(⚠Warning: Mentions of past abuse ⚠)
"What's your skincare routine?" I looked up from my easel to see one of my students smiling at me with a curious expression, her skirt thankfully long enough to keep people imagining despite the way she straddled the back of the chair she somehow managed to set up without me noticing.
Her name was Lee Nari, and she was one of those people who only became chaotic once they were comfortable with the people around them. At first I thought she was a timid and quiet person, but my opinion quickly changed after three days of actually talking to her.
My paintbrush was still raised to the paper, though I was quick to pull it away so I wouldn't accidentally ruin my painting of a ferret, and I turned to her before offering her a matching smile. "Hyaluronic acid and self loathing."
Her expression quickly fell. "Darn. I've already tried both. You must just have good genetics."
I snorted before going back to my work, well aware that she would most likely stay to watch me paint, much like she had done the day before. She was a self proclaimed creature of spontaneity, and would apparently only be able to complete her own project when she was hit with the right kind of inspiration. So while everyone else was busy painting their favorite animal, she spent her time talking to her classmates and watching them work.
No one seemed to mind so I didn't attempt to stop her, and though a part of me felt I should get her back on track, I also understood how pointless it was to try and force inspiration. Also, it was incredibly entertaining to listen in on the conversations she had with others, because she had that energy of confidently not giving a fuck.
"Okay, seriously though. Hair routine?"
"Argan oil and depression."
She snapped her fingers. "That must be it. I've never tried Argan oil before."
"You guys concern me." We both looked up to see Lee Ye Eun, Lee Nari's twin, eyeing us with a jokingly judgmental expression. Nari's playful smile quickly switched to match her Twin's expression as she gave her the side eye.
"You thought the wax on a Babel was edible, so you can shut it."
"I was five."
"So was I, but even then I had the common decency to peel off the fucking wax before trying to swallow it whole."
Lee Ye Eun poked her inner cheek with her tongue as she playfully glared at her twin, but had nothing to say in return. She eventually rolled her eyes before pulling up a chair and taking a seat beside her twin, apparently just as content to watch me paint as her sister was.
"Why a ferret, though?" By now I had attempted to turn back to my work, and I eyed them from my peripheral as my hand once again stilled.
"I guess you could say it has sentimental value." I couldn't exactly tell them it was my underground name, but they didn't seem satisfied with my vague response as they turned to each other.
"I think he's trying to be mysterious."
"It doesn't really suit him. He's too goofy for that."
I gasped dramatically as I placed my paint brush down, my other hand rising to clutch my heart as I turned to them. "How dare you. If I'm a Disney character, I would be Cinderella, not Goofy."
They looked at me like I just proved something, but when I made no move to stop my dramatic display, Lee Nari had the common courtesy to play along. "Why Cinderella?"
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. "Broke but fabulous." And also imprisoned and tortured by our families. So you know. Twinsies.
Lee Ye Eun held her chin as she observed me, her gaze calculating as she seemed to ponder something. Whatever she was trying to conclude seemed to finally come to her, and she shook her head. "Nah. If you were going to be a Disney character, you would be Mushu from Mulan."
Her sister's eyes narrowed in thought. "The little red dragon?" Lee Ye Eun nodded, and Lee Nari turned back to me with a decisive expression. "Yeah. I see that."
I pouted childishly. "How dare you."
"Yep. Dishonor on us, dishonor on our cow."
My eyes narrowed as they giggled. "That's it. You're no longer allowed in my bubble of existence. Now go away." I shooed them, and they only seemed to grow more amused at my fake state of disgruntlement. I huffed and was about to go back to painting so I could fake ignore them, mainly because I knew they appreciated my dramatics, but my attention was quickly stolen by the head peeking into my classroom.
Minho seemed less than pleased as we locked eyes, but that wasn't exactly new, so I simply waved him in with a joyful smile. "Mr. Lee! My man! What's up?"
My students all turned to look at him as he entered, and he closed the door behind him so the sound of my less than quiet students wouldn't leak into the hall. He then made his way towards me, the room falling silent at the unexpected appearance of the new sub they all seemed to fear. He was charming like that.
"I need pipe cleaners." His voice was monotonous and uninterested as he looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to magically pull them out of my ass like the pipe cleaner producer that I was. Instead I simply blinked, my head tilting to the side.
"Man, that sucks bro. Hope you find some." I then turned back to my painting, and my clear dismissal of him caused all my students to tense as they waited with bated breath for him to murder me. But instead of murdering me like they were convinced was going to be his go to solution, he simply huffed with agitation.
"One of my students said the art room would have some."
I guess that would make sense. Unfortunately, I hadn't seen any. Then again I didn't exactly do a deep dive of the classroom, so they could be hidden behind random junk in an undisclosed cabinet. That was gonna be fun to find.
I turned to my students, and they tore their gaze away from Minho in order to meet my eyes. "Do any of you know where the pipe cleaners are?" They shook their heads so unitedly that it almost seemed choreographed, their eyes blown wide once they realized they just disappointed Minho.
It was kind of amusing to see them so scared of him. If I was meeting him for the first time and was afraid of death I probably would have been intimidated by him as well, but that was kind of hard to do after seeing the way he looked at his boyfriends, or the way he treated the stray cats that would occasionally come up to our porch.
While he was completely capable of being terrifying, he also had the capacity to be incredibly gentle and caring. Unfortunately, that gentle demeanor had never been directed at me. He wasn't a bad person, that much was obvious from the way he cared for his loved ones. I was just unfortunately one of the few people who could bring out the worst side of him with my existence alone.
I let out a sigh before standing up from my stool, and I gestured for the older to follow me as I headed towards the large cabinets at the back of the room. "Come on, Mr. Lee. Let's go find what you're looking for." I looked over my shoulder to see him following me begrudgingly, and I lazily pumped my fists in the air. "Yay. Adventure."
. . . He seemed incredibly enthused.
I threw open the first set of cabinets and began to search, and I rummaged through stacks of paper and bags of clay as Minho searched through the next cabinet over. Nothing seemed organized, because while everything was put away neatly, there didn't seem to be any kind of categorizing between the different kinds of supplies. Clay shouldn't be in the same cabinet as the paper was. Perhaps I should move some things around during one of my free periods? If I moved the clay I could fit the pencils, pens, and ink next to the paper, and then I could move the bags of clay closer to the pottery wheels. Or perhaps it was too overzealous of me to go moving stuff around when I was only a temp.
When the first cabinet didn't produce any results I closed the doors and moved onto the next one, my disappointment only growing as I took in the sight of an entire cabinet dedicated to plastic buckets. What type of art style required over fifty plastic buckets? I'm sure there would be a purpose for them all, because if there wasn't they wouldn't be here, but just . . . why?
I was about to close the cabinet and move onto the only remaining one that hadn't been checked by either me or Minho, but the sound of plastic moving as well as Minho suddenly diving for me startled me enough that I flinched.
I had expected him to attack me. It would have been random, and dumb of him to do seeing as we were in front of a class, but his quick movements was something my mind registered as an attack. But before I could defend myself, he stopped.
His hands were raised, almost as if he was holding something up above me, and when my gaze lifted I realized that he had caught a bucket that was about to fall on my head. How did he notice that when I didn't? Also, why the fuck didn't I notice that?
Damn. Working on a murder case instead of actively trying to encourage my own murder must have made me rusty.
My eyes trailed down to his as he seemed to finally process what he did, a look of startlement and shock overcoming his features as he met my gaze. Instead of showing just how much his attempt to protect me affected me, I instead offered him a sarcastically sorrowful yet grateful look. "Thank you for saving me from the vicious bucket."
His expression went back to blank as he let the bucket fall from his hands and onto my head, a comedically loud thud resounding thanks to the hollow plastic. After hitting my head it landed on the floor with an even bigger thud, and I sniffed, my expression quickly matching his. "This is why I have trusted issues."
He rolled his eyes before turning to the last cabinet, and I picked up the bucket before putting it back on the top shelf. It was kind of cute that he instinctively tried to help me despite not realizing I wasn't actually in danger. Catching things was a reflex we all had, so while it was very probable that he simply attempted to catch it for the sake of not letting it fall, a part of me was tempted to believe he actually cared about my wellbeing, even if only slightly. But I was still a little concerned that I didn't notice it falling. If that had been an actual threat . . .
Oh wait, I forgot I was suicidal. Nevermind.
Minho closed the last cabinet the same way he had closed all the others, and while he didn't vocalize his distaste for the search's results, it was clear he was annoyed by the effort we just wasted. Even as his expression remained blank the air around him turned sour, and he turned to me expectantly, still apparently convinced that I would magically know where they were.
And almost as if his sour expectancy magically triggered something within me, the image of my top desk drawer flashed through my head. I deadpanned, a little exasperated by the sudden feeling of certainty after we just wasted five minutes searching through cabinets. If my hunch ended up being right then Minho would most likely assume I wasted his time on purpose, and I really didn't need to give him another reason to dislike me. Thankfully, bullshitting myself out of uncomfortable situations was something I excelled at.
I clapped, the sound reverberating off the walls of the still silent room. "Alright, let's divide and conquer. You go check the closet over there, and I'll search the cabinets underneath the counter."
He seemed reluctant to waste even more of his time searching, but apparently he really needed the pipe cleaners, because he still made his way towards the closet in the back. As soon as he entered the supply closet and flicked on the light, I silently hurried over to my desk. My students watched as I scurried around my desk, making sure to keep my attention towards the closet just in case he left prematurely.
I pressed my finger to my lips as I gave my students a warning look, and though they were confused for a moment, the second I opened the top drawer and pulled out a bag of pipe cleaners, their faces paled. They all seemed to simultaneously agree that anything that could possibly anger Minho should be kept a secret, and as I silently closed the drawer and moved back from around my desk, I thanked my lucky stars that all my students were terrified of the older. High schoolers weren't known for their secret keeping abilities, but self preservation was a great motivator.
Once I was kneeling near the lower cabinets I carefully opened one, and as soon as the scene was set, I allowed my expression to morph into a happily surprised one. "Hey Mr. Lee, I found them!"
He popped his head out of the closet to see me holding up the bag of pipe cleaners, and he flicked the light off before making his way towards me. I allowed him to take it out of my hand as I stood, and I closed the cabinet with a weight lifting from my shoulders.
My students all held their breath as they watched Minho turn to me, and though he seemed reluctant to, he still nodded in acknowledgement as a quiet "thank you" left his lips. Apparently he still valued manners even towards someone he seemingly hated.
My students remained silent as they watched him leave, and we all let out a breath of relief once the classroom door closed behind him. Our shoulders simultaneously relaxed as a few of them once again started chatting amongst themselves, and I made my way back to my desk before plopping down into my chair.
My eyes flickered over towards the corner when I felt eyes on me, and I smiled warmly once I locked eyes with Siwoo. He seemed just as tense as the rest of us, but once he noticed my smile, he didn't hesitate to return it.
—-----------------------------------------------------
Music once again played through the speakers of the empty classroom as I repeated the process of covering a piece of paper with charcoal, my satisfaction with the previous two working to fuel my motivation for the third.
I wasn't sure what order I would make them in, but I knew for a fact that Jisung was the one I wanted to work on next. I intended for Felix and Jisung to appear as if they were looking at each other, and as I had just finished Felix's, it made the most sense to start on Jisung's.
Once again I had a reference photo that Seungmin had lended me, and though neither of us mentioned it, I thought it was kind of cute that he had photos of all of them. Changbin told me that Seungmin was incredibly skilled in photography, and that the photos he was lending me were the first ones he had ever taken of each of the members.
They held incredible sentimental value, hence why he went through the trouble of bringing them with him. Apparently they accompanied him on every overnight mission, because they offered him a comfort he wasn't always comfortable asking of from the others.
In a way, it was kind of sad. He seemed to struggle with human connection, and though he was usually a very expressive person, he sometimes had difficulty showing his emotions to others. He seemed a little closed off, not necessarily because he didn't want to be close to the others, but because he didn't know how. I was curious what caused him to be that way, but it wasn't my place to pry into other people's pasts. All I could do was try to be mindful of his limitations.
Once I realized how much value these photos held I was extremely cautious with them, and while I had been tempted to return them, I knew doing so would reveal that someone had told me the sentiment they held. It was also important to keep in mind that he had lent them to me, which he wouldn't have done if he didn't want to.
It still made me a little nauseous every time I had to touch them directly, because for some reason a part of me felt they would burst into flames the second I did. Perhaps I was being a little too careful, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I ruined something he cared about so deeply. While I didn't have items I held to such regard, I could still understand the value of sentimentality. If I still had the first painting I ever made, I would probably cherish it the same way Seungmin cherished these photos.
I only had one more class I needed to teach at the end of the day, but unfortunately I had to wait another hour before it started. It gave me plenty of time to work on their portraits, but it still would have been nice if they scheduled all the classes in the morning so I wasn't waiting around for hours on end. Though I guess I wasn't necessarily wasting my time. In between bouts of inspiration I would often wander the school and attempt to find leads for the case, but there's only so much snooping someone could do while undercover. After about twenty nine different dead ends I found myself less tempted to go out and try again, hence why I was working on Jisung's portrait.
Once the paper was completely covered with charcoal I once again started to reshape the eraser, the heat from my hands working to make the kneaded eraser more malleable. Black stains were already stuck to the material, but thankfully not enough to hinder the eraser's effectiveness. We had plenty more hidden away in the cabinets, but wasting materials was never a good feeling.
I raised my hand to the paper as my eyes flickered over to the photo I had paperclipped to the edge of the easel, but right before I could start erasing the shape of his forehead, my eyes were drawn to the classroom door as a bloodied Jeongin stumbled into the room.
He was visibly distressed, his eyes blown wide with panic and shock as he panted slightly, specks of blood staining his face. My gaze moved to his hands as he clutched onto the partially opened door like a lifeline, and the pieces started falling into place when I noticed his knuckles were bloody and bruised.
My heart dropped when he made eye contact, his gaze seemingly lost and desperate as a singular tear fell from his eyes, turning pink as it trailed through the specks of blood scattered across his cheeks.
The stool I was previously sitting on toppled over as I launched upward, and while I probably should have figured out just how skittish he was, all logical thoughts seemed to vacate my mind as I rushed towards him.
He made no move to stop me as I approached, my hands raised to hover over him as I scanned him for visible wounds. I relaxed slightly when I didn't catch sight of any, the blood on his face and hands apparently belonging to someone else, but my expression was still twisted with concern. "Innie, are you okay?"
I wanted to ask what had happened, but asking for an explanation right off the bat could potentially stress him out more. He already seemed terrified, his hands visibly shaking as he struggled to catch his breath. He most likely ran here, though I doubt the potential alteration helped with keeping his breathing calm.
He allowed me to gently grasp his hand, and I guided him further into the room before closing the door, making sure no one had followed him. Thankfully the halls appeared empty, and I latched the door before turning my attention back towards Jeongin. He didn't give me the chance to say anything else before he started rambling, his voice shaking as his eyes looked at anything other than me.
"I told them it was a bad idea to have me come along, but they didn't listen! I knew something like this was going to happen, there was no way they could stay with me every minute of everyday, and highschoolers are fucking stupid! I knew this wouldn't end well, but . . ." He trailed off, his breath hitching slightly as a few more tears fell. Eventually he managed to once again make eye contact with me, the tears causing his eyes to glisten. When he spoke again, his voice was incredibly quiet, and if I weren't standing right in front of him, I probably wouldn't have heard him. "I messed up."
His lips pressed into a fine line as his eyes turned downward, and he allowed me to pull him into my arms as I guided his head into my neck. He made no attempt to hug me back, but he still leaned into me as I hugged him tightly.
It was heartbreaking to see him so upset. I hadn't seen him lose his cool since revealing my part in taking down the mental hospital, and while he had become a lot more stoic once he no longer had a reason to hate me, it was obvious that he was an incredibly sensitive person. He was good at hiding his feelings, but when something made him break down, he was very bad at not letting it show. He could be intimidating, but anyone who knew him well enough could see that deep down, he was always scared.
I had plenty of things I was afraid of, and some of those fears were debilitating. But even then, they weren't a constant thing. I couldn't imagine how difficult it must be to be afraid of yourself. To be scared of something you could never truly escape. To lack control over something you feel you should be able to manage.
"Baby, I promise everything is going to be alright, okay? I just need you to tell me who, and if they're still there. I'll take care of it, I promise. I just need to know what I'm dealing with." The endearment came out unintentionally, because I was apparently so used to using such pet names when comforting the others that it was now a habit, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead he pulled away slightly, not at all fazed as I removed the hand from the back of his head in order to wipe away more of his tears.
"I don't know who they were." His voice was still shaky, but he seemed a little more composed as he regained control of his breathing. "They were dressed like seniors. They were blocking the staircase, and when I moved around them, they tried to pick a fight. I tried to ignore them, but they grabbed me, and then. . ." Once again he trailed off, but seeing as how none of the blood appeared to be his, I could assume he kicked their asses before they could lay a hand on him. It was self defense, but I doubt he saw it that way.
I nodded, showing that I understood enough for him to not have to continue, and I pulled away before guiding him towards my desk chair. He allowed me to guide him into the chair, and he sat obediently as he watched me rummage through one of the desk drawers. "Why were you alone?" My eyes remained on the contents of the drawer, but even with my eyes off him I noticed the way he looked down at his hands, almost as if ashamed.
"I had to go to the bathroom. I was in Chan's class, because he was the one who was supposed to watch me, but he was busy teaching, and I couldn't wait for another hour. I was on my way back to his class when I ran into them."
I closed the drawer once I found the wet wipes, and I kneeled in front of him before grabbing one of his hands. He watched me as I started cleaning the blood from his hands, cautious of the bruising. "This isn't on you. No one should have been in the halls to begin with. Anyone would have assumed it would be safe to step away for a minute." He simply frowned down at his lap, apparently not believing my words as he made no attempt to respond.
"Hey." His eyes flickered up to meet mine, and I regarded him with a serious expression. "This isn't on you. They deserved it. You did exactly what you should have done, and if defending yourself means your attacker gets hurt, I don't fucking care. You protect yourself, because no one wants to see you get hurt. Okay?" I stared into his eyes intently, and I squeezed his hand gently when he attempted to look away. "You did nothing wrong. If you beat them to a pulp, they deserved it. If you broke their bones, they deserved it. Assholes like that don't deserve mercy, so don't go feeling bad. And the fact that you lost control? No one in their right mind would remain calm when being attacked. If you had hurt someone who was minding their own business, then that would be different. But they started it. It's not your fault they weren't strong enough to finish it."
Once his hands were clean I threw away the wet wipe before grabbing another, and I started to wipe away the blood from his face, my brows furrowing with growing anger the longer I thought about the people who had tried to hurt Jeongin. But of course, tending to the still distressed younger was a bigger priority than dealing with whoever got their asses beat by him. However, I should probably make sure Jeongin doesn't get in trouble for this. The headmaster probably wouldn't be happy once he learned of this, so it would be beneficial to make sure he never did.
"What class is Seungmin in right now?" My eyes locked with his as I wiped away a speck of blood from his cheek, and he bit his lip in thought.
"I think Minho's. Why?"
Of course, it had to be the one guy who couldn't stand me.
I threw away the wet wipe once I was sure there was no more blood on his face, and I stood up before reaching towards the landline on the corner of my desk. I dialed Minho's room number begrudgingly, well aware he wouldn't be happy about the fact that I called.
The phone rang a few times before it was picked up, and Minho's monotonous voice could be heard from the other side. "Hello?"
"Hey, Minho? It's Hyunjin. I need a favor."
I shouldn't have been surprised by the sound of the call ending, but I still found myself huffing as I once again dialed his number. This time it picked up after the second ring, and I didn't allow him to say anything before I rushed to get out what I needed to say. "I need you to send Seungmin over to the art room. It's an emergency."
A few seconds of silence passed as he apparently didn't fully believe me, but he thankfully came to the conclusion that there was too much to lose if I was being honest about the state of urgency. He grunted in acknowledgment before once again hanging up, though this time I was decently certain it was to do what I asked.
I set the phone back on the receiver before turning my attention back towards the younger, who I only now noticed had been staring at me the entire time. "Why do you need Seungmin?"
"To tamper with the footage on the stairwell. That way if they report you, there will be no evidence to support their claims." I tilted my head slightly as another thought entered my mind. "Do you think they would still be there?"
He winced slightly, his next words grumbled out in sheepish resignation. "Probably."
I ruffled his hair. "Awesome. When Seungmin comes, explain what happened and tell him to alter the footage. I have some things to go take care of, so be patient and wait here for me, okay?"
The "thing" I had to go take care of was rather obvious, and though he seemed reluctant to let me get further involved, he apparently trusted me enough to not actively stop me. He simply nodded, his expression of apprehension going ignored as I offered him an innocent smile and made my way to the door.
I unlatched it before pushing it open, but before I closed it behind me, I peeked my head back into the room and allowed my smile to turn comforting. "Everything will be fine." Because I'll fuck up anyone who tries to make it not be.
—------------------------------------------------
It made sense why Jeongin came to me. My classroom was the closest to the stairwell, and if he attempted to go to anyone else at this time of day, he would have had to make his way all the way to the other side of the building. I was the closest option, and in his rushed and panicked state, that made me the best option.
Though as I rounded the corner and laid my eyes on the mess Jeongin had left behind, I quickly realized that even without the added convenience, I was the best equipped to deal with the aftermath. That was evident by the identities of Jeongin's attackers.
The five bullies that were previously tormenting Siwoo were now sprawled out over the stairs in a bloody mess, their bodies littered with cuts and bruises, though thankfully none of their injuries appeared to be fatal. Murder would be a lot more difficult to cover up than simply beating up a group of students.
One of their ankles was twisted at an unnatural angle, all of them appeared to be bleeding profusely out of at least one orifice, and though they were slowly regaining consciousness, it was apparent that they were still all rather out of it.
Well that just wouldn't do.
I made my way over toward who I previously learned to be the leader, and I crouched down before grabbing his hair and forcing his head up. He groaned as his eyes slowly peeled open, and though he was obviously in pain simply from opening his swollen eyes, they still widened in panic once he laid eyes on me.
"I thought I got my point across the first time around, but it would appear stupidity has no cure. I thought for sure you would have an inkling of self preservation, but it would seem that even your social standing isn't as important as your desire to cause problems." I let out a fake sigh of disappointment, and I tightened my grip when he attempted to thrash away from me. I tsked, finding sadistic pleasure out of his pained expression.
He seethed, both from the harsh yanking on his scalp as well as what appeared to be anger and shame. "You wouldn't go through with your previous threat. Then you would have nothing to control me with." A sickening smirk tugged at his lips, and I found myself questioning whether or not Jeongin beat him up enough to cause brain damage.
"Blackmail isn't effective if you aren't willing to go through with it. And I think you misunderstood me." I leaned towards him more, forcing his head up higher so we could be at eye level. "When I said I went through your past, I meant I went through all of it. I'm not foolish enough to think one singular threat would be enough to quell your narcissism. I have enough dirt on you to plant a garden, and starting tomorrow morning? So will the press."
I let go of his hair, a sickening smack ringing out as his head fell to the tile. I stood and wiped my hand on my pants, trying to get rid of the disgusting feeling of his hair between my fingers. "And I never needed anything to control you with, because the second I reveal all your dirty little secrets, you'll never be allowed in an institute like this again. Think of my previous threat as more of a . . . warning. One you didn't bother to heed."
I had dirt on all of them, because the second I realized how troublesome they would end up being, I took the liberty of making use of my connections. That was a little harder to do while practically on house arrest, but I wouldn't be my father's son if I couldn't make it work. They would be gone by morning, their lives ruined before they even got the chance to properly live them. Perhaps it was petty of me, but I couldn't find it in me to care. Because not only did they dare to mess with Siwoo, but they also tried to mess with Jeongin.
They made no attempt to stop me as I turned to walk away, but when I suddenly remembered the entire reason I came here in the first place, I turned back around with an innocent smile. "Also, if you try to tell on him, not only will no one believe you, but I really will end up breaking your kneecaps. Though based on the state that boy left you in, that might not be necessary."
This time I really did end up walking away, and I made my way back to the art room with maybe a little too big of a skip in my step.
—-----------------------------------------------------
-Jisung's POV-
I wasn't sure how much I should share. It wasn't my business to pry, and it wasn't my business to make it anyone else's business, but I was concerned. But I guess when it came to Hyunjin, that wasn't new. Though he didn't often talk about it, we all noticed signs of his trauma.
I vividly remembered the way he panicked when me and Felix refused to get off of him after dog piling him. At first we assumed it was because he just didn't do well with forced physical contact, but when we noticed the scars on his wrists that appeared to be from prolonged restraint, we figured anything that restricted his movement was a trigger for him. We were all cautious after that to make sure our grip was never too tight, and that he could easily get out of our grasp if he tried.
He seemed fine around weapons, could handle any type of gun with impressive proficiency, and never showed fear when on the other end of a weapon. However, during Felix's phase of trying to show Hyunjin every movie possible, one of the movies happened to be about a circus. As soon as a whip was shown on screen he stiffened, and though he tried his best to hide it from us, he seemed genuinely terrified by the sound. Felix had quickly changed the movie, claiming he was bored and in the mood for a comedy, and we avoided movies with whips in it ever since.
There were other smaller things as well. The way he would flinch if we moved too fast, the way he avoided locking the doors to any of the rooms he was in, and the way he hated cramped spaces. But every sign of fear he ever showed went ignored by him, and he never attempted to talk about it. He never set boundaries despite the need to, never allowed us to accommodate him, and he seemed dead set on pretending nothing was wrong.
We could respect that. I could respect that. But we still needed to be aware of his fears. Even if he wasn't comfortable talking about it, that didn't mean we couldn't look out for possible triggers. The last thing any of us wanted to do was upset him, including Minho, though he would never admit it out loud. He was still cold to him, and clearly had some unresolved issues with Hyunjin's affiliation with the mafia, but every single trigger we uncovered was one he was mindful of.
Every time we noticed something we made sure to share it with the others, just to make sure we were all aware of things that could possibly upset him. We all had things we were triggered by, so it wasn't that big of a deal to add Hyunjin's triggers to the list.
Felix would sometimes panic when something touched his leg unexpectedly, and once woke up with a panic attack because the blankets had gotten tangled around his legs. Changbin would sometimes get PTSD triggered flashbacks from the smell of cigarette smoke, though only when his stress levels were already high. Minho couldn't function properly if he was up too high, and was terrified of stepping foot on any kind of water craft.
We all had limitations, but Hyunjin's list seemed to be the longest. And because he never openly talked about it, the list was far from being finished. And being branded was yet another thing we had to add to the list. What were possible triggers for that? Heat sources? The smell of burning flesh? Or was it yet another shitty thing he had experienced that he was somehow able to brush off?
He had the longest list of triggers, but he also was the most unfazed by things that would usually freak people out. He remained practically unfazed when Chan had tortured him, and he only showed pain when he was getting burned. Was that related to having been branded? Or did he simply reach his limit of remaining composed? His go to solution for issues seemed to be arson, so he didn't seem to have a fear of fire.
He also remained perfectly calm all those times he was held at gunpoint, which might have had something to do with his absent sense of self preservation. He didn't panic even when he was being strangled, showed no hesitation in confronting Chan's attempted killer, didn't show fear or discomfort even while he was being kidnapped, and didn't hesitate to chase down a shadowy figure in the middle of the woods.
He was both fearless and traumatized. He was the strongest, yet most broken person I knew, and because we shared everything, all of the others most likely had the same opinion. Being branded was probably far from the worst thing that had happened to him, and though that thought both saddened and enraged me, I knew expressing that would only cause Hyunjin to be less likely to open up in the future.
Chan was cleaning up his classroom, the students long ago dismissed as the halls became more and more empty. He seemed lost in thought, not even taking notice of me as I entered his classroom and made my way up behind him. He was sorting through books as he organized them onto a large bookshelf, seemingly content with the peaceful atmosphere of the empty history classroom.
He stilled as I wrapped my arms around him from behind, but he quickly seemed to realize it was me as he relaxed into my hold. I had locked the only windowless door that led into the room, so I knew it was perfectly safe to show affection. We hadn't been able to be as touchy as we usually were because of all the eyes, so I savored the feel of him in my arms as I kissed the back of his neck. Somehow he always managed to smell like rain, and I hummed as I rested my head against his shoulder.
"We need to talk about Hyunjin."
He had gone back to organizing the bookshelf, his movements only slightly hindered from me latching onto him. "Is everything okay with him? You sound stressed."
I let out a sigh as I pulled away, and taking note of my demeanor, he was quick to set down the book in his hands before turning to me, his undivided attention now focused on me as he waited expectantly. "He has a scar from being branded."
His brows furrowed slightly, but we were both desensitized to this stuff enough that he didn't show much of a reaction other than agitated sympathy. "Do you know by who?"
I raised a brow. "Why? Planning on going after them, or something?" He gave me an unamused expression, but didn't attempt to deny it. By now we all knew about him hunting down the people who had hurt Hyunjin, and while he still refused to tell us what they did to him, we could tell by how extensively he tortured them that it was rather bad.
Despite his role as our group's torturer, Chan absolutely despised it, and only did so when absolutely necessary. So the fact that he spent so long on the few he managed to find during that short amount of time? He was pissed. But unfortunately, the culprit wasn't someone we could easily get to.
"I believe it was his father. He said it was tradition for someone to get their affiliation tattoo branded off when they were disgraced."
He sighed as his eyes squeezed shut. "I swear to god, when I finally get my hands on that man . . . " He didn't really need to elaborate, because what he had been doing to the others that had hurt Hyunjin was enough of a preview into the fate of Hyunjin's father. However, something told me the things his brother did to him were much worse.
He grew uncomfortable the few times he had talked about his father, but his brother? Other than the one time he told us that his brother had tortured him for two years, he never once talked about him. He refused to, almost as if the very thought of him caused him pain. But of course, we would never truly know unless Hyunjin became comfortable enough to actually open up about his trauma.
Though based on how desperate he seemed to pretend that everything was okay, a part of me doubted that day would ever come.
—----- To Be Continued —-----
In memory of Rosella.