𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 lee chan

15: i didn't want to choose

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And finally, we're in the present.

A raucous din outside the Hufflepuff common room stirs awake my roommates and I; half of us scrambling about for our glasses to properly comprehend our unexpected wake-up call.

"IT'S THE ODDINARY! THEY'VE COME TO CORRUPT US TOO!"

A second year boy hurtles past the door of our dorm, hysterical with fear at the prospect of just who could be trying to break our door down.

I distinctly remember having to console him over breakfast one morning after all the Daily Prophet reports on the criminals of Gangnam who'd taken the world by storm.

Seeing as I'm a seventh year, the expectation that I should be brave enough to investigate weighs in the air heavily like a cloud of thick, black smoke around me.

Sighing to myself ever so slightly, I give into the pleading eyes of both my roommates and the other members of my house. I find myself descending to greet our demanding intruders before I can properly process consequences of any sort.

It's instances like this where I believe I can understand the Sorting Hat's slight hesitation between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor when sorting me all those years ago.

As I reach the door, my voice fails me for a split second, cementing my status as Hufflepuff regardless of whatever bravery I sometimes force out of myself.

The incessant banging never ceased even after evident shuffling about and panicked yells would have reached the ears of our visitors, meaning they must be pretty darn urgent to get in.

"Hello? Can I... help?"

My voice comes out as some sort of pathetic, strangled, grating sound and I cringe inwardly at the thought of the younger students' expressions if they were able to hear me.

The banging stops the second my sentence ends, drawing my focus entirely on waiting for a response.

"Chan?"

That gentle voice with a slight stutter that I adore... why is it so stern now outside my common room at such an hour?

"Seokmin?"

"We need to talk to you."

"We?" I wonder aloud, the word sending shivers down my spine.

He doesn't mean... he couldn't possibly mean-

"Yes, we."

As Wonwoo's deep voice rings out, clear as day, my knees buckle with understanding.

Tonight must be the night of my slow, painful, torturous demise.

•

"When were you going to tell us?" Junhui's face remains stoic as ever,  but his tone gives away just how much I've really upset him.

Guilt twists my mind into an unrecognizable labyrinth of self-loathing.

"Or... were you not going to tell us?"