Feathers And Carnations Chapter Eight

*knives and other things in this chapter, small warning*

If a giant boulder fell on Jisung’s head, he would thank it for ending his misery.

Six days passed at a harrowingly slow pace. Minho visited twice in that time, but he only dropped off some food before leaving again. Those visits happened on the first two days.

A day later, when Jisung tried to break the anklet off, it’d zapped him so hard his arm was numb for several hours. He tried guessing the code to unlock it and got zapped again, so he gave up for the day. The following day, he tried mixing the chemicals he found under the sink to melt the anklet off. That only resulted in a harsh burn on his leg. He tried bashing it against the wall. Once again, the only thing he got was some bruising.

Seungmin showed up on the fifth day and they played a few card games and a game of chess. They had a pleasant chat over lunch about how Seungmin had come to work for Minho.

Seungmin was a thief, but not just any thief. He was known nationally for stealing rare works of art and gems worth more than a city. Ultimately, it was his fame that got him caught, but it also caught Minho’s attention. Only a few months into his sentence, Minho broke him out and made a deal with him. From there, they grew closer as they balanced each other’s work, and he was eventually promoted to underboss.

Through the conversation, Jisung couldn’t help thinking of his own experience as he entered Nightfield. He was a lowly, no good thief, but thanks to Chan’s generosity, he was able to sharpen his skills to a fine point and rise through the ranks. He was now the top spy, known for finding information in impossible places and extracting it from sealed mouths. Some mafia dons had tried hiring him while others tried having him killed out of fear. But now he was nothing more than a useless prisoner.

Thankfully, his mind was taken away from his situation during Seungmin’s visit. The underboss was surprisingly relaxed and down to earth. Jisung would even go so far as to say he had a good time, and he could almost see himself becoming friends with him.

As for the dreams, there was no progress. Two of the dreams he had before repeated, waking him up in the dead of night. He was unable to fall back asleep both times.

Jisung slept throughout day six, and now, on the seventh day, he found it impossible to relax enough to sleep. He paced the house, made several cups of tea. His feet were locked into motion, but his mind was covered in a gray sheet, silent and dusty. The sun set an hour earlier, and he forced himself to fall onto the couch as he let a random movie play.

His eyes were burning with exhaustion as he stared at the screen of the TV blankly. He was contemplating going to bed when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

A stiff chill snaked through Jisung’s limbs as he pushed himself upright, scanning the dark area of the house behind him. Aside from the low volume of the TV, the room was quiet and still. Nothing seemed to be amiss. His mind itched, as if saying, but something is amiss.

Slowly, calmly, Jisung rose to his feet and turned the TV off. His footsteps were loud to his ears as he made for the stairs. Tension coiled in his muscles. His breathing grew heavier.

A shadow moved in the corner of his eye.

Jisung ducked, and plaster rained down on him as something slammed into the wall. A black knife. Another movement. He dove to the floor as another knife embedded itself in the wall.

A tall figure dressed in complete black lunged at him from the shadowed door of the kitchen, weapon flashing. Hands braced on the floor, Jisung swept his leg under the attacker, sending them stumbling back. He had just enough time to grab one of the knives from the wall before a leg slammed into his side.

His body hit the stairs. A knife flew at him. He jerked his weapon up, deflecting the flying blade with a sharp ring.

Jisung lurched to his feet, dodged the swing of his assailant, and slashed his knife across their exposed arm. The figure stumbled back, curses spilling free incoherently. They lunged at him again.

Pain flashed hot and sudden through Jisung’s arm as a blade found its mark. He ignored it, wrenched his arm around the attacker’s, and twisted violently, contorting the person’s body forward. Using the momentum, he slammed their head into the wall.

The attacker collapsed.

Jisung stepped back, panting and shaking with adrenaline. Aside from the mini tussle in the kitchen with Minho, he hadn’t been caught up in a fight in awhile, and he was relieved to see he hadn’t lost his touch. 

The wall was now crumbling in a few spots, and blood was seeping from the wound he inflicted on the attacker. What a mess.

Jisung cautiously poked the body with his foot. When they didn’t move, he pulled their mask off, revealing the scarred face of a young man. “Who are you?” he whispered. He searched the man’s clothes and pocketed the knife he found. “So you bring four knives to kill someone and no gun. You were either on a stealth mission, or you were stupid.”

The attacker was still alive, so Jisung found where Minho had left a pack of zip-ties in the living room, tied the man down, and shoved him into a closet he was able to lock. “What a mess. Minho will love to see you.” It wasn’t until then that he realized his arm was dripping blood everywhere. Whispering a string of curses, he made his way into the kitchen.

As he reached for the light switches, something heavy slammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward. He barely caught himself on the counter when a heavy hand knocked his head into the cold counter-top, making his vision go splotchy.

Again?

Jisung shoved back with all his strength, knocking the new unknown assailant off his body. Elbow extended, he whirled around, bashing them in the head hard. They staggered to the side.

It was impossible to see anything in the nearly pitch black kitchen, and Jisung frantically tried locating where the attacker was. The shadows shifted and he instinctively dodged. It was the wrong move.

A gloved hand caught his throat and threw him back into the wall, knocking a painting to the ground.

Jisung let out a shout as a searing pain bloomed in his shoulder. Warm blood splashed his face as a blade dug into the flesh below his collarbone. He jerked his other hand up, slamming the heel of his palm into the attacker’s nose. Jisung yelped when the blade yanked free from his shoulder with the movement of the figure’s hands flying to their face.

Though they were barely a silhouette, Jisung could see them now, and he took advantage of their distraction. He grabbed the fallen painting and smashed it over their head, making them crumple immediately.

Chest heaving, arms shaking, Jisung dropped the ruined painting with a loud clatter. He fumbled for the light switches and flinched when he flipped them on and flooded the room with light. He half expected something else to attack him, but nothing moved. Better safe than sorry.

Jisung grabbed the large knife from the fallen person’s hand and began searching the house, the knife flipped out and held up. He opened every door and turned on every light, checking the window locks in each room as he went. He eventually found where the assailants had entered, which was back in the laundry room near the back door. They’d broken the latch on the window, or it was already broken. Either way, Jisung locked the door to that room.

When he was sure all was clear, Jisung grabbed the zip-ties and gave the same treatment to the second man as he did the first. The second man was older than the other one, (and heavier), with similar scars marring his face, which was peculiar. Why hadn’t they attacked him together? Were they simple criminals or were they here for him?

As much as Jisung wanted to dispose of them, he knew Minho would want to question them. He wanted to question them, but that wasn’t plausible at the moment.

Jisung had just locked the closet when he felt his body sway, and he braced his hand on the wall to steady himself. His whole right arm was throbbing where both men had managed to injure him. He focused on his arm. His shirt was soaked in a deep red from the gaping wound between his shoulder and collarbone. The rest of his arm was completely covered in blood. Oh shit.

He’d lost too much blood already.

Dizzy and wobbly, Jisung moved a few steps forward. His entire body locked up when the handle of the front door suddenly twisted a few feet away. He grabbed the knife he’d tucked into his waistband, fear and panic spiking through his limbs. He faced the door, knife raised and shaking.

“I’m home, my- Jisung?!” Minho rushed in the moment his eyes landed on him.

A patchy sigh of relief rippled from Jisung’s lungs as his back hit the wall and he slid to the floor. “It’s just you,” he whispered to himself.

Minho dropped to his knees in front of him, brown eyes filled with concern. “What the hell happened, where else are you hurt? Who did this?” The questions spilled out all at once as he checked the injured man over. He gently cupped Jisung’s face. “Eyes on me.”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut before focusing them on Minho’s face. “It’s about time you showed up,” he muttered, his words blending together ever so slightly. “I’ve only been here for ten years.”

Minho cracked a smile but it faded away just as quickly as it appeared. “I’m here now, just focus on me, yeah?” He patted his cheek. “Hey, eyes on me, Jisung.”

He barely managed a small nod, refocusing his vision.

“I need to take care of that wound, can I carry you to the kitchen or can you walk?”

Jisung could hear clearly, and that was about it. He was so light-headed, he wondered if his whole body would float off if he tried to stand. His lips struggled to form words. “Can’t walk,” he managed.

Minho carefully lifted him from the floor, one arm under his back, the other under his legs, and swiftly moved into the kitchen. He stepped over a shattered painting, confused by it, but not focused on it. He carefully set Jisung on the counter. “I need to take off your shirt, is that okay?”

I don’t care, I just want to pass out, let me pass out.

“Jisung, is that okay?”

He brought himself back into focus once again. “Uh, yeah. Just don’t lift my arm please.”

Minho nodded and removed Jisung’s shirt slowly, making sure to slide it down his injured arm with care. Rage flickered in his eyes when he caught sight of the deep, jagged wound.

Why is he pissed?

“How dizzy are you? Ten being ‘close to passing out’ and one being ‘the floor is wobbling.'”

“Definitely around ten.”

“How long have you been bleeding like this?”

“At least fifteen minutes.”

“Jisung!”

“I was going to take care of it!”

“When, in the afterlife?” Minho shook his head and started wetting a washcloth down with warm water. “Lay down slowly, it should help some of the dizziness you’re feeling.”

Jisung kept himself from rolling his eyes, slowly laying on the counter. “I’ve done this before, bleeding out is nothing new to me.”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re used to this, you’re with me now and I’m going to take care of you.”

Jisung smiled at that, then caught himself. What the hell am I smiling about? Have I lost it?

Minho appeared above him. “I’m going to wash your wounds. It’s not going to be comfortable.”

“I’m laying on a kitchen counter, things are already uncomfortable,” Jisung argued.

“The couches in the living room are brand new, I don’t want them bloodied.”

“You’re very considerate, you know.”

Minho gave him a disbelieving look. “I thought you were on the verge of passing out, how are you arguing with me right now?”

“I’m in pain, I’m distracting myself.”

Minho set his elbow next to Jisung, his hand in the air. “Here.”

Confused, Jisung took his hand.

“I’m going to start now. Use me as an anchor, alright?”

“Get it over with.” Jisung braced himself. He always hated this part. 

The warm washcloth ran over his skin gently, slowly cleaning the blood that’d gotten everywhere. It was painless until Minho finally moved on to the wounds. Jisung’s eyes squeezed shut and he clamped onto Minho’s hand harshly as waves of stinging pain rolled through his body. His head swam with a haze threatening to take over, but he remained quiet as Minho cleansed the wounds and stitched him up. He could handle pain quietly, at the very least.

After what felt like five years, Minho finally wiggled his hand that was still joined with Jisung’s. “Sit up for me, I need to wrap your shoulder and then I’m done.”

Breathing the pain through his body and out of his lungs, Jisung sat up with Minho’s help. He focused on Minho’s body placed between his legs while the other unraveled some bandages from a clean package. 

His eyes slowly traveled up the black button up, over the golden skin of Minho’s collarbone and throat, and paused at his lips briefly. He was biting his bottom lip in concentration. Jisung’s gaze danced across Minho’s face, taking in the small imperfections along his nose, the minuscule scar above his left eyebrow, the way his dark brown hair just barely brushed against his forehead.

Wow.

Electricity jolted through his heart and down his limbs as those dark eyes suddenly met his. He went still, unable to concentrate on anything else. There was a hint of honey in Minho’s dark eyes. Those eyes fill my memories.

Minho tied the bandages off. “All done.” His voice came out small, quiet.

Jisung blinked out of his stupor. “Oh, thank you.”

Minho stepped back and offered his hand. “Come on, let’s get you laying down. You need to rest.”

“I will not argue with that.” Jisung took the offered hand and slid off the counter, a little fast. His body wavered.

“Easy there,” Minho said, ghosting his hand over Jisung’s back. “Can you make it upstairs?”

Jisung nodded. “Yes, and please. I’m not sleeping down here after what happened.”

“What happened?” Minho asked, helping Jisung over to the stairs.

“Two guys attacked me out of nowhere. They came in through the window in the laundry room. I thought there was only one, but right after I took care of him, his buddy decided to pop in and say hello… with his knife in my shoulder. Not my best greeting ever, but not bad.”

Minho was quiet for a long moment. “Did you kill them?”

“As much as I wanted to, no. They’re in the closet by the front door.” Jisung winced from the movement in his shoulder as they climbed the stairs.

“Ah, so you prepared me a gift. Thank you.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“I’ll let them marinate for a night. They can enjoy the frying pan tomorrow.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re making puns now?”

“Puns make life silly when life can’t do it. so yes, I’m making puns.”

“My brain malfunctioned listening to that sentence.”

Minho laughed lightly. The sound traveled through Jisung’s chest and settled there. “I guess your intellect isn’t on the same level as mine.”

“Yeah, it’s higher.”

They finally made it to Jisung’s room, and he was grateful to drop into bed. He glanced up at Minho once he was down, gratitude growing in his body. He didn’t have to help, yet he did. He didn’t have to be gentle about it, yet he was.

Minho tilted his head down at him. “You okay?”

“Thank you. I really mean it.”

“I’ll stitch you up any time, love.”

Something warm bloomed in Jisung’s heart. Love. Has someone called me that before? Is that why my heart is reacting like this ? Was it Minho?

Minho turned. “I’ll leave you to-” he stopped short as Jisung caught his wrist.

Oh, I shouldn’t have done that, why did I stop him? “Can you stay? Just for tonight?” His voice came out timid, which he hated. But he was paranoid and jumpy at the thought of being alone after being attacked twice.

Several emotions flitted through Minho’s eyes at once before they softened. “I can stay.”

Jisung’s lips twitched up. “Thank you.”

Minho excused himself to change, and while he was doing that, Jisung did the same. He cursed his injury multiple times in a few languages, popped some painkillers, and finally climbed into bed. He was supposed to be asleep hours ago.

A few minutes later, Minho came in and moved over to the empty side of the bed. “I’m sorry for leaving you for so long. I sent Seungmin here to make sure you weren’t losing it completely, but I’m sure that only helped for a little while.”

Jisung settled back in bed, pulling the blankets over himself loosely. “Sending Seungmin was good, but I’m still upset about being locked up here with nothing to do.”

Minho climbed into bed as well, making sure to maintain as much distance from the other as he could. “If I could trust that you wouldn’t run off or try anything funny, I wouldn’t have to lock you up.”

Jisung wrinkled his nose, turning on his side to face him. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Earn my full trust, and you can say goodbye to that little anklet,” Minho said, smirking.

“Ouch. You’re telling me you can’t trust these eyes?” Jisung fluttered his eyelashes playfully.

Minho’s hand landed on Jisung’s head, his thumb brushing his hair from his forehead. “I trust those eyes too much. That’s the problem.”

A quiet grew through the room like green vines snaking through a forest as the pair regarded each other.

“Because you knew me?” Jisung asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You were the only one I could trust completely. When I looked in your eyes, I knew there was nothing for me to hide. Now they’re dangerous because I want to fall into that comfort again and I know I can’t.”

Why not? He wanted to ask. Unsure of what else to say without sounding crazy, Jisung rolled onto his back, his gaze on the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. The past has long disappeared, and there’s nothing we can do to control that or change it. We can only control what we learned from the past and how we use that knowledge now.”

Jisung smiled lightly. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t realize you were such a deep thinker, Minho.”

“I’m mildly offended by that.”

“What if it wasn’t an insult?”

“It definitely was.”

Jisung’s eyes drifted closed. “You’re right. I guess that means you’re smart too.”

Minho sat up. “Okay, I’m leaving you here.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Jisung laughed, reaching up to stop him. “I take it all back.”

Minho’s eyes crinkled as he smiled fully. “That’s better. It’s good to hear your laugh,” he said quietly, laying back down.

Jisung’s cheeks grew warm, and he turned away, wincing as his shoulder moved. “Well, thanks for staying with me.”

“Goodnight, Jisung.”

Emotions swirled through his chest as he gazed into nothingness. He didn’t remember the last time he had someone to say goodnight to. “Goodnight, Minho.”

⧫⧫⧫

Minho did not sleep. He laid awake for a long while, allowing his emotions to dance through his memories and circle around as they surfaced to the present.

Minho dragged himself closer to the bars, biting down whimpers and groans of pain as his torn body moved against the cold stone floor. After Jisung was caught messing with his program, they comforted one another as their tortured bodies gave out. That was the last of their mistakes. Hyeon separated them for good, and Minho was taken to this cell to be broken.

He hadn’t seen Jisung in nine days, nor had he heard about his whereabouts. He was terrified that he would hear of his death, that he would be stuck here in this miserable, dark existence alone. He prayed that his best friend was still alive, prayed that he was okay, prayed that he’d somehow escaped.

After days of hopeless thoughts, Jisung’s name swirled through the air, and Minho nearly missed it.

“JH-47 is advancing.”

The moment he heard those hushed words from a passing guard, Minho dragged himself to the bars, desperate to hear more. With nothing but weak muscles and determination, he pulled himself upright, using the bars to support himself.

One of the guards scoffed at his pathetic state. “Some machine you are, ML-32.”

“Where… is… he?” Minho forced out, ignoring his spotty vision.

She leaned down, cupping a hand to her ear mockingly. “What? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She snickered like this was funny.

“Where is he?” Minho repeated, nearly spitting the words.

“Oh, your little toy? He’s moving on, they’ll be taking him to be brain-washed. Sorry, little machine, he won’t remember you.” The guard tilted her head. “Are you gonna cry?”

Minho slowly closed his eyes. He couldn’t do anything to her in this state, so he let his rage simmer as he memorized her frazzled red hair and cruel, crooked eyes. He’d remember her for later use.

The guard laughed and leaned back against the wall. “These dumbass prisoners,” she muttered.

Minho sagged against the bars, his heart beginning to ache as what she said set in. Jisung was going to forget everything. He was going to become a brain-washed, obedient machine. “How do I save you?” he whispered hoarsely.

Minho was beginning to slip into unconsciousness when the clang of a metal door echoed down the stone corridor. Rattling chains and dragging feet filled the air. 

The air rushed from Minho’s lungs as two guards came into view, Jisung hanging between them. The men shoved the boy down in front of his cell.

“Hyeon is offering you one gift: you can say goodbye.”

Minho fell forward, barely able to fit his hands through the bars as he reached for him. “Jisung, are you okay?”

Jisung’s eyes were dimmed and he clumsily intertwined his fingers with Minho’s. “Minho,” he whispered, voice nearly inaudible. He pressed his head into the bars.

Minho set his head against Jisung’s. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Jisung’s body shuddered and he gripped onto him tightly, his bruised hands nearly turning white with the pressure. His mouth moved, but he couldn’t seem to form words. Instead, his shoulders hunched forward, and tears slid free silently.

Minho’s eyes grew moist and his throat constricted. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this. I have to find a way.”

Jisung shook his head, grasping at Minho’s wrists as if saying, ‘there’s no way out of this’.

Minho’s heart cracked. His fingertips gently brushed Jisung’s cheeks and their eyes met. Jisung’s were resigned.

“Don’t you give up, Jisung,” he whispered, his own tears now spilling free. “Please don’t give up on us.”

Jisung set a ghost of a kiss on Minho’s knuckles. “I love you.”

Minho’s heart stopped, his lungs deflated. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Jisung-“

The guards yanked Jisung up, causing his hands to slip from his love’s grasp.

Minho reached for him. “Jisung!”

“Pipe down!” The red haired guard used the butt of her rifle to hit him through the bars, sending him to the floor.

Minho pulled himself up again, watching the corridor until he could no longer see Jisung. He curled into himself, eyes clamped shut as he shook with silent cries. “I love you too, Jisung. Why didn’t I say it back? I should have said it. I should have said it.”

⧫⧫⧫

Eyes tired, limbs weary, Minho stared straight ahead unblinking. The cell around him had long faded from the background, as if he was sitting in the middle of nothing. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat, he couldn’t control his lungs. He half wondered if he was dead.

The few meals he’d been given sat untouched in the corner. Based on the amount sitting there, he was slumped there for four days, but he wasn’t going to move any time soon.

Hyeon appeared in front of his cell. “It’s time you move on, ML-32.”

Minho didn’t move as he barely heard the man.

“If you’re sitting there because of JH-47, you have no need to be here any longer. The project failed. JH-47 has been terminated.”

A wave of suffocating darkness descended around Minho, squeezing his throat and piercing what was left of his heart. But he couldn’t move. A single tear dropped to the dirty floor below.

“You’ve rested your body long enough. We’re continuing your program.”

Jisung is gone.

“Come on, ML-32, on your feet.”

Minho closed his eyes. He saw Jisung’s smile when he laughed, he saw his eyes filled with concern as they met after their tests, he felt his lips brush against his knuckles.

“You can escape and avenge the rest of us trapped here.” He’d said. “I wish I could see it.”

Minho opened his eyes, a decision made. He staggered to his feet, and got to work.

Every day he pushed through the pain of training, the torture of the tests. He endured it all, letting shattered love and white-hot rage fuel him on. He allowed himself to become the very machine Chimera was trying to make. Minho was going to be the one to burn them to the ground.

He reached his breaking point nearly two years later.

As Minho was escorted toward his new room that he was granted a few months prior, he passed one of the break-rooms where he heard obnoxious laughter. He’d heard that mocking laugh before.

“Okay, that’s a good one, but I think I have the best story. These two machines decided it was a good idea to love each other. You should have seen the moment they were separated-“

Minho’s blood ran hot as he saw the red haired guard speaking with some other man over a coffee machine. His escort noticed him stop.

“ML-32.”

“This little thing was crying like a baby when he was pulled away.”

Minho’s restraint snapped.

It was all a blur. A short scream, a violent movement, and blood splattering. More shouts and screams. More blood. Alarms blaring, lights flashing. Gunshots ringing, smoke billowing.

Chimera’s machine was on the loose, and nothing was stopping him.

Eventually overwhelmed, Minho escaped the claustrophobic facility, deep wounds marking him but not slowing him down. For the first time in years, he felt the wind on his face, the warmth of the sun, and the freedom of flight as he fled the darkness.

⧫⧫⧫

The mafia was perfect for Minho. His skills and wit allowed him to gain attention and money. He set his own rules and moved his way up through the ranks as he manipulated his way into power. Chimera was hunting him down at every turn, but he avoided them easily, and quickly gained a foothold above them. He was too powerful for them to stop now, and they were too afraid of being destroyed to do anything about it.

Minho let the mafia occupy his mind every hour of the day. Power was all he wanted after being powerless for so long. Instead of fearing, he wanted to be feared. Instead of being hunted, he wanted to be the hunter. He wanted-

“Han Jisung.”

Minho was dropped into a cold, bottomless lake at the sound of that name. He floundered, trying to find the surface as his lungs filled with the frigid water.

“Boss?” Seungmin asked, his eyebrow raised.

“Say that again.”

“You asked for the name of the main informant in Nightfield, right?”

Minho nodded. “Yes, yes, tell me that name again.” Was he hearing things? Was he dreaming?

“Han Jisung. We’ve got eyes on him right now, actually. He’s at that one coffee shop you like a few miles South of us-“

Minho was on his feet before his underboss could finish, rushing out the door and down to his car on the street. His heart was beating for the first time in five years. It was beating so hard, it nearly felt like there was no room left for his lungs. His head was swimming, limbs vibrating.

He was flying across the sidewalk the moment he stopped the car, but his feet locked into place a few feet from the quaint coffee shop.

There, sitting in a window, was a boy, a boy that wasn’t as young as Minho remembered. His head was angled to the side, allowing the warm sun to dance across his golden cheek and flicker through his silvery-dyed hair. His eyes were concentrated on the table as he bit the end of a pen. A subtle smile just barely tipped his lips as he began writing something down.

Minho wasn’t breathing. Time was no longer moving.

It’s him.

Jisung lifted his head, smiling at the barista that approached his table. He laughed at something she said.

He’s smiling.

Minho’s breath shuddered out of him. “I found you.”

———————— Sheesh, I did NOT realize how long this chapter was until seeing the word count. I mean, most of the chapters in this book will be about this long, but still.

This was one of my fav chapters to write, so I hope you enjoyed it. lmk what yall think, and I appreciate you. Thanks for reading. <OvO>