Jisung stared at him. “Progress?”
Minho held his hands up. “Hang on-“
“No, what do you mean?”
Minho paused, meeting his eyes. “You have made progress, haven’t you?”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You remembered something.”
The words on Jisung’s tongue died. That sentence ground into his bones and pinned him in place. His silence was answer enough.
“What did you remember?”
Jisung’s heart was waking up, trembling and ready to fall. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’ve had dreams, unclear, confusing dreams.”
Minho had an unusual desperation in his eyes and flowing out of his body. “Do you remember any details? Anything?”
“The mark. There’s a strange mark on my back. But that’s all I know.”
“You mean like this?” Minho turned and lifted his shirt. There, carved in the center of his lower back, was a mark exactly like the one Jisung found on himself, except it was red rather than blue.
Jisung nodded. “What can you tell me?”
Minho dropped his shirt and raked a hand through his hair. “Out of all the things to remember,” he murmured, more to himself than the room. He looked at Jisung. “When did you start having these dreams?”
“The night after you and I… met. At the hotel.”
“That same night?”
“Yes, why?”
Minho released a short laugh. A relieved laugh. “So it worked.”
“What?”
“Is that the only time you’ve had a dream like that?”
“No, I had one last night. It’s how I found the mark.”
Minho was smiling now. “So there is a way. Thank everything good and righteous,” he breathed.
Jisung was low on patience. “Can you tell me what’s going on, or not?”
Minho strode over to the cabinets left of the fridge. “Your memory was taken from you, he explained, digging through a large box.
“I have amnesia,” Jisung said, trying to see what he was doing, “I figured out that much.”
“No, it’s different. You didn’t lose your memory, it was taken from you.”
The first dream flashed through Jisung’s mind and he flinched, rubbing at his throat where that needle had pierced him. “By who? How?”
“Like I said, I can’t tell you much. Not yet. You need to remember more on your own.”
“Why can’t you just tell me everything?”
“Because you’ll drop dead.”
Jisung’s gut roiled and he rubbed his eyes. Calm down. Stay calm. “Fine, I’ll take that for now, but what are you doing?”
“Here it is.” Minho stood, holding a small plastic bag filled with an odd, orange power. “This is a stimulant a member of my team concocted. It’s meant to keep you alert and enhance your senses, but when it’s blended with a drug that will put you to sleep, it makes you dream vividly.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow at it. He thought it was something to make a flavored drink or a cleaning product when he found it earlier. “So you want me to… take it?”
“That night at the hotel, I laced my knife with it. You dreamed, you remembered something that same night. And last night I mixed it into your tea with a sedative.”
“So you do want me to take it?”
Minho set the bag down. “I think you should try it one more time. Another dream could trigger more of your memories.”
Jisung took several steps back, distancing himself from the moment mentally and physically. Everything about this was making sense, but at the same time, his mind was only becoming more twisted with questions and confusion. “Wait, wait. How do I know you’re not… tricking me? How do I know you’re not slipping me hallucinogens and manipulating how I see things?”
Something flickered through Minho’s eyes. Hurt. But it was gone in a second. “I don’t know how I would manage that. I can’t manipulate your dreams. And that mark on your back is very real, you know that.”
Jisung unconsciously rubbed his lower back. Am I being stupid for wanting to trust him? Would it be more stupid to ignore him?
Minho took one step closer. “I know this is all… strange and confusing and frustrating, but I need you to see that I only want to help.” His voice was low, melodic, calming and somehow mesmerizing. “How about we make another deal?”
“And what would that entail?” Jisung asked, cautious and anxious.
“If you try this,” he motioned to the stimulant, “just one more time, and it doesn’t work, I will not force you to do it again. I won’t push you to remember anything anymore, and I’ll answer the questions I’m able to.”
“And if it works?”
“We’ll keep working on your memories as often as we can.”
“So if it doesn’t work, you’ll still keep me captive? How is that a deal?”
Minho shook his head. “I can’t let you go, no matter how badly you want it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you, I can’t-“
“Why not?” Jisung pushed, his blood snapping and making his words harsh. “You tell me you have answers, and yet you refuse to give any! I’m a nobody kicked to the streets, I have nothing to offer you!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why can’t you just let me go?”
“Drop it.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Just give me a damn answer!”
“I can’t lose you again!”
Jisung went still at Minho’s outburst. A heavy silence draped over the room, weighing on their heads and seeping into their skin. Again?
“Shit,” Minho hissed, raking a hand into his hair. His chest heaved in a breathy, humorless laugh. “There’s your answer, I guess.”
Jisung wasn’t sure if he was breathing correctly. What did that mean? Why did that answer make his heart crack like a windshield in a car accident? The distress in Minho’s body was clear as day, and his first instinct was to trust it. Minho meant this. He wasn’t lying. It was relieving yet terrifying.
“Okay.” The response was barely there, a low whisper in a howling wind of emotions.
Minho’s eyes shot to him. “Okay?”
“I’ll try the stimulant.”
“Are you sure?”
Jisung steeled himself and nodded. “I’m sure.”
⧫⧫⧫
“I’ll be in the room down the hall,” Minho said, setting the cup of tea on the hearth. “Reliving those memories won’t be a fun experience, so… if you need anything…”
Jisung nodded from where he was sitting on the bed. “I’ll be sure to tell you if there’s any… progress.”
“Good.” Minho awkwardly stepped back. “As you know, that stuff works fast… yeah. Sleep as well as you can.”
Jisung couldn’t bring himself to respond as Minho left the room. He wasn’t sure what to feel, let alone what to think about this whole situation. Minho had made it more than clear that they shared a past, and it was… strange, to say the least. The atmosphere for the remainder of the evening had been awkward, which didn’t help at all. But, hopefully, they could work past it.
After a few minutes of giving himself a mental pep-talk, Jisung drank the drugged tea Minho prepared for him. He just hoped he wouldn’t become an addict of this stuff.
As expected, drowsiness fell heavy on his mind within minutes, and he made himself comfortable. According to Minho and his last experience, he would wake up again in two hours, and once he fell asleep after that, he would dream. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
Just like last time, he was thrown into a dream hours later.
The room was small, empty and white. He sat on the cold floor, his back pressing into a corner. Chains weighed on his limbs. Jisung curled further into the corner when the door flew open. Two figures, dressed in identical blue uniforms wrestled him to his feet.
Jisung struggled against them.
“Why does this one have to fight every time?” one figure hissed. He grabbed Jisung’s hair and harshly yanked it back. “Cut it out!”
Head pinned by the brute, Jisung was dragged down the same hall as before, but this time he could make out details. A symbol was carved onto the white walls every few feet; the same mark that was burned into his back.
They pushed through a set of steel doors and shoved him to the floor. His hands scraped against the uneven concrete of this new room, making him hiss. The doors clanged shut behind him.
“JH-47, Tolerance and Endurance Test Six,” a distant, robotic voice rehearsed.
Test?
Jisung didn’t move from his spot on the floor, his heart pounding, mind racing. Paralyzed by fear, burning with rage.
Move, Jisung!
“Commencing.”
A soft bubbling sound echoed around him, whooshing around him slowly. A sour, choking smell filled his lungs. Jisung coughed, and that’s when it hit. The pain.
Smoke burned his lungs, fire boiled his bones. A thousand needlepoints stabbed his skin at once.
Jisung’s arms gave out as he pressed his forehead to the jagged floor. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
“Commencing phase two.”
He wasn’t sure what happened. He thought he felt something hit his back, and then his body was falling apart.
Jisung’s vision went white and his body shook as a sharp, viscous cold tore through his body, ripping and shredding his muscles. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to see, to think. The tearing rippled through his limbs and toward his heart.
A broken scream ripped from his throat.
Jisung was up, the cement gone, replaced with navy blue covers. It was like his lungs were being pressed together, and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to get himself under control. He could feel echoes of the pain from his dream- no- from his memory.
Something warm pressed into his hand comfortingly. “You’re awake, you’re okay,” a soft voice soothed. “Just breathe.”
A long breath out. A long one in. Jisung curled his fingers around the comfortable warmth, grounding himself. He was in a bed not on harsh cement. His body was free, unchained and unbruised. His body melted into the blankets, his eyes grew heavy, as if he hadn’t actually slept at all.
“Rest now, it’s okay.”
Jisung drifted into a quiet haze.
Gentle fingers brushed through his hair. “Those things will never happen to you again, love. I swear my life.”
———————– I said the chapters would be long from here on out. Suppose I didn’t realize this one was so short lol. But I guess variety is good. Also couldn’t resist the trope of someone confessing something loudly in an argument 😉
Lmk what y’all think! Any theories about this whole mystery of his past? To be discovered. Thanks for reading!
Comment