. “Maybe because now I can see fucking kids down here, Hongjoong. Literal children. What kind of man does that make me if I run away and leave kids down here to die?”

“Maybe a man who’s alive?!” Hongjoong raises his voice but thankfully the noise from the crowd in the drawing room is too loud for anyone else to notice. “I don’t have time for your morality crisis. We all agreed to go back to my room. We need to go upstairs now.” He grabs Seonghwa’s hand, but Seonghwa rips it right back out.

“No,” he breathes.

“Seonghwa, god fucking damn it, quit being so stubborn and come on-”

The group’s attention shifts to the top of the stairwell at the sound of thuds. Wooyoung can’t really tell what’s falling down the stairs, but whatever it is is big. Once the mass reaches the floor, he sees a head loll over and suddenly he’s looking at Kim Younghoon’s face. He looks down and sees that Younghoon is missing his throat and Wooyoung can’t help it; he screams.

His scream pierces the air and all the conversations from the drawing room and hallway cease. The hotel is completely silent for only a second before another thud is heard. Wooyoung can’t tell where it came from, but then he hears, “Oh my God!” and everyone’s attention turns to the door leading to the pool and conservatory.

“What? What happened?” Someone asks.

“Sunghoon just fell from the fucking sky!” Another voice shouts.

The clamor returns as people beeline to the door and windows, everyone trying to see if Sunghoon really fell from the sky. Wooyoung can’t bear to look at either Younghoon or toward the crowd looking for Sunghoon and his eyes are drawn toward the windows at the front of the hotel. The snow is probably waist-deep at this point and his heart drops into his stomach. There’s no way we’ll be able to leave in the morning, he thinks when he sees that the snow is only falling harder now. As he looks out the window, he sees a mass fall right in front of the window. It sinks into the snow, so Wooyoung can’t see what it is. He runs out the front door without thinking or telling anyone and wades through the snow in his jeans, thin long sleeve shirt, and sneakers. He claws through the snow trying to get it out of the way so he can see what fell. His fingers start to sting but he relentlessly digs through the snow until he sees what fell. He sees Bae Jacob lying there, covered in blood, missing an eye and his throat, and definitely dead. Oh shit.

“Wooyoung!” San yells as he runs through the snow and grabs Wooyoung by the waist, dragging him back to the front of the hotel. “What the hell are you doing?”

Wooyoung wipes at the snot falling from his nose with his red, frozen hands. “I had to see what fell,” he says weakly once San stops walking them through the snow. San keeps his hands on Wooyoung’s waist, slightly digging his fingers deeper, and asks, “What were you thinking running out into the snow? You’re not dressed for this kind of weather!” He looks frantic, scared even. Wooyoung shivers violently and his hand shakes as he tries to wipe his nose again. San throws the door open and half-drags Wooyoung back inside. “Stay here!” He commands as he disappears behind a door and comes back holding his and Wooyoung’s jackets. He puts Wooyoung’s smaller jacket on him first and then drapes his own jacket over the other. San’s jacket slips a bit off his shoulders and Wooyoung tries to pull it back into place, but his hands are so cold he can’t really use his fingers and he can’t get a good grip on San’s jacket.

“Shit, I don’t have any gloves. Let me check the other coats.” San disappears for another minute and comes back holding a pair of thick gloves. He slides them onto Wooyoung’s hands and while they’re a few sizes too big, they’re incredibly warm. Wooyoung feels sensation returning to his hands as San fixes his jacket.

“Don’t do something that stupid again, Woo. You can’t just run into the snow like that.”

Now that he’s warming back up, he feels his sense of injustice come back. “Weren’t you just saying that we were going to walk back into town not even thirty minutes ago?”

San huffs and says, “I was obviously going to wrap you in as many jackets and coats as humanly possible. I wasn’t just going to have us run out with no outerwear!”

“What about you? Were you going to get any jackets for yourself?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow.

“If there were any left over after you were sufficiently protected from the elements, yeah.”

“And if there weren’t any left over?” He presses.

“Then I just would’ve thought about being at the Grand Canyon or someplace really hot the whole walk back.”

“Does that even work?”

San shrugs. “What did you see out there? What was so important to see that you risked hypothermia and my sanity?”

“Jacob’s out there. Something ripped out his throat and gouged out one of his eyes.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He looked even worse than Younghoon.”

Yeosang notices San and Wooyoung standing near the front door and comes over to them, concern all over his face. “Why are you two… wet?”

“I was at the window and saw something fall into the snow. I went out there to see what it was, and it was Jacob. He’s dead. San came out to get me before I froze to death,” Wooyoung answers.

Yeosang nods slowly and says, “I’m with Hongjoong. We need to go back to the room and try to find you two dry clothes.”

Another round of screams rings out and once the noise dies down enough for Wooyoung to hear what people are saying, he hears that two more bodies fell to join Sunghoon, and they were Sunwoo and Juyeon’s bodies. Chaos descends upon the hotel as groups try to find all their members and circle up. Wooyoung and his other members start to climb the stairs because they have their whole group when there’s yet another scream. Footsteps pound down the hallway and Ni-Ki yells, “There are more in the room at the end of the hall!”

With the distraction of even more bodies being found, Wooyoung continues to climb up the stairs, but then he hears someone yell out his name. “Jung Wooyoung, don’t you fucking go anywhere!” Kevin pushes past the mass of idols standing in and around the drawing room in various states of distress. He starts to say something else, but then his eyes fall to Younghoon’s corpse, and he falls silent for a second. Then he looks up at Wooyoung and his other members and bites, “Oh? You were just gonna walk away and not tell anyone that Younghoon is dead, too?”

“Kevin, it’s not what it looks like,” Seonghwa tries to defuse the situation, but this only seems to make Kevin angrier.

“No! Sunghoon and Juyeon were people you,” he points to Yeosang and Wooyoung. “Chose to kill when we played Mafia. Were you telling us who you were actually about to kill?!”

Ni-Ki calls out the names of the people in the pile of bodies in the exhibition room. Once he’s said the sixth name, Wooyoung hears wails coming from all corners of the drawing room. Everyone is silent and still for a second as they process the information they’ve just been given.

“Holy fucking shit,” Kevin says. “You’re the only group that has everyone still. Why are you killing the rest of us?” Before anyone can say anything to him, he turns around and shouts over the wails and sobs, “Ateez hasn’t lost anyone! And when we played Mafia, Wooyoung and Yeosang were the mafia and the bodies that fell from the upper levels were the people they,” he whips around and points at Wooyoung and Yeosang, “killed!” He turns back around to face the drawing room. “Jungwon! Where’s Jay? Bet he’s not over there.”

Jungwon weakly says, “He’s not here.”

“Where’s Jay, Wooyoung? Where are you hiding him?”

Seonghwa stalks down the stairs toward Kevin and angrily says, “That’s enough, Kevin. We haven’t killed anyone! We’ve been trying to figure out who is!”

Kevin raises his voice and says, “Save it, Seonghwa. What? You guys are killing us because you’re jealous? Afraid of competition? Mad that you’re not more popular? Or are you just fucking psycho murderers?”

Without missing a beat, Seonghwa rears back and punches Kevin right in the jaw. “Don’t fucking talk about us like that!”

Kevin grabs his jaw and then tries to punch Seonghwa, but Seonghwa sidesteps him and grabs his fist, forcefully bending it back until Kevin falls to his knees.

Hongjoong wolf-whistles and Wooyoung swears he can actually see hearts in his eyes.

“Now is not the time to get hard, Hongjoong!” Wooyoung admonishes under his breath.

“Has anyone seen Jiwoong?” Seok Matthew interrupts, his voice weak and shaky through his tears. “We haven’t been able to find him.”

“He- he’s dead,” Wooyoung says. “We found his body in the freezer earlier.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Kevin asks but shuts his mouth when Seonghwa bends his wrist backward a little harder.

“Okay, so that wasn’t our finest moment, but we didn’t want this,” Wooyoung gestures wildly in front of him, “to happen! We thought if everyone knew Soobin and Jiwoong died that it would be chaos-”

Wooyoung is interrupted by the electricity shutting off, plunging the hotel into pitch darkness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He roars.

Chapter Text

Baek Sunwoo finds himself alone in a dark room and he isn’t exactly sure how he got here. To be quite honest, the last few hours are a bit hazy in his mind. When he tries to grasp at a recent memory, it slips through his fingers. He barely even remembers getting to the hotel earlier today and everything after that is a blur. He isn’t sure why his memory is so fuzzy. He feels like he should be more concerned than he currently is, but that feeling of unease is tucked far away behind the haze.

He also wonders where his friends are and how and why he ended up here: alone in the dark. But when he thinks too long about how weird this situation is, his head starts to pound. So he quickly discards the thought and blissful peace and quiet return. Even if he can’t think about the strangeness of the situation in which he’s found himself, he knows that he can’t just stand around in the dark forever. So, he blindly feels along the wall, trying to find a light switch. Once he reaches one, he immediately flicks it up, casting the room in harshly yellow light.

That… wasn’t helpful, he thinks as the now-illuminated room gives him no clues as to where he is or how he ended up here. The room is completely empty save for the bare bulb dangling precariously from the ceiling by only one wire. God, this place is busted. This looks like the kind of room that would have a bathtub filled with ice he’d wake up in only to find out that his kidney is gone. Does that actually happen or is that just for movies and tv shows? He wonders and once he gets cell service, he plans to look it up.

Since his current location reveals nothing and the harsh yellow lighting is freaking him out and making him fear for the safety of his kidneys, he decides to leave. As soon as he steps past the threshold into total darkness, he hears a loud whoosh. What the hell? When he feels behind him for the door, there’s nothing there. The wall is completely smooth, as though there was never a door there even though there most certainly was. He just stepped through it! He frantically runs his hands over the wall, thinking that maybe he’s just imagining things. There’s no way a door can just disappear like that, right?

As he runs his hands along the wall, trying in vain to find the door he exited from, he thinks he hears a… snarl? He freezes and strains to hear over the sound of the blood coursing through his veins. He hears it again and he swears it’s a little louder this time, a little closer. Oh hell no... Not wanting to alert the creature to his presence, but also wanting the creature to theoretically stay in his eyeline even through the darkness, Baekgyeul slowly creeps backward, away from the sound. He’s barely taken two steps when the floor creaks underneath his foot. Shit. He shakily inhales and prays to anyone who will listen that the creature either didn’t hear or doesn’t care about the creaky floor. He stands completely still and holds his breath, straining to hear any sound from the creature. After about thirty seconds of silence, he feels comfortable enough to continue his retreat. He takes careful steps backward and breathes shallowly, trying to stay as quiet as he possibly can. The snarls don’t get any quieter, but they also don’t get any louder, so he assumes that the creature is continuing its trek down the hallway. If he weren’t so scared for his life, he would be impressed with how well he’s keeping his composure, but his attention is unfortunately focused on other matters.

His back encounters something solid and his heart immediately drops down into his stomach. He’d been so sure that he was facing the monster, how did it get behind him…?

“Mr. Baek, you’re not supposed to be back here,” a woman’s voice says, far too loudly for his comfort. But he knows that voice: it belongs to the redheaded girl who served him dinner.

“Shh!” He harshly shushes as he reaches out an arm and pushes her so she’s standing directly behind him. “We’re not alone in here,” he whispers as he listens for any movement from the creature. He feels the girl curl into his back, tightly gripping his shirt between her fingers.

“What do you mean we’re not alone in here?” She quietly asks.

He takes a step back and thankfully the girl moves in tandem with him.

“I think there’s a bear following us,” he replies.

She softly gasps and says, “You really think there’s a bear in here?”

He nods then remembers it’s pitch black so she can’t see anything he does, so he says, “Yeah. I dunno what else it would be-”

A deafening roar reverberates through the hallway and holy shit that bear is a lot closer than I thought, he thinks as he turns to start running away. He thought he’d have to help the girl get away, but she’s already gone. The girl is fast, her voice calling out to him telling him to run faster sounds far away. He pushes himself harder than he ever has before, but the creature matches his pace perfectly so he can’t stop to catch his breath.

Sharp pain suddenly lances across his abdomen, and he instinctively places his hands over his stomach. He feels warm liquid spilling out of giant holes in his midsection, he falls to his knees, and then onto his back. The overhead lights flicker on, and he sees the girl peering down at him, an unreadable expression on her face. She almost looks… triumphant? But he can’t really decipher her expression because all he can think about is the pain he’s in. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to steady his breathing. Hyperventilating now isn’t going to do him any favors.

“You need to run,” he says weakly. “The bear-”

She interrupts him, saying, “I’ll never understand why you all seem to think that a bear would end up in here. That’s ridiculous, how would a bear get in here? And why would it just roam the hallways?”

He doesn’t have an answer to her questions and he’s in too much pain, so he doesn’t say anything.

She huffs and Baekgyeul feels her thumb lift up his eyelid so he’s looking at her through one eye. He thinks he might be delirious with pain because she doesn’t even look human. Her eyes are completely black and is that a tail he sees? No fucking way, I must be hallucinating.

“It’s really rude not to look at someone when they’re talking to you, you know? And you haven’t even looked at the gift I gave you!”

Gift? What gift? His confusion must have shown on his face because she gestures to his abdomen. Oh God. He doesn’t want to look. The amount of pain he’s in tells him that his stomach probably doesn’t look too pretty right now.

“Don’t you want to see what I gave you?” She asks, hurt lacing her words. She pouts and gives him the best puppy-dog eyes he’s ever seen. It's honestly impressive how pitiful she looks, but he’s so confused. What could she possibly have given him? He was running, then his stomach felt like it was getting ripped apart, and then he was on the ground. When did she have time to give him anything? Maybe when he was too busy whiting out from the pain, she wrapped him up in bandages? He looks down at his stomach and sees three massive, ragged gashes. He thinks he can see his organs through all the blood spilling out of him.

“Oh my God,” he stutters out and the girl’s face lights up.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” She exclaims. “Just wait until you see what else I have in store for you!”

“What?” He wants to ask more but talking hurts too much.

She groans and tosses back her head. “There was no bear, Baekgyeul. The sounds were just little tricks to get you scared and running. I’m the one who did this to you.” As she speaks, he looks closer at her and sees her pointed ears, her fully black eyes, and her talons. His eyes hadn’t deceived him earlier. She definitely isn’t human. But what is she then?

“What are you?” He asks in horror.

She doesn’t answer as she reaches a hand toward his stomach and shoves it in one of his gashes. He screams as she digs around, then she pulls out his intestines. When he sees his own entrails, he passes out.

“Damn. I was hoping to play with you a little longer,” Kumi mutters once she realizes that the man beneath her has lost consciousness. “You humans are so fragile,” she says to the unconscious man as she drops his intestines, and it squelches when it lands back on his stomach. She opens a door and pulls out a ladder, setting it up so she can reach the hook on the rafters. She then picks the intestines back up, wrapping them around the man’s neck until a crude noose has been fashioned. She hoists the man into her arms and carries him up the ladder, attaching the end of his entrails to the hook and letting his body drop. She hears his neck snap, knows that her first attempt to kill him was successful, and she won’t have to drop him again. She climbs down the ladder and puts it back where she found it before admiring her handiwork. She knows she can’t bask in her own success for very long because it’s almost time to throw some bodies down the stairs and really start the chaos, but she allows herself a moment to gloat, at least to herself. She hopes that her boss will admire her creativity. She knows the other underling won’t give a shit, but she knows that her boss would if they just had the opportunity to see what she’s done. She's grown a lot since she was rescued a few months ago. Dangling precariously from the ceiling is Baek Sunwoo and she has to admit, this may be her favorite kill yet. But the night is still young, and she has plenty of tricks left up her sleeve.

I don’t know how much longer I can stay in here, Choi Yeonjun thinks as he looks around the hotel room and is constantly reminded of Soobin. Everything reminds him of Soobin. How could it not? All five of their lives had been so closely intertwined for so many years that sometimes Yeonjun wondered where they ended and he began. Even the stupid graphic tee Beomgyu is wearing, a black shirt with a fake FaceTime screen featuring a blurry picture of a hamster that reads, “Hamster is calling,” was a gift from Soobin. There was no occasion, he’d just found it and thought Beomgyu would like it. Or Kai’s shoes by the door: a birthday present from Soobin. He hadn’t realized just how ingrained Soobin was in every fiber of his being, but he supposes that’s something that's something you only find out when you lose them.

He feels guilty that he’s so singularly focused on his own grief over Soobin when he knows that Jiwoong is also dead. He knows Jiwoong has a lot of people who care about him and will be devastated once they learn about his death, but right now Yeonjun can’t be one of them. He also knows that more people will probably die since it seems that they’re being picked off one by one… at least until Wooyoung stops it. If Wooyoung can stop it, that is. Not that he doesn’t have full faith in his friend, but he’s just a guy. How is he supposed to compete with a spree possibly serial killer? If Yeonjun loses Wooyoung too… no, he can’t continue that line of thought. It won’t lead anywhere good, and he needs to keep his wits about him because he’s sure the night is far from over.

“Oh God, how did we end up here?” He asks, dropping his head into his hands.

He doesn’t get an answer, but then again, he didn’t really expect one. He looks at Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai in turn and all their eyes are glazed over. The lights are all on, but no one is home. He supposes it’s better that, at least for right now, they’re numb and in shock instead of crying. He can deal with numb; he isn’t sure he can deal with tears. He can’t find it in himself to cry anymore; he cried so much earlier that it feels like the well from which he draws his tears has dried up.

He leans back on his hands and lets the silence of the room envelop him. He tries to focus on what he can sense: the ugly patterned wallpaper, the sounds of his bandmates’ breaths, the quilt underneath his hands, but he keeps getting distracted by memories racing by him. None of them is whole, just a fragment of the past few years of his life. He doesn’t try to focus on any of them, content with simply glimpsing his carousel of memories.

He’s broken out of his trip through his past by piercing screams and he immediately jumps off his bed. The first thing he thinks about is getting the others into a safe hiding spot. He quickly scans the room for a hiding place, but the only one that could fit all four of them is the bathroom. It probably isn’t the best idea for all four of them to be together if they’re trying to hide from a killer, but Yeonjun doesn’t want to let the other three out of his sight. He tells them to hide in the bathroom while he walks to the door to listen through it. He’s not about to fuck around looking through the peephole, somebody could stab him in the eye! That wasn’t even a fear he had until Wooyoung told him about an episode of a show he watched where someone got stabbed in the eye through a peephole and ever since Yeonjun doesn’t look through peepholes. He would like to keep his eyes intact.

He presses his ear against the door and hears continued screams, but he can’t make out anything that would tell him why people are screaming. If he had to guess, he would assume that everyone else has just discovered a body or at least found out that there are bodies to be discovered. Even if the screams are just from discovering a body and not anyone else getting murdered, Yeonjun doesn’t want to take any chances and he joins the others hiding in the bathroom.

“What’s going on out there? Do you know?” Kai asks as soon as Yeonjun closes and locks the bathroom door behind him.

“I’m not sure,” Yeonjun shrugs. “I heard a lot of screaming but if they were saying anything, I couldn’t tell what it was. Let’s just stay in here for now and hopefully Wooyoung will come up soon and tell us what’s going on.”

He settles into the open space between Beomgyu and Taehyun, the latter of whom is messing around with a few playing cards. Yeonjun gets an idea for something to distract all of them.

“Got any new magic tricks for us, Tae?” He asks hopefully.

Taehyun shrugs and softly says, “There’s something I’ve been trying to learn for a while.” He doesn’t make any moves to demonstrate the new trick, so Yeonjun presses a little harder.

“Can you show me?”

“I haven’t been able to get it right yet.”

Yeonjun bumps his shoulder and gives him an encouraging smile. “Of course you’ll get it right when you show me. I’m your card trick good luck charm!”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow and asks, “Since when are you my good luck charm?”

“Since right now,” Yeonjun says impatiently. “Now come on, I wanna see a magic trick!”

Yeonjun doesn’t miss Taehyun rolling his eyes and he’s glad to see some life back in his face. Even if that life in his face is annoyance directed at him. Taehyun starts explaining the trick and Yeonjun tries to follow along, it’s something about all the aces ending up in the same pile. Taehyun starts moving his hands and the cards, talking the whole time, and Yeonjun finds it increasingly difficult to watch Taehyun’s hands. All of a sudden, the ace of diamonds is gone from the second pile and is in the pile with the ace of spades.

“How did you do that?!” he asks, but Beomgyu shushes him and tells Taehyun to keep going. Yeonjun resolves to pay closer attention to the next pile so he can see what Taehyun does with the ace of clubs, but once again, he misses the trick, and the ace of clubs ends up in the pile with the other two aces. He only has one more chance to catch what Taehyun does to make the aces travel to the first pile, so he covers his ears with his hands so Taehyun’s talking won’t distract him. He watches the cards as closely as he can, but he misses it yet again.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Taehyun breathes out in surprise.

Yeonjun, who never doubted Taehyun’s abilities for a second, gloats, saying, “See? I told you I was your good luck charm.”

Taehyun scoffs and responds, “Right. Because this was all you, I’m just here.”

“Do you have anything else you can show us?” Beomgyu asks before Yeonjun can respond to Taehyun’s snarky comment.

Taehyun picks up all the cards and starts to shuffle them as he says, “Yeah, I have a few more things I can show you. Let me think about what I want to do next.”

As Taehyun continues to shock and awe the others with his card magic, Yeonjun feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. They have a long road ahead of them without Soobin, but he knows that they’ll make it as long as they stay together.

As soon as Taehyun finishes one of his tricks, all the lights in the bathroom go out. Confused, Yeonjun gets up and flicks the light switch a few times, but nothing happens. He lowers himself until his face is on the floor and he looks through the crack between the bathroom door and the floor. The lights are off in the bedroom, too. He gently shushes the others and softly opens the door. He tiptoes to the beds and strips them of their quilts and blankets before returning to the bathroom. If the power is out for long, it’s going to get really cold really fast, and he wants to be ready. As soon as he’s shut the bathroom door behind him, three knocks sound on the door to their room and all four freeze and fall silent.

“Yeonjun! It’s me!” Yeonjun knows that voice anywhere and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“It’s just Wooyoung,” he tells the others as he opens the bathroom door again and walks to the other door. He opens it and strangely, Wooyoung is the only one standing there. Where are the others? He wonders but doesn’t ask.

As soon as he opens the door, that smell he, Wooyoung, and Yeosang tried to find earlier is back and washes over him. He inhales deeply and feels warmth spread throughout his body and… what was he doing? Right. Wooyoung. Thankfully Wooyoung doesn’t look too plussed about Yeonjun not saying anything after opening the door.

“This is definitely what Soobin smelled earlier,” he finally says.

“Oh,” Wooyoung says with a bored look on his face. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. How are you doing?” Wooyoung asks and Yeonjun thinks it’s a little weird that Wooyoung doesn’t care more about the smell. He was so curious about it earlier, but now it seems like he couldn’t possibly care less.

“I’m… fine? You really don’t care about the smell?”

“Should I?”

“I guess not? You just seemed so curious earlier. But how are you? What happened downstairs?”

“Um… everyone knows now. That we’re being killed off. They obviously aren’t taking it well. That’s actually why I wanted to come up here. The others think that… well… that I’m the one killing everyone and that you all didn’t come downstairs not because you were hiding but because I killed you. So… could you all come downstairs and clear my name?”

“Holy shit, Wooyoung.”

“That… doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, of course we can come downstairs. They really think that you’re behind all this?”

Wooyoung bites his lip and looks away from Yeonjun, which is how Yeonjun knows that he’s trying not to cry. “They said some pretty nasty things, but Seonghwa punched Kevin in the face so that was cool at least.”

“Hold up. I’m sorry, did you just say that Seonghwa punched Kevin? Park Seonghwa, world-famous soft boy punched someone in the face?”

“Not gonna lie, it was kinda hot.”

Oh, Yeonjun is sure it was more than just “kinda” hot. He wishes he’d been downstairs to witness it, but he can’t always get what he wants.

“I’m just surprised it was Seonghwa though and not San. You would’ve thought he’d want to protect his man’s honor.”

Wooyoung shrugs and cryptically says, “San will get his time to shine later.”

Okay… He decides to ignore Wooyoung’s mysterious statement because he has more pressing matters to attend to. He holds up a finger to Wooyoung to tell him he’ll be right back, and he goes into the bathroom to get the other three.

“Where are we going?” Beomgyu asks. “I thought we were supposed to stay in here where it’s safe?”

“We have to clear Wooyoung’s name and then we can come back up here.” Or at least Yeonjun hopes they’ll be able to come back up once they clear Wooyoung’s name. He isn’t exactly sure how that’s going to work now that they’re emerging from their hiding place. He supposes the killer already knows they’re here, but what if they didn’t and now he’s about to walk his closest friends into the proverbial lion’s den…? But neither can he sit back and let Wooyoung take all the blame for something he didn’t do… He wishes that Soobin were here to help talk him through the decision; Yeonjun wasn’t meant to be a leader. But he knows that Wooyoung wouldn’t lead him into danger though, so he resolves to be a show of strength for the other three.

“Come on. The sooner Wooyoung is cleared the sooner he can get us out of the mess and the sooner we can go home.” That seems to stir them into action because they stand and leave the bathroom without any further coaxing from Yeonjun.

“Thank you for doing this for me. It really means a lot,” Wooyoung says as he leads the other four back down to the ground floor. Yeonjun pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight so he can see where he’s going. Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai all do the same, but curiously, Wooyoung doesn’t pull out his phone.

“Wooyoung, it’s really not a big deal,” Yeonjun replies. He finds it odd that Wooyoung is so grateful that Yeonjun is willing to help clear him of murder. That’s not exactly a big ask from someone you consider a best friend. Maybe it’s just the stress of the situation, but Wooyoung really isn’t acting like himself right now.

“Hey, can I um- can I talk to Yeonjun alone for a second?” Wooyoung suddenly asks Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai. “You can go ahead and head down there; we’ll just be a minute.”

The others look to Yeonjun for confirmation or permission, Yeonjun isn’t sure, but he shrugs at them and says, “I’ll be down soon. You can go ahead.”

Once the others are out of their sight, Wooyoung pulls something out of his pocket and once he unsheathes it, Yeonjun realizes that it’s a very real and very sharp dagger.

“Wooyoung, oh my God, what the fuck is that?” Yeonjun whisper-yells before Wooyoung has a chance to say anything.

“Oh my God, will you shut up? I was trying not to draw attention to this! This is for you just in case you need to defend yourself against anyone.”

“What am I supposed to do with a knife?!”

“It’s really simple. You see this sharp point?” Wooyoung pricks the tip of his index finger with the dagger until a bead of blood blooms. “Make sure that goes into the other person.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, Wooyoung, I’m aware of how knives work. But why are you giving me one? Where’d you even get it?”

“I’m giving it to you because I can’t promise that I’ll always be there to protect you. You need to be able to defend yourself against anything,” he holds the sheathed dagger out in front of him, an expectant look on his face.  

Yeonjun doesn’t reach out to grab the dagger. “Do you really think I’m gonna have to protect myself?”

The look Wooyoung gives him is a strange one. It looks like he knows something that Yeonjun doesn’t. “I do.”

Yeonjun grabs the dagger and places it in his back pocket. He really hopes he won’t have to use it, but he will admit that he does feel a little safer knowing that he has something to give him a chance against the killer.

“We should catch up with the others. It probably looks suspicious that I’m back here with just you,” Wooyoung says once Yeonjun has put away the dagger.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. They know you. They know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Do they?” Wooyoung turns around and arches a brow. “Do they know me? I may not be who they think I am.”

Okay, he’s acting too weird. “Wooyoung, what’s wrong with you? What’s your deal? What did they say to you?”

Wooyoung gets that distant look in his eyes again that tells Yeonjun that there’s something he’s not telling him. And it looks like it’s a big something.

“Don’t worry about it. We just need to get downstairs.”

Yeonjun doesn’t want to push right now, but he files away this encounter in the back of his mind to revisit later.

As they walk down the stairs Yeonjun sees soft orange lighting emanating from the ground floor, so he shuts off his phone’s flashlight. He checks his battery and it’s sitting at a dismal twenty-five percent. He regrets playing so much Merge Mansion on the way here. He hopes his twenty-five percent will be enough to last until they can get out of here and closer to town so he can call for help, but he doesn’t have much faith.

When he looks back up from his phone, Wooyoung is gone. He slowly turns around, craning his neck looking for Wooyoung and calling out his name, but he doesn’t get a response.

“Wooyoung? Where’d you go?” He tries again, a little louder this time, but still nothing. He wasn’t even looking at his phone that long, how could Wooyoung have gotten so far away so fast?

Now that he’s paying attention to his surroundings, he realizes how eerily quiet it is. According to Wooyoung, there are a lot of people currently in the main hall, but Yeonjun doesn’t hear any conversations or even any whispers. And there’s no way that a bunch of idols are going to stay completely silent for anything, let alone Yeonjun coming down the stairs. This is too weird. He almost wants to turn around and go back to hiding in his room, but he can’t just leave Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai in whatever weird situation this is. He steps carefully down the stairs, trying to be as silent as he can until he reaches the floor.

The candles are few and far between so while the room is lit, the lighting is poor and it’s hard to see much of anything. What he can see are people lined up against the wall, but he can’t see any of their faces and none of them says anything. When he gets close enough to one person to see their face, he instantly recoils at what he finds. He falls on his ass and scrambles backward, breathing heavily and frantically because there’s no way that he actually saw what he thinks he saw. He stands back up and steps toward the person leaning against the wall and looks closely. Oh God. He thinks he’s gonna be sick. His eyes hadn’t deceived him earlier, he is actually looking at Beomgyu. But instead of the typical mischievously intelligent glint in his eyes, his eyes are open and lifeless, and his head is lolled to the side, mouth dangling open. Yeonjun looks down and sees a massive gash in his throat and his stupid hamster shirt is soaked through with fresh blood. He claps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming as fresh tears spring to his eyes. Looks like the well didn’t dry up after all. His breaths come out heavy and stuttering and he struggles to bring them back under control.

He’s afraid of what he’ll find when he looks at the other people along the wall, but, he’s not sure if it’s morbid curiosity or what, Yeonjun has to know who else is here. He tears his eyes away from Beomgyu’s lifeless form and he wills his brain to discard the image because he doesn’t want his last image of Beomgyu to be his mangled body. He quietly steps up to the next body and prays that it isn’t Taehyun or Kai.

His prayers fall on deaf ears because, in the exact same positioning as Beomgyu, is Taehyun. The gash in his throat is somehow even deeper and there’s even more blood staining his shirt. There’s another body about another five feet down the wall and Yeonjun just knows that it’s going to be Kai. He doesn’t want to go over to it, but his feet move of their own volition until he’s standing nearly nose-to-nose with Kai’s corpse. If he thought that the gash in Taehyun’s neck was bad, it doesn’t hold a candle to Kai’s. His head is barely attached to his body and Yeonjun didn’t know the human body was capable of holding so much blood.

“Yeonjun?” a voice calls out.

Soobin? No, there’s no way.

“Yeonjun, what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?”

Yeonjun squeezes shut his eyes and pinches his arm, trying to delude himself into thinking this is all just a horrible nightmare. Because there’s no way that Soobin is talking to him right now. Just hearing Soobin’s voice is enough for the tears to start flowing and he pinches himself until he feels his skin break. He turns around and opens his eyes, delusionally optimistic that nothing will be in front of him. He’ll be back in his hotel room with the others, and this was all just a weird dream.

His delusional optimism fails him because Soobin is standing in front of him; Yeonjun unfortunately isn’t dreaming. Soobin looks like what he is: a walking corpse. His clothes and hair are soaking wet, his lips and skin are tinged blue, and his whole body is bloated. His beautiful deep brown eyes are clouded over and Yeonjun lets out a broken sob and falls to the floor. Soobin gives Yeonjun a pathetic and hurt look and asks, “Do you think I’m ugly, Yeonjun? Why won’t you look at me? Do you not love me anymore?”

“How are you here?” Yeonjun wails. “You’re dead! I saw your body!”

Soobin crouches down and extends a hand to Yeonjun. “Does it matter how I’m here?” He asks. “Don’t you want to be together?"

Yeonjun buries his face in his hands and shakes his head back and forth. “You’re dead, Soobin! This isn’t real!”

Soobin’s freezing cold hands gently pull Yeonjun’s hands away from his face and he looks at Yeonjun with such love that Yeonjun starts sobbing all over again. This Soobin is so close to being his Soobin.

“Does this have to be real? Can’t you just enjoy it for what it is?” Soobin asks. “We can be together again.”

“How?” Yeonjun brokenly sobs out.

“It’s so easy, baby. You just have to hold that dagger in your pocket up to your neck and push. And then you can be with me, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai again. Isn’t that what you want? To be with us forever?”

This Soobin is so close to his Soobin and yet so wrong. His Soobin would never want him to kill himself; he’d want him to live. Yeonjun isn’t sure if this is a monster or a very elaborate hallucination, but he knows that Soobin would want him to live, and he knows what he needs to do.

He pulls the dagger out of his pocket and unsheathes it. It’s heavy in his hands. He stands and his hands shake as he holds the dagger out in front of him.

“You’re not real,” he says through his sobs as he rears back his arm and drives the dagger forward.

San was right. Wooyoung is the butt of some grand cosmic joke. How else can he explain his horrible circumstances that somehow keep finding ways to get even worse?

Are you happy? He asks in a silent prayer to the universe. Getting a good laugh? Having fun? I bet it’s so funny watching everything fall apart around me, right? He can’t help it. He laughs. What else is he supposed to do? Cry? He’s done enough of that tonight. So, he not only laughs, he cackles at the absurdity of his situation because of course the power would go out now.

“My life is like the worst fucking horror movie,” he laments to no one in particular. Even if his statement had been directed toward someone, they wouldn’t have been able to hear him. Wails, sobs, and screams join forces to drown out any attempted conversations. Probably for the best, as Wooyoung doesn’t think anyone else would appreciate him making this situation all about him. Not that anyone here should really be all that surprised at his dragging all the attention back to himself; it’s what he does.

“Are you okay, Wooyoung?” Yeosang has to lean close and speak directly into Wooyoung’s ear for him to be able to hear. “What’s so funny?”

Wooyoung continues to laugh as he shakes his head. “I have no fucking idea, Sangie.” He heaves in a deep breath and loudly exhales. “What the hell are we supposed to do now? Not only is it pitch black but are gonna have to worry about hypothermia and frostbite? Do we have anything to build a fire? Is there even a fireplace in this place?”

Even though Wooyoung can’t see his face, he just knows that Yeosang is looking at him with mild to moderate concern.

“Okay, Wooyoung, the most important thing right now is staying calm, okay? Can you take a deep breath with me?” Yeosang inhales and hits Wooyoung’s arm when he can’t hear him do the same. “Woo, you need to listen to me.”

Wooyoung is grateful that Yeosang can’t see him roll his eyes, but he does take a deep breath alongside Yeosang and exhales when Yeosang does. He takes another deep breath, and he feels the panic that was bubbling up in his chest simmer down.

“Better?” Yeosang asks.

Wooyoung nods then remembers that Yeosang can’t see him, so he says, “Yeah. Thank you.”

“I found some candles!” Someone calls out and suddenly there’s a little bit of light as the first candle is lit. A few other candles follow and then the main hall is at least partially illuminated. He looks around and now that there’s some light, everyone seems to have calmed down considerably. Thank goodness.

“Where’s Yeonjun?” Wooyoung hears San ask. He turns toward the direction San’s voice came from and sees him talking to Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai, who are leaning against the wall.

“He’s up on the stairs still talking to Wooyoung,” Kai replies. What? Wooyoung is very much not on the stairs talking to Yeonjun, so what on earth is Kai talking about?

“Wooyoung isn’t upstairs, he’s been down here this whole time,” San says slowly, and he looks away from Kai to see Wooyoung walking toward them. “See? He’s right here.” He points to Wooyoung, and the others look at him, all of them wearing the same confused expression.

“How’d you get down here so fast?” Taehyun asks as he points behind him, back at the stairwell. “You told us to go on ahead of you and Yeonjun…” he trails off.

“Why are you down here? I told you not to leave your room unless I came up and told you to,” Wooyoung asks, trying not to let his annoyance show through. But them being down here is a liability that he isn’t prepared to deal with.

“Wooyoung, you came to our room and told Yeonjun you needed all of us to come downstairs to clear your name…?” Kai trails off when Wooyoung and San look at him like he suddenly sprouted a second head.

“Kai… that wasn’t me,” Wooyoung says with concern. “Now where’s Yeonjun? You said he’s still upstairs?” He looks over at the stairwell and sees Yeonjun walking down it by himself.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes out but then he notices how weird Yeonjun looks. He’s taking very careful steps down like he’s trying to be as silent as possible.

He walks toward Beomgyu who tries to talk to him, but Yeonjun doesn’t say anything back. He looks closely at Beomgyu’s face and then falls backward onto his ass. He looks like he’d just seen a ghost.

“What the fuck is your deal, Yeonjun?” Beomgyu asks, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem to have heard him. He stands back up and gets even closer to Beomgyu, then claps a hand over his mouth and Wooyoung can see tears welling in his eyes. He can also see how glazed over Yeonjun’s eyes are. What’s wrong with him? Yeonjun struggles to breathe as he keeps his hand over his mouth and walks up to Taehyun. Taehyun stays perfectly still and silent as Yeonjun inspects him, seemingly not wanting to startle him out of whatever trance he seems to be in. Or maybe he’s scared by Yeonjun’s weird behavior. Maybe it’s both. Yeonjun whimpers as he tears away his gaze and starts walking over to Kai. He stands nose to nose with Kai who holds his breath. Yeonjun must not like what he sees because he gags and turns away.

“Yeonjun?” Wooyoung asks quietly once Yeonjun has put some distance between himself and Kai, speaking to Yeonjun like he would a stray cat he’s trying not to spook.

Yeonjun sobs and slightly curls in on himself. What the hell? Wooyoung thinks.

“Yeonjun, what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?” He asks and he can see Yeonjun pinch himself so hard he breaks the skin. Wooyoung can see the blood bead on his arm. Yeonjun turns around and opens his eyes, then immediately lets out a sob and falls hard to his knees.

“Holy shit, Yeonjun, are you okay?” That fall looked painful.

“How are you here?” Yeonjun wails. “You’re dead! I saw your body!”

Woah… what? “What are you talking about? It’s me, Wooyoung! Very much not dead!”

Yeonjun buries his face in his hands and shakes his head back and forth. “You’re dead, Soobin! This isn’t real!”

I don’t think Yeonjun is fully here. He must be deep in a trance, but Wooyoung isn’t sure how he fell into one anyway. “Okay, I can deal with this,” he mutters aloud. “You’re just hallucinating, Yeonjun. I’m not Soobin, okay?” He crouches in front of Yeonjun and gently pulls his hands away from his face. “Just focus on my voice, okay? Come back to me.”

“How?” Yeonjun brokenly sobs out.

What do you mean ‘how?’ “Just… keep listening to me? I’m Jung Wooyoung. We’ve been best friends for years now. We used to train together, remember?”

Yeonjun reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something Wooyoung doesn’t recognize. He takes the cover off and Wooyoung sees that Yeonjun is holding a heavy, sharp, ornate dagger.

“Holy shit, Yeonjun, where the fuck did you get a knife?” Wooyoung frantically stands up and steps backward as Yeonjun stands and holds the dagger out in front of him, his hands shaking wildly.

“You’re not real,” Yeonjun says through his sobs as he rears back his arm and drives the dagger forward.

Suddenly, Wooyoung is pushed to the side, and he feels sharp pain right above his hip. He looks to his side and sees San’s outstretched arms move to grab Yeonjun and knock the knife from his hands. Wooyoung puts his hand to his side and feels warm wetness. He looks at his hand and even though it’s still dark in the room, he knows that his hand is covered in blood.

Yeonjun thrashes in San’s hold, but San is so strong that Wooyoung knows that Yeonjun won’t be able to get out.

“Wooyoung!” San calls out. “Are you okay?”

Wooyoung lifts up his shirt and strains to look at his wound. Now, he’s no doctor, but the wound doesn’t look that bad? He thinks the dagger grazed him, but if San hadn’t pushed him out of the way, Wooyoung fears his injury would have been a lot worse.

“I’ll be fine,” he absently says as he walks back toward Yeonjun who still thrashes in San’s grip, tears streaming down his face.

“Let me go!” He cries out. “You’re not real! None of this is real!” When he sees Wooyoung walking back to him his cries get louder and he pleads, “Please, Soobin, make him let me go! I’m sorry, okay?!” Wooyoung spots the dagger lying on the ground so he picks it up, making sure that Yeonjun can’t get it back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Yeonjun.” He reaches out to put a hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder, but Yeonjun suddenly tenses up and a grimace appears on his face.

Before Wooyoung can react, Yeonjun starts violently coughing. He covers his mouth with his hand and when he pulls it away, Wooyoung can see that it’s covered in blood.

Oh shit. He steps closer to Yeonjun and tells San to let him go. As soon as San’s hands are off of him, Yeonjun vomits all over Wooyoung and collapses to the ground. He shudders once again, then he lies perfectly still.

Uncaring about being covered in bloodied vomit, Wooyoung immediately falls to the ground and rolls Yeonjun over, checking for a pulse and breathing. There’s nothing. He shakes Yeonjun and smacks his face a few times, but Yeonjun doesn’t respond.

“Please, please, Yeonjun, wake up. Don’t die on me, okay?” He pleads as he shakes Yeonjun again. Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai all drop to their knees beside Wooyoung and take their own turns shaking and smacking Yeonjun. Taehyun pushes the others out of his way and tries chest compressions, but after about a minute, he stops.

He says, “Guys, I don’t feel good-” before vomiting blood all over Yeonjun’s body. He collapses on top of Yeonjun.

“What the fuck?” San breathes out as picks Wooyoung up by his armpits and pulls him out of the way before Beomgyu and Kai simultaneously vomit blood and collapse.

“San, what the fuck is going on?!” Wooyoung asks as more screams start piercing the air. Through the faint lighting, he can see others start coughing or vomiting up blood before they collapse just like Yeonjun did.

“Woo… I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I don’t think we’re getting hunted down by humans…”

Chapter Text

San’s words haven’t even fully processed in Wooyoung’s mind, yet he immediately says, “San, don’t be ridiculous.”

Once his legs are under him and he can stand on his own, he turns around and sees desperation written all over San’s face.

“Wooyoung, please, just listen to me,” he frantically pleads over the din of guests vomiting themselves to death and others screaming at the horrific sight.

“Okay, okay,” Wooyoung says as he puts up his hands. “I’m listening.”

San pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply. “There is absolutely no way that a person is behind this-”

San is cut off by Hongjoong running up to them, grabbing both their wrists, and yanking them toward the stairs. “We need to go. Now.”

“What do you mean we need to go? Go where? We can’t fucking leave!” Wooyoung exclaims, gesturing wildly around him with his free arm.

“We can get out of this room! Unless you just want to stay down here covered in blood and vomit while everyone fucking dies,” Hongjoong bites back, tugging their wrists even harder to get to the stairs faster.

“Of course I don’t wanna stay down here, you dickhead-”

“Wooyoung got stabbed,” San blurts which makes Hongjoong whip around faster than Wooyoung has ever seen. Hongjoong pauses for a second, mouth agape in disbelief. Curse San and his inability to keep a secret. Wooyoung stomps on San’s foot and hopes Hongjoong doesn’t see. He doesn’t, still buffering from San’s confession, and San grimaces at the pain, shooting a glare Wooyoung’s way. Victory. Wooyoung gives him the smuggest grin he can, earning an eye roll from San in return.

“You got stabbed? And that wasn’t the first thing you told me?” Hongjoong finally shouts, forcibly drawing Wooyoung’s focus back to himself.

Wooyoung groans and says, “Oh my God, it’s not that bad. Yeonjun may have… grazed me with a knife. But I’m fine! Really! It could’ve been a lot worse, but Sannie pushed me out of the way!”

Hongjoong quickly shakes his head and says, “We don’t have time for this!” He yanks Wooyoung’s and San’s wrists harder and nearly drags them up the stairs.

“God, when did you get so strong, Hongjoong?” Wooyoung asks as he winces from Hongjoong’s vise-like grip.

“When did you become such a little bitch?” Hongjoong replies as he somehow pulls them even faster up the stairs. “Quit whining and hurry up!”

“Geez, what crawled up his ass?” Wooyoung stage whispers to San, trying to lighten the mood. He fails and Hongjoong stops again.

“What crawled up my ass, Wooyoung?” Hongjoong barks. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that we’re trapped in a hotel with someone or probably multiple someones trying to murder us and we have no way of escaping because there’s a fucking blizzard outside at the beginning of fucking October and everyone downstairs for whatever reason thinks it’s you killing everyone. Oh, not to mention, you got fucking STABBED, Wooyoung! So, I’m sorry if I’m a little stressed out!” He sounds like he’s trying not to burst into tears and Wooyoung places his free hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder to offer some sort of comfort, but Hongjoong shakes him off. “I am terrified, Wooyoung, okay? I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep all of you safe.”

“Hongjoong, you don’t have to keep all of us-” San starts but Hongjoong cuts him off.

“San, I appreciate it, I really do, but yes, I do. So can we please just go upstairs with no more issues?” He looks right at Wooyoung when he asks, which makes guilt swell in Wooyoung’s chest. He wasn’t trying to upset Hongjoong, he just wanted to ease the tension in the air.

“I’m really sorry, Hongjoong,” he whispers, but Hongjoong doesn’t reply. He does, however, loosen his grip on Wooyoung and San’s wrists.

The rest of the walk up to San and Seonghwa’s room is silent from the three of them, but they can still hear the chaos on the ground floor. Wooyoung wants to ask San if he thinks Hongjoong is actually mad at him, but it’s completely dark up here so San wouldn’t be able to read his lips.

They finally reach room seventy-one and Hongjoong raps on the door in a complex pattern. It immediately opens, and two hands reach out to grab the three of them and yank them inside.

“Seonghwa, was that really necessary?” Hongjoong asks as Seonghwa locks the door again and Wooyoung hears the drag of what he assumes is a chair in front of the door. “And why are you all sitting in the dark like a bunch of gremlins?”

“Yes, it was necessary, Hongjoong! Who knows who else could have been out there with you? And should we really waste our phones’ batteries when we’re all in here together?”

As Hongjoong and Seonghwa bicker, Wooyoung starts to feel a bit lightheaded. Even though the room is dark, he remembers the layout and walks toward one of the beds. Since he can’t see, he doesn’t notice that someone is sitting on the floor and he trips over them. He lands awkwardly on the bed and sharp pain erupts from his injury.

“Fuck,” he groans as he clutches his side and rolls over on his back.

“You good, Woo?” Mingi asks and his voice is close by. So, he’s the one I tripped over.

“Oh, yeah, Wooyoung got stabbed, everyone! And he didn’t tell me! Isn’t that so great?” Hongjoong announces to the room as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and turns on his flashlight. Wooyoung flinches at the sudden brightness as Hongjoong stalks over to shine the light on his body.

“You got stabbed?!” Mingi asks at the same time that Hongjoong exclaims, “Oh my God, Wooyoung!” Hongjoong retches at the sight and throws a hand over his mouth. He screws shut his eyes and slowly takes his hand off his mouth. He loudly exhales then says through his teeth, “You said it wasn’t that bad, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung looks down at his hip and there is significantly more blood than there was before. Oh shit. This is really bad.

“It’s not that bad,” Wooyoung weakly argues.

“Yeah, that’s what you said earlier.” Hongjoong crouches down beside Wooyoung and with his free hand lifts up Wooyoung’s shirt. “You also said that the knife grazed you. Wooyoung, this is a helluva lot more than a graze.”

“How bad is it?” San asks from across the room.

“Do I look like a fucking doctor, San? I don’t fucking know! It’s bad! He needs to go to a hospital!”

“Move out of the way,” Jongho says as he pushes Hongjoong over. The light from Hongjoong’s phone falls with him and he lands on his side with a grunt. Wooyoung hears a quick snip then a thud as something else falls on the floor. Jongho picks up the phone and asks Mingi to hold it. Wooyoung looks at him in confusion as he lifts one edge of the black quilt from the other bed and rips a long, thin strip from it.

“How did you do that?!” Mingi asks in disbelief.

“I used the pair of scissors from the bathroom to start a cut then I just tore the rest; I’m not that strong,” Jongho answers as he holds the fabric over Wooyoung’s injury. “Wooyoung, can you sit up for me?”

Wooyoung sucks in air through his teeth as he struggles to get back into a sitting position. Once his lower torso is at least all off the bed, Jongho very quickly wraps the fabric around his midsection. The wrapping is snug, but not painful, and as soon as Jongho finishes, he gently pushes the other side of Wooyoung’s abdomen so he can lie down again. He then grabs Wooyoung’s hands, places them over the wound, and applies a bit of pressure on top of Wooyoung’s hands. Wooyoung winces and he can’t hold back a small whimper.

“I know it hurts, but you have to keep pressure on it, so it’ll stop bleeding.” Jongho pauses to look at Wooyoung and must not like what he sees because he calls Yeosang over.

“Can you stay on the bed with him and keep pressure on the wound? I don’t think he can do it. And I trust you to do it right.”

“I can do it, Jongho,” Wooyoung says as he puts more pressure on his injury and immediately recoils, drawing his hands back with him.

“No, you can’t,” Jongho says with finality. “And everyone else is either too chicken shit to hurt you,” he gives San a pointed look, “or wouldn’t do it right, so Yeosang is gonna do it.”

“Why can’t you just do it?” Wooyoung asks.

“Because I don’t want to.”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue and says, “All right. Rude.”

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang admonishes as he carefully sits on the bed so as not to disturb Wooyoung’s injury, “quit acting like a baby and let me help you.”

“You would act like a baby too if you got stabbed!” Wooyoung argues back.

Yeosang tilts his head, taps his index finger against his lips, and thinks for a second before saying, “You’re right. I would act like a baby if I got stabbed. Now will you please let me help you?”

Satisfied by the reassurance that for once he isn’t being melodramatic, Wooyoung settles back against the pillows and nods. Yeosang places one hand on Wooyoung’s wrapped torso and Wooyoung immediately tenses, sucking in air through his teeth and biting down on the knuckle of his index finger. Yeosang brings his other hand forward, offering it to Wooyoung.

“You can squeeze if it hurts too much.”

Wooyoung sniffles and wipes away fake tears with one hand while he grabs Yeosang’s outstretched hand with the other, squeezing tightly. “You’re such a good baby daddy to me, Sangie.”

Yeosang snorts, asking, “Woo, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s that Sagittarius energy in me.”

Yeosang stares blankly at him for a moment.

“What’s a Sagittarius?” he asks very sincerely.

Wooyoung dramatically sighs and says, “I have so much to teach you when we get home.”

A flurry of quick knocks on the door ends their conversation as all eight of them whip their heads around to face the door.

“Should we open it?” Wooyoung whispers after a few seconds since nobody can read his lips in the dark room.

“Are you crazy?! No, we shouldn’t open the fucking door!” Mingi angrily whispers back.

“Wooyoung! It’s Kumi. Are you in there?” Wooyoung can hear her sniffles through the door, and he is immediately wracked with guilt for not thinking to find her earlier. Before he can talk it through with the others, he calls out, “Yeah! We’re in here, Kumi. We’ll open the door.”

The room stays completely silent as no one moves to open the door. Wooyoung huffs and rolls his eyes even though no one can see him. “Well, I obviously can’t open the door. Anyone care to do the honors?”

Wooyoung hears rustling as someone stands up and pads over to the door, only having slightly opened it before Kumi barges in. She beelines straight for the bed currently occupied by Wooyoung and Yeosang and kneels right next to Wooyoung. He wonders how she knew exactly where to go; he can’t see a damn thing in here and everyone had already shut off their flashlights.

“Oh Wooyoung, it’s just so awful!” Kumi sobs and throws her upper body on top of his. Wooyoung tries to hold back his pain, but a squeak still escapes his lips. Kumi doesn’t notice though and continues, “There’s blood everywhere! What happened?”

“Um. It’s kind of a long story…” Wooyoung trails off as he gently pushes Kumi off his body. Is it really a long story though? Someone is trying to kill all of us, and a bunch of people just vomited up blood and died. Story over. He then remembers Kumi’s rather… delicate countenance. He’s not judging her in the slightest, but he isn’t sure she would want to handle the whole rundown. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I can handle it, Wooyoung. I want to know.”

So Wooyoung tells her almost everything. He leaves out the part about getting stabbed; no use in freaking her out when he knows he’ll be fine.

“And then Yeonjun stabbed Wooyoung,” San adds. God damn it.

“You got stabbed?!” Kumi asks in horror.

“I’m fine, Kumi. Really. Jongho bandaged me right up and Yeosang has been taking great care of me.”

“And- wait. You said that the others think you’re behind this?”

“Uh… yeah,” Wooyoung feels his breathing become heavier and more labored as he continues to speak. “Can we-” he takes a deep breath and winces as his breathing jostles his wound. “Can we talk about this later though? I’m really tired.”

Kumi squeezes Wooyoung’s hand, and he can feel her stand up.

“Don’t worry, Wooyoung,” she says in the coldest tone he’s heard from her. He honestly didn’t even know she was capable of being anything other than sweet. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.” She drops his hand and strides to the door.

“Wait, what do you mean-?” Wooyoung asks but she slams the door behind her without answering.

“What do you think she’s gonna do?” Yunho asks.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. That’s not our problem. Let her do what she wants,” Hongjoong answers, and even though Wooyoung can’t see him, he just knows that Hongjoong is pinching the bridge of his nose and has his eyes squeezed shut.

“Hongjoong, shouldn’t someone go after her? She should stay with us where it’s safe,” Wooyoung says.

“Like I said. Not. Our. Problem,” Hongjoong’s tone is final and brooks no contradictions, much to Wooyoung’s dismay. But if there’s one thing Jung Wooyoung isn’t, it’s a quitter in an argument.

“But she’s all alone! We need to help her!”

“Yeah? You also said we needed to help Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai, and look where that got us. You could have died, Wooyoung! I’m not taking any more chances trying to protect any more people. She’s a grown woman; if she wants to start something to defend your honor, that’s on her.”

“But-”

“No buts, Wooyoung. I’m not arguing about this anymore. You wanna go after her? Oh wait, I forgot. You can’t. Because the last strays you tried to save almost killed you.”

“So! Anyone wanna play ERS?” Mingi asks, probably in an attempt to break the tension rising in the room.

“Mingi, we don’t have any cards. And we don’t have any light,” Yunho whispers but Wooyoung is close enough that he can still hear.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Yunho.” Mingi turns on his phone’s flashlight and pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, waving it around.

“Where’d you find cards?” Jongho asks. “Don’t tell me you carry a deck of cards with you wherever you go.”

“I found them earlier and pocketed them. You never know when you need a deck of cards! Now everyone, get in a circle.”

The thought of moving to sit on the floor to play ERS makes Wooyoung’s wound throb, and he tells the others that he’s going to sit this game out. Yeosang, unwilling to abandon his post as Wooyoung’s dedicated caregiver, informs everyone that he will also sit out this round.

“Kumi will be fine, Woo,” Yeosang reassures. “She can handle herself. I’m sure she’s just going to try to clear the air.”

“I dunno, Yeosang. She sounded pissed. I just don’t want her to get herself in a pickle she can’t get out of.”

“Well, as my mom always said, if you can get yourself into a pickle, you can get yourself out.”

“What if you shove a lightbulb in your mouth? You can get a lightbulb in your mouth, but you can’t get it out. It gets stuck behind your teeth.”

“I-” Yeosang starts then stops, giving Wooyoung a puzzled look. “I don’t think she’s going to shove a lightbulb in her mouth.”

“Probably not. But that’s a pickle you can get yourself into but not out of.”

“I mean, I guess.”

“You know, it’s a good thing you keep me around. Who else would warn you about the dangers of shoving lightbulbs in your mouth?”

“Wooyoung, I’m twenty-four years old. I wasn’t planning on shoving a lightbulb in my mouth anytime soon.”

“So… when do you think you will? Thirty? It’ll come faster than you think, Sangie. You’d better get ready to have to break a lightbulb in your mouth. Just make sure I’m not around; I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Wooyoung, don’t be ridiculous.”

Wooyoung pouts and gives Yeosang some of his best puppy dog eyes. “But you love it when I’m ridiculous.”

“Dude, look at this fucking sick old-timey lamp I found,” Eric says with more excitement than Kevin thinks is warranted in the current situation. His jaw still hurts after Seonghwa decked him and they all just witnessed probably twenty people vomit up blood and die. He thinks nasty pigs in a blanket he saw people eating earlier were poisoned. They didn’t look like any pigs in a blanket he’d ever seen before, so he stayed away. The only person he knew who ate them was Sangyeon and sure enough, his bloody corpse currently lies about twenty feet from where Kevin and Eric stand.

“Is now really the time to be finding old-timey lamps?” Kevin asks as he prods along his jawline to feel how swollen it is. Fuck you, Seonghwa, he thinks as he brushes past a particularly painful spot.

Eric fiddles with the lantern’s control valve until he’s satisfied with the level of brightness emitted and replies, “What else are we supposed to do? Cry? Scream? At least with a lamp, we can see and maybe find a way out of here.”

Kevin can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t. He snatches the lamp out of Eric’s hands and inclines his head, silently telling Eric to follow him.

“Where are we going?”

“I dunno. Walk until we find something?” Kevin asks, shrugging.

Eric agrees and the pair sets off into the darkness.

The lamp doesn’t illuminate much, so Kevin isn’t really sure where he’s going. He curses himself for not exploring the hotel when they still had power because he is almost quite literally shooting in the dark. He opens the first door they encounter, and it immediately leads to a descending staircase. He pauses and looks behind him, praying that Eric won’t want to go down the staircase either. Eric is a giant weenie, surely he won’t want to descend into the bowels of this fucking place, right?

“What are you waiting for?” Eric asks and Kevin swears under his breath.

“Are you kidding me? You choose now to suddenly be brave?”

“Do you want me to go first?” Eric asks and his tone is sincere, but Kevin isn’t about to let the younger of the two lead. What kind of example would that set? He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and begins their descent into God-knows-where.

This is definitely the narrowest staircase Kevin has ever found himself in and thankfully there aren’t many steps. The stairs end and a dark hallway stretches before them. He holds the lamp in front of him as far as his arm will allow, but he can’t see how long the hallway is. He turns the control valve even farther, making the lantern grow even brighter, earning him an admonishment from Eric.

“You’re gonna waste all the gas if you keep it that bright, Kevin.”

“I just wanna see how far the hallway goes,” Kevin says as he takes his first step into the hallway. Eric follows closely behind and the two walk silently for what feels like an unreasonably long time in Kevin’s opinion. He doesn’t recall the hotel being big enough for the hallway to be this long, but eventually, they reach the end. They’re met with a rickety wooden ladder leading up to what appears to be a trapdoor. They didn’t pass a single door in the hallway, so it’s either go up these stairs and see where the door leads or turn around and go back the way they came. He hesitates and hears Eric groan behind him.

“We didn’t come all this way for nothing; we need to see what’s up there!”

Kevin stares at Eric like he’s grown an extra head because seriously, what is wrong with him? He’s probably the biggest wimp Kevin has ever met, so where did this newfound bravery come from? He thrusts his arm currently holding the lantern out to Eric, saying, “If you’re so brave, then why don’t you go first?”

Eric shakes his head and refuses to take the lantern. “You’re the oldest! You do it!”

Kevin rolls his eyes and huffs. “Fine! I’ll go up these damn stairs, shit.”

He climbs up the ladder carefully since he only has one free hand and when he reaches the trapdoor, he prays again, asking for reassurance that he isn’t about to walk into some horrible fate.

“Sangie?” Wooyoung asks softly.

“Yeah?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Without skipping a beat, Yeosang answers, “Obviously.”

Wooyoung can’t help the smile that forms, but he wants to press his luck and asks, “What if I couldn’t talk?”

“Hmm… this complicates things. I want to say yes? But how would I differentiate you from other worms? Are you sentient? Or are you completely wormified?”

Wooyoung sighs dramatically and says, “Just answer the question.”

Yeosang aggressively shakes his head, saying, “I can’t. I need more information.”

“Ugh! Fine! I’m completely sentient but I’m trapped in a worm’s body, and I have no way to communicate with people. I’m just… worm.”

“Do I know that you’re completely sentient? And do I know what your worm form looks like?”

“Yes. To both.”

“Then yes. I would still love you if you were a worm who couldn’t speak, as long as I knew that you were a sentient worm and what you look like as a worm.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes because of course Yeosang would come up with these conditions. “You’re so annoying. I can’t believe your love is contingent on my sentience.”

“Would you love me if I were a worm?” Mingi asks from the floor.

“Absolutely not,” Wooyoung replies. “You’re too tall, you’d make a giant worm. Worms are only cute when they’re small like me.”

“I think Mingi would make a very cute worm,” Yunho interjects.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing a game right now? Leave us alone,” Wooyoung says without any real malice.

“Wooyoung, just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you can be rude,” Seonghwa admonishes lightly, making Wooyoung groan in annoyance. “But we all know that I would be the cutest worm.” That statement earns Seonghwa a pillow to the face courtesy of Wooyoung.

The others turn back to their game, leaving Wooyoung and Yeosang to their own devices. Yeosang is singularly focused on applying the right amount of pressure on Wooyoung’s abdomen, for which Wooyoung is grateful, but it does leave him a bit bored. He settles back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling, but there’s nothing interesting on the ceiling for him to look at. He decides that he can use this downtime to go through all the lore he and his friends have acquired over the course of the night to try to figure out who is trying to kill them. Except he doesn’t even know where to start. It could be anyone: a crazy fan, your run-of-the-mill mass murderer, the head of an entertainment company… wait… His mind goes back to something Yeonjun said at dinner, about how strange it was that Changbin and the rest of Stray Kids weren’t in attendance tonight. Now that he thinks about it, no one under JYP Entertainment is at this hotel. Following that line of thought, crazy as it may be, brings him back to the study. That’s where they found the most clues, nonsensical as they were. He remembers finding the books about botany, Motown, and kumiho and the book about umbrellas that opened the secret room with the creepy cake. That cake was too weird not to be important, so Wooyoung tries to remember as much as he can about it. He remembers it was pink and had strawberries on it. He also remembers that ‘Happy Death Day’ was written on it. Isn’t that a movie? He’s pretty sure San made him watch it at one point, but he can’t remember anything else about it. Then he remembers that there’s also a song called ‘Happy Death Day’ by none other than Xdinary Heroes, currently under JYP Entertainment.

“Woo?” Yeosang’s voice breaks Wooyoung out of his focus and he blinks a few times as he comes back to reality. “I really need to go to the bathroom. Can you keep pressure on your wound until I’m back?”

“I’ll do it,” San says, rising and coming over to kneel by Wooyoung’s side.

“Are you sure?” Yeosang looks unsure, but San nods his head.

“I can do it. Not too much pressure, not too little. Just like Goldilocks.”

“Right…” Yeosang says as he stands up. “Luckily, Wooyoung is awake so he can tell you if you’re pressing too hard. I’ll be right back.”

San presses a bit lighter than Yeosang, but not so lightly that Wooyoung thinks it would be ineffective. San’s tongue slightly pokes out of his mouth as he fully concentrates on applying pressure. San’s so cute that Wooyoung thinks he might die of cuteness overload. If anyone looked at him, they’d probably see hearts in his eyes, so it’s a good thing that Yeosang is in the bathroom and everyone else is too focused on playing their game. Before he embarrasses himself further, Wooyoung returns to his lore. Wait… My pocket! He suddenly remembers and pulls out the figurine from his cake slice. The Cheshire cat wearing a crown. Yeah… he’s got nothing. Maybe San’s will be more helpful. He reaches down his hand into San’s pocket and roots around, trying to find his figurine.

“What are you doing?” San squeaks out in surprise.

“Ah! Got it!” Wooyoung exclaims as he locates San’s figurine on his first try. He brings it up to his face and sees that it’s a bicycle. Still nothing.

“These mean anything to you?” He asks San, holding out the two figurines.

“Uh… no? Should they?”

Yeosang comes back from the bathroom and Wooyoung asks him for his figurine, which he then hands to Wooyoung. It’s a goofy-looking dinosaur wearing a gigantic clock around its neck. What the hell is this supposed to be? Dinoclock? Time Dinosaur? Then it hits him: Chronosaurus. It has to be. Right?

“Chrono- means time, doesn’t it?” He asks and San tells him that it does. Not wanting to get ahead of himself with his one victory, Wooyoung sets down Yeosang and San’s figurines and intensely stares at his own figurine, willing it to tell him what it represents. One figurine representing a JYP Entertainment group’s song doesn’t mean that JYP is the one trying to kill him and his friends. He thinks of the other groups he knows under JYP Entertainment, and he doesn’t think Twice has any songs about cats and he doesn’t think that Stray Kids would be represented again… He vaguely recalls an Itzy song from about a year ago that he thinks was called ‘Cheshire.’ And they always have a hand crown in their choreos. That has to be it. Okay, so that’s two more pieces of evidence that JYP is behind this…

“Jongho?” Wooyoung calls out, hoping that his suspicion will be wrong, that he was cherry-picking evidence to support his theory, and that there’s absolutely no way that Park Jinyoung is behind all this.

“Yeah?”

“Remember earlier when I played that Rain song and there was another guy singing with him?”

“Yeah…?”

“Do you know who the other guy was?”

“God, Wooyoung, do you recognize anyone’s voice? It was JYP.”

Ain’t no way. Ain’t no fucking way.

How’d I end up back here? Kim Sunoo asks himself as he blinks, feeling like he just woke up from a nap. The last thing he remembers is standing in the foyer, looking down at the bodies of Jungwon and Niki, covered in blood and vomit and now he thinks he’s in the… dinner room? He looks around him and counts eleven other guys in the room with him, all looking as confused as he feels.

He hears mechanical whirring and looks up. The ceiling has opened, the chandelier he remembers from dinner is notably absent, and a giant… thing descends into the ballroom. When it’s finished its descent, Sunoo cranes his neck to get a better look at the thing and it looks like a… bucket? Like one of those giant buckets at water parks that fill with water and then tip over to douse everyone.

“What the fuck is this?” He asks to no one in particular. He notices a pipe descend until it hovers just above the tipping bucket. Liquid starts to flow from the pipe into the bucket and at first, Sunoo isn’t sure what it is, then the overpowering smell of gasoline starts to fill the room. Knowing that nothing good could come from a giant bucket filling with gasoline, he goes back to trying to get the door to open. Some of the others try their luck at throwing their whole body weight against the doors to no success. Sunoo knows they can’t break the doors through brute force, so he tries looking at the handles to see if there’s a mechanism inside that he could break. He's never picked a lock before, but surely it can’t be that difficult. They do it in movies all the time. He knows he needs something long and skinny and also something sturdy, right? He feels around in his pockets, but all he has is a piece of gum and that isn’t going to help him out. He pops the gum into his mouth though because if he’s going to be trapped in a ballroom, he at least wants some strawberry gum.

He asks the other guys in the room if they have anything in their pockets that could pick a lock and one guy hands him a paperclip and another hands him a bobby pin he says he found on the ground. Sure. Sunoo looks at the objects in his hand and tries to think about how he can use them to pick this lock, but he can’t think of a plan other than just shoving the items into the lock and hoping for the best. So that’s exactly what he does, but he’s still disappointed when it doesn’t work.

After a few attempts of lockpicking, he hears something heavy moving and when he looks back, he sees the bucket reach its tipping point and fall to the side.

“Oh shit,” is all he has time to say before the entire room is doused in gasoline. Everyone falls silent, trying to process what’s going on.

“Are we about to die?” someone asks, finally breaking the silence. It sure seems like they’re about to die, but Sunoo can’t really find it within himself to care all that much. Is that weird? He feels like he should care, but he just… doesn’t.

One of the doors opens and the girl he’s seen running around the hotel all night strides into the ballroom. She looks more unkempt than she has any of the other times he’s seen her, her hair out of place and a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. Sunoo wonders what she’s been up to. She looks down at him, currently kneeling from trying to pick the lock then looks at the rest of the people in the room and must like what she sees because she smiles at them and says, “You all look so perfect like this.”

Like what? Soaking wet with gasoline? The guys around him all look like drowned rats and he knows he doesn’t look any better. He isn’t one to kink shame normally, but if this is what she’s into, Sunoo thinks she’s got a few screws loose.

She stands and looks at a spot on the floor expectantly, like she’s waiting for something. He looks in the direction she is, but he doesn’t see anything even remotely interesting.

“God, what is taking him so long?” The girl asks, but Sunoo doesn’t know who she’s talking about, so he doesn’t say anything. “I left him right at the door, he should be opening it by now!”

She throws the door back open, calling out to the hallway, “Oh Jeeeeeeeves! Can’t you make Kevin come back? I fear he turned around and wants to come back up the stairs!” She doesn’t wait for a reply, shutting the door and muttering, “No, this won’t do at all!”

She walks to the middle of the room and says, “As frustrated as I am that my vision isn’t being realized exactly how I wanted it to be, I do appreciate your… docility. You’d think that after being doused in gasoline you would be freaking out and trying to run out of here, but you’re not! So lovely! Ole Jeeves really outdid himself with those flowers, but don’t tell him I said that. Unfortunately, we do have to wait a bit longer for the next part, so why don’t we play a game? I personally love two truths and a lie. I’ll go first; let’s see how you are at guessing! Hmm… my statements are: I’m over a thousand years old, I was trapped in a box for two hundred years, and I’m going to devour all your souls! Raise your hand if you think my lie is that I’m over a thousand years old.” Sunoo looks around and doesn’t see any hands raised.

“Okay… rude that you all think I look like I’m over a thousand. Raise your hand if you think my lie is that I was trapped in a box for two hundred years.” She pauses and scans the room. “No one? Really? Hmm. Last one, raise your hand if you think my lie is that I’m going to devour all your souls.”

Sunoo raises his hand for this one because he doesn’t really want his soul to get devoured. That seems… unpleasant. He looks around him and everyone else has their hands raised, too.

The girl tuts and frowns, saying, “You all are horrible guessers. I was only trapped in a box for 145 years. It’s not fun, by the way, being trapped in a box. Terribly boring. Imagine my surprise when I was released, and the world had smartphones and girls could freely wear pants! When I went in, we still rode around in carriages and you humans died so frequently of cholera. I think I’ve adjusted pretty quickly though, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess?” Sunoo says although he isn’t really sure why he’s answering this crazy girl’s question.

“I adjusted a lot better than you would, Sunoo,” she replies defensively and doesn’t say anything further.

He’s sure it won’t work, but he wants to try anyway, so he tries opening the door, hoping against hope that she forgot to lock it back, but she didn’t forget. It’s unfortunately still locked. The girl is now standing stock-still in the middle of the room, still staring at that spot on the floor. Sunoo doesn’t know what to do and neither does anyone else it seems, so they all stand or sit in the ballroom, covered in pungent gasoline, in silence for what feels like an eternity to Sunoo, but he knows is under ten minutes.

The girl’s face suddenly perks up, she claps her hands together, and squeals. “Ooh! He’s finally here! Okay, boys, your surprise is about to come through that door!” She points to a square in the floor that Sunoo hadn’t noticed before. “I would say ‘see you around’ but that’s not true, so I’ll just say bye boys!” The girl bounds over to the door leaving the ballroom and slams it behind her. Sunoo hears banging and a man’s muffled voice coming from under the floor, so he goes over to the square and kneels next to it. He grabs a small handle and pulls up…

Right as Kevin is about to open the door, he hesitates. He looks behind him, trying to get reassurance and a boost of bravery from Eric, but he isn’t there.

“Eric?” He calls out into the darkness, but he gets no response. He climbs down the rickety ladder and moves the lantern around, casting light in all directions, and finds nothing. Eric isn’t down here anymore. He walks back in the direction in which they came, yet he finds no signs of Eric anywhere. The hallway still stretches endlessly before him and he wonders how Eric managed to run down it so quickly while being in the dark and without Kevin noticing. Honestly, this whole interaction with Eric has just been too weird: first, he was seemingly unaffected by seeing Sangyeon die right in front of them, but Kevin remembers everyone processes grief differently and thinks that maybe he’s still in shock? But then he acted so much braver than Kevin has ever seen him act in all the years they’ve known each other. Seriously, when did he become Mr. Tough Guy? He normally screams at everything and now he wants to go down dark steps and explore? Then he just runs away last minute, faster and quieter than what Kevin thinks should be humanly possible.

Determining that he’s in a trap of some sort and he definitely wasn’t just with Eric, he races down the hallway, trying to get back to the stairs leading him back to the others. As he runs, the lantern jostles, casting light haphazardly over his surroundings, but luckily the hallway is a straight line, so it doesn’t matter. He sees the stairs in front of him and he pushes himself to run even faster because he doesn’t want to be down here any longer than he needs to be. Who knows what would happen to him down here if he stayed? He’s so close to the stairs now, he just needs to push a little harder…

“FUCK!” He screams and brings his free hand to his face. He feels blood gushing from his definitely broken nose, and he struggles to open his eyes. What just happened?

He looks in front of him and where there had just been the set of stairs that would lead him back upstairs where everyone else is, there now stands a wall.

“No, no, no,” he frantically whines, abandoning his goal of staunching the blood from his nose to run his hand over the wall, trying in vain to bring back the stairs. When the stairs unsurprisingly don’t return, the first tears fall and he slides down the wall, sobbing into his hands. He lets himself sit and cry for a perfectly reasonable amount of time, but then tells himself he can’t stay here forever. He just hopes that the rickety ladder at the other end of the hallway is still there. He stands up and makes his way back down the hallway again. He feels a little lightheaded, and he wants nothing more than to sit down and rest his eyes, but he definitely doesn’t want to do so down here.

Impossibly, it seems like it’s gotten even darker at this end of the hallway, so he turns the lantern’s control valve all the way to the side, making it the brightest it can be. The light offers him some comfort, but not nearly enough. He climbs up the ladder and tries to open the door, but it won’t budge. He throws his shoulder up against it a few times, but it seems stuck.

“God fucking damn this stupid fucking door in this stupid fucking place! God, I hate it here,” he shouts as he keeps throwing his shoulder against the trap door. The lantern swings around and Kevin hears it hit the wall. He pauses to inspect the lantern and sees that the glass is broken. Then the trapdoor lifts and Kevin doesn’t have the chance to do anything before the lantern’s flame reacts with the gasoline vapors from the ballroom and blows everything to hell.

There is absolutely no way in hell that JYP is the one trying to kill everyone, right? Wooyoung fights with himself because all the evidence clearly suggests that if it isn’t JYP himself, it’s one of the higher-ups at JYP Entertainment, but he doesn’t want to let himself believe it because it’s just so ridiculous. Or is it ridiculous? The more Wooyoung thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Horrible, awful, diabolical, evil sense, but sense nonetheless.

If you want your boy group to be on top, what better way to do that than to quite literally eliminate all your competition? But it's a risky gamble because who’s to say that the industry won’t just collapse with the deaths of what, almost eighty idols? Nah, who is he kidding? The idol industry won’t collapse even with all their deaths because he’s always known that he’s expendable and his time in the limelight is limited; he just didn’t ever expect that it would be this limited. There are thousands more boys out there clawing for a chance to debut, and tonight is about to open up countless windows of opportunity for them. But at least for a while, Stray Kids will be alone at the top of the fourth and fifth generations. Unless… it’s Stray Kids themselves behind this…? Wooyoung, don’t be ridiculous, he tells himself. He could see JYP doing something like this, but Changbin? Felix? No way. Even if his theory is wrong, which he doesn’t think is the case, at least it’s something for them to work with right now.

He slowly sits up and thinks about how best to broach this with the others, then decides to just full send and present his craziness unfiltered.

“Guys? I think I know who’s behind this.”

“Oh? Who is it?” Hongjoong asks.

“Okay, bear with me, but I think JYP is the one killing all of us.”

San snorts then laughs, “Wooyoung, don’t be ridiculous.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Ricky notices when he walks into the room is how bright it is. And how… normal it is. Still. Quiet. The last thing he remembers is the sound of a bunch of young men screaming in terror in near-total darkness, but now everything is still. The girl from dinner is sitting alone on the couch, so lost in thought staring at the fireplace that she seemingly doesn’t hear him enter. Where is everyone? He thinks, taking a slow look around the room, but he soon finds out that they’re the only two people here.

“It’s just us right now.” The girl says, not looking away from the fireplace.

Oops. Didn’t mean to say that out-

“You didn’t. Say it out loud, that is. I can hear everything that you all think all the time.” She sighs. “You’d be amazed if you knew what you think of each other; some of it is truly nasty. Some of it is scandalous. Very little is kind.” She pauses and scrunches up her face and Ricky wonders what she’s doing. She looks like she’s doing something strenuous, but she’s just sitting on a couch. He also wonders if she really can read people’s minds or if she’s just messing with him. “And I have a name, you know. I’m more than just the girl who served you dinner. You never even bothered to ask, but it is what it is.” She finally looks up at him and Ricky gasps and takes a step back when he sees her face. Her eyes are completely black, and she doesn’t even look human…

“You’re all so predictable,” she says in a bored tone, then turns to look back at the fireplace. “Not human. Haven’t been for over a millennium. Can we move on now? I have things I have to do and splitting myself between here in freaky dream world and in the real world is exhausting. You’re heavier than you look, you know. Not a bad thing, it’s good that you’re sturdy. It’s just surprising.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, electing to ignore the comment about his weight.

She sighs and rubs her temples. “Right now, I’m dragging your unconscious body to where you’re going to wake up. Once I’m done with you, I have to become Eric so I can get Kevin to blow up the ballroom. Then I have to put on the performance of a lifetime and I’m exhausted! How can I be expected to perform at my best in these conditions?! Just because I’m the new one and I haven’t done the ‘ritual,’” she says with air quotes, “I have to do all the work? And you all have been so mean to poor Wooyoung, I can’t stand it! He’s the only nice one around here and I know that was the plan, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it! At least he gets to come out of this… no, I’m talking far too much. How are you feeling, Ricky?” She looks at him again with those unnerving black eyes. He wishes she would go back to looking at the fireplace. She looks at him like she wants to devour him. And not in a sexy way like he’s unfortunately used to, but in a cannibal way.

To be quite honest though, he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. He almost doesn’t feel real; more like an amorphous blob floating through the aether. But he doesn’t know how to explain that to her without sounding like a total weirdo.

“Hmm, interesting,” she hums as she gives him an appraising look. She again turns away from him to focus on the fireplace. He steps closer to it, trying to figure out what’s so captivating about it, but it looks like a normal fireplace.

“What are you looking at?” He whispers after a while.

“Shh! I’m trying to stitch you up!” She waves him off, her gaze never leaving the fireplace.

“What do you mean ‘stitch me up’? What’s wrong with me?” She doesn’t seem like she heard him, so Ricky stays quiet for another few moments. Then she says, “Here, you should start feeling differently now.”

God, it’s really cold in here, he thinks as a shiver runs through him. And why does my side hurt so much?

Wait… he’s not supposed to be able to feel pain in a dream. What’s going on?

“Ricky, you have to wake up,” the orange-haired girl tells him, fixing him with a blank stare. At least she doesn’t look like she wants to eat him anymore. “You can’t stay here forever; I’ve got shit to do.”

His surroundings slowly start to fade away as darkness seeps in and shrouds everything in shadow. The last thing he sees is the girl waving goodbye and dematerializing right in front of him.

He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them, he has to blink out water.

“Why am I wet?” he groggily asks aloud. “Where am I?”

When he lifts his arm to wipe the water off his face, stabbing pain lances up from the side of his ribcage. He chokes out ragged, stuttering gasps as he moves his arm back down to rest against the side of wherever he’s found himself. He thinks he might be in a bathtub? But he could be on the moon right now for all he cares, he just knows something is deeply wrong with him.

He takes in a few deep breaths to calm himself down and assess his situation, even as pain courses through his whole body. He can’t see anything, so he’ll have to rely on his other senses. Right now, he’s cold. He feels around with his free hand and grabs what he assumes can only be a few ice cubes.

“What the fuck?” he mutters as he moves his hand through the water and feels even more ice cubes. Why am I in an ice bath?

He can thankfully still feel his fingers and toes, so he knows he hasn’t been in here that long. But he knows he doesn’t have much time with how cold this room already is before he starts becoming hypothermic. He braces himself for the pain he knows he’s about to feel and pushes himself up until he’s standing. Once he’s upright, he carefully steps out of the tub and sits back down on the edge, shivering and groaning as his shivers aggravate his side and make the pain worse.

“Okay, Ricky, you got this. You got this,” he mutters to hype himself up for having to take stock of whatever is going on with his side. He reaches to the side of his torso and lightly brushes his fingers over where his side hurts the most. Those are definitely stitches. He lowers his arm and tries to calm himself down because panicking is the absolute last thing he should do right now. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten before standing up, sticking his good arm out in front of himself, and trying to feel around for a light switch. It’s too dark in here for him to see but he needs to dry off and find some clothes before he gets hypothermia.

He shuffles his feet along the floor, so he always knows what’s underneath him and he slowly moves his arm through the air until he hits something. He feels around and finds what he thinks is a door handle, so he pivots his body to the left to find the wall. He runs his hand over the surface and finds the nub of a light switch and he flicks it up. Nothing happens.

“Oh yeah, the power’s out,” he says and returns to sitting on the edge of the tub. He needs a new plan, but even his brief stint to find the light switch has left him exhausted.

Suddenly, he hears a door creak, the lights flicker on, and Ricky can see the person who just entered. It’s… the butler? What’s he doing here? And how did he turn the lights back on? His hands fly to cover himself, which again makes his pain worse.

“Are you…” the man starts, then he says under his breath, “I’m gonna kill her for making me say this.”

His voice returns to its original volume as he says, “Are you young and rich, tall and handsome, charisma boss baby Ricky?”

Ricky stares up at the man, dumbfounded. What the hell? He cautiously says, “Yes?”

“You either are or you aren’t, son. Are you Ricky or not?”

Can’t you see that I’m probably missing a kidney?! (That’s currently the only reason he’s come up with for why he woke up in a bathtub full of ice. He didn’t think this was a thing that actually happened to people; he thought it was a dumb urban legend to scare people.) What does it matter what my name is? Ricky wants to shout, but shouting probably isn’t the best way to get someone to do something for you. Instead, he says as calmly as he can, “Yes, I’m Ricky. Can you please help me?”

The man sucks in air through his teeth and shakes his head once. “That depends on what kind of help you want, son.”

Ricky waits for him to elaborate, but after a minute of awkward silence, he asks, “Could you… get me some Tylenol?” He knows that there’s no way he’s making it to a hospital right now and when he looks at his side, it looks stitched up pretty well, so he thinks he’ll be fine. He just hurts and wants something to dull the throbbing pain in his side.

“Sorry, I can’t do that, kid.”

This man is certainly terse, and Ricky wishes he would say more than a few words at a time.

“Could you get me a towel, then? And some clothes? It’s really cold in here.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” He opens a small door and rummages through the contents of the closet he opened for a few seconds. He turns back around with a towel and the clothes Ricky was wearing earlier in his hands. He sets them down on the lid of the toilet and says, “I’ll leave you to it then,” as he reaches for the door handle.

“That… that’s it?” Ricky bewilderedly asks. This man just found him naked next to a bathtub full of ice with a giant stitched-up incision on his side and all he does is get him a towel and some clothes then leaves?

“Do you want me to watch or something? No thanks, kid. You’re not my type.”

“Ew, no, I don’t want you to watch. I just want you to be… I don’t know… more concerned about the fact that you found me here most likely missing a kidney.”

“I think you should be more concerned about what’s been left in there instead of what’s been taken out, son,” the man cryptically warns as he leaves the bathroom.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Ricky calls to the man’s retreating figure, but he doesn’t get an answer. “What do you mean ‘what’s been left in there’?!” He asks, panic rising in his chest.

He quickly gets out of the tub and rushes over to the sink, turning to the side so he can see his stitches in the mirror. They look perfectly fine, perfectly normal to him. Granted, he doesn’t really know what stitches are supposed to look like, but the wound is closed, and everything looks neat. Surely whoever stitched him up wouldn’t have done such a nice job if they were evil and put something in him, right? But then again… they did probably steal his kidney so the more he thinks about it, the more likely something nefarious being left in his kidney’s place is becoming. Fuck.

“Oh Rickyyyyyyyyyy,” a woman singsongs and Ricky whips around, but he’s still alone in the bathroom as far as he can tell.

“Aw, did you just turn around looking for me?” The voice coos in condescension. “You’re so cute! Unfortunately, and I hate to disappoint, this is, in fact, just a recording. Hmm… what time is it for you? I think right now I’m probably leading Kevin to the trapdoor under the ballroom? Maybe? Doesn’t matter, you have all my attention right now. You’re probably wondering, ‘Why am I in a bathtub full of ice?’ or ‘Why does my side hurt?’ which are both valid questions. Luckily for you, they can both be answered at the same time. The powers that be decided that you, Ricky, would be the one to wake up in a bathtub full of ice with your kidney gone. Apparently, it’s an urban legend? I wouldn’t know, considering the last time I was free it was 1878, but that’s neither here nor there. What is here is you! Missing a kidney! But, to jazz things up a little, I left a surprise in you! Well, I think it’s a fun surprise, but you might not think it’s as fun,” Obviously Ricky can’t see her because he’s listening to a recording, but he just knows she was pouting when she said that.

“I don’t want to spoil all the fun, so I’ll just say that… it’s something with a time limit. Is it a bomb? Is it a kitchen timer? Will it kill you? Will it kill someone else? Will it kill no one at all? Who knows? Certainly not you! If you open the medicine cabinet, you’ll find a timer that’s synced with whatever is currently making its home in your kidney slot and a knife. I’m sure you can figure out what you’re supposed to do with that one. The choice is yours, Ricky. Make it something fun, yeah? Give us a good show.”

The recording cuts out, leaving the room in silence as Ricky processes what he just heard. When his brain finally stops buffering, he tentatively opens the medicine cabinet, hoping against hope that there won’t be a timer or a knife in there. He sees the knife first. It’s serrated with a black plastic handle, like one he would get at a cowboy-themed restaurant. He wishes he were at a cowboy restaurant right now, one with the buckets you put your empty peanut shells in. He’s in the right country for it, but nooooooo. He’s in a bathroom debating whether or not to cut open his stitches and root around his torso to find something that was left inside him.

He slams shut the medicine cabinet door and shouts, “Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this! Fuck this stupid fucking place and my stupid fucking life, God just take me now!”

He seethes and after a few seconds of staring at his crazed reflection, he punches the mirror. The glass shatters, slicing open his knuckles and falling into the sink below.

“Fuck,” he cries out, cradling his injured hand to his chest as his eyes water. He brings his other hand to his mouth to stifle a scream. No. You know what? Fuck that, he thinks as he lowers his uninjured hand. I’ll be as loud as I want. And so, he lets himself scream out his pain, his anger, his fear without a care for his volume. Maybe he’ll be loud enough for someone to find and help him, although considering the chaos he saw earlier, he’s probably dreaming if he thinks anyone would be able to hear him. That doesn’t stop him from letting out another heartrending scream and he has to admit, it feels damn good to scream.

But then he is forced to confront the reality that he can’t just stand in this bathroom and scream forever. He has to do something. Even if that something is just looking at the silly chicken timer he’s been studiously ignoring. He picks it up and it tells him he has eight minutes left until whatever it is that’s in his body runs out of time.

“Okay, very funny,” he says, looking in all directions of the room for a hidden camera. “You can come out now. You got me! I’m scared!”

Three loud bangs sound on the door, making Ricky jump and drop the chicken timer into the sink.

“Please! You have to help me!” He pleads, not knowing or caring who’s behind the door.

“Probably wanna get moving, son. There’s a lot you have to do,” the man says but he doesn’t open the door.

“What are you talking about?” Ricky screams back in frustration. Unfortunately for him though, he doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh, Ricky! I hope you’re making progress!” The recorded voice from earlier comes back and Ricky wails.

“There’s so much you have to do, and you truthfully don’t have that much time to do it. Have you used the knife yet?”

“No, I haven’t used the fucking knife!” He yells back even though he’s pretty sure this was pre-recorded too.

“She can’t hear you. She recorded this a while ago.” The man says from behind the door.

“Why are you here?! Why aren’t you doing anything? You’re just standing there!”

“I never said I was on your side,” the man says, opening the door and strolling past Ricky to sit on the toilet lid. “But if it would make you happier for me to be here, I can stay in here. I have to stay close anyway; it doesn’t matter to me if I’m in here or out there. If it were up to me though, you’d already be dead, but Lottie loves theatrics.”

“Who the fuck is Lottie?” Ricky asks as he grabs the knife from the shelf. He has half a mind to stab this guy, but something tells him that stabbing him wouldn’t do much. The man points to the ceiling and Ricky realizes that the woman has been talking this whole time. He should probably be listening because she’s the only one who has provided him any information so far.

“… the knife isn’t very sharp, so it’s probably going to hurt. But it might hurt a lot more if you do nothing. Or it might not. Isn’t this game so fun?” Ricky thinks that he actually wants to stab this woman instead. “What are you going to do, Ricky? Are you going to play or are you going to lie there like a dog?”

Oh God, he really doesn’t want to do this. But he’s more afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t act, so he takes a deep breath, turns so he can see his side in the mirror, and places the tip of the knife at the top of his incision. He decides that he needs to do this quickly because the faster it’s done, the faster it’s over with. It’s just like ripping off a Band-Aid, right?

He presses the knife in and pushes it down. He screams as the knife glides through the first two stitches, but gets caught on the third, so he has to force the knife farther into his body and push even harder. When he slices through the last stitch, he drops the knife and falls to his hands and knees. The act of slicing into his own body and having to watch himself do it makes him throw up all over the floor.

“You might want to hurry up, you’re running out of time,” the man says, quite unhelpfully in Ricky’s opinion.

“Can you give me a minute? I just had to cut into my own body!”

“Quit being a baby. Wouldn’t you do anything to live?”

Would he? Honestly, he thinks death would be a lot easier than what he’s about to have to do. But then he thinks about his family, his friends, his dreams, everything he has yet to do. He’s only nineteen! He can’t die like this! In a cold bathroom covered in blood and vomit, no way.

He staggers to his feet and washes his hands of the blood, vomit, and floor germs (he’s not trying to die of sepsis after working this hard to survive!), trying to prepare himself to root around in his own abdominal cavity. The sight of his bloodied side is enough to bring bile back up his throat, but he forces it down and turns around. He doesn’t need to see; he just needs to be able to feel. He closes his eyes, reaches into the incision, and moves his hand up. He feels something vaguely plastic-like and thinks that’s probably what he’s looking for. He doesn’t know which naturally occurring body structure would feel like a plastic ball, so he grabs it and carefully brings his hand back out of his body.

He runs the object under the sink to wash the viscera off of it and realizes it’s a gacha capsule.

What on earth?

As soon as he starts to open it, the woman’s voice comes back over the speakers. Her voice is shrill as she screeches, “Running out of time! Time’s running out for Ricky!” He drops the capsule in the sink, but luckily none of the tiny pieces within fall down the drain. He scrambles to pick them up as she repeats those two sentences, somehow even louder than she was the first time. She keeps going, telling him he’s running out of time over and over again, so loudly that he can’t think, can’t focus on the tiny pieces from the gacha capsule in front of him. His hands shake as he brings them closer to his face to look at the pieces, trying to figure out what they are and what he’s supposed to do with them.

“Can’t you make her stop?” He pleads to the man who is still just sitting there, staring at him, completely unbothered.

“I can.”

“Could you?!” Ricky yells over the woman’s voice.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Not part of the plan.”

Ricky throws the empty capsule at the man in his frustration, but the man holds up a hand and the capsule stops midair, a few inches from his face. He drops his hand, and the capsule falls to the floor, rolling back toward Ricky’s feet. Ricky’s blood turns to ice as the man’s eyes darken and he warns, “Don’t try shit like that again, son.” 

Ricky gulps and turns around to focus on the gacha pieces. His vision starts to fail him as he can’t really see the pieces in his hand that well. And he’s so tired. He sits down on the floor, away from his puddle of vomit, and places the pieces in front of him. He bends forward to see them better and he slowly realizes that he doesn’t hurt anymore. Surely that can’t be good, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. He needs to focus, but focusing is getting so hard… he just wants to close his eyes for a minute… No! He smacks his face to wake himself up. He needs to stay alive for his friends. For his family. For anyone and everyone he’s ever loved or cared about.

He looks closely at the pieces and sees that they are tiny Lego bricks, a small wire, and a button. He isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to build, but he puts the pieces together, running on no thoughts, just vibes, and something resembling a cake starts to take shape. He connects one end of the wire to the button and the other end to a spot on the inside of the cake. He figures he should probably press the glowing red button and right as he’s about to, the woman’s droning voice, having been repeating her message this whole time, suddenly changes. She says, “Time’s up!” and the top of the little Lego cake explodes. Thankfully, the explosion is small and doesn’t hurt Ricky at all, but he turns around to face the man and ask, “That’s it?”

The man nods and replies, “That’s it.”

Fury builds inside of Ricky, and he yells, “So you’re telling me I cut open my stitches for a tiny little cake bomb? I was never in any real danger?!”

The man shrugs. “Sometimes the best decision is to do nothing.”

“What? So, if I’d just stood here the whole time, I would’ve been fine?”

“Maybe. It would’ve hurt, but it probably wouldn’t have killed you. That’s why I stayed in here; if you hadn’t cut yourself back open, I would’ve killed you myself. But it’s better for me and the boss that you did it yourself. More tragic that way.”

“What boss?”

“He’s someone you know. Kind of. But don’t worry about that. You should really be worried about that,” he says as he points to the open wound on Ricky’s side.

A concerningly large pool of blood surrounds Ricky and he feels faint as he looks at it. The adrenaline from trying to build the Lego cake is starting to wear off and his eyelids are starting to get heavy. He didn’t even know he had that much blood in him and when he looks at the gash in his side, still gushing blood, he knows that there’s no way he’s making it out of this. He’s too weak to have more of a reaction to this realization; all he wants to do is go to sleep. And as the light fades and the world grows dark, all he can do is hope that whoever carries him to the great beyond is kind.

Chapter Text

“I am not being ridiculous!” Wooyoung yells, his face heating up. “The lore is lore-ing!”

“Woo, for the last time, it isn’t a person-” San argues, sounding about as frustrated as Wooyoung feels, but Hongjoong interrupts him before he has the chance to finish.

“No, no, no, San. Let him cook.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung pointedly says to Hongjoong even though he can’t see him. “If you would just listen to me-”

“You haven’t been listening to me!”

“Because you just keep saying it isn’t a person, but what the hell else could it be? A ghost? A demon? A vampire? This isn’t fucking Supernatural, San! This is the work of a man with too much money who feels threatened by the success of everyone here!” Wooyoung exclaims, then pauses and softens his voice. He didn’t mean to get so heated; he just wants to share his idea with everyone and talk things through. He also didn’t mean to completely discount San and his own theory and he tells himself not to forget to actually give San a chance to finish his sentences. “It’s just a theory, San. Will you please hear me out? Then I promise we’ll all hear you out.”

“Okay,” San says quietly and tonelessly.

God damn it, Wooyoung. Now you’ve gone and made him sad.

He wants to apologize, he wants to make this better, but this theory is bubbling up in his throat and he doesn’t think he can talk about anything else until he’s word vomited it out. The sooner Wooyoung finishes, the sooner San gets his chance to share, so he tries to condense the crazy theory swirling around in his head to a few sentences. Will he succeed? Unclear, but honestly… probably not. He does know how to talk off someone’s ear, especially if it’s about something he’s interested in, and he’s definitely interested in this.

“Hold up, before you get started,” Jongho says and suddenly the room is partially lit again courtesy of his phone’s flashlight. “We can’t solve mysteries in the dark. Please, Wooyoung, continue.”

Wooyoung sighs and runs his hands over his face up into his hair, interlacing his fingers against the back of his head. “It all started at dinner. Yeonjun and I were talking about how we wished Changbin were here and how it’s weird that he isn’t. I mean, yeah, they’re busy and preparing for a comeback, but all of us are, and we still made it here. Yeonjun’s got an album coming out in six days and Changbin’s isn’t for another month, so that’s really no excuse. And whoever is throwing this party obviously likes big, famous groups because Yeonjun was here. Enhypen is here, we’re here, so why isn’t Changbin here?

When we got here, Kumi said all the other guests had already arrived, so it’s not like we were waiting for them, and they just didn’t show up. Now, you might be thinking, ‘Wooyoung, maybe whoever is throwing this party just doesn’t like Stray Kids.’ To which I say, ‘That’s a valid point.’ Let me continue. Remember when we went back to the ballroom after dinner? What song was playing over the loudspeakers? That’s right, it was ‘God’s Menu.’ Who made ‘God’s Menu,’ guys? Stray Kids. What entertainment company are they under? That’s right, JYP Entertainment. That room we were in with the cake? Remember what the cake said? ‘Happy Death Day’? That’s the name of a song. Who sings that song? Xdinary Heroes. Who are they under? JYP Entertainment. But that’s not all. The figure I got in my cake slice was a Cheshire cat wearing a crown. Yeosang’s is a dinosaur wearing a stupidly big clock around its neck. Completely nonsensical, right? Right, but too nonsensical to be random. They have to mean something. Everything in that room had to mean something. We were supposed to find those clues, why else would there have been enough plates for us and a knife to cut the cake?”

Wooyoung feels like a crazy conspiracy theorist standing in front of a bulletin board full of red string, but the others are listening to him intently which makes him feel better, so he continues.

“Yeosang’s was really the key because San’s was too vague and mine could have all sorts of meanings. But Yeosang’s? What else could a time dinosaur mean besides chronosaurus? That’s a Stray Kids song! And the song that I played over the record player? Jongho said it was Rain and JYP. He was fucking with us by playing his own song in there. He wanted us to know it was him!”

“Woo, this is all circumstantial at best-” San starts, but he is once again interrupted by Hongjoong.

“So, we just have to kill an old man? Seems easy enough.”

“Let me finish!” Wooyoung pleads. “I know the evidence is circumstantial, so let’s talk about who would have the motive and the resources to do this. Motive could be anyone. Crazy fan, burgeoning serial killer, entertainment company executive… but who would have the resources to create H.H. Holmes’s murder castle with all these rooms from other video games? Do you know how much money this probably cost? I don’t even wanna think about it, but a helluva lot more than what a sasaeng could afford. Well… most sasaengs…” He pauses and shudders. Could this be a crazy rich Stray Kids stan instead…? Then he shakes his head and continues, “And didn’t JYP live in America? Isn’t that why he’s so good at English? Who else would bring us all here instead of somewhere back home? It’s gotta be him.”

San exhales heavily before he says, “I don’t know, Wooyoung. This just doesn’t feel right, but I trust you. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Ugh!” Jongho fake retches. “Get a room, you two. And honestly, I don’t give a shit who it is. It could be JYP, it could be Yunho’s crazy great-aunt Hyojin, it could be fucking Santa Claus for all I care, it doesn’t matter. We need to find them, we need to kill them, and we need to do it now.”

“Okay, hold up, that’s not very nice,” Yunho argues. “My great-aunt Hyojin isn’t crazy!”

“She made that crustyass white dog the sole beneficiary of her estate, Yunho. That’s pretty fucking crazy to me.”

“She really loves little Goguma…”

“She has THREE KIDS, YUNHO.”

Wooyoung throws his hands up into the air and nearly shouts, “Do we really have to do this right now?! We’re about to fucking die and you two are arguing about great-aunt Hyojin? You can do that shit when we get back home!”

“Sorry, Wooyoung,” Yunho and Jongho mutter sheepishly.

“I swear, I can’t take you anywhere.” As soon as Wooyoung finishes his sentence, he shudders, feeling like he was just possessed by his mother for a second. He quickly smacks his own face to make himself snap out of it. Get it together, Wooyoung. He needs to focus. He can’t keep getting so distracted. He gives himself a moment to replay their discussion up until the derailment to talk about crazy great-aunt Yoon Hyojin, and latches onto the last thing Jongho said.

“It does matter who it is, Jongho. If we know who it is, we can exploit their weaknesses. Does anyone have any idea what weaknesses we could find with JYP?”

“He’s old!”

“He’s cringe as hell.”

“He has stupid hair.”

“He doesn’t know we’re onto him?”

“Doesn’t he have kids?”

“There’s only one of him and eight of us.”

Almost everyone has spoken up with their own potential weaknesses for the man. Everyone except for San.

“You’re missing the point. How’s he gonna get here? You said it yourself, Woo, no one is getting anywhere with all that snow outside.”

Wooyoung hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe he’s been hiding the whole time? Kumi told us the third and fourth floors were off-limits. Maybe he’s been up there all night.”

San snorts. “Maybe? This is all hinging on a maybe?”

“This maybe is all we’ve got, San! I don’t know what else you want me to say!” Wooyoung’s blood starts to boil, but he forces himself to remember how scared San has been all night. His memory is failing him and the evidence they’ve found thus far suggests that he and Wooyoung are the targets of extra attention of a horror game-obsessed maniac.

Wooyoung lowers and softens his voice like he’s trying to talk to a skittish kitten. “What do you think is going on, Sannie?”

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” San’s voice breaks and Wooyoung knows even that he’s about thirty seconds away from starting to cry. “I think I’m the cause of all of this.”

What?

“San, what the hell are you talking about?” Seonghwa asks. “We’ve been with you all night.”

“Have you?! Have you been with me all night, Seonghwa? I don’t think you have! For months I’ve had… I don’t know, gaps in my memory. One second, I’m at dance practice and the next it’s the middle of the night and I don’t know how I got here, but I’m in an alley covered in-”

San doesn’t get to finish before aggressive bangs on the door reverberate through the room.

“What the fuck?” Hongjoong whispers. “Who is that?”

“Should we open the door?” Mingi asks.

Another set of three knocks, these somehow even louder, sound on the door.

Yunho stands up and walks to the door, opening it to reveal the creepy butler holding a lantern.

“You need to come downstairs.”

The eight of them look at each other briefly before the butler lets out a small bark that is probably supposed to be a laugh. “You don’t get a choice. You’re coming downstairs.”

The butler leads the eight of them down the stairs, the only light coming from his small lamp, and Wooyoung feels the pit in his stomach widen. He feels like he’s being led to his doom. He probably is.

“So, what’s going on?” Wooyoung ventures to ask, not really expecting any answers from this man, but too uncomfortable with the silence.

“The host has arrived.”

“Is that all he’s gonna say?” He whispers to Yeosang. Yeosang shrugs and whispers back, “What a weird guy.”

Wooyoung thinks that’s the understatement of the century, but of course, he doesn’t tell Yeosang that.

“So… is this host like your boss or something?” He asks.

“No. I don’t know who this is.”

Well, that’s weird. “Then who do you and Kumi work for?”

“I work for someone far more powerful than the one downstairs making a fuss. Kumi is… new. I’m not sure she has any loyalties anywhere.”

Hold up. “What do you mean you don’t know who the host is? Did they just rent out this place or something?”

The butler pauses on the stairs, turning around to stare at Wooyoung in confusion. “You ask such irrelevant questions.”

“Can you answer them?”

The butler turns back around and resumes walking down the stairs. “I can, but I don’t believe in dignifying stupidity with a response.”

“Okay, well there’s no need to be rude,” Wooyoung says under his breath. “Can you be more specific about who you and Kumi work for?”

“You know them. In a way.”

Realizing that this line of questioning probably won’t yield any useful results, Wooyoung then asks a question that has been gnawing at him for a while. “Why haven’t you been killed yet? There’s no way that they’re going to spare you and Kumi just because you’re staff. You two are a liability. She’s terrified, yet you seem perfectly fine. Why?”

The butler exhales through his nose in the closest thing to a laugh Wooyoung can imagine he’s capable of. “Now you’re asking more interesting questions.”

“Will you answer them?”

“No.”

They reach the ground floor and the butler says, “This is where I leave you,” before walking back up the stairs.

They’re left in darkness, but Wooyoung can see light and hear voices coming from the direction of the drawing room. So, like anyone whose besetting sin is curiosity, he follows the sensory stimulus.

“Oh? It appears the last of our guests has arrived.” A man’s voice says, and it sounds familiar to Wooyoung, but he can’t place it. The small crowd parts and Wooyoung strains with the limited light to see the man on the other side of the room. Once his eyes adjust, he can’t stop his own bark of surprised laughter because the man is none other than Park Jinyoung, also known as JYP.

When Wooyoung was very young, knee-high to a wallaby one could say, one of his dad’s cousins suddenly died. His parents took him and his older brother down to Gunsan for the funeral, and while he doesn’t remember much from the funeral, he distinctly remembers seeing this one particular man. His dad told him that the man was his cousin’s neighbor, but not to get too close. Wooyoung didn’t find this out until years later when the man was arrested for creation and distribution of child pornography, but whispers abounded that the man was a little too interested in little boys and his father didn’t want him anywhere near the man.

But Wooyoung, never one to listen to directions and always one to test the bounds of danger, snuck away while his dad spoke with his cousin’s bereaved widow to see this dangerous man. When he got close enough for the man to notice this unaccompanied little boy heading his way, the man’s face morphed into a lascivious sneer, and he held out his hands, beckoning Wooyoung forward. Little Wooyoung had never felt the ice-cold grasp of true fear before that moment, and he immediately stopped in his tracks, tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and searched the room for his parents or his brother. The man stood and he seemed to stretch endlessly toward the ceiling, growing ever taller in Wooyoung’s frightened little eyes. He bounded over like a predator and Wooyoung did what he did best when he was young, he bolted. He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him back to his dad, who swung him up into his arms, and, upon seeing Wooyoung’s tear-stained face, immediately tensed.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” His dad asked, smoothing Wooyoung’s hair off his forehead.

He buried his face in his father’s neck and whimpered, “Scary man. Wanna go home.” His father looked over and saw the man retreating back into his seat. He rubbed circles into Wooyoung’s back and said, “Okay, buddy, we can go home. Let’s go find your mom and brother.”

Wooyoung slept in the backseat the whole ride home and when he woke up, his parents took him to get ice cream. So aside from the encounter with the scary man, he had a pretty good day.

He never forgot the fear the man instilled in him though. No one else has ever made his blood run so cold, but here in this room, looking at JYP, he feels that ice coating his veins again. Like he’s in the presence of someone truly evil. Which is strange because Wooyoung has met the man before, many times in fact. And none of their other meetings made him feel like this, so why now? Sure, Changbin hates JYP and has said on more than one occasion that he was evil, but he wasn’t actually evil, was he? What happened between then and now? Surely, he’s not that good of an actor to hide the kind of evil someone has to be to orchestrate a night like this. Or maybe he is? Wooyoung really doesn’t know him all that well; their interactions have been quite limited.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Jung?” JYP’s voice breaks Wooyoung out of his thoughts.

What the fuck is a penny? He wonders.

The man laughs and says, “It’s an American coin that features the illustrious sixteenth president, Abraham Lincoln. Unfortunately for President Lincoln, the penny is practically worthless.”

Shit, had he said that out loud?

The man raises his eyebrows at Wooyoung once and he tries to stifle a laugh behind his fist.

What the fuck?

“Enough pleasantries,” he continues. “I’m afraid we don’t have long together. I’m quite a busy man as you can imagine, and truthfully, I don’t care enough about most of you to offer you details. However, what is life, what is victory over one’s adversaries, without a victorious monologue?”

He raises his hand then slams it through the air, and Wooyoung and everyone else fall right on their asses.

No seriously, what the fuck? How did he do that?

“Ah, much better. You all look so perfect like this: staring up at me in awe and fear. Thank you for granting me this beautiful scene.”

He walks toward the fireplace and leans an arm against the mantle. “Don’t I look so dashing like this?”

“Just kill us already!” Eric screams. “We don’t want to hear you gloat, just let us go or kill us!”

“Dude, shut up!” Hyunjae whispers. “You’re gonna make him mad!”

JYP looks behind Wooyoung and cocks his head to the side. Wooyoung tries to turn around to see what the man is looking at, but he can’t move his head. He tries to move his arms and they, too, stay completely still. Wooyoung can only sit and watch as the man nods and says, “Stand up, Eric.”

Eric shakily stands and Wooyoung can see his trembling hands. He can also see thinly veiled fury on JYP’s face; he grips Eric’s chin between his fingers and leans in, their faces nearly touching.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s impolite to interrupt a monologue?”

Not even a second later, Wooyoung hears sickening crunches and squelches and sees Eric’s jaw drop open. Before he can process what’s going on, he hears those godawful sounds a second time and sees JYP’s hand leaving a gaping hole in Eric’s chest. His bloodied hand clutches oh my God is that his heart?! He lets go of Eric’s chin and Eric falls to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Screams ring out but JYP seems to pay them no mind, instead holding Eric’s heart close to his face and rotating it, carefully examining it. Wooyoung sees actual claws on his hand and immediately curses himself for not listening to San because he was right: JYP definitely isn’t just a human. But what is he, then? Monsters can’t actually be real, but what else could he be? Maybe those claws are fake? But even if they were good-quality claws, how would he be strong enough to rip someone’s heart out of their chest? As his mind races a million kilometers a minute, Wooyoung feels his heartrate rise and his breathing becomes more labored. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to conjure pleasant thoughts in his mind to calm himself down because he absolutely cannot have a panic attack right now. He forces himself to take deep breaths and he starts drumming his fingers against his knee to give his anxiety some kind of outlet. He thinks about the bigass bowl of dwaeji gukbap he’s gonna have his mom make when he gets home. It’s going to be so warm and just the right amount of spicy… Okay. I can do this. Even though his heart is still racing, he can breathe again so he opens his eyes.

He sees JYP carelessly toss the heart off to the side; it lands with a soft squelch. The man returns his attention to the crowd and holds a bloody finger to his lips, shushing them. The room immediately falls silent even though Wooyoung can see some people’s mouths still open in a scream, yet no sound comes out.

“Would anyone else like to interrupt me or can I continue?” JYP asks in a huff of annoyance. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” He pauses and looks around the room. “Oh! Right, I forgot. You can’t right now! Silly me!” He lightly smacks his forehead. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’m doing this. Why all of you are here, what I want, blah blah blah. Well, you see, the market is simply too saturated these days. Boy groups are so good at selling albums, it’s remarkable. But there are too many boy groups right now and it’s cutting into my profits. You have such dedicated fanbases and I want them. So, I thought, ‘Well, I could quite literally eliminate all my competition.’ If you’re gone, at least for a while, Stray Kids will be at the top of the fourth and fifth generations. And your brokenhearted fans will come to us to soothe their sorrows. It’ll take a while before your companies can come back with new groups and in the meantime, I’ll rake in those sweet, sweet profits. So, here you are. You cut into my bottom line, so now I get to play with your lives. But I’m not so cruel as to leave you completely helpless. That wouldn’t be fair, would it? So, hidden somewhere in this hotel is the key that will open that cute little front door over there. But before you try to act cheeky and all work together so all of you can leave, only the group that finds the key can leave. No one from another group can join you. So, feel free to… eliminate each other as you see fit. And you may want to work quickly because the horrors of this hotel are still lurking, just waiting for you to fall within their grasp.”

No one moves for a few seconds, which Wooyoung finds rather surprising. He figured everyone would immediately jump up and run out of the room, but no one has moved a muscle. Maybe we still can’t move? He wonders, but when he tries to move his arm, his body obeys, so that’s not it.

“Aren’t you going to go? You can go.” No one moves; they all look at each other, silently pleading for someone else to be the first to stand. “Seriously, get up and go,” JYP orders and they all scramble to stand up. Everyone gathers with their groups, and they speak in hushed voices, so as not to alert any other groups as to where they’re going to be. Wooyoung and the others huddle together in a corner, far from everyone else, knowing they’re the biggest targets since they have eight people. Meanwhile, the next biggest groups only have three members left. Fuck. This is really bad.

“Woo… you were… exactly right. About everything. That’s crazy, how did you know?” San asks, bewildered. Honestly, Wooyoung is feeling more than a little bewildered himself. He really was exactly right. Even down to some of the same phrasing. He knows he’s smart, but this feels a little too perfect. How did he get everything right, even down to the smallest detail?

“This-this doesn’t make any sense,” Wooyoung mutters as he shakes his head, trying to hear his own thoughts over the chaos of everyone scrambling to try to find this key. “Why would he let us go?” He asks loudly enough to be heard over the din. “We’d just tell the police.”

“Are you really gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, Wooyoung? He’s letting us go. We need to find that key,” Hongjoong says as he scans the room, looking for the best place to find a hidden key.

“It’s too easy,” Wooyoung continues. “He brings us here, kills most of us, shows up and gives a monologue, then says we can leave? This is definitely a trap. I don’t think we should leave this room…”

“Oh, we’re leaving. You’re not thinking clearly. We’ve been given an opportunity to go, and we need to take it.”

“Have you looked outside?! That’s gotta be, what, almost two meters of snow? You really think all eight of us are gonna make it back to town in this?! The snow is taller than we are, Hongjoong!”

“What’s our other option then, Wooyoung? Sit around and wait here until JYP dreams up our horrible deaths? Is that what you want? You wanna see Mingi get his fucking head chopped off? You wanna see Seonghwa get disemboweled?”

“Okay, that’s too far, Hongjoong,” Yunho tries to intervene, but neither Wooyoung nor Hongjoong is listening.

“And what do you want, huh? You wanna see Jongho’s fingers turn blue and have his tears freeze in his tear ducts? Want Yeosang to get turned around and get lost forever to the snow? We’re forty kilometers from town! We can’t make it that far!”

“We’re gonna get hypothermia in here, Wooyoung! The power’s out! We can’t make it until morning like this!”

Wooyoung slams his fist against the wall, “You need to listen to me, Hongjoong,” he seethes. “This is a trap. If we try to leave, we have no chance of making it out. He’s been playing with us all night, why would he stop now?”

“I need to listen to you?” Hongjoong laughs. “Who made you the boss? You couldn’t even look at Jiwoong’s corpse without passing out, and now you think you can lead us all out of here?” He runs a hand over his face into his hair and snorts. “You wanna be in charge, Wooyoung? You want my job? Be my fucking guest. I’m so fucking tired of being in charge. You think you can handle all the shit I have to go through on a daily basis? You think you can do this so much better than me? Go ahead.” He pauses and when Wooyoung does nothing, he continues, “No, seriously, go right on ahead. Be the one who has to keep his shit together and keep all of us alive while pretty much everyone we know is getting slaughtered all around us.”

Wooyoung buries his face in his hands and groans. “I don’t want your job, Hongjoong!” He drops his hands from his face and shakes them in front of him. “I just want to help you! You do so much for us all the time and I wanna help! I-I can’t do what you do. None of us can! But we all wanna help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Hongjoong gives Wooyoung a look that he doesn’t quite understand. His tone is angry, but his eyes look like he’s pleading with Wooyoung. “I don’t want you to worry about this,” he says through his teeth.

“If I could interrupt real quick,” Seonghwa starts, butting in between the two, grabbing both their hands and pulling them to sit on the couch. “Honestly, Hongjoong, I don’t really care what you want or what you need right now. We all love and appreciate everything you do, but you’re acting like a stubborn little bitch right now. You can’t do everything yourself. And you, Wooyoung, need to quit provoking him. You don’t know everything. You have your theories, yes, but you’re shooting in the dark just like the rest of us. We need to work together as all eight of us, not just you two constantly bickering!”

“We are not bickering-” Hongjoong and Wooyoung say simultaneously. They shoot each other daggers.

Wooyoung continues, “We’re just having a… spirited debate.”

Seonghwa scoffs. “Yeah? Well, you two are about to become spirits if you don’t get a fucking grip. We either all get out together, or not at all. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna die in this godawful hotel in the middle of fucking nowhere! So, get over yourselves or I swear to God, I’ll kill you both myself. I’m fine with six makes one team if you two want to keep being so selfish that you’d rather squabble about who gets to be in charge than work together. Got it?”

Seonghwa’s eyes are alight with rage and Wooyoung has truly never seen him so angry. Not even when he punched Kevin earlier tonight, but the only thing Wooyoung’s stupid gremlin brain can think right now is well, mark me down as scared AND horny, for real. But before he can say something he’ll regret later or Seonghwa gets the chance to follow through on his threat to kill him and Hongjoong, JYP’s voice breaks them all out of their tense bubble.

“Oh?” He stops and looks behind him at the eight young men staying perfectly still. “Aren’t you going to go? I will admit that you’re at quite a disadvantage since you haven’t already started, but you could still find the key.” Wooyoung looks around and sees that they’re the only group left in the drawing room. He doesn’t even want to think about what’s going on in the other rooms right now because he knows that whatever it is, it isn’t pretty.

He snorts. “And get killed?” he asks. “No thank you. You can’t trick us that easy, old man. We know there is no key.”

JYP turns around and appraises Wooyoung for a moment. He must like what he finds because his mouth quirks up. He’s pleased, and Wooyoung feels his stomach drop knowing that he was right. This was all just a trap.

“Oh, but the key is very much real, Mr. Jung. However, what lies behind the door once it’s opened… well, I sincerely doubt you want to find out. I commend you for figuring out my little trick. I want you boys to follow me.” He strides past them and beckons with two fingers. When none of them moves to follow, he says, “No tricks, no traps. At least not right now.”

Wooyoung looks to Hongjoong, currently unsuccessfully trying to hide that he’s worrying the side of his thumb between his teeth and bouncing his leg, for guidance. Hongjoong releases his thumb, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods. The two of them are the first to get up and follow JYP into the dining room.

The dining room looks exactly the same as it did when they left it earlier. Wooyoung isn’t sure why he thought it would look different, but he figured that with the chaos that transpired between then and now, something would have happened to make this room look less perfect. And, notably, the power is back on, at least in here. Relief floods his body as he’s finally back in a warm room and not just under a quilt. But he’s lucky; San didn’t give himself the layers that he gave Wooyoung, and he knows that San must’ve been freezing this whole time. He positions himself under the left side of a ceiling vent and quietly beckons San to join him.

“Oh,” San says mildly, peering up at the vent. “It’s warm over here.” His voice drops to barely more than a whisper and Wooyoung strains to hear him. “How did the power come back on?” San says as shakes his head and brings his head back down to look at Wooyoung. “Are you warming back up?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, crossing and rubbing at his arms to try to warm them up faster. “But what about you? You went out in the snow with me like a crazy person and didn’t even get yourself a coat. Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters absently as he turns around and lightly grabs Wooyoung’s shoulders, moving him back to stand under the middle of the vent. “You need this more than I do.” He stands off to the side and Wooyoung notices that San really does look fine. He can’t see any goosebumps and San isn’t shivering… is Wooyoung really such a wuss when it comes to the cold? Maybe he really should have listened to his mom when she said that being out in the cold will build up your constitution.

“You boys are a lot smarter than you’re given credit for,” JYP says as he stands behind the chair at the head of the table. He grips the finials and shoots everyone a dazzling smile. It makes Wooyoung sick to his stomach. “Almost reminds me of myself back in the day.”

He releases one finial and says, “Please.” He grandly sweeps his hand over the table, “Have a seat.”

Wooyoung looks to the others and thankfully none of them has moved. He doesn’t want any of them to be the first to sit down. JYP may have said no tricks or traps, but Wooyoung doesn’t really believe him.

“Ah,” JYP tuts. “I see you didn’t believe me when I said no tricks. Very well, I’ll sit first.” He pulls out his chair and lowers himself into it. After waiting a moment and seeing that no one has moved, he raises his eyebrows and gestures at the seats in front of him. Yeosang is the first to walk to the table, pull out a chair, and sit down. Wooyoung quickly follows because if the chairs really are traps and a secret door will open underneath to swallow the chair whole, he can’t let Yeosang fall alone.

He braces himself for the pain that jostling his wound while trying to sit down will bring, but just like when he got up earlier, the pain never comes. Once he’s seated, he lifts up his shirt to look at the wrapping around his abdomen, and it’s still slightly damp with his blood. He experimentally presses against the injury with a fair amount of force, expecting the pain to return, but it doesn’t. What the hell? Not that he doesn’t have full faith in Jongho’s wound-dressing abilities, but he doesn’t think that he should be this good.

Hongjoong tilts his head and mouths “What are you doing?” across the table.

What Wooyoung really wants to do is unwrap his stomach and see what the hell is going on, but that would draw too much attention to himself, so Wooyoung juts his head toward the head of the table and mouths back, “Distract him.”

“No way!”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and mouths, “Just do it, you baby.”

It’s Hongjoong’s turn to roll his eyes, but he turns in his chair to face JYP directly and asks, “So, what was all that bullshit you were spouting earlier? What’s behind the door?”

“Do you really want to know?” JYP whispers back conspiratorially.

“Uh… yes?” Hongjoong replies.

“It’s quite genius, really. You see, you give people the illusion of hope and they will behave in such fascinating ways…”

Wooyoung is only half-listening to what the man is saying as he carefully unravels his makeshift bandage. Once he’s finished unfurling it, he looks at the site of his wound, expecting to find a disgusting-looking gash, probably still oozing blood, but instead, all he finds is dried blood. He presses his fingers against the skin, trying to feel anything out of the ordinary, but his skin is completely smooth. He licks his thumb and uses the saliva to wipe away some of the blood, and he finds that his skin is unmarred by any knife wound.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? He repeats to himself as he keeps wiping his thumb over the area, unable to believe that it’s really just gone.

“What are you doing?” Yeosang whispers so quietly that Wooyoung almost can’t hear him. His eyes keep flitting between Wooyoung and JYP who is somehow still talking. This man can apparently yap until the cows come home.

“I think Jongho might be a witch,” Wooyoung says without looking up, still frantically scrubbing at his skin.

“Huh?”

“Look at this,” Wooyoung says as he points to his lower torso. “Notice anything missing?”

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops slightly before he schools his features back to neutrality so as not to draw any attention to them.

“Wooyoung, what the fuck?” he breathes out.

“Surprised that Wooyoung is healed now, Yeosang?” JYP suddenly interrupts, glass near his lips. “You really shouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asks, but Wooyoung thinks the question he should be asking is how did JYP even know what they were talking about? He’s at the other side of the table and there’s no way he should’ve been able to hear what they were saying.

JYP throws his head back and cackles for a frankly absurd amount of time before abruptly stopping and wiping the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, Yeosang, you’re so funny. This,” he says, gesturing to Wooyoung, “is what’s got you so worked up? You should be grateful that somebody managed to heal him.”

“Yeah, but how? There’s no way he should be fine right now!” Yeosang asks, voice rising more than Wooyoung has heard all night.

The other man frowns and turns to Hongjoong. “What was it you said earlier? ‘Are you really gonna look a gift horse in the mouth?’” At Hongjoong’s slightly confused nod, he returns to Yeosang.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” he says lowly. Not even a second later, his entire demeanor changes, returning to his excitable state.

“Jeeves! Get in here!” He hollers and Wooyoung whips around, trying to find whoever the hell this Jeeves is, but he doesn’t see anyone else around.

He suddenly hears a loud crack and when he turns to face the source of the noise, he sees the creepy butler storming past the door. The door now sports a massive gash, but Wooyoung can’t focus on how on earth the butler managed to do that, because the butler bites out, “I told you not to fucking call me that anymore. That’s not my name.”

JYP just rolls his eyes at this and airily laughs, “Bold of you to assume I know your name. Now do what you’re good for and bring us some drinks. I trust that I can depend on you not to fuck this up and bring the right ones?”

The butler heaves a deep breath and places his hand over his eyes, lightly squeezing his temples. “As you wish, sir.”

He stalks back to the door, disappearing behind it for only a second, before returning carrying a tray with nine glasses and a large decanter. He roughly sets the tray on the table and mutters something under his breath. He’s speaking English and Wooyoung thinks he hears something about a “fox bitch” but that doesn’t make any sense, so he must have misheard. The butler storms out of the room again, slamming the door behind him. Wooyoung isn’t sure how much more abuse that door can take.

He turns back and looks at the scene before him: the eight of them at a table with JYP in the dining room from Resident Evil 4, and he curses Jongho for speaking this scene into existence.

“You all impressed me tonight,” the older man says lightly, reaching out to grab a decanter filled with a dark red liquid. “You’ve handled everything remarkably well. And even with the stress the last few hours have brought, you’ve managed to stay a team. Truly fascinating.”

The liquid sloshes with his movement, but the sloshing doesn’t look quite right. It moves too languidly against the glass; thicker and more viscous than Wooyoung thinks it should be. The man pours it into an ornate glass and Wooyoung stares, completely transfixed. The glass is etched with a design that Wooyoung can’t decipher. It swirls and wraps around itself, like smoke…

“Ah,” JYP swirls his glass and brings it up to his nose, taking a whiff. “Delicious.” He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long drink. He looks directly at Wooyoung and his eyes gleam with something that Wooyoung doesn’t understand. Mirth?

Some of the liquid spills out of the corner of his mouth and he lowers his glass. He wipes the area with his thumb, but instead of really cleaning it up, he just smears the liquid down onto his chin. It leaves a stain, and the bright red spot doesn’t look like any wine Wooyoung has ever seen…

“But unfortunately for you,” he says, breaking Wooyoung out of that bizarre trance, “you need to keep your wits about you, so I kindly ask that you just have some water.”

He stands with the tray, giving everyone their own glass. Wooyoung doesn’t really want to drink it, knowing how gross the water here is, but he’s so thirsty that he decides to take the gamble. He brings to glass to his mouth and takes a small sip.

“Ugh!” he sputters, some of the water slipping from between his lips and running down his chin. “How’d the mouthfeel get even worse?” He’s met with silence as JYP sits back in his seat and carefully surveys the rest of the table. Wooyoung looks at the rest of the table and everyone has their glasses up to their lips, making similar faces of displeasure with the water. Then in almost perfect unison, they all set their glasses back on the table.

“All done?” he asks. “Very well. I’m sorry about the ‘mouthfeel’” he says with air quotes. “America doesn’t have the propensity for buying water in bulk at the store like Korea does, so the taste can be a little… unique depending on where you go.” Wooyoung honestly couldn’t give less of a shit why this water tastes bad, but he bites his tongue because the more time JYP spends talking, the more time Wooyoung has to think of a plan to escape.

“I do apologize for having to drug you, but the end of the party is quite… involved,” JYP has the audacity to look sheepish after admitting that he just drugged them and Wooyoung wants to smack himself for being stupid enough to drink the water. Of course it was drugged. Why wouldn’t it be?

“I can’t have all of you awake at once for the next phase. Surely you can understand. Although, considering what I gave you for dinner, I think drugged water is the least of your concerns.”

“What do you mean?” Jongho asks, remarkably calmly for having just been told that he was drugged by someone who is actively wanting to kill them.

JYP giggles behind one of his hands before delicately placing it back atop the other on the table. “You noticed that your meal was a bit… strange, didn’t you? The meat looked a little weird, maybe? Perhaps it didn’t taste like anything you’d ever had before…?”

“Oh God,” Jongho whispers, his face paling. “You don’t mean…” he trails off. Wooyoung feels his stomach drop.

Did I eat a person?! He thinks in abject horror and disgust. His stomach rolls and he cups his hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself from throwing up.

“Oh, not you, Wooyoung. Don’t be silly. Your meal was what you were told it was. For the rest of you though, well, let’s just say you had your first taste of your fellow man.”

Seonghwa, San, and Mingi immediately start retching, trying to force their dinner out of their stomachs to no avail. Yunho and Yeosang sit stock still, mouths agape, trying to process what they’ve heard. Hongjoong reaches over to hold Seonghwa’s long hair out of his face and Jongho places a hand on Mingi’s back, rubbing large circles into it while he shoots daggers at the man at the head of the table. He starts shouting but Wooyoung isn’t listening to what he says.

“Why not me?” Wooyoung asks but no one even looks at him. “Why not me?!” he shouts and JYP gives him a soft look.

“Because you’re the favorite, of course. We can’t have the golden boy going around having eaten a person! We have big plans for you.”

The others shoot each other confused glances and Wooyoung thinks he can hear Seonghwa say, “Oh God, poor Wooyoung” under his breath.

“Favorite?” Wooyoung asks faintly.

He wants to ask more questions, but his eyelids grow heavy, and his tongue suddenly feels leaden in his mouth. He looks at his friends and nearly all are becoming sluggish; their eyes are starting to droop. Hongjoong is the only one unaffected. 

“Ah, there we go. Now the best part of the night can finally begin.”

The room immediately erupts into chaos and Heeseung grabs Jake’s hand, whisking them in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” Jake asks, looking behind them to see if they’re being followed.

“As far away as possible! I’m not staying to see that bloodbath.”

Jake suddenly stops and Heeseung lurches forward, only just able to catch his balance.

“But where are we going? Right now, we’re just running toward the door out to the pool. You really think the key’s buried in the snow?”

“Maybe? If it is, we’d probably still be able to see the indents from his footsteps or where the key landed.”

Heeseung hears voices drawing closer to where they’re standing, so he yanks Jake’s hand, dragging him to the doors leading to the pool.

“Even if there’s no key, there’s another building out here we can hide in. We can let them kill each other and hopefully, they’ll have forgotten about us.” Jake stops them again and stands firm. Heeseung can’t get him to move.

“No, Heeseung that’s stupid. The conservatory is too far away, we won’t be able to hear anything and then someone else will find the key and leave. We should definitely hide, but we need to stay by the front door and ambush whoever has the key. Let them kill each other first, then we kill the last ones.”

Heeseung’s mouth falls open a bit in his surprise. “You’ve… really thought about this. I’m glad you’re with me and not any other group. I’ll let you lead.”

Jake quickly scans the room, holds a finger up to his lips, and tugs on Heeseung’s hand to guide them out of the drawing room. Heeseung looks and sees all eight members of Ateez still standing there in a circle, loudly arguing about something, and Heeseung hopes that they don’t find the key because he thinks it’s unlikely that just he and Jake can overpower all eight of them.

Jake quietly leads the two of them into the room where they ate dinner what feels like a lifetime ago, but instead of going to the stage as Heeseung figured, he instead goes to a small door off to the left that Heeseung hadn’t even noticed. He opens it and ushers Heeseung in before entering himself and carefully closing the door.

“Where are we?” Heeseung whispers.

“The coat closet, I think,” Jake answers and Heeseung hears him digging through his pockets until he pulls out his phone, turning on the light. “Yeah, we’re in the coat closet. I saw that girl bring some jackets in here earlier.” He lightly taps on the wall opposite the door and says, “This wall definitely butts up against the foyer. So, we should be able to hear everything that goes on out there. Plus, we’re gonna need some coats to walk back toward town in all that snow, so start grabbing whatever you can find. But do it fast, I shouldn’t leave the light on very long in case someone can see it through the cracks in the door.”

The pickings here are slim because it’s only early October; it isn’t supposed to be snowing this hard outside. Or even snowing at all. All he can see are some light jackets, but something is better than nothing, so he quickly grabs everything he can find and starts putting them on. He’s in the middle of shoving his arm through the sleeve of his second jacket when he swears he hears a gunshot and a round of screams. Holy shit.

“Do they have fucking guns now?!”

Jake immediately turns off his phone’s flashlight and whispers, “I mean… we are in America. It’s a lot easier to get guns here…” he trails off and Heeseung hears rustling coming from Jake’s side of the room.

“Okay,” Jake continues. “We need to be quiet, and we need to feel around for anything that can be used as a weapon. Maybe there’s a gun in here, too.”

“I don’t know how to use a fucking gun!”

“Shh!” Jake hushes. “I don’t either, but it can’t be that hard. People use guns all the time. Kids use guns! It can’t be rocket science, we can figure it out!”

“What if we can’t find anything?”

“Shit, I don’t know! We’ll have to go somewhere else! Now shut up and start looking! But be careful since it’s dark. Don’t cut yourself on anything.”

Heeseung carefully feels around the room, checking all remaining jacket pockets and random boxes he finds on the floor, but after he’s exhausted his half of the room, all he’s found is a small pocketknife. His search was interspersed with a few more gunshots, along with yelling and screaming, and he thinks that there probably aren’t that many people left. But all the noise is still far away, so he knows that no one has found the key yet.

“You find anything?” he asks, fidgeting with his new pocketknife.

“No,” Jake says sadly. “What about you?”

“I found a pocketknife but that’s it. Fat lot of good it’ll do against a gun though.”

“Well, shit. What do you wanna do? Stay in here and hope for the best or try to find the key?”

What does he want to do? Everyone sounds far away so they’re probably safe in here for now, but if they go out, they can find the key…

“Let’s stay in here a little longer. There’s still a lot of fighting so let’s let them get rid of each other while we’re in here, nice and far from them.”

“That’s smart, yeah. We can wait a few more minutes.” Jake doesn’t say anything else, but Heeseung can hear him sit down on the floor and he decides to do the same. He gives Jake his space and stays on his side of the room, but only partially for Jake’s benefit. Heeseung really wants to cry right about now, and he doesn’t want Jake right next to him when he does.

They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity but is in all actuality probably five minutes, and the tears that Heeseung so desperately wanted to release won’t fall. Neither he nor Jake has said anything and while Heeseung wants the silence to break, he doesn’t want to be the one to break it. They sit another few minutes and Heeseung starts to worry when the rounds of screaming and yelling get further and further apart. He stands and leans his ear against the wall, trying to listen for movement in the foyer and he is listening so intently that he doesn’t even notice that someone entered the ballroom.

The door to the coat closet flies open and Heeseung turns around, startled to see his friend Intak, covered in blood, one hand clutching his phone and the other holding a gun. A gun that is pointed right at Heeseung’s head. Heeseung’s mind is too slow to react as Intak drops his phone on the ground, stalks over to Heeseung, and grabs him by his neck, slamming his head against the wall. The sudden pain makes Heeseung drop the pocketknife he’d been holding, and it clatters to the floor.

Jake emerges from the corner of the room, grabs Intak’s phone so he can see what’s going on, and frantically shouts, “What are you doing?”

Intak whips his head around and points the gun at Jake. “Don’t fucking move or I swear to God, I will shoot you, Jake.” He turns his head back to Heeseung and slightly tightens his hold on Heeseung’s neck. He leans his forehead against the wall right by Heeseung’s face and takes a ragged breath.

“Look, I’m really sorry that it’s come to this, but everyone else is dead. So now I just have to kill you two and then I get to go home.” His voice cracks and Heeseung sees the hand holding the gun shake from more than just the strain of holding up the weapon.

“Intak, you don’t have to do this, okay? Let’s just talk. You have a gun, and we have nothing! It won’t hurt to just talk for a minute,” Jake pleads, stealing Intak’s attention away from Heeseung.

Heeseung claws at the hand around his throat while Intak is distracted listening to Jake. He knows he can’t move too much otherwise Jake will get shot, but he needs to get down so he can grab the knife.

“We can use that gun, and we can just kill JYP and then we all get to go home!”

Intak scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Are you fucking stupid? You saw what he did to Eric! You really think a gun will stop him? It’s either you two or me, and I’m choosing myself.”

Jake steals a glance at Heeseung and Heeseung mouths, “Keep going” so Jake asks, “Have you even found the key yet?”

“Well…” Intak pauses. “Not yet. But once you two are gone I’ll be able to find it in peace.”

Heeseung is almost there, he just needs a little more time with Intak distracted to get the last of his fingers off his neck and he sends as many mental messages as he can to Jake, begging him to keep talking and hoping that somehow Jake will be able to pick up on the requests.

“Look, I just saw sixteen people die right in front of me like it was the fucking Hunger Games, don’t make this any harder for any of us than it needs to be. It’ll be fast. I’ll aim right between your eyes; you won’t feel a thing.”

“Wait… there were more than sixteen people left. You said everyone else was dead. That’s not everyone.”

“What are you talking about? Everyone who was left is dead. We’re the only three left.”

That doesn’t make any sense. And what about Ateez? Heeseung thinks as he pries Intak’s ring finger away from his neck. Only one more.

“Who all did you see die?” Jake asks and Intak grunts in annoyance.

“Does it fucking matter? It was everyone left after JYP killed Eric.”

“Just answer the question. Who did you see die?”

“Ugh! Fine, I saw Haknyeon, Hyunjae, Jinyoung, Minhee, Hyeongjun, Seongmin, I.N., Rano, Wonjun, Yoshi, Asahi, Jungwan, Taerae, Yujin, Jiung, and Soul die right in front of my eyes. Happy now?”

“That’s not everyone, Intak. What about Ateez? There are eight of them left. You can’t take on all of them by yourself!”

Intak pinches his brows together in confusion and asks, “Who are you talking about? Who the fuck is Ateez?”

Heeseung finally pries Intak’s pinky away from his neck and is able to push off Intak’s hand. He drops to the ground to pick up the knife, but Intak sees what Heeseung grabs, and he fires the gun. Jake immediately falls to the ground as Heeseung slashes Intak’s neck with the little pocketknife. The blade isn’t long enough for the wound to be fatal, but it does cause the gun to fall from Intak’s hand. Heeseung puts the knife in his pocket so Intak can’t grab it and picks up the gun, aiming it at Intak as he walks over to Jake, hoping against hope that he’s still alive. He feels for a pulse and finds nothing. He’s dead.

The tears finally start to fall even as rage fills his body as he realizes that he’s the only one of his friends left alive. He stomps back to Intak and squats next to him, leveling the barrel of the gun between Intak’s eyes and firing. He doesn’t give Intak the time to say any final words, he just dies. He slumps back and drops the gun beside him as he lets out a heart-wrenching wail.

He doesn’t know how long he’s sat there next to Jake’s and Intak’s corpses, but eventually, the door to the coat closet opens and Heeseung sees the butler walk in.

He hums at the scene before him then tells Heeseung, “I honestly didn’t think it would be you.” He walks to where Heeseung is slumped against the wall and picks up the gun, handing it to Heeseung.

“Now, why don’t you do me a favor, son, and point that thing right between your eyes.”

“What?” Heeseung asks, even as his arm moves against his will to point the gun right at himself.

“Good. Now just pull the trigger, nice and easy, and all this will be over.”

“Please,” Heeseung begs through sobs. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Your pleas are worthless because mercy is a kindness I am unwilling to extend. Now pull the trigger before I make you do something worse.”

Heeseung lets out one final sob as his finger pulls the trigger.

“I can’t tell you how badly I’ve been looking forward to this. The eight of you are our most esteemed guests! We can’t have your deaths be like everyone else’s! Each of you has your own game curated specifically for you. We worked so hard; I do hope you appreciate it.”

The door opens and the butler peeks in his head. “Are they ready? It’s time,” he says.

JYP claps his hands together and squeals in delight. “Ooh! I’m with the final eight left standing! Well, at least for now. I would say I hope you’ve said your goodbyes to each other, but that wouldn’t be true. You’re much tastier when you die with regrets.”

Wooyoung tries to thrash in his seat or get his legs to cooperate to stand, but his body refuses to listen. The others except Hongjoong have already succumbed to the drugs coursing through their veins and though his eyes are barely open at this point, he swears he can see tears in Hongjoong’s eyes.

“And Hongjoong, you’re going to be the first,” is the last thing Wooyoung hears before the world goes dark.

Chapter Text

The first tear falls when Wooyoung’s eyes finally close. Hongjoong knew he’d tried to fight the sedatives coursing through his body for as long as he could, Wooyoung was the most stubborn person he’d ever met after all, but there’s only so much one’s strong will can do against drugged American tap water. He squeezes his eyes shut to staunch the tears because he doesn’t want this man to see him cry. He’s completely alone now and he needs to do everything in his power to keep calm. It’s the only way he can save everyone.

“Oh, Hongjoong, don’t look so cross with me,” JYP pouts, his head cradled between his hands, elbows on the table.

Who the fuck says ‘cross’?

Hongjoong can’t get over how strangely the man speaks. He’s met him before and he never sounded like this, so weirdly formal. Now he sounds like someone from that drama Yeosang and Wooyoung used to be obsessed with… what was it called again? He can only remember that the title has something to do with hearts and that IU is in it. Purple Hearts? No, that’s that stupid movie Seonghwa made him watch about the pretty girl with diabetes marrying that asshole in the military just to get his health insurance.

Oh fuck, Seonghwa! Hongjoong looks over and Seonghwa is still peacefully asleep; even unconscious he still looks so beautiful and elegant and… where was he going with this?

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Kim?” JYP raises a brow, and one corner of his mouth is upturned, like he knows something Hongjoong doesn’t.

Hongjoong forces himself to keep his eyes off Seonghwa, knowing that he shouldn’t give the man at the head of the table any leverage over him by exposing his weaknesses.

“Why am I the first?” He asks, changing the subject and trying to keep his voice from shaking.

The man’s brow arches even higher as he asks, “That’s really what you want to know?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “I figure this is something you’ll give me a straight answer on.”

The man furrows his brow for just a second, then smooths his face back to the disturbingly chipper expression he’s worn this whole time. “Very well. You were chosen as the first because of how much you care for the others. You would do anything for any of them, but if you’re the first one to go, you can’t protect them anymore. And how tragic is that? Even if you won’t admit it aloud, you would sooner dash yourself upon the rocks than let even the slightest bit of harm fall on any of their heads. So, we take you, throw you into your game, and tell you everything we’re going to do to everyone else. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.”

Hongjoong snorts in derision. “That’s fucking stupid,” he somehow manages to say with more bravery than he feels. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have me go last? Have me watch everyone else?” He inwardly cringes at himself for having given JYP another way to torture him. Why does his bravado have to divulge so much?!

The man smiles lightly and says, “No because if you go first, you’ll still think you can win. If you go last, all hope is gone. Sure, your grief will be sweet but seeing that stubborn bit of hope slowly fade from your eyes will be all the sweeter. And where’s the fun in letting you watch each other’s games? Not very exclusive if you get to see how Seonghwa goes out, but between you and me,” the man drops his voice to a whisper. “I get the chills just thinking about his.” He shivers and Hongjoong thinks he’s gonna be sick. “And I think you’ll find Yunho’s quite smashing.”

The vagueness of the statements forces Hongjoong’s admittedly overactive imagination to run rampant and, before he can stop himself, his mind supplies horrible possibility after horrible possibility. Images of Seonghwa impaled on a spike; images of Seonghwa hacked apart by that fucking creepy butler, his blood pooling underneath Hongjoong’s shoes, that beautiful face slowly turning lifeless; images of Seonghwa crying out for help as the water grows ever higher and he slowly drowns…

Hongjoong, get a fucking grip! He forces himself to stop catastrophizing because the longer he spends spiraling, the less time he has to think of some way to get out of this. He tries to subtly scan the table in front of him for anything that could be a weapon, even a makeshift one, but it seems that everything at least slightly dangerous has been removed. A high-pitched giggle forces Hongjoong’s gaze to the head of the table.

“Hongjoong, you can’t have seriously thought you were being sneaky! You zoned out for over a minute then suddenly you’re very interested in the table? I didn’t know you were so fascinated by linen tablecloths! Or is it the lovely table settings?”

Hongjoong glares at the man, but stays silent, furious at himself for having gotten caught.

“You silly boy, I know you’re looking for a knife and you’re not going to find one here. Not that it matters if you did, it’s not like it would hurt me. No, unfortunately for you, nothing in here will help you escape. But do feel free to continue to try. Like I said, your hope is absolutely delicious.”

Suddenly, the lights shut off, plunging Hongjoong back into total darkness. He stifles a gasp, making the man chuckle. “Afraid of the dark, Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong stays silent, not wanting to dignify the man with any response, let alone one tinged with fear because of course Hongjoong is afraid of the dark. Especially right now. He’d have to be stupid not to be.

He hears a chair scrape across the floor… actually, wait… he strains to listen more closely… and it sounds more like two chairs scraping across the floor and the door creaks back open.

“Can we get started now? You can’t talk all fucking night.” Hongjoong recognizes that voice: it seems the butler has come back once again.

“Ugh, Jeeves, you never did understand the beauty of a villain’s monologue. What good is his fear if he doesn’t know why this is happening to him? It’s so much more fun to taunt him!”

“You need to quit playing with your food,” the butler sternly says as two sets of hands grab Hongjoong’s arms and pull him up until he’s standing. Their grips on his upper arms are tight and they stand directly behind him; he can feel their chests rise and fall on his back. They walk forward and Hongjoong has no choice but to walk forward, as well. He tries his hardest not to stumble, almost immediately failing, but the grips holding up him are so strong that he doesn’t fall to the ground.

“So, how are we going to do this?” The butler asks after a few steps in silence.

“Well, we have options. We can drug him or one of you can knock him out.” JYP’s voice comes from in front of Hongjoong and… wait… in front of him? He whips his head around because if JYP is in front of him… who else is behind him?

There’s no light in the room so Hongjoong can’t see a damn thing when he turns his head around, including the identity of the other person holding him. He can’t tell much other than he’s being held by two men: the man on his left is gripping him harsher than Hongjoong thinks is necessary, so definitely that creepy ass butler and the man on the right is neither gripping his harshly nor gently. It’s perfectly neutral which frustrates Hongjoong to no end.

“No more drugs, he’ll take care of it,” the butler says as their footsteps slow down and they stop. Hongjoong wishes the other man would say something so he could see if he recognizes the voice, but he stays completely silent. He has no clue where he is because it’s so fucking dark and he wonders how the other men can see where they’re going.

“How long will the others be out?” JYP asks, which Hongjoong finds more than a little odd. If he’s in charge, shouldn’t he know these things…?

“However long they need to be. It all depends on how this one does,” the butler says, then lowers his head to whisper right in Hongjoong’s ear, “But I’m putting my money on him getting killed round one.”

Hongjoong feels two fingers come to rest on his right temple and he immediately loses consciousness, only held up by the strength of the two men restraining him.

“Hey, Hongjoong?” a manager pokes their head around the doorframe. “When you have a minute, the big boss wants to talk to you.”

Hongjoong sets down his phone and thinks, Why didn’t he just text me? He cocks his head to the side and asks, “Do you know what it’s about? Am I in trouble?”

The manager snorts and playfully rolls their eyes. “As if, Golden Boy. I think it’s about some promotional thing over in the States.”

“Hmm… okay.” He stands up from his chair and closes his laptop. He hadn’t gotten a lick of work done and maybe a change of scenery and a meeting with the CEO will jumpstart his motivation. Deep down he knows that’s wishful thinking, but he chooses to cling to a little bit of optimism as he leaves the room and walks to their CEO’s office.

Kim Gyuwook’s office is understated, much like the man himself. Hongjoong is grateful every day to have a reasonably normal CEO, one who cares so much about him and his members and not one who only cares about money. Hongjoong sits politely in the chair in front of the desk while Mr. Kim finishes his phone call; he tries not to ear hustle, but he has nothing else to do so he can’t help but listen in. Unfortunately for Hongjoong and his love of drama, the phone call is nothing salacious; he’s just telling someone to make sure there are plenty of vases for all the flowers.

The call doesn’t last too much longer after that and when Mr. Kim hangs up the phone, he greets Hongjoong with a warm smile.

“I appreciate you coming over so quickly, Hongjoong. I know how busy you are, but I came across something I hope you’ll find intriguing.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“It’s admittedly… last minute, but there’s a party in New York that I think will be… exciting for you.”

Why did he pause before saying exciting? He doesn’t want to press what is probably a nonissue, so he says, “Okay, yeah, we love New York City. Where is it?”

“Ah,” Mr. Kim sucks in air through his teeth. “The party isn’t in the city. It’s upstate in a charming little town.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong’s face falls, but then he thinks that a party out in the boonies could be fun; they’d be away from prying eyes and could have more freedom. “Well, who’s throwing it?”

“Oh,” Mr. Kim chuckles nervously. “That’s not important. The important thing is I think you’ll have fun! You boys deserve to let your hair down a little.”

“Um, all due respect, Mr. Kim, but I think it is important to know who’s throwing it. We don’t want a scandal on our hands if we go to a problematic person’s party-”

“Drop it, Hongjoong,” Mr. Kim says darkly, anger flashing across his face. Hongjoong winces slightly; he’s never seen Mr. Kim look this angry before. And just as quickly as the anger appeared, it disappeared again.

What the hell?

Mr. Kim acts like nothing happened, so Hongjoong will act like nothing happened. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. The other man shuffles some papers on his desk until he finds a white piece of cardstock sticking out of a purple envelope. He holds up the envelope and Hongjoong sees that there’s no return address and their company’s address was written in glitter gel pen. What the fuck?

“The invitation has the date backwards, so I almost thought we’d missed it, but thankfully it’s on October 7^th and not on San’s birthday,” Mr. Kim says, taking the invitation out of the envelope and handing it to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong turns the invitation over in his hands, a bit puzzled. He knows Americans put the month before the day just like they do in Korea, so why does this invitation have the date in the wrong order?

“Are they British?” He asks without looking up, still examining the invitation. It’s certainly maximalist, with a small army of graphics and fonts; it almost looks like it was made by a teenage girl. But the aesthetic is frankly awful so presumably made by a teenage girl who had never used a computer before and wanted to add everything she possibly could. Swirly bright purple bubble fonts and a concerningly high number of graphics featuring purple and black cats start to make his eyes hurt, so he sets it back on the desk.

“I…” Mr. Kim looks at Hongjoong in complete confusion. “Does it matter? I think this could be a fun opportunity for you.”

What? “Wait… you mean… you actually want us to go to this random party in Bumfuck, USA?”

“I do.”

“And you don’t see anything wrong with this? You get an unmarked envelope, and you don’t think ‘Huh, that’s weird. There might be anthrax in here, maybe I shouldn’t open it?’”

He snorts and says, “Hongjoong, don’t be ridiculous. Anthrax isn’t a thing anymore!”

“I- I don’t think that’s true,” Hongjoong slowly shakes his head. “But you open this unmarked envelope anyway and you see an invitation to a party in the middle of nowhere in New York, and you think, ‘Yeah, this is a good idea, they should go’?”

“Yes…?”

“What the fuck? No! This is a horrible idea! That’s how we gutted like a fish!”

“Hongjoong, you’re going. That’s final.”

“But-!”

“I said that’s final.”

“I-” Hongjoong starts, but at Mr. Kim’s raised eyebrow, he exhales heavily. “Okay, we’ll go,” he says, shrugging one shoulder.

As soon as he closes the office door, he pulls out his phone and shoots a quick text to the others telling them he has something to tell them. He leaves it at that, wanting to incite a little panic amongst the other members about what it is that he needs to tell them. He puts his phone back in his pocket and almost immediately feels it start buzzing with notifications, presumably the panic that he wanted to create. He doesn’t pull out his phone, but he can imagine the crazy scenarios they’re coming up with in his absence, and he can’t help but laugh a little at the thought. Sometimes Hongjoong lets the chaos gremlins win. As a treat.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wooyoung asks as soon as Hongjoong closes his mouth after telling them about their new plans.

“Wooyoung, I-” Hongjoong starts, but Wooyoung interrupts him before he has the chance to say anything more.

“No, seriously! What the fuck does he think he’s doing? Hasn’t he ever seen a horror movie? This is how we get gutted like a fish! I’m too pretty to die!” Wooyoung is starting to sound a little hysterical and, while Hongjoong understands because he feels the exact same way, he needs to try to calm him down. Because a panicking Wooyoung will create a panicking San and a panicking Seonghwa and the next thing Hongjoong knows, everyone will be panicking. He can’t have that, so he needs to nip it in the bud now.

“Woo, would I really let us go somewhere where something bad would happen to us?” He speaks softly like he’s trying to tame a wild animal, which he kind of is if he’s being honest. “I know it’s a little… unconventional and I know we would all rather stay here and enjoy our time off, but can we please just try to have fun? Who knows? We might have the time of our lives!”

Wooyoung shoots him an incredulous look and says, “Or we could speedrun the rest of our lives and die in fucking New York state.” Wooyoung isn’t budging from his anxiety-fueled pessimism, so Hongjoong silently pleads with Seonghwa to help.

“Wooyoung, don’t be ridiculous. You always say that the only season powerful enough to take you is Sagittarius season, and last I checked, we’re still in Libra season, so you’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Because the only season powerful enough to take me is Sagittarius season! I can’t die in fucking Libra season! Gross!” He pauses then whispers, “No offense, Jongho.”

“Wooyoung, what the fuck are you talking about?” Jongho asks in mild exasperation. “Is this more of that astrology bullshit you keep trying to get us into?”

“Bullshit? You know what? Actually, I mean full offense. I refuse to die in Libra season, so let’s fucking go. Right now, baby, I’m ready!”

Wooyoung was not in fact ready because none of them was ready. Their plane was scheduled to leave the next morning so that night was filled with a bit of frantic packing, mostly (read: definitely) just Hongjoong and Wooyoung because the two of them agreed that they needed to serve cunt, whereas Jongho was more concerned with just having clothes.

The next morning, Hongjoong does a quick final search of their apartment to make sure none of them has forgotten anything important. When he gets back to the living room and sees Wooyoung standing by the door, he immediately asks, “Wooyoung, aren’t you gonna bring a jacket?”

“I wasn’t going to; it’s been so hot everywhere lately. I checked the weather where we’re going, and it doesn’t look like it’s gonna get cold enough to need one.”

“Will you bring one just in case?”

Wooyoung chuckles and playfully rolls his eyes. “Okay Dad, I’ll bring a jacket.”

“Listen, I just don’t wanna hear you bitch and moan and groan about how cold you are while we’re there.”

“I do not bitch and moan and groan!”

“Right… just bring a fucking jacket.”

The jacket Wooyoung has wrapped around himself when he steps out of his room definitely serves cunt, but Hongjoong knows it’s not going to serve warmth. But they’re running late as is, so he just has to hope that it’s not too cold tonight.

God, what the hell happened? Hongjoong asks himself as he brings himself into a sitting position, hand braced against his pounding head. He feels like he got hit by a bus and he buries his face in his hands, groaning as he tries to get his bearings. The ground beneath him is cold stone and just a few inches away, a red, white, and gold rug runs the width of the room. He sees fresh blood splattered on the rug and quickly forces his head in the other direction. If he ignores the blood, it’s like it isn’t there.

He hears water flowing but he can’t tell where it’s coming from; he rises and walks toward one of two skinny arched windows and looks out, but all he can see is snow, softly glowing in the moonlight. He would think it beautiful if it weren’t so high up the window and if he weren’t trapped here with no power and probably about to die.

There’s an open room to his left and he walks in there, but all he finds is boulders and an unlit floor candelabrum. He returns to the main room and opens a wooden door, finding a table with a lit candle, and next to the candlestick stands a metal cylinder. He picks it up and turns it in his hand, trying to figure out what it is when he sees a small label with ‘tinderbox’ written in very careful handwriting.

“Where am I?” he asks aloud, pocketing the tinderbox just to be safe. This place seems vaguely familiar, but he can’t place the déjà vu. A breeze blows past him, chilling him even more than he already was from the delightful combination of both his abject terror and the current temperature in this room. He wraps his arms around himself and goes back out the door he entered and returns to where he woke up. He turns right and continues down the corridor, his anxiety rising with every step because things are a little too quiet right now. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it’s still not dropping. He walks farther down the corridor, not knowing what else to do and figuring staying still makes him an even bigger target, and looks at his surroundings. The walls are the same stone as the floor and there are heavy dark red drapes hanging on them. He can’t shake the feeling of knowing this place and it’s driving him crazy because why the hell would he recognize a place like this?

He sees two suits of armor at the opposite end of the new hallway he has entered and a large wooden door, easily twice as tall as he is. It sure as hell looks like an exit door to him, so he sets into a run, but as he approaches the suits of armor, he has to abruptly slow down as a wave of nausea and dizziness hits him. His vision starts to swim, and it takes him a few seconds to clear away the dizziness.

What the hell?

Once he’s sure he’s able to walk without falling over or running into any walls, he tries to open the giant wooden door. He pushes his whole body weight against the door, but it won’t budge. He supposes it was wishful thinking that this door would open, and he could get out of here, but realizing that doesn’t make his heart hurt any less.

As he rounds another corner, a massive gust of wind blows open the wooden door ahead of him. The sudden noise makes him jump and he places a hand on his chest, taking heaving breaths. He’s so on edge even though nothing has really happened. He keeps thinking he sees moving shadows out of the corners of his eyes, but when he turns to look at them directly, nothing’s there. He has got to calm down.  

He walks through the now-open door which directly leads to an ascending staircase. Fearing what lies ahead, but knowing there’s no escape behind him, he climbs the stairs, only to see that they lead him to yet another hallway. He’s beginning to think that this place is entirely comprised of hallways and no actual rooms.

He's taking his first few steps on level ground when he hears a rush of footsteps behind him but when he whips his head around, no one is there.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he repeats in a panic under his breath. He tries to calm his breathing, albeit unsuccessfully because ummm what the fuck??? He shakes his head, trying to force out the panic and he keeps walking, but quite a bit faster now. He notices more blood stains on the rug in this hallway and figures this either means he’s going the right way or he’s about to die. Probably both.

He rounds yet another corner and is hit with a wave of dizzying nausea so intense that he falls to the floor, groaning as he tries to get back on his feet but only succeeds in partially rolling over. It takes about a minute for his vision to come back and for him to feel kind of like a regular person again. He stands on shaky legs and wobbles for a few seconds as the world comes back into focus.

He holds his face in one hand as he slowly trudges onward through an archway and another gust of wind blows open another door. He peers into the newly opened room and it’s the most well-lit of any of the rooms he’s seen thus far. He finds it suspicious, so he instead turns around and goes through the doorway leading to a descending staircase covered in more blood. He has a feeling he’s supposed to follow the blood.

He does so, the blood leading him through more and more hallways and more and more stairwells until he reaches a massive stone foyer with staircases going up and down and more archways leading into new rooms in every direction. The blood leads him to the middle of the foyer and down one staircase. He hasn’t even taken the first step when he hears a woman’s scream, and he nearly pisses himself.

“Kumi?!” he yells, running in the direction of the scream. “Kumi, where are you?” Hongjoong realizes that he hasn’t seen Kumi since she came up to their room and he fears the worst. He checks every room he has immediate access to because the scream sounded nearby, but he finds no trace of Kumi. He’s probably too late.

He returns to the center of the foyer and fully descends the staircase, ending up in front of another door. He quietly opens it, and he sees a red substance stretching across the entire hallway. It’s blocking the whole hallway, so he tries to move it, but the slimy substance won’t budge. As he wipes his hand on his pants and tries not to think too hard about what it is that he just touched, he realizes that he’s seen this substance before. He just can’t remember where.

Since he can’t continue forward, he’ll have to find another way around, so he turns to go back the way he came when he notices a small bottle on the ground. He picks it up and inspects it, hoping to find another label like he did with the tinderbox. Sure enough, on a small label in the same very careful handwriting is ‘laudanum.’ Laudanum?

“Wait, laudanum… why the fuck do I know laudanum?” he wonders aloud and wracks his brain for what laudanum is and why he knows it. Suddenly, it hits him and his stomach drops.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

After a long day in the studio, hours spent poring over guides, poring over lyrics, all Hongjoong wants is to go home, crawl into bed, and not be seen or heard from for a few days. He wants his gremlin time and, thankfully, the next few days are free. As he keys in the code on the keypad and opens the door, he fantasizes about the relief he’ll feel in just a few seconds: finally getting to take off his shoes and nosedive straight into his bed. He checks his phone and, seeing the lateness of the hour, assumes that Wooyoung and Jongho are asleep, so he carefully toes off his shoes and puts them on the shelf. He sees light coming from the living room and hears noises coming from the TV and he chuckles to himself because Wooyoung has, once again, fallen asleep while watching TV. He bets it’s Pretty Little Liars. As he gets closer, he hears an all-too-familiar whine followed by “Woo, come on, this part isn’t even that scary! I’m just walking!”

“But something bad is about to happen!”

“Well… yeah… that is how horror games work, Woo.”

Neither Wooyoung nor San has noticed that Hongjoong has entered the apartment, too absorbed in each other, as per usual, and he feels a burst of energy rush through him at the thought of scaring the shit out of Wooyoung. He’s just too easy to scare. He tiptoes closer to the couch and from the glow of the TV, he sees that Wooyoung is buried under one of those blankets with holes so big that Hongjoong wonders how effective they really are and, though he can’t see Wooyoung’s face, he knows that he has it hidden behind his hands. It’s his usual position when San is playing one of those horror games he’s been so obsessed with lately. Hongjoong doesn’t know how Wooyoung does it: watching San play these games when he’s so obviously terrified… actually, Hongjoong does know how Wooyoung does it. He is so completely whipped for San that Hongjoong thinks he would brave any terror thrown his way for the chance to be near San. And not that Wooyoung’s affections are unrequited, quite the opposite in fact. He knows that San loves their song and dance, loves getting to comfort a terrified Wooyoung, even if he doesn’t realize that Wooyoung isn’t just being nice and listening to San wax poetic about crimson heads and Pyramid Head and frankly too many ‘heads’ for Hongjoong to keep up with. He wishes the two of them would get over their obliviousness and get to another kind of head, but he will admit, it’s amusing watching them be so completely and obviously in love with each other and so horrendously unaware that their love is returned. He’s pretty sure everyone on the planet knows, except for them. It’s adorably pathetic.

Hongjoong leans forward against the back of the couch, braces his hands on either side of Wooyoung’s head, brings his face down next to Wooyoung’s ear, and whispers, “Are you scared, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung screams and falls off the front of the couch onto the floor, as Hongjoong expected, but San is notably unaffected. Lately, San hasn’t really been scared of anything and Hongjoong finds that he misses weenie San. He guesses it’s just because his boys are growing up, which brings a whole slew of thoughts that he doesn’t want to think about right now. He still finds it strange though because sometimes San will act like he’s scared, act like he used to, but Hongjoong can tell that he’s faking.

Honestly though? That isn’t even the weirdest thing about San recently. Hongjoong hasn’t brought it up to anyone, much less San, because he isn’t quite sure how to go about it, but San straight up disappears sometimes. He’ll be gone for hours and then will come back, his face haunted, but assures everyone that he’s fine. He just went on a walk to “clear his head.”

San’s placations seem to work on everyone except for Hongjoong and Wooyoung, who always gives San the same look: one that Hongjoong can only describe as a heartbroken kitten. He can tell that Wooyoung is worried, too, but Hongjoong knows he isn’t the best at talking about… vulnerable things, so he hasn’t found a way to bring it up. Now certainly isn’t the time to bring it up though, as he’s too busy laughing over Wooyoung’s overreaction. He walks to the front of the couch where Wooyoung is still splayed on the floor and offers Wooyoung his hand to help him back up.

“God, Hongjoong, you scared the shit out of me!” Wooyoung breathes out and, upon seeing Hongjoong cracking up and San trying to hide a smile, he petulantly says, “It’s not funny!”

Hongjoong presses his lips into a thin line to try to suppress his laughter then he nods, “Of course not. It absolutely, one hundred percent, was not funny to scare the shit out of you and watch you fall off the couch. A hundred percent.”

Wooyoung takes Hongjoong’s proffered hand and, instead of using it to get up, he uses it to yank Hongjoong down on the ground with him. Wooyoung smoothly rolls out of the way, so Hongjoong has nothing to cushion his fall, and fall Hongjoong does. He lands with a groan and Wooyoung cackles, saying, “That’s what you get, you bitch!”

Hongjoong has half a mind to tackle him, and he decides to listen to that half a mind, taking advantage of Wooyoung’s gloating laughter to launch himself at him, forcing both of them back onto the ground. San tosses the controller onto the couch and kneels next to them, peeling Hongjoong off Wooyoung’s supine body, laughing, “Okay, okay, that’s enough! It’s too late for this shit! You’re gonna wake up Jongho!”

“He started it!” Wooyoung shouts, pointing a finger at Hongjoong.

“What was I supposed to do? Not scare you?” Hongjoong argues back.

“Yes! That is exactly what you were supposed to do!”

Hongjoong tuts and pouts, “Well that’s not as much fun. You’re just too easy to scare!”

Wooyoung opens up his mouth, no doubt to keep arguing, but at a look from San, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “Fine.” He holds out his hand and asks, “Truce?”

Hongjoong stands and once again offers his hand to Wooyoung, who accepts.

“Truce,” Hongjoong says, helping Wooyoung to his feet, then asks, “What are you two playing anyway? This game looks old as shit.”

Wooyoung dramatically falls onto the couch and hides himself under the blanket while San stands and asks Hongjoong, “Are you gonna stay with us and watch?” Hongjoong really had no intention of staying to watch, wanting to crawl in bed and rot for a little while, but San is too adorable to resist. He looks so hopefully at Hongjoong that he can’t find it within himself to turn him down.

“Yeah, but I’m not sitting between you two,” he says as he kicks Wooyoung’s feet to the side to get him to move to the middle.

“But I want the arm of the couch!” Wooyoung protests so vehemently from under the blanket and the image is so ridiculous that Hongjoong can’t help but laugh. He pushes Wooyoung over onto his side and rushes to the side of the couch, sitting down before Wooyoung can straighten back up.

“That’s just too bad, Woo. I’m not about to be between you and your mans. Curl up into him when you get scared, not me.”

From the faint light of the TV, Hongjoong sees Wooyoung duck his head lower and he just knows a flush is creeping onto his cheeks. Hongjoong really doesn’t mean to tease him this much, it’s just so easy.

“Hush!” San admonishes from the other side of the couch. “You’re ruining the ambiance with your arguing!”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes but stays silent as San resumes the game.

After a few minutes of watching San look around the room, he leans over and whispers to Wooyoung, “What game is this?”

“Amnesia: The Dark Descent,” Wooyoung whispers back. He leans toward Hongjoong, probably to lessen the noise that San would hear, and continues, “Basically, you wake up and only remember that your name is Daniel and that you’re from London. You find a letter from yourself saying you need to kill some guy named Alexander and then I guess you just walk around the castle until you find him. I don’t really understand what’s going on. But you have to be careful because if you spend too long in the dark, you’ll go crazy and die. You either have to find some light or drink something called ‘laudanum’ and then you’ll be fine.”

“Woo, that’s not how it works-” San starts.

“Ah, it’s close enough,” Wooyoung brushes off San’s comment.

“Okay… what’s so scary about that?” Hongjoong asks.

“Ugh!” Wooyoung groans and leans away from Hongjoong. “Neither of you gets it. It’s the vibes! They’re spooky!”

“Right…” Hongjoong says, settling back into the arm of the couch and watching the scene before him.

The game is so dark he can barely see what’s going on and he isn’t sure how San is able to play. He hears water splash but that’s all he’s got right now.

Oh, wait, he just didn’t have his lamp out. With the lamp now in Daniel’s hand, Hongjoong sees that he’s in a dark stone room filled with a shallow amount of water. There’s something on the walls that kind of looks like… well, he isn’t really sure. It’s red but it’s too… visceral to be blood. It looks like… organs or stretched-out skin. Gross.

“What the fuck, where is it?” San mutters as he makes Daniel jump from crate to crate.

“Where’s what?” Hongjoong asks.

“Shit!” San yells as he gets attacked by something, but Hongjoong doesn’t get a chance to see what it is. He quickly jumps back up onto a crate and pulls up an inventory menu. He checks his health and he’s apparently only “barely conscious.” He hovers over the laudanum, but Wooyoung starts talking before he has the chance to take it.

“You should just die and start over. Don’t waste your laudanum now,” he whispers, still hiding under the blanket.

“Yeah, you’re right,” San says as he makes Daniel jump back into the water and he is immediately attacked, causing a death screen to appear. It reads, “Keep out of the water…”

“Yeah, no shit ‘keep out of the water,’” Wooyoung snarks, seemingly a little braver now that the game isn’t playing.

“Wait, this game doesn’t have Korean subtitles?” Hongjoong asks.

“No… I can understand some of it, but we have to Papago a lot,” San says as the game loads back to the last save point. That seems like too much work to Hongjoong, but more power to them.

“Okay, now where is whatever’s splashing in the water? I can hear it, but I can’t find it…” San trails off, picking up a book and throwing it across the room. It falls into the water and Hongjoong sees the water splashing where the monster is walking toward the book, but he doesn’t see any monster.

“Ohhhhhhhhh, it’s invisible, that makes so much sense, okay,” San says, then goes quiet for a few seconds, looking around the room.

“No, no, no, turn back around. Look at the wall, San. There’s a lever,” Wooyoung says, bringing one of his arms out from under the blanket to point at the tv.

San pushes the lever up and the sound of old-timey gears turning starts to play. San runs out of the room, trying to stay in front of the monster, and Hongjoong wants to pay attention, he really does, because San and Wooyoung are so into horror games recently, but he’s exhausted so he starts drifting in and out. He hears faster water splashing paired with Wooyoung’s whimpers and whines of, “Sannie, close the door he’s gonna get you!” but he can’t keep his eyes open long enough to see what’s going on.

Eventually, he hears two loud sighs of relief and San saying, “I think it’s over, Woo, we’re back in the back hall.”

“Can we be done?” Wooyoung whines. “That was so scary.”

“Yeah, we can be done. Come here,” San says and Hongjoong feels Wooyoung shift until he’s nestled in between San’s arms at the other end of the couch.

“Should we wake him up?” Wooyoung asks quietly. “He doesn’t look very comfy right now.” Hongjoong is currently in that weird phase of sleep where he’s not fully asleep but he’s not awake enough to do anything other than listen. He knows that if he has just a little more time of not moving that he will fall asleep, so he really hopes they leave him alone.

“Nah, if he wakes up now, he might not go back to sleep. But what do you wanna do now? Do you wanna go to sleep?”

“No, too scared. Can we watch Pretty Little Liars?”

“You wanna watch Pretty Little Liars now?”

“We still haven’t met Spencer’s evil British twin and we’re almost done with the show! I have to know if people were just fucking around or if she really does have an evil British twin.”

“But the show isn’t even any good anymore. That time jump ruined everything.”

“Pleaseeeeeeee?” Wooyoung begs and if Hongjoong knows anything, it’s that San can’t resist a pouting Wooyoung, and sure enough, he hears HBO Max boot up on the TV and Wooyoung say, “Aww, I love you, Sannie. You’re so good to me.”

The last thing Hongjoong thinks before sleep finally overtakes him is that if these two dumbasses don’t admit their feelings soon, he’s gonna kill them.

It’s that damn game he watched San play with Wooyoung; that’s why everything seems so familiar. What did Wooyoung say it was called, Amnesia? He finds it a little silly that he can’t remember the full name of a game with ‘amnesia’ in the title, but he doesn’t have the time right now to appreciate the silliness. He currently has more pressing issues at hand.

But what does this mean? San’s been going on and on all night about how the rooms in the hotel are all from different video games, but Hongjoong is in an actual castle, not just a reproduction room. There’s no way he’s still in the hotel; there’s no room there for all the rooms, hallways, and corridors in which he’s found himself. Then he remembers what JYP told them earlier; that they each had their own particular ‘game.’ Was he being literal? Does Hongjoong have an actual game that he has to play? He thinks he does.

God-fucking-dammit. What all are you supposed to do in this game?

“Okay, laudanum keeps me from going crazy, what else did Wooyoung say?” he mutters absently.

He remembers that in the game, you’re supposed to kill someone named Alexander, but he has no idea who this Alexander is or where to find him or how to kill him. All Hongjoong has on him is a few tinderboxes, a lantern, and a vial of laudanum; none of these things really screams ‘weapon’ and he hasn’t seen anything else he can use to kill anyone. Fuck. He’s really in for it now.

He has no idea where to go or what to do but he can’t just stay in here forever, so he opens the door and steps through it. He hasn’t even taken his second step out of the room when a splitting headache blurs his vision and his ears start to ring. Through the blur, he can see the foyer shift in front of him and he feels water start to soak into his shoes.

When his vision clears, he’s met with near-total darkness, and he hears splashes growing louder and louder. Something swats at him and he’s able to move out of the way, but not entirely as claws tear through his shirt and scrape his back. Though he can’t really see, he can feel that he’s next to a box of some sort sticking out of the water, so he scrambles on top of it, and the splashing stops. He pulls a tinderbox out of his pocket and uses it to light the lantern, illuminating the room he's in and he curses under his breath. He knows exactly where he is; he’s in the invisible water monster level. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that the level he’s in is the only one he actually knows, and he should be grateful, but from what he remembers, this level was stressful and scary as hell.

What’s he supposed to do again? He remembers Wooyoung telling San about a lever and then having to run, but that’s about it. Wait, he remembers San throwing a book into the water and the monster went after it, so maybe he can throw something to get the monster to go away. He looks around and doesn’t see anything he can use as a distraction and he’s not sure if he’ll need the tinderboxes he has left or the vial of laudanum, but he’d rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them.

He knows that the lever is in the room directly in front of him, so he makes a break for it, jumping off the box and running through the archway, the monster close behind if the loud splashes are anything to go by. He jumps onto another box and catches his breath; somehow, he made it over here unharmed. He sees the lever and he pulls it down, activating whatever it is the lever activates. He just knows that the sound he hears is on a timer and he needs to be fast. He grabs a book and throws it in a corner far away from the archway so the monster will be as far away from him as possible. When the monster is in the corner, Hongjoong hops down and sprints like a bat out of hell through the archway and to the right.

He runs, but he doesn’t know where he’s going; he’s operating solely on his gut instinct. The way forward has so many turns, but he just has a feeling that he’s going the right way. The hallway opens up to a large room and he’s not exactly sure where to go, but the monster has caught up to him, so he darts forward and climbs on another box.

Thank God it can only attack me in the water. He steps on something squishy and looks down to see that he has just stepped on a dismembered torso lying next to a dismembered arm and a leg and he feels bile rise up in the back of his throat. He remembers that the monster will get distracted if it eats meat, so he’s gonna have to throw the torso.

Great. Just great.

He swallows the bile back down and he throws the torso as far away from him as possible; it lands with a loud splash and the monster immediately turns and starts walking toward it. Hongjoong quietly gets down and creeps toward the wheel that will open a gate that leads him to the next area. He turns it as the monster tears into the rotten flesh, willing the gate to open faster. When he can get through, he runs faster than he’s ever run before. He remembers Wooyoung frantically begging San to close the doors to slow the monster down, so he slams shut every door he passes through. He hears the monster heaving its body weight against the wooden doors until they splinter, but he doesn’t allow himself to look back. This monster is fast, and the water is only slowing him down, so he doesn’t have time to stop and stare.

He throws open another door and this room has obstacles hindering his ability to run away, because of course it does: there’s overturned furniture everywhere. It’s like a minefield and he doesn’t have time for minefields! He leaps over fallen chairs but stumbles over one and the monster catches up to him, slicing into his back. Fiery pain blazes across his back as he scrambles to get up and keep running; he can’t stop now. His lantern was doused by his fall into the water but thankfully there are candles on the walls so he can see. He curses the water because he would be so much faster if he didn’t have to wade through all this water and he forces himself to run even harder. He runs into a room filled with more bookshelves and he sees a door. He throws his weight into it to open it, but it’s locked and won’t budge.

“Fuck!” he screams as he jumps onto a box, just narrowly missing the monster’s strike.

He frantically searches all around the room for a key, but he can’t find anything. He was asleep when San was playing this part, so he doesn’t know where the key is, and tears spring in his eyes because he’s badly hurt and he doesn’t know what to do. The monster continues to stalk around the room, its splashes the only thing Hongjoong can hear above the roar of blood coursing through his veins. He takes a deep breath and forces the tears away, taking another look around the room. He sees something glowing on the bookshelf and reaches out to pick it up. It’s a needle and he thinks he can use it to pick the lock, but the monster is right in front of the door. The bookshelves are all empty and with nothing else to throw to distract the monster, he makes the decision to throw his tinderboxes. He prays that he won’t regret that later, but as the tinderboxes fall into the water, the monster walks away from the door giving Hongjoong the chance to pick the lock and get out of this room.

He doesn’t really know how to pick locks, so he just shoves the needle into the keyhole and hopes for the best, jiggling it around. Thankfully it works, and he’s able to open and close the door behind him. There’s no water in this room, making him heave a huge sigh of relief. He did it! He beat the level! He really hopes that this is it and he doesn’t have to play more of the game because this level is the only section he knows.

With the adrenaline wearing off, the pain in his back comes back in full force and he digs the vial of laudanum out of his pocket. Wooyoung said it would restore his health and his sanity in the game, so Hongjoong hopes that it’ll do the same thing in real life. He brings the vial to his lips and downs it in one gulp, grimacing at the taste. But almost immediately, the pain in his back starts to fade until he doesn’t feel it anymore. He walks up the stairs, which lead him into yet another foyer, but at least this one isn’t dilapidated, and it has a nice fountain in the middle. He can see a glint coming from the middle of the fountain, which Hongjoong thinks must mean that there’s something important there, like the glinting needle in the last room. He steps into the fountain and reaches out to touch the glint. As soon as he does though, the floor drops from underneath him, and he starts to fall.

Hongjoong knows that he’s been snappier with Wooyoung than usual this evening, but Wooyoung is seemingly bound and determined to get them all killed. Hongjoong wishes that Wooyoung would just let him take the reins so he can keep everything under control, but what he doesn’t want to admit to himself is that Wooyoung is probably the better-equipped of the two to handle this. He’s showing remarkable leadership abilities and out of everyone, he is the best at solving mysteries… but that doesn’t mean that Hongjoong has to like it. He knows that Wooyoung is scared, and he wishes that he could handle this all on his own so Wooyoung and the others don’t have to, but Hongjoong can’t always get what he wants.

He even fought with Seonghwa tonight, which makes his heart ache, and they couldn’t resolve anything because bodies started falling down stairs and out of windows right in the middle of their argument. But what else was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to care about everyone here when all he could see was Seonghwa’s face in Jiwoong’s corpse? When his mind kept dreaming up horrible fates for seven of the people he loves the most? Hongjoong isn’t heartless, but he can’t care about everyone. He has to keep them all safe. That’s his job: he’s the captain, he needs to make sure that all his men stay on the ship.

Then Wooyoung got fucking stabbed and didn’t tell him. He wants to be angry, but he knows that isn’t fair; he has kind of been an asshole all night. Wooyoung was probably just too scared to tell him, which… understandable. He’s still not happy though. The two of them are going to have to have a long heart-to-heart when they get home… and he’s really not looking forward to it.

Focus, Hongjoong! He forces himself to quit ruminating over how the night has gone so far because he was just given both literal and metaphorical keys to their escape courtesy of the man who brought them here in the first place: Mr. Park Jinyoung himself. As he plans where to go to look for this key, he hears Wooyoung mutter, “This-this doesn’t make any sense. Why would he let us go? We’d just tell the police.”

Hongjoong continues to scan the room, seeing where everyone else is going and trying to think of the best places to hide a key. “Are you really gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, Wooyoung?” He asks without looking at Wooyoung. “He’s letting us go. We need to find that key.”

Wooyoung clearly isn’t convinced. “It’s too easy. He brings us here, kills most of us, shows up and gives and monologue, then says we can leave? This is definitely a trap. I don’t think we should leave this room…”

Hongjoong scoffs and rolls his eyes; Wooyoung thinks way too much. “Oh, we’re leaving,” he says. “You’re not thinking clearly. We’ve been given an opportunity to go, and we need to take it.”

“Have you looked outside?!” Wooyoung asks. “That’s gotta be, what, almost two meters of snow? You really think all eight of us are gonna make it back to town in this?! The snow is taller than we are, Hongjoong!”

Hongjoong feels his temper flare because Wooyoung just. Doesn’t. Get. It. He wants to be right so badly that he’s willing to overlook a golden opportunity to STAY ALIVE just to say ‘I told you so.’ And Hongjoong has had it with the added stresses Wooyoung keeps piling onto him with the best of intentions and he bitterly shouts, “What’s our other option then, Wooyoung? Sit around and wait here until JYP dreams up our horrible deaths? Is that what you want? You wanna see Mingi get his fucking head chopped off? You wanna see Seonghwa get disemboweled?”

Yunho steps between the two of them, holding a hand out to Hongjoong, saying, “Okay, that’s too far, Hongjoong,” but neither he nor Wooyoung is listening.

Wooyoung’s nostrils flare and his eyes widen as he says, “And what do you want, huh? You wanna see Jongho’s fingers turn blue and have his tears freeze in his tear ducts? Want Yeosang to get turned around and get lost forever to the snow? We’re forty kilometers from town! We can’t make it that far!”

God, he just doesn’t get it! He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to steady his breathing to calm his anger, but he’s not very successful. “We’re gonna get hypothermia in here, Wooyoung! The power’s out! We can’t make it until morning like this!”

Wooyoung slams his fist against the wall and Hongjoong winces internally. That looked like it hurt.  “You need to listen to me, Hongjoong,” he seethes. “This is a trap. If we try to leave, we have no chance of making it out. He’s been playing with us all night, why would he stop now?”

Oh, that’s rich. “I need to listen to you?” Hongjoong laughs. “Who made you the boss? You couldn’t even look at Jiwoong’s corpse without passing out, and now you think you can lead us all out of here?” He runs a hand over his face into his hair and snorts. “You wanna be in charge, Wooyoung? You want my job? Be my fucking guest. I’m so fucking tired of being in charge. You think you can handle all the shit I have to go through on a daily basis? You think you can do this so much better than me? Go ahead.” He pauses and for once, Wooyoung is silent. “No, seriously, go right on ahead. Be the one who has to keep his shit together and keep all of us alive while pretty much everyone we know is getting slaughtered all around us.”

Wooyoung buries his face in his hands and groans. “I don’t want your job, Hongjoong!” He drops his hands from his face and shakes them in front of him. “I just want to help you! You do so much for us all the time and I wanna help! I-I can’t do what you do. None of us can! But we all wanna help you.”

Hongjoong feels tears prickle in his eyes, and he wills them away. There’s so much that he wants to tell Wooyoung; that he does help, all the time, just by being himself, but he doesn’t know how to say it. And even if he did, now certainly isn’t the time.

“I don’t need your help,” Hongjoong says, trying not to start crying. He wants Wooyoung to understand that he would walk through flames to keep him and the others safe, that they are his responsibility and a responsibility he gladly bears. He would carry the weight of the world, so Wooyoung doesn’t have to carry a thing. But he can’t say that.  

“I don’t want you to worry about this,” he says through his teeth instead.

“If I could interrupt real quick,” Seonghwa starts, butting in more successfully than Yunho between Hongjoong and Wooyoung, then grabs both their hands to pull them to sit on the couch. “Honestly, Hongjoong, I don’t really care what you want or what you need right now. We all love and appreciate everything you do, but you’re acting like a stubborn little bitch right now. You can’t do everything yourself. And you, Wooyoung, need to quit provoking him. You don’t know everything. You have your theories, yes, but you’re shooting in the dark just like the rest of us. We need to work together as all eight of us, not just you two constantly bickering!”

“We are not bickering-” they say in unison and turn to glare at each other.

“We’re just having a… spirited debate,” Wooyoung says.

Seonghwa scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah? Well, you two are about to become spirits if you don’t get a fucking grip. We either all get out together, or not at all. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna die in this godawful hotel in the middle of fucking nowhere! So, get over yourselves or I swear to God, I’ll kill you both myself. I’m fine with six makes one team if you two want to keep being so selfish that you’d rather squabble about who gets to be in charge than work together. Got it?”

Hongjoong has never seen Seonghwa angrier than he is right now, not even when he goes a few days without eating real food, only surviving on coffee when he’s hard at work at the studio. Honestly though? It’s kinda hot.

But JYP’s voice breaks him out of his Seonghwa reverie, saying, “Oh? Aren’t you going to go? I will admit that you’re at quite the disadvantage since you haven’t already started, but you could still find the key.”

Hongjoong looks around and flushes when he realizes that everyone else has left and he had no idea.

Wooyoung snorts and bitterly asks, “And get killed? No thank you. You can’t trick us that easy, old man. We know there is no key.”

JYP looks Wooyoung up and down, a small smile on his lips. It makes Hongjoong feel sick to his stomach.

“Oh, but the key is very much real, Mr. Jung. However, what lies behind the door once it’s opened… well, I sincerely doubt you want to find out. I commend you for figuring out my little trick. I want you boys to follow me.” He strides past them and beckons with two fingers. When none of them moves to follow, he says, “No tricks, no traps. At least not right now.”

Hongjoong isn’t so sure. His leg starts bouncing and he chews on the side of his thumb as he thinks about what to do. Wooyoung doesn’t say anything, instead looking to Hongjoong to make the decision and those tears threaten to return.

He releases his thumb from between his teeth, closes his eyes, shakily takes a breath to try to calm down, and nods. They need more information and JYP is the best person to get it from. Wooyoung stands and the two of them are the first to follow JYP into the dining room.

I would die for you in a heartbeat, Jung Wooyoung. But I hope to God I don’t have to.

Hongjoong falls. And falls. And falls some more. Wind whips past him and the deeper he falls, the darker his surroundings and the smaller the light above him becomes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been falling, and he can’t see how much he has left to fall, but he tries his best to brace himself for impact as he flails around.

He finally hits the ground, first landing on his shoulder and upper arm, and hears sickening cracks as the most pain he’s ever felt in his life shoots across the left side of his body. His head slams against the ground at the same time, disorienting him and making his ears ring. The blinding pain coursing through his body makes him oblivious to a hole opening in one of the walls and a steady stream of water starting to flow in.

He rolls over to lie on his back and alleviate some of the pressure on his mangled left side, but the simple act of rolling over brings so much pain that he screams in agony. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but by the time the pain has subsided just enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s about to die, his voice is hoarse.

“Hongjoong?”

It takes nearly everything in him just to open his eyes and though his vision is blurry, he can see a head full of bright orange hair and he feels a flicker of hope. Kumi! She can help me.

“Oh God, Hongjoong! What happened to you?”

“I…” he takes a ragged breath. “Fell,” he finishes.

“Can you… get up?” She asks. “I don’t want to hurt you by trying to lift you.”

Hongjoong nods his head and immediately regrets it, the movement setting off a wave of nausea and he knows he’s got one hell of a nasty concussion in addition to his definitely broken humerus and shoulder blade. But considering how long he fell, he’s surprised he isn’t dead. He slowly lifts his body, using his good arm for leverage until he’s in a sitting position.

“How’d you get down here?” He asks as Kumi crouches down in front of him. Hongjoong hadn’t noticed it before, but while she’s pretty, there’s something a little inhuman about her. He can’t put his finger on it, but her appearance is just a little off.

She slowly reaches her hand toward him, warm smile on her face, and then Hongjoong suddenly feels five sharp barbs of pain in his injured shoulder. Kumi’s smile has grown wider, a little too wide for a person, and her eyes have turned completely black.

“Who do you think is doing this to you, Hongjoong?” She asks sweetly, her saccharine tone belying the fact that when Hongjoong looks down at his shoulder, he sees actual claws sticking out from the ends of her fingers and into his flesh.

He shudders a gasp at the sharp pain only adding to the already intense pain he was feeling and breathily asks, “What? You’re working with JYP?”

“You were right not to care about me earlier, when Wooyoung was worried about me,” she says, not answering his question, and digs her claws deeper into his skin. She brings her face a little closer to his and cocks her head to one side.

“But then I heard you call out for me when you heard that scream. Imagine my surprise because one would think that you don’t like me all that much, but you’re just a big old softie under that prickly exterior, aren’t you?”

Hongjoong starts to protest, but she holds a finger to her lips and shushes him. “You can’t hide from me, Hongjoong. I know everything you’re thinking. Now get up.” Claws still buried in his shoulder, she picks him up under his armpit with her free hand and lifts him until he’s standing.

“Are you gonna kill me?” He whispers.

She withdraws her claws and licks his blood off of them, making him recoil.

“No,” she says plainly. “I’m just here to watch.”

“Watch what?”

“Well, watch you die of course,” she says, sounding confused. “You may have done everything right in phase one, but we can’t let you out of here. You’re not one of the ones who gets out of this.”

“What do you mean I’m not one of the ones who gets out of this?”

She looks at him with something close to pity and says, “Oh, Hongjoong, there’s so much you don’t know.” She sighs and smooths some of his hair out of his face. “You look so pathetic right now I almost want to tell you; I love a pathetic little man. But I can’t; I hope you understand.” She doesn’t answer his question. Typical.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, ignoring the ‘pathetic’ comment, and instantly feels annoyed with himself because does it really matter why she’s doing this? Wooyoung would say yes, it does matter, but Hongjoong thinks it’s a waste of a question. She’s doing it, that should be enough.

“I have a debt to repay,” she says cryptically. “Your soul is just a bonus.”

Well, that was no help at all.

Hongjoong feels water start to seep into his shoes and he finally notices the hole in the wall, flooding the room with dark water. It’s as though as soon as he notices the water, it starts to enter the room faster. He looks around for a door, but all the walls are solidly stone.

“How do I get out of here?”

She points upward to the top of the well. The light looks so far away, but he notices a rope not too far up the wall. If he could just climb up high enough to grab it…

“Hey, can I get something to sit on in here?” Kumi calls out and a tall table materializes. Hongjoong doesn’t even want to begin thinking about who she was talking to or how this table showed up out of thin air.

Kumi hops onto the table and tells Hongjoong, “You might wanna get a move on. I really doubt you want to spend too much time in here.” She looks around the room and shudders. “I know I don’t.”

Hongjoong surveys the room, trying to figure out his best course of action. Kumi makes no moves to do anything to either help or hinder him, which he supposes he should count as a blessing. There’s a random assortment of furniture in here and he thinks he can stack the pieces high enough that he can jump up and reach the end of the rope. He’s a little apprehensive though because this furniture looks busted as hell; he isn’t sure how much weight, if any, it can bear. It also looks heavy and he’s working with only one arm, so he thinks he should only try furniture stacking as a last resort. The stones aren’t all flush, so surely he can just climb up the wall, right? He spies a stone jutting out slightly from the wall and tries to balance his toes on it, but his foot immediately slips off. He tries to find a stone that sticks out far enough to use as a foothold; his foot slides over the wall and catches on the corners of some stones, but none is deep enough to stand on. He finally finds a stone that can bear his weight, and he climbs up, but he doesn’t make it very far before he slips and falls back to the ground. The impact sends pain up his calves and his arm flares with pain. He isn’t sure how many times he can fall. But he tries again, carefully examining stones and slowly working his way up.

“Do you think this is how the rat in the bathtub felt, Hongjoong? Trying so hard to escape, only to fail every single time?” Kumi asks as she crosses a leg over her other knee and examines her fingernails.

“What?” Hongjoong asks as he slips yet again, yelling, “Fuck!” because that was the farthest up he’d gotten.

He hears faint splashing nearby and freezes.

Oh God, not again!

“In Paris. In Mingi and Wooyoung’s room. The rat in the bathtub, don’t you remember?”

“Shh!” Hongjoong hushes as he peers into the water, trying to see where the splashes came from. He feels the slightest pinch on his ankle but elects to ignore it in favor of more pressing issues.

Kumi rolls her eyes and says, “It can’t hear us, Hongjoong. Or, well, maybe it can, I really don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I asked you a question though, do you remember the rat in the bathtub?”

Does he? He wracks his brain and a distant memory of being in Paris and seeing a rude and burly Frenchman stomp a rat to death comes to him. Another pinch, this one a little more painful.

“I remember! I remember!” He frantically answers as he turns his attention back to the wall, trying to find foot and handholds. He doesn’t know what’s in the water with him, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“So, let me ask you again: do you think this is how the rat in the bathtub felt, Hongjoong? Trying so hard to escape, only to fail every single time?” He feels a sharp pain in his calf; it feels like something just took a bite out of him.

“I-I don’t know!” He cries out as his fingertips slip off the too-smooth stone yet again.

“Hmm,” she hums. “I guess that raises the question if rats are capable of fear like we are. Do you think the rat knew it was about to die or does it not have the brain capacity for thoughts that complex? Do you think rats understand the concept of death?”

“Does it really matter?!” He shouts, then winces as he feels another bite on his calf. He pushes Kumi to the side of the table and hops up there with her, lifting his leg out of the water and pushing up the bottom of a pantleg to inspect his calf. Blood flows from multiple wounds, increasing in size as they travel up his leg. The highest wound is definitely a chunk of his flesh missing. He needs to get out of here. Now.

“Well, I see you’re not the philosophical type,” she says as she pushes him off the table and he stumbles back into the water. He feels something big and slimy brush past his leg before he feels the most painful bite yet. “I should ask Yeosang what he thinks; he seems more likely to have an intelligent conversation with me.”

“Don’t you fucking touch Yeosang,” he seethes, trying not to show how much pain he’s in.

“Ooh, getting a little feisty, are we, Hongjoong?” She reaches out toward his face and drags a claw down his cheek, saying, “And who’s going to stop me, hmm? You?”

Hongjoong bats her hand off his face, forcing her claw to cut sideways into his ear. “I’ll fucking kill you if you so much as think of laying a hand on him.”

She brings the claw to her mouth to lick off the blood and darkly says, “Cute.” She puts both her hands behind her and leans back, not saying anything more.

Yeah, go ahead and make yourself comfortable.

“I will, thank you.”

Somehow, her being a mind reader is unsurprising and also the least of his problems. The water reaches his hips at this point, and he screams when a bite is taken out of his upper calf. He’s running out of time, and mangled arm be damned, he’s going to move this furniture. He wades through the water, trying to move as fast as possible because this beast in the water is only growing more aggressive, biting his thighs three times in quick succession. He doesn’t really know much about anatomy, but he’s pretty sure there are important blood vessels in his thighs, so he needs to work quickly.

He climbs on top of what looks like a side table just to get out of the water and scans the room, trying to figure out the biggest and heaviest piece of furniture to use as the base. He settles on using the wardrobe and he makes a plan to push the table against the wardrobe. There are crates and barrels everywhere in here, but the wardrobe is too tall for him to get the crates and barrels up there unassisted, so he’ll have to put them on the table, then climb on top of the table, then lift the crate to the top of the wardrobe. He just has to hope that he’s fast enough to get this built before the water gets too high and the wardrobe starts to float.

He jumps off the table and decides to swim to the crates he wants to grab, choosing to take the risk of his upper body getting bitten rather than trying to wade through the waist-high water. He almost immediately regrets it as the creature takes a massive bite out of his injured upper arm, the pain nearly blinding him, but he can’t stop. He has seven other people he has to save. He feels around for the wooden crate and once it’s located, he grabs it and returns to the table as quickly as possible.

Thankfully the creature spares him on this pass and Hongjoong tosses the crate onto the table, clambering up behind it. He stands and with his good arm lifts the crate to the top of the wardrobe. The crate takes up almost the whole top of the wardrobe, but he presses it flush against the wall of the well to leave enough room for him to climb up. He jumps back down to the table and gets into the water again to grab another crate. When he heaves the second crate onto the wardrobe, he hears the wood splinter and crack, which makes his anxiety spike because if it’s already splintering with only two crates, what’s going to happen when he adds more plus his body weight?

He looks up to the rope and he thinks he just might be able to reach it if he only adds one more crate. Sending up prayers to gods he isn’t sure he believes in, he jumps back into the water a final time and the water now reaches his chest.

“You think you’ll be tall enough, Hongjoong?” Kumi asks, still perched on her table that seems to grow with the water, always keeping her just out of it.

He’d honestly forgotten that she was here, she’d been so silent. He wishes she’d go back to her silence because her talking only distracts him.

“How tall are you anyway? 172 centimeters? It’s a good thing short kings are in right now,” she continues as she brings up her legs to sit crisscross applesauce.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” He asks as he grabs the final crate. While he’s grateful that the creature in the water has decided to leave him alone and quit biting him, he does find it a bit odd, and it makes him more than a little nervous.

“You don’t have to be so rude, you know.”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond, hoping that his silence conveys his disdain well enough.

He lifts the final crate on top of the wardrobe and clambers up behind it. He winces as the wardrobe groans beneath all the weight, and he carefully but still quickly climbs to add the final crate to the top of the other two. He climbs to the top of his tower and the crates wobble beneath him. He braces a hand against the wall, trying to keep his own body steady, but it continues to shake, no doubt caused by the exertion of lifting all these crates, his terror, his existing injury, and, most importantly, his probably crazy amount of blood loss resulting from all the bites he’s sustained. He reaches his good arm up toward the rope but it’s just ever-so-slightly out of reach. He stands on his tiptoes and stretches his body as far as it will go and his fingertips graze the bottom of the rope, but he can’t grip it. He lowers his feet back to the ground and pounds his fist against the wall.

“Fuck!” He cries out both in frustration and pain because goddamn that hurt. The crate tower continues to wobble and the wardrobe continues to splinter and Hongjoong has to make a decision now: does he risk going back down and getting another crate or does he try to jump up to grab the rope? He just needs a little more height, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll be able to grip the rope even if he does get the height. And if he misses, the force of his feet slamming back against the crate tower will almost certainly cause it to topple. But going back into the water to get another crate isn’t appealing either. He runs the risk of getting a debilitating injury from the creature, the water continues to rise and he thinks it’s almost high enough to knock over the wardrobe, and another crate could cause the wardrobe to break. He weighs his options and decides to take a quite literal leap of faith; he just hopes he isn’t about to make a fatal mistake.

He outstretches his arm as far as it will go, directly under the rope and poises his body to jump. He springs from the top of the crate tower and at the same time, the wardrobe finally breaks, sending the crates toppling back into the water. He grabs the rope, but he can’t get a good grip in time, so it slips out of his hand. He falls back down, but his body is tilted too far back so he can’t land on what remains of the wardrobe. He hits his rib cage on the broken wardrobe and a jagged piece of wood lodges itself between two of his ribs. He’s falling so fast that the piece of wood lodged in his body breaks off from the wardrobe, further rending his flesh. He falls back to the stone floor, landing on his back and lodging the piece of wood even farther into his body. His head, shoulder, and ribcage scream in pain at the impact and as Hongjoong himself screams, water enters his mouth and his nose.

In a cruel twist of fate, the creature decides to return and leaves its biggest bite yet: biting Hongjoong’s left thigh so wholly that his leg separates from the rest of his body. It floats to the top of the water and Hongjoong flounders, trying to get his other leg under him so he can stand up before he drowns. He thrashes, trying to get up, and finally his head breaches the water, and he takes in a gulp of air, oxygen thankfully rushing throughout his body. But his relief is short-lived as Kumi sticks her leg into the water to sweep his only leg out from under him and he falls back into the water. The creature takes a bite out of the space between his ribcage and the top of his hip as fingers slide into his hair and roughly pull his body out of the water. Lips press against his ear and someone whispers, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.” The hand pushes him back underwater before Hongjoong has the chance to do anything. In his surprise, Hongjoong shudders a gasp, forcing even more of this putrid water into his lungs because he recognizes that voice anywhere. He’s known it for years and as the monster’s jaw finishes its job and separates his body into two, the last thought he has is realizing that he’s been betrayed by one of the people he loves the most.

“Are we ready for the next one?” A young man’s voice asks once the monster in the water has had its fill and the well falls silent.

“Give me a second,” a young woman responds, leaning down as the water recedes and the well shifts back to a regular room. She dips her fingers into the puddle of blood that remains, then stands upright and slowly licks the blood off each finger.

“It’s always ‘move, move, move’ with you,” she continues, a bit of blood smudged on the corner of her lips. “You don’t allow yourself the time to stop and appreciate your hard work.”

“Forgive me if I’m a bit eager to finish something centuries in the works,” the man says dryly. “I’ll celebrate when I’m done and not a minute before.”

“Don’t you mean when we’re done?” The woman asks as the room starts to shift again, turning into a grand dining room, replete with a long, dark, and heavy wooden dining table topped with multiple ornate candelabras, gleaming black and white tile floors, and a fireplace at the far end of the room. Above the fireplace hangs a giant shield with two crossed swords and what looks like a smaller coat of arms.

“This one’s zombies, right?” She asks when the room stops expanding and filling with décor.

The man hums in confirmation without looking at her. He drags his finger across the lip of a massive vase sitting atop a side table. The woman doesn’t understand what’s so remarkable about it; the damn thing is empty. But she isn’t getting paid to ask questions nor does she really care all that much. She’s here to repay her debt, that’s all. She’s lucky that the other two are patently disinterested in the souls of the young men here tonight; she would’ve been more than a little upset at missing an opportunity to devour seventy-something souls in one night.  

He returns his attention to her, sending her a charming, boyish smile, and she finds she understands the appeal of this particular meatsuit; he really is quite handsome.

“Shall we get started, Lottie?”

Chapter Text

God, this water tastes like ass. Yunho grimaces as he sets down his glass and he looks around for anything else to drink. There's all different kinds of food, but there’s only water to drink? Not even a little soju? What kind of lame-ass party is this anyway? He feels like a dog with a mouth full of peanut butter the way he’s smacking his lips, trying to rid himself of the taste and dryness.

He eyes a platter filled with what looks like a bunch of hot dogs wrapped up in croissants and truthfully, they look kind of gas. He reaches a hand toward the plate, but it’s batted away before he can grab anything. He traces the slender fingers up the extended arm and his eyes fall on Seonghwa’s face. Of course it’s Seonghwa. 

“What the fuck, man?” He asks as he tries to grab one of the hot dog croissants, but Seonghwa swiftly sidesteps to once again block him from getting something to eat. Bastard.

Seonghwa shrugs, keeping his eyes pinned on Yunho’s hands. “Wooyoung told me not to let anyone eat any of these.”

“Why?”

“He thinks they’ve spoiled. He says they’re bitter and no good.”

Well, if Wooyoung, probably the best cook out of them all, says the food’s no good, who is Yunho to argue with that? He sighs and drops his hand back to his side; so much for getting rid of this godawful mouthfeel.

“You okay?” Seonghwa asks softly. “You look like I just told you we have to spend the weekend with great-aunt Hyojin.”

Yunho groans, then in mock exasperation exclaims, “She’s not that bad! Sure, she’s a little out there, but who isn’t?”

Seonghwa arches his brow and deadpans, “Really? Yunho, her house is fit to burst with Beanie Babies, and once your grandma had to beg the police not to take her to jail for hitting an elementary schooler with her umbrella.”

“He was sitting in the handicapped seat, he had it coming!”

“He was nine years old, Yunho. And he was on crutches. I think he qualified to sit in that seat.”

Yunho drops his gaze and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah… I don’t really have a good counter to that one. She is a bit… abrasive. But she can be really sweet! She makes the best kimchi jjigae I’ve ever had.”

“You’re too nice, Yunho,” Seonghwa laughs airily. “She’s a real piece of work, but sure, she can be really sweet, whatever you say.” He walks away at that, leaving Yunho alone next to the water dispenser that kind of looks like a pickle jar. What the fuck is this place?

He busies himself with looking at the crowd, trying to figure out how many people are here. He’s counted at least fifty so far, all people in the industry and all people he knows. Still thirsty, he absently refills his glass and takes a drink, immediately breaking himself out of his people-counting focus because goddamn this water is awful. Why the fuck did I drink it again?

“What’s wrong with the water?” Wooyoung asks, startling Yunho who had been too busy gagging to notice his approach.

He hands Wooyoung the glass and says, “It’s so weird. It tastes like pool water, and it dries out your mouth. The mouthfeel is awful.”

Wooyoung looks at him like he just sprouted a second head. “The mouthfeel? What the fuck is mouthfeel?”

Now it’s Yunho’s turn to look at Wooyoung like he’s the one who sprouted a second head. He shrugs and says, “You know, how it… feels in your mouth. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Woo. This water has a really dry mouthfeel. Like, you drink it, and your mouth dries up and you feel thirstier than you did before you drank it. Just- just try it.”

Wooyoung brings the glass to his lips…

Please agree with me and say it’s gross and that I’m not crazy.

His throat bobs as he swallows…

Please.

He grimaces as he scrunches his nose and says, “Ew.”

Oh thank God, Yunho breathes a silent sigh of relief. Why he needed to be validated about something so trivial is unknown to him, but by God did he need that sweet, sweet validation.

“Right? It’s awful! How do the people who live here drink this shit all the time?”

“I dunno, they’re probably used to it by now…” Wooyoung sets down the glass and casts his gaze to the plate of appetizers Seonghwa told Yunho to stay away from.

“Hey, have you tried using your phone since we got here? I don’t have any service and can’t connect to the Wi-Fi,” he says.

Yunho shakes his head; he hasn’t thought about his phone at all since they arrived. “Nah I haven’t looked at my phone since we got here. I can’t imagine we’d get any service since we’re, ya know,” he gestures vaguely around him, “out here.”

He reaches into his pocket, grabs his phone, and looks at the service bars. He’s greeted with a whole lot of nothing. “Yeah, no bars,” he says, showing his phone to Wooyoung. He turns it back around as he opens up his settings, telling Wooyoung, “I’ll check to see if there’s any Wi-Fi though.” He waits for the networks to load, but nothing ever shows up. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung asks, his voice a bit tight, craning his neck to peer at Yunho’s phone.

“I don’t think they have Wi-Fi here. No networks are showing up.” Thank God, a real break.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and claps Wooyoung’s shoulder. “I think it’ll be nice though, being off the grid. We can finally get some peace and quiet and disconnect for a little bit.”

Wooyoung’s face falls and becomes drawn with worry. Yunho feels his own level of concern rise because Wooyoung looks truly freaked out.

He softens his voice and says, “But I’m sure they’ve got a landline here if we really need anything, Woo… Don’t worry. If anything happens,” he cracks his neck and his fingers, “I’ll save you.”

“Ooh my suave knight in shining armor,” Wooyoung mutters sullenly.

Okay, this is too weird. “Wooyoung, are you okay? You seem a little… off.”

Wooyoung sighs heavily and his shoulders sag just a little. “I don’t know. I just feel weird. I want to go home. Or, you know, just leave.” He runs a hand over his face and into his hair. “Do you feel weird?”

Do I feel weird? Hmm… other than the water, not really.

“Not really, no. I mean, I’m a little confused about what we’re doing out here and why there are so many people, but… I don’t know. Everything is going to be fine though, Wooyoung. I promise.”

Wooyoung shrugs but won’t meet his eyes.

“And if it’s not, I’ll whisk you out of here to safety myself,” Yunho says as he puffs out his chest, trying to at least get a smile out of Wooyoung.

His silliness lands even better than he thought it would, getting a full giggle out of Wooyoung. Score.

“Yun, we’re like forty kilometers away from anything. You can’t carry me that far!”

“Says who?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Says… anyone,” Wooyoung sputters. “Plus, it’s like pitch black outside! And it’s freezing! You’ll get hypothermia and die and then what’ll happen to me?! I could get eaten by a bear!”

Yunho’s eyes widen and he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Are there? Bears out here?”

“I don’t know, maybe! How should I know? But I don’t wanna find out!”

“What are you guys talking about?” Yunho was so caught up in his fear over the prospect of being near bears that he didn’t even notice Mingi approach. Oops.

“Bears.” He and Wooyoung say in unison, and Mingi shoots him a confused look.

Yunho just shrugs because honestly, what more is there to say? Bears.

“Where the fuck am I?” Yunho asks as he stands on slightly wobbly legs. He groans and presses the heel of his hand between his eyes, trying to get the world to stop spinning so much. The last thing he remembers is sitting at the table and drinking the water that JYP gave them…

God, that was stupid of me. Of course it was drugged! And the mouthfeel was terrible.

There’s no use in beating himself up over what’s already happened though; it’s not like he can go back and make the wiser decision not to drink the water with the terrible mouthfeel, so he shakes away the thought. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks at his surroundings. Hmm. He’s outside, but the snow is completely gone; the air is cool, but not frigid like it was when he went outside with Hongjoong and Wooyoung. Wait, where are Hongjoong and Wooyoung and the others?

“Guys?” he cups his hands around his mouth to amplify his shout into the woods.

No response. He takes a few steps in the opposite direction and looks around for anything vaguely familiar, but it’s so dark that he can’t see much.

Seriously, where the fuck am I?

It’s about as dark as it was the last time he went outside, so he knows that he must not have been unconscious for too terribly long.

“Mingi? Jongho? Are you out here?”

He hears rustling in the distance and freezes. Fuck. He was so preoccupied with finding his friends in the woods that he didn’t even think about what else could be in there with him.

Shit, shit, shit. He takes slow measured steps toward the nearest tree and winces when he hears a twig snap under his foot. The rustling grows louder, and Yunho holds his breath, trying not to make any noise, as he continues toward the tree. What are you supposed to do if you see a bear? Do you punch it? No, you idiot, that’s a shark. Do you play dead? Or try to act big and scary? God fucking damn it, where’s Yeosang when you need him?

“Yunho?” a small voice whispers next to him, and he immediately tries to throw a punch, but his arm is arrested halfway there by an insanely strong grip. Yep, definitely not supposed to punch a bear. Wait, bears can talk?

“What? Of course bears can’t talk, Yunho, don’t be ridiculous. It’s me, Kumi.” She lets go of his arm and he heaves a huge sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God it’s you, Kumi, holy fucking shit. What the hell happened? And where are we?”

“I… I’m not sure. I just woke up out here and then I heard you shouting. I- I don’t want to be alone out here, so I followed your voice until I found you.” Her voice shakes and Yunho hears her sniffle, and he remembers the look on her face when they found her next to Soobin earlier in the night. The poor thing must be absolutely terrified.

He grabs her hand and musters as much optimism as he possibly can, saying, “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Kumi. We’re in this together!” He digs his phone out of his pocket and turns on his flashlight. He checks his battery and sees that he’s sitting pretty at twenty-four percent. Shit. He really hopes they’re not too far from some sort of shelter because he has a sneaking suspicion that shit is about to hit the fan.

He gives Kumi’s hand a friendly, encouraging squeeze and asks her, “Which way did you come from? Was there anything over there?”

She points to their left with her free hand and says, “I came from that way. I don’t think there’s anything back there, but I’m not really sure.”

“Hmm…” Yunho shines his light in all directions, but every direction looks exactly like the last. “Well, everything looks exactly the same, so I think we’re just gonna have to pick a direction and go. Got a preference?”

“Umm… not really? You pick!” Kumi tries to brighten her voice but doesn’t quite succeed.

Yunho laughs softly and decides to walk to their right. Kumi slightly tightens her grip on his hand, and he can feel her shaking, so he asks, “So, where are you from, Kumi?”

“Oh, here and there. I was born in Korea, but I lived in London for a while. I haven’t been back home in a long time.”

Well, that explains why she can speak Korean so well.

“Oh, really? You from Seoul?”

“Ah, no, I’m from…” she pauses for a second. “Gangnam-do?”

Gangnam-do? There’s no Gangnam province. Maybe she just means Gangnam-gu?

“I thought you said you weren’t from Seoul?”

“I’m not,” she says slowly, a bit unsure. “I’m from the south, you know, around Jeonju?”

“Wait, you mean Jeollabuk-do?”

She pauses again and slowly says, “…yes?”

He’s never heard of anyone calling North Jeolla province Gangnam but maybe that’s a secret locals keep from him? And why does she keep pitching her voice at the end of what she’s saying like she’s unsure? Whatever, this is the least of his worries right now. It’s still weird though.

“Oh cool. I’m from Gwangju so we’re almost neighbors!” He says brightly, hoping to continue lightening the mood, but when Kumi doesn’t reply, he changes tactics and asks, “When did you move to London?”

She takes so long to answer that Yunho starts to think she didn’t hear him, but then she says, “A long time ago. I… didn’t want to leave but I was forced out. People are so closed-minded, you know?”

Ah. Gay. “I get it. That sucks that you had to leave home for something you can’t control.”

He drops his voice to a near whisper and says, “Now, don’t tell Wooyoung I told you this, but I think he’ll be a little disappointed to learn you don’t have a crush on him.”

“Oh, Yunho,” she snorts, “I wasn’t forced out for being gay-”

Crunch. Yunho immediately freezes, making Kumi stumble forward.

“Yunho?” She asks softly. “What’s wrong?”

He turns off his flashlight and whispers, “I heard something.”

Kumi’s grip on his hand tightens, but she doesn’t say anything more.

Dread pools in his stomach as he strains to listen for any more noises. The rational part of his brain tells him that he’s in a forest, of course he’s going to hear creatures stirring about and they’re most likely harmless, but a deeper part of him knows that something is amiss. With how the night is going thus far, he’d be a fool to assume his safety.

As the silence stretches further, his anxiety only grows. He doesn’t think it’s just paranoia conjuring the feeling of being watched and stalked; he knows there’s something malignant with them in these woods.

He feels as though he’s in a standoff from some cheesy Western he watched with his grandpa when he was a kid; he and the other cowboy in the woods circling each other, neither willing to draw their gun first.

But somebody’s going to have to make a move eventually. Might as well be him. He leans in next to Kumi’s ear and whispers as quietly as he can, “Run.”

Thankfully, Kumi doesn’t need to be told twice, immediately following his lead and breaking into a sprint.  

As soon as they move, whatever person, animal, or eldritch horror has been hunting them reacts, letting out a menacing growl and starting the chase.  

Although Yunho isn’t sure exactly where it was hiding, he does know it’s moving fast, hurtling toward them like a bullet train, bounding ever faster.

The next thing he knows, he’s splayed face-first on the ground, and he can’t feel Kumi’s hand in his anymore. He spits the dirt out of his mouth and stands up, pulling his phone out of his pocket to turn the light back on. As he does, he hears sickening snaps and tears. Once he finally turns on the flashlight, he sees two beings that look like they used to be Dobermans standing over Kumi’s supine body: one with its jaw clamped on her neck and the other rending the flesh from the bone of her left leg. The creatures’ eyes are completely white and milky, their bodies have deteriorated so severely that there are multiple patches of exposed muscle, there are rounded, bony growths protruding from their spines, and they’re salivating so heavily that Kumi quickly becomes drenched in both their slobber and her own blood. He brings his hand to his mouth either to stop himself from retching or screaming, he isn’t quite sure. Her watery eyes meet his and she weakly breathes out, “Go” before the first creature bites down on her neck even harder, spraying blood everywhere.

Knowing that there’s no coming back from that and not wanting to meet a similar fate, he runs. He has no idea where he’s going, but he wants to put as much distance between himself and those-those… God, what the hell are those things? Zombie dogs? His feet pound against the earth as he hears more sets of feet bounding behind him.

“For fuck’s sake, leave me alone!” He yells as he pushes himself harder and prays that somehow, he can make it out of this hellscape in one piece.

He must have a hell of a guardian angel watching out for him because as soon as he finishes that thought, a giant mansion springs seemingly from nowhere, but he has neither the will nor the inclination to examine how this structure came to be. He forces his feet to move even faster and the footfalls behind him recede into the darkness as he slams into the front door and wrenches it open. He ducks inside and slams it shut, locking the deadbolt behind him. Not wanting to take any chances though, he immediately grabs the nearest piece of furniture, thankfully a heavy side table, and drags it in front of the door. Only once he’s retreated farther into the foyer away from the door and is greeted with nothing but silence does he allow himself to catch his breath. He lowers himself to the ground and lies on his back for what could be five minutes or an hour, he isn’t really sure, he just knows he needs to rest.

Wait… that’s a terrible idea. Even as his weary body protests, he forces himself to get back up because while he may be safe from the dogs for now, he doubts he’s really in the clear. His muscles scream at him to give them a rest but he’s more than used to ignoring his body’s pleas for a break, so he takes in his surroundings.

An open foyer with a wide staircase ahead, two sets of heavy wooden doors to either side…

A wave of déjà vu crests.

Wait.

The wave crashes into him.

“I’m back in the fucking hotel?”

But the foyer is entirely devoid of all the blood and corpses that he knows should litter the floors and the longer he looks ahead of him, the more he realizes that the layout is ever so slightly off. The hotel looks similar to where he’s found himself, but the staircase is in the wrong place here, so that’s not it. He swears he’s seen this exact setup though; he just isn’t totally sure where.

He shakes his head because now is certainly not the time to try to figure out the source of his déjà vu; he feels like somebody’s watching him and he’s still afraid that those damn dogs are gonna break down the doors and eat him like they ate Kumi.

Oh God, Kumi. The poor thing did not deserve that fate. Thoughts about the fates that have befallen the others threaten to creep in, but he tries to force them away; he doesn’t have the luxury of grieving the sweet young woman with the bright orange hair nor allowing his fears and anxieties to overwhelm him. The others are all fine because they have to be. There’s no other choice; he’ll find them because he has to and because they’re all fine.

He squares his shoulders and decides to go through the door to his left; when given the choice to go left or right, he always chooses left. As a kid playing Temple Run on his iPod Touch, he felt so bad for the left path, thinking no one ever chose it and decided from then on, he would always go left. Old habits die hard, I guess.

He pushes the heavy wooden doors, and they groan as they open. He’s greeted with a beautiful dining room with black and white marble tile floors, a long wooden table… Is that mahogany? Seonghwa would know…

Dude! Focus! He smacks his face to snap himself out of his pondering because while Seonghwa would most definitely know the composition of the dining table, that information isn’t terribly pertinent at the present moment. As he steps farther into the room, he’s assaulted by the clamoring of a massive grandfather clock, the second hand’s ticking reverberating through the room like a metronome from Hell. It’s so loud he can’t focus, and he feels the hairs on his arms stick up from the anxiety coursing throughout his body. He tenses and grits his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving to the other end of the room where he can see a fireplace and an old-timey coat of arms on the wall. The fire still burns brightly, meaning that somebody has been here recently; Yunho isn’t sure if that comforts or frightens him, but he’s kind of leaning more toward frightens. He doubts that anyone in this creepy mansion in the woods has good intentions.

He stops in front of the fire, letting it warm him as he stares up at the coat of arms. It looks familiar in the same way that so many things tonight have looked familiar to him, but he just can’t think of why.

The clock continues its assault on his eardrums, and he tears his attention away from the wall, unsure of where to go or what to do next. His gaze falls to a red puddle on the floor, and he just sighs. Great. After the night he’s had, he can’t find it within him to delude himself into thinking it’s just paint or spilled wine or any other flimsy bullshit alternative; he knows it’s blood. It looks fresh, too.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he mutters under his breath. He turns around and sees a door he hadn’t noticed before. He knows he probably shouldn’t continue opening and going through random doors in a house with bloodstains on the floor, but what else is he supposed to do? Sit around and wait for those dogs to break down the door and maul him? If he’s moving and exploring, at least he’s doing something; he’ll be damned if he gets caught with his pants down just sitting around and waiting. He’s gonna go out swinging.

He opens the door, which leads him into a narrow hallway, and he exchanges the clamor of the grandfather clock for an even worse sensory assault: the most godawful trombone music plays so loudly the walls shake. He’s never heard anything like it before; it’s the worst circus clown-sounding thing he’s ever heard. It’s ridiculous, so absurd that he can’t help but laugh because seriously! What the hell is this?

He rounds a corner and sees a figure hunched over on the ground. He hears the unmistakable squelching of rending flesh and quickly shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from making a sound, but it’s too late because the figure turns around, fixing him with a glazed-over stare.

“Oh my fucking God.”

That’s Mingi.

“Wooyoung, for the love of God, it’s two in the morning, could you please not scream so loud?”  Yunho pleads from the opposite end of the couch, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger.

Watch this game with us, Yunho! They said.

It’ll be fun! They said.

What they didn’t say, but Yunho honestly should have expected, is that Wooyoung is arguably the biggest wuss he’s ever met. Any time there’s the slightest jump scare, he’s a screamin’ and a squallin’ and a caterwaulin’, probably shitting his pants, and scaring Yunho more than anything he’s seen in this game so far.

“It’s scary!” Wooyoung whines, further cowering into Yeosang’s side.

“Why are you even playing this here? Neither of you lives here!” Yunho asks San and Wooyoung.

San, to his credit, pauses his game and his cheeks flush. “We’re… um… temporarily banned from horror games in our apartments,” he rubs the back of his neck with the controller and looks downward.

“You scream a few times because you’re terrified then suddenly everyone is up in arms, saying ‘Wooyoung, it’s three in the morning shut the fuck up’, ‘San, turn this shit off I’m trying to sleep’, and ‘I swear to fucking God, Jung Wooyoung, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m gonna unplug this stupid fucking PlayStation and throw it in the street.’”

“Let me guess. Jongho, Mingi, Hongjoong?” Yeosang asks.

“Obviously. They’re all so cranky! But not you, Sangie, you and Yunho are the best!” Wooyoung says, directing his words past Yeosang and to Yunho. He’s put on his pleading eyes, which is unfair because Yunho knows that Wooyoung knows that he’s powerless to resist a Jung Wooyoung puppy dog pout.

Yunho groans and throws his head back. “Ugh, fine! Just try to keep it down.”

“You’re the best, Yun! Love you!” Wooyoung beams as he blows Yunho a kiss.

Yunho rolls his eyes and sticks up his middle finger.

“We ready to get back into it?” San asks, and when no one says otherwise, he resumes the game.

The game, from what Yunho has seen so far, is actually pretty interesting. Not especially scary, and certainly not as scary as Wooyoung is making it out to be, but for as old as the game is, it’s still capable of making his heart race a little bit sometimes. He might have to give it a shot soon, preferably without an audience; he isn’t sure how San manages without ever getting seemingly the slightest bit annoyed. But he supposes that when you’re as stupidly in love with someone the way San is in love with Wooyoung, you can tolerate anything and everything.

He finds it hilarious if not a little sad that neither of them is aware of the other’s feelings, but he’d be lying if he said he weren’t banking on neither of them confessing by the end of the year. He and Mingi have made a bet at the start of every year for the last few years: Mingi, ever the romantic, always bets on a confession whereas Yunho doesn’t think either of them has the balls to do it. Yunho’s earned quite a hefty sum from their bets thus far, and he wants to keep up his winning streak.

It's not that he never wants them to figure it out! Of course he wants them to be happy and quit staring at each other with such longing, thinking that no one else notices, he just doesn’t want it to happen this year. 2024 is a much better year for love confessions! It’s definitely not because he’s been eyeing a new gaming setup but hasn’t wanted to pay for it out of his own money. No way.

A loud crash and Wooyoung’s subsequent scream force him out of his daydream and when he focuses on the game again, he has no idea what’s going on. He sees some wackass-looking dogs and shattered glass in front of San’s character… oh what was her name? Jane? Jill?

“San! What the hell?” Wooyoung yells, somehow burrowing even deeper into Yeosang’s side.

“Woo, this game is supposed to scare you,” San says distractedly as he tries to evade the dogs and get out of the hallway.

“But why are there zombie dogs, too?! Is nothing sacred to Umbrella?!”

“What’s Umbrella?” Yeosang asks, making Wooyoung groan.

“Yah, Sangie, you’re supposed to be paying attention! They’re the corporation that made the virus that’s infecting everyone in this franchise.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that? San’s been playing for like forty-five minutes!”

“You’re obviously supposed to do a lore deep dive before he even starts so that you know what’s going on!” Wooyoung exclaims before muttering, “Fucking amateur. ‘What’s Umbrella?’” he mocks, pitching up his voice to pretend to be Yeosang.

Yeosang pulls his phone out of his pocket and Wooyoung asks, “What are you doing?”

“Well,” Yeosang starts as he begins typing. “Since I ‘obviously’ need to do a lore deep dive, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Wow, a man who listens,” Wooyoung swoons, and Yunho notices San’s jaw tighten. Interesting.

Wooyoung and Yeosang are lost in their own world, talking animatedly about the overarching storyline of the Resident Evil franchise, so Yunho is the only one who sees the tension in San’s hands, gripping the controller so hard it might break.

Yunho isn’t sure why San is so bothered; Wooyoung is obviously just as stupidly in love with San as San is with him. To Yunho, the relationship between Yeosang and Wooyoung is platonic soulmates, with no inklings of any romantic feelings, at least not anymore (he happens to know for a fact that Wooyoung and Yeosang were each other’s first kiss and maybe even more, but that more hasn’t been verified unfortunately), but part of him wishes Yeosang would join them, and they could be the throuple of the century. Who knows though? Maybe he’ll put that on his 2024 bingo card…

He returns his focus to the game and sees San dispatching zombies, taking them down with four or five shots, then setting the bodies on fire.

“Doesn’t that seem a bit overkill?” He asks. “I don’t think anything is coming back from that much lead pumped into them.”

“Ah, just wanna be safe, ya know? Never know what could happen if you aren’t careful…” San says vaguely.

“He’s trying to avoid dealing with crimson heads later. They’re a major pain in the ass and the only way to prevent a downed zombie from turning into one is to burn it,” Wooyoung pipes in, then resumes his conversation with Yeosang; Yunho hears something about a guy named Leon who is apparently ‘super fucking hot.’

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” he asks San, who nods.

“Yeah, I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t find out about them so I could scare you later but somebody,” he looks at Wooyoung in that same awestruck, lovesick way he always does, “is terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Scared the shit outta me the first time I saw one. They move fast and they’re even harder to kill. Here,” he downs another zombie but doesn’t set it on fire. “When we come back later this body should be gone and we’ll have a crimson head lurking around somewhere.”

“And I wanna see this because…?” Yunho asks.

San sucks in air through his teeth and scratches the back of his neck, saying, “Well, I dunno if you want to see it, but it’s cool and I think you should!”

“Say no more. You say it’s cool? I’m in.”

Yunho sinks into the couch as San starts telling him a bunch of things about the game and the lore that frankly fly right over his head, but he’s always happy to hear someone’s infodump on a subject they’re passionate about. San’s in the middle of explaining something about a guy named Oswell Spencer when Wooyoung slides up and rests his head on Yunho’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yunhooooooo,” he says, mindlessly drawing on Yunho’s chest with his finger. “Sannie and I are gonna stay the night here, but Sangie doesn’t have enough pillows and blankets. I’ll love you forever and ever if you go back to my place and grab some off my bed,” he drawls, looking up at Yunho with those puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh, Wooyoung, do I have to? It’s so late.”

“What if I said pretty please with a cherry on top?” Wooyoung asks, bopping Yunho’s nose lightly with his finger.

“What if I said I’ll only do it if you make me dinner every day this week?” Yunho responds, batting Wooyoung’s hand away from his face.

“Deal!” His eyes light up and he returns to draping himself over Yeosang.

Yunho stands up and yawns, telling the others he’ll be back soon.

By the time he gets back, blankets and pillows in hand, Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung are all asleep, curled in next to each other on the floor. It’s hard to see where any of them starts or ends and Yunho can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face as he rests the blankets over them. They’re just too cute.

He shuts out the lights and goes to his room, crawling into his own bed. That night he dreams of zombies and when he wakes up the next morning, he decides that the next time San plays Resident Evil, Yunho is going to sit out.

He shifts his gaze away from the horrifying visage of a rotted Mingi, blood dripping from his chin, and sees another body on the floor.

No… he knows those pants. He knows that singular painted nail. Mingi’s eating Hongjoong. Great. And Yunho has nothing to defend himself with. Doubly great.

“Fuck my life. Absolutely not.” He turns tail and runs out of the room, racing to grab chairs to barricade the door, and praying that zombie Mingi is neither fast nor strong. As he places another chair into the barricade, he asks, “What is this? Fucking Resident Evil?” He pauses for just a second. The zombie dogs, the mansion… that’s gotta be it. He’s in Resident Evil. How? This doesn’t make any sense.

Resounding strikes against the door, strong enough to make the door rattle and the wood creak, force Yunho back to the present. He runs away from the door, exclaiming, “Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I in a fucking video game?”

A litany of profanities falls from his mouth as he scans the room for something, anything that he can use to defend himself: there are the swords above the fireplace, but he doesn’t know how effective a sword will be against a zombie… but something is better than nothing. As he goes to reach for the sword, his gut tells him to keep looking and then he sees it: a pistol lying on the dining table.

Thank fucking God. He sprints to the pistol as Mingi busts down the door and forces his way through the barricade Yunho constructed. Mingi ambles neither particularly quickly nor slowly, but his path is clear; he’s heading straight for Yunho. Yunho’s experience with firearms is practically nonexistent, but as he picks up the gun, for some reason, the pistol in his hands feels familiar, comfortable. He feels like he knows what to do with it. Maybe there is a God after all. But what a cruel God they are, turning his best friend into a monster and forcing Yunho to pull the trigger to save his own life.

Yunho lifts the pistol with both hands and points it straight at Mingi; his hands shake, and his voice is unsteady as he asks, “Min? Are you still in there?”

Mingi, or what used to be Mingi, shows no sign of understanding anything Yunho is saying; he continues his approach.

Yunho readjusts his grip on the pistol and his voice gets tighter, begging “Min, please don’t make me do this” through his teeth.

Mingi’s maybe ten feet away from Yunho now and he can see the blood drip from Mingi’s chin onto the floor. “Please. God, don’t you make me do this, Mingi.” His whole body quakes and it’s taking everything in him to try to keep the gun at least pointed somewhere on Mingi’s body. He looks up at the ceiling and shouts, a few tears slipping out, “You’re a fucking bastard, Park Jinyoung!” He looks back down and Mingi is close, too close.

He looks into Mingi’s eyes and hopes that his Mingi isn’t in there somewhere. Hopes that Mingi’s soul is already in the great beyond or whatever the fuck comes after this life. He hopes that Mingi will wait for him, so they can do their hood rat shit in their next lives.

“I’m so sorry, Mingi,” he says, pulling the trigger and hitting Mingi right between the eyes. Blood and viscera splatter all over Yunho as his ears start to ring and Mingi slumps to the floor, blood pouring from the hole in his forehead.

Yunho vomits as he falls to his knees, somehow mindful enough to be careful with the gun so as not to accidentally fire it; he sets it on the ground before he tips over to lie on his side. He chokes on a sob as he looks at what used to be his best friend, bleeding out on the tile floor, body rotted and covered in vomit. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him.

No matter how hard he tries to convince himself though, it’s still Mingi’s face staring back at him. He’s going to see that image behind his eyelids for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Min.”

He isn’t sure how long he’s stayed on the floor, watching blood pool under Mingi’s head, but it’s been long enough for the blood to slow to barely a trickle. Long enough for Yunho to go completely numb. His head and his heart are heavy as he pushes himself off the ground, only motivated by the need to find the others. It may be too late for Mingi and Hongjoong, but he’ll be damned if it’s too late for everyone.

He checks the chamber; he has five bullets left. He remembers from watching San play that there are boxes of bullets in random places around the mansion, so he’ll have to keep an eye out. He sees a glint out of the corner of his eye and when he goes to investigate, he sees a shiny lockpick ripe for the picking, so he shoves it in his pocket. Underneath the lockpick lies a note reading, “For the master of unlocking.” He crumples up the note and throws it into the fire.

“You’re gonna regret this, you sick fuck,” he says, striding toward the door, renewed with his purpose to save his friends and kill JYP. He’s gonna put a bullet between his eyes, even if it’s the last thing he does.

He throws open the door and looks at the scene before him; he figures he should completely explore this floor before moving upstairs, so he walks to the doors on the other side. When he opens those doors and looks around, he sees a very familiar statue of half a naked lady and portraits on the walls whose eyes are definitely following him.

What was it San said about this room? He wracks his brain trying to recall his conversation with San and Wooyoung from earlier in the night in a different version of this very room. There’s a map in here somewhere and he vaguely recalls something about a dagger. Think, Yunho, think!

He sees another glint coming from the statue lady’s water jug and he strains to reach up into it, but even as tall as he is, he’s still too short. He looks around the room for something to stand on and as soon as his eyes land on the dresser at the other end of the room, he remembers San telling him that if he gets on the dresser and reaches into the water jug, he’ll find a map of the first floor. He wishes he’d find some bullets instead, but he supposes a map is acceptable. Barely.

He grasps the corners of the dresser and pulls backward, his muscles straining with exertion. Once it’s finally far enough from the wall that he can get behind it and push rather than pull, the task is considerably easier. He continues to push the dresser up to the base of the statue, and then he climbs up on top, peering into the water jug. Sure enough, he sees a folded-up map resting inside. He unfolds it and sees a layout of the mansion; he sees a little red arrow where he is and doorways marked either blue or red. The entryway is filled in a light green, but the room he’s standing in is filled in with a light red. He looks up to the corner of the map and sees a key, telling him that green means “100% items” and red means “in-progress.”

He hops off the dresser without looking, intently studying the map.

“Hmm… what else is in here?” He opens the drawers on the dresser and in the bottom drawer, he finds a box of bullets. When he puts them in his pocket, the exhibition room on the map changes from light red to light green. But the next room, apparently just behind the curtain near where the dresser was, is still red. Well, he certainly can’t have that. And where’s this dagger San told him about?

He puts the map in his pocket and pulls aside the curtain, stepping into a narrow hallway. As he ventures farther into the next room, he sees quite a few objects, he assumes they’re pieces of furniture, covered up with beige fabric. He sees a painting of a castle at the end of the hallway, but the hallway continues to the left, so he turns and keeps following it. The hallway abruptly ends again, forcing him left one more time, and spitting him out in front of a shelving unit chock full of the most random shit.

He sees another glint peeking up at him from beneath a discarded frame, and when he moves the frame out of the way, he finds a shiny dagger. Ah. There’s the dagger. He knows that San told him something important about Resident Evil daggers, but he can’t remember what it was. He hopes it’s not super important though because this is a nice dagger; he’d hate to lose it.

As he tries to figure out a place to put the dagger, he wishes he had a bag or a backpack or something because he’s got his phone, a box of bullets, and a map in his pockets; a pistol in the waistband of his jeans; and now a dagger with no sheath. Being a video game character fucking sucks; he’s got too much shit to carry and nowhere to put anything.

He settles on keeping the dagger in his hand, at least for now, and he checks the map with his free hand: “100% items.” Satisfied with how he’s been playing so far, he sets off back toward the exhibition room. As he rounds the corner though, he’s greeted with another image he never wanted to see: San stalks toward him, his skin gray and so dry it’s cracking. His eyes are completely whitened over and milky and blood drips from his chin. His gait is uneven and unsteady; he drags his left leg, and his left foot is completely sideways.

Yunho retreats toward the shelving unit, arms braced in front of him, knowing he’s going to have to kill what used to be San, but currently unable to summon the will to do it.

San continues his pursuit, lowly groaning and reaching his arms out toward Yunho, who tries and fails to evade. San grabs Yunho’s shoulders, leans in, and takes a bite out of the juncture between his neck and shoulder; he wails and drives the dagger right into San’s neck. The dagger breaks and San staggers backward before falling to the ground, twitching one, two, three times before finally stilling. Yunho throws his hand up to his neck, applying as much pressure as he can to staunch the bleeding, and runs out of the corridor and through the exhibition room, not stopping until he’s back in the dining room. He heaves great, gasping breaths, frantically searching the dining room for something to wrap around his wound. It isn’t terribly deep, but he’s bleeding like crazy, blood pouring down his arm, staining his shirt, and dripping on the floor; if he doesn’t address it, he’s going to bleed out.

He notices a tall green plant on the dining table that certainly wasn’t there before.

“Is this fucking weed?” he asks, running over to the table. When he gets closer, he realizes it’s not weed; he’s not sure what it is, but the overwhelming urge to eat it forces his free hand to grasp the plant and uproot it. He shoves the plant in his mouth, quickly chewing it up and swallowing it. It doesn’t really taste like much of anything, but he can feel it move through his esophagus and down into his stomach; seemingly as soon as it plops into his stomach acid, he feels the skin under his hand shifting, knitting back together. The blinding, searing pain he felt just seconds before dissipates, and as he runs his hand over what was just a gaping wound, he feels nothing but normal skin. It’s not even raised, it’s completely back to normal.

“What the fuck is this?” he wonders aloud, picking up the pot the plant was in and tilting it back and forth, thoroughly examining it in awe. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find more later. He sets it back down and pulls out one of the dining chairs, plopping down into it and letting out a loud, heavy sigh. He slides down the chair and goes limp, allowing himself a brief moment of respite, closing his eyes and listening to the crackling fireplace.

He doesn’t allow the moment to last very long, soon re-opening his eyes and steeling himself to explore the rest of the mansion. He can’t help himself from glancing over to Mingi’s body, and when he doesn’t see it, he sits up rod straight. He’s definitely looking at the right spot because he sees the pool of blood, but there’s no body.

“Oh shit.” Maybe the bodies just disappear so the game wouldn’t constantly have to render them? Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He shot Mingi, there’s no way that he wasn’t dead dead… right?

Of course, Yunho, don’t be ridiculous. Mingi is dead dead and his body is just gone because the video game can’t constantly render stationary corpses. San said this game was around their age, the developers had to save memory wherever they could. He’s fine. He’s fine.

He tries to shake off the anxiety as he stands up, looking at his map. The rooms aren’t labeled, so he’s shooting in the dark and he randomly picks a room. It looks like he’ll have to go upstairs, pass through a hallway, then he should be there. Seems easy enough. He reloads his pistol and checks that he has all his items in his pockets: map, check; extra bullets, check; phone, check; lockpick, check.

He looks back one last time at where Mingi’s body used to be and swallows thickly. Mingi’s dead. He’s fine.

He leaves the dining room and walks up the stairs, the mansion eerily silent. He kind of wishes the godawful trombone music would come back, so he’d have at least something to distract him.

He reaches the next level and pulls out the map, checking his location and that he’s heading toward the right hallway. It’s darker up here than it was downstairs, and his heart rate quickens just a little. The map in his hands lightly shakes; he puts it back in his pocket and tries to get his hands to still. It doesn’t work.

He rounds a corner and opens a door, leading him into a skinny hallway with light-patterned wallpaper and the same tile as the dining room. Brown wood buffet cabinets with glass doors line one side of the hallway and the other side is lined with windows. He tries looking out of one, but it’s so dark outside that he can’t see anything. He keeps walking, pulling the map back out of his pocket and examining it, and he hears faint cracking. He stills and listens carefully, but he doesn’t hear anything else, so he tells himself that he’s just hearing things because he’s anxious. He grips the map tighter in his hands like it’s a lifeline, and he supposes it kind of is. The map and the pistol are the only things that give him a fighting chance right now.

He opens the door at the end of this hallway, and he enters yet another hallway running perpendicular to the one he was just in. He turns to the left and passes two doors before he finds the one he’s looking for. He tries to open the door, but the knob doesn’t budge. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he needs to enter this room, so he exchanges the map for the lockpick in his pocket and drops to his knees. He stares at the lockpick in his hand for a few seconds. He doesn’t know shit about shit about shit about lockpicking. He shrugs his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and just shoves the lockpick in the lock, hoping for the best.

For some reason that he doesn’t want to think too deeply about, the door opens. He straightens and puts the lockpick back in his pocket, walking into a small bathroom. A fan slowly spins overhead and in front of him stands a clawfoot bathtub, full of dirty water. He thinks he sees writing on the bottom of the tub, but the water is so dark that he can’t really make anything out. He tries shining his phone’s flashlight into the water, but that doesn’t help, so there’s only one thing he can do. He’s gonna have to reach in and drain the water. Ugh. He rolls up his sleeve and takes a deep breath, plunging his arm into the water and feeling around for the drain plug. He feels something brush against his arm as he grasps the chain and yanks, trying to get his arm out as soon as possible.

The water drains far too quickly, unnaturally so, and a body rises from the tub. Fuck. That’s Mingi. He has no hair and his skin looks like it’s been scalded, angrily red and too shiny, but Yunho would know Mingi anywhere. The bullet wound between his eyes still leaks blood and somehow, he looks even worse than he did earlier. Crimson blood runs in rivulets down his entire body and he reeks of death. He climbs out of the bathtub and Yunho scrambles backward. Mingi growls and lunges toward him, considerably faster than he was earlier and Yunho suddenly remembers San and Wooyoung telling him about crimson heads; how they’re so much faster and harder to kill than regular zombies.

He sprints out of the bathroom, uncaring of his direction or his destination, Mingi right on his heels.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, flying down a claustrophobic flight of stairs, narrowly evading a lunge from Mingi. Mingi’s fast and were it any other member, Yunho at least would have an advantage by being taller, but Mingi is practically his height. Right now, his only advantage is the very brief head start he got by immediately running out of the bathroom. He knows he needs to shoot Mingi sooner rather than later, but he doesn’t trust his ability to keep his balance on the stairs while moving backward and trying to aim.

He finally reaches the last step, and an expanse of open space is in front of him, so he can speed up and put some much-needed distance between him and Mingi. He whips around and immediately starts firing the pistol, pumping six rounds of lead into Mingi’s head and torso, but the shots have only seemed to make him angrier. He picks up speed, forcing Yunho to flee before he can reach into his pocket to pull out his box of handgun ammo. He tries to dig it out as he runs, but the box has emptied in his pocket, and he’s only able to grab two bullets, shoving them into the chamber. He blindly shoots behind him, figuring that since Mingi is hot on his heels, he’s bound to hit him without looking. He runs up the main flight of stairs in the foyer and runs toward the hallway he was in earlier because at least it’s familiar. He opens the door and slams it behind him, turning the lock. Mingi pounds against the door, making it rattle in its frame, but it holds for now. He allows himself a second to catch his breath, bracing his hands on his knees. He straightens and slumps against the wall, fishing the remaining bullets out of his pocket and loading them in the chamber. He leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath… then he hears a familiar sound. The same sound he heard earlier but convinced himself was all in his head. That’s definitely glass splintering. He shifts his gaze to one of the windows, softly whispering, “Please, God, no.”

The windows shatter as the same dogs that chased him into this mansion earlier leap through them.

“Godfuckingdammit,” he groans, breaking into a run toward the other end of the hallway. At the same moment, Mingi breaks down the door, joining the dogs chasing Yunho. Yunho shoots behind him twice and hears a whine then a thud. He chances a glance backward and sees that he’s taken down one of the dogs, but there’s one more plus Mingi. He knows he doesn’t have enough bullets to dispatch both of them, so he prays that he finds some soon.

He bursts through the door and turns left, throwing open the first door he finds, quickly running through it, and locking it behind him. The room he’s found himself in is quite small, with wallpaper of Renaissance-era white people hanging out outside. What the fuck. But he sees a door on the opposite side, so he opens it and enters a larger room with brocade wallpaper, an unlit fireplace, a black sofa, a coffee table with a tea set, and multiple paintings on the wall. On the far wall, he sees a shotgun, and he can’t believe his luck. He can still hear Mingi and the dog trying to break down the first door and a shotgun is exactly what he needs to take them down.

He removes the shotgun from its setting, and he hears a faint click but doesn’t know where the sound came from. He should probably be careful, though. The last time he ignored a sound he ended up right here in this very spot, having been chased by zombie dogs. He pulls out the map to see if there are any more items in this room and on the map, the room is light red. There are still things he needs to find, hopefully some shotgun shells or more of that green plant he had earlier, but he needs to hurry. These doors can only hold for so long.

He overturns all the furniture and in between the couch cushions, he finds some shells. He looks back at the map and the room is now light green, so he takes a deep breath and opens the door, re-entering the small room with the weird wallpaper. He takes a few steps forward, but he feels something fall on his head and his shoulders. He looks up and sees plaster dust falling from the ceiling, then he hears scraping. The ceiling starts to move, slowly descending toward him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters for what feels like the millionth time tonight, running over to the door to the hallway, trying to turn the knob, but it won’t move. He jiggles it again, but it’s stuck.

“Fuck,” he runs to the other door to try it, but it’s locked too.

He returns to the hallway door and throws all his weight against it, hoping that Mingi and the dog have weakened it enough that he can break it down, but no such luck. He’s loath to waste a bullet shooting the lock, but if he doesn’t, he’s not even going to have a chance to fight back against any of the zombies. He pulls the pistol from his waistband and fires at the lock. He watches amazed as the bullet hits the doorknob and just lamely falls to the floor; the lock is completely undamaged. He tries shooting the lock to the door for the other room, but the same thing happens; he fires, and the bullet simply bounces off the lock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He sets the pistol on the ground next to the shotgun and buries his hands in his hair. His breathing quickens until he’s nearly hyperventilating as the ceiling continues to descend.

“HELP!” He screams. “Somebody help me!” He doesn’t know what to do; he didn’t see San play this part!

“God fucking damn it, Yunho, you fucking idiot, what the fuck are you gonna do now?!” Then he realizes that yelling at himself isn’t going to solve any problems, so he returns to the hallway door and throws his shoulder against it over and over again. He’s pretty sure he feels something crack inside his body, but he can’t find it within himself to care. The door starts to splinter, and shards of wood bury themselves in his flesh, still, he doesn’t stop, not even as he can feel blood dripping down his body.

“Come. On.” He breathes with each throw of his shoulder.

“Yunho? Is that you, Yunho?” He must have died and not realized because that voice is definitely Kumi’s who is most definitely dead. Either that or he’s hallucinating.

“What happened?” She asks, sounding very much alive and real.

“Kumi? Kumi you gotta help me, the door won’t open!”

“Stay away from the door, Yunho. I’m gonna kick this door down!” Yunho takes a few steps back, still not quite convinced this is real, but then the door opens, and he sees that familiar head of bright orange hair.

“Hurry! This way!” She says, holding out her hand. He runs out, grabbing the shotgun just as the ceiling reaches his height. As soon as he’s out, he slumps against the wall and lets out several huge, deep breaths.

“Kumi, Kumi, oh my God, thank you.”

“That one was too close. You were almost a Yunho sandwich!”

He continues to breathe heavily as he asks, “What?”

She waves him off, saying, “Ah, don’t worry about it.”

As his breathing starts to even, he lets himself take a good look at Kumi. She stands before him, not a hair out of place. She definitely doesn’t look like someone who was mauled by dogs. And if Mingi and Yunho, both much larger than Kumi, were unable to kick down the door, there’s no way in hell she should have been able to. Something isn’t right. He watched her die. She should be dead. Or at least a zombie, not… perfectly normal. This isn’t Kumi.

He levels the shotgun at her face. “Kumi, you were dead. I saw you die. There’s no fucking way you got out of that, so you’d better tell me what the hell is going on right now or I swear to fucking God I will kill you myself.”

She dramatically sighs and her shoulders slump forward. “There’s no need to be so nasty, Yunho. I just saved your life, didn’t I?” She doesn’t look the slightest bit scared that she has a shotgun held to her face.

He presses the barrel forward until it just grazes the tip of her nose. “Start. Talking.”

She looks up at him without moving her head and giggles at him. “Do you have it in you?”

He readjusts his grip and pushes the barrel forward. “Do you really wanna find out?”

She squints her eyes and stares into his soul for a few seconds; his palms start to sweat under her scrutiny. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “Hmm. You really would kill me.” She looks almost… happy at the realization. “Color me surprised.” What the fuck is going on? Who is she?

Suddenly, her hand swipes and forces the shotgun out of his grip and it falls to the floor. Thankfully it doesn’t fire, but before he can even think, she’s picked it up and levels it at his chest.

“Too bad you’re never gonna get the chance. Bye, Yunho.”

London, England. July 17^th, 2023.

A beautifully ornate najeonchilgi box lies at the bottom of the slender boarded-up hideaway in a far-too-expensive Chelsea townhouse’s drawing room. A hand tanned by a vacation home to one of the Korean mainland’s southernmost points reaches in to grab the box and inspect it in the light.

“This hidey-hole yours?” the person holding the box asks. His companion, temporarily wearing the skin of the home’s owner, an exceptionally fashionable woman in her latter fifties, studies the box and shrugs.

“I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember? You said this was your house back in the day.”

The woman rolls her eyes. Oh, now that just won’t do. The man grabs her wrist roughly, feeling the delicate bones in her wrist snap in his hold, but she offers no visible reaction.

“You behave far too casually with the person who’s given you everything you have.” Ice hangs from every word he says.

The companion rips her wrist from his grip, shredding the skin in the process.

“And you,” she bites, “behave far too harshly to the person who is integral to orchestrating your whole silly scheme.”

He laughs, but mirth doesn’t quite reach his eyes as the drawing room falls away from them, shattering like dropped glass. Blackness swallows the two of them up and it’s so dark that they could hold their hands less than an inch from their faces and they wouldn’t be able to see them. The kind of darkness children are warned about after saying their nightly prayers; the parent shutting out the light and letting the child stew in fear of Hell and eternal damnation in their bed. The kind of darkness all too familiar to the two of them, for they spent centuries being forged in the fiery torments.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place,” the man whispers and the woman shudders. “Need I remind you?” Invisible flames lick at their heels and the screams of the damned split their ears.

“No,” she says through gritted teeth, trying and failing not to let her terror show. “I remember. I’m sorry.”

In the time it takes to blink, the drawing room returns, and the man casually says, “Good. Don’t forget again.” And returns to studying the box. “It’s a stunning piece of craftsmanship. A real shame that it’s been hidden away.” A scene of a kumiho transforming into a beautiful young woman underneath a magnolia tree graces the top of the box. It’s definitely Korean and certainly very old. What is it doing here?

He runs his fingers along the edge and feels the slightest catch.

Oh?

He slides his fingernail into a small slot and applies a bit of pressure. The top opens and a cloud of orange smoke pours from the box; he drops it in surprise as the smoke coalesces into the shape of a person. When it clears, a woman in her early twenties with fiery orange hair, completely black eyes, and talons stands before him. She blinks rapidly and shifts her head around, taking in her surroundings. He counts nine tails.

A kumiho in the flesh.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “You’re going to be absolutely perfect.”

The butler runs into the room, the illusion of the Spencer Mansion falling away and a very normal bedroom coming into view, when he hears the gunshot. He looks down in front of the woman who has given him more than one headache tonight and sees the corpse of Jeong Yunho, blood still pouring out of the massive wound right where his heart is.

“Lottie! What the fuck did you just do? There was a whole other section for him!”

“I thought it would be funny. You know, just,” she mimes firing a gun, “BAM! Dead.”

He buries his face in his hands and loudly exhales. “Do you always have to be so difficult?”

She frowns and reaches a hand toward him. “You used to love how difficult I am.” She leans in closer and seductively whispers, “You especially loved putting me in my place.”

“Ugh!” He pushes her hand off of his arm. “Please don’t remind me of that. It’s bad enough that you’re here and now you’re just fucking everything up!”

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re really telling me that you wanted to conjure Lisa Trevor and that whole arena just to smash Yunho anyway? I did you a favor, Amby.”

His breath hitches: it’s been so long since he heard that stupid nickname he used to love so much fall from her lips.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters.

She snorts and raises a brow. “Fine, I did you a favor, Ambrose,” she sneers his full name.

He wishes he knew why she seems to hate him so much and why in the deep recesses of his heart, he’s furious with her. His memories of his human life are fuzzy after his time spent in Hell, so he knows he’s forgotten something, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever find out what.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he changes the subject. “We had a plan and you’re going rogue. Aren’t you worried about retribution?”

“Not at all,” she scoffs. “I’m the bottom of the food chain here and I’m sick of just being the lackey. The two of you need me, so if I wanna change the plan, I’m going to.”

I can’t deal with this right now.

“Whatever. We just won’t tell them what really happened.” He holds his hand over Yunho’s body and scrunches his eyes shut in concentration. The corpse morphs from a man with a massive gunshot wound to a man who looks like he was smashed by a boulder.

Good enough. His body screams at him in exhaustion, each illusion taking more and more out of him. Thankfully after tonight, he should be powerful enough not to require so much energy and to, hopefully, be able to learn more complex illusions. But for right now, it’s fucking exhausting.

His arms feel leaden as he pulls a small notebook out of his back pocket and double-checks his list.

“Okay, so he’s next. That means we need an… asylum, that’s right.” He takes a deep breath and channels his powers into transforming the house into a massive, looming asylum. The walls groan as they stretch and shift and a bead of sweat forms on his brow from the exertion. He isn’t sure how he always seems to know when he’s done, but somehow, he does, and he opens his eyes to see a hallway with bloodied walls and mangled bodies sitting in wheelchairs.

“Are you gonna behave this time?” he asks.

She laughs and tells him, “Absolutely not.”