Smoke Song

Giving Up?

It didn't take the antis long to arrive.

Jungkook laid in his bed, listening to them flood into the downstairs area with a grim sort of satisfaction. It wouldn't be long. He didn't know what they would do to him, but he didn't care. They could have their way with him for as long as they wanted.

He'd been wrong.

Neither side was right. They were constantly at each others' necks, fighting and killing and injuring. The music he'd known for so long wasn't like that. As far as he could see, it had died a long time ago.

And now he would go wherever it had gone, perhaps. If they found him.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and curled into a ball on the bed, trying to memorize the feeling of the soft blankets underneath him.

This is it, he thought, this is where it ends.

But it didn't.

Jungkook's hands were cuffed. He shifted them, staring at the glinting metal and swallowing hard. He stood in the dark, alone, though he could feel something pressing in on him from all sides. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, making him shiver. His throat ached, buzzing when he cleared it.

Where was he?

Had they decided to make him go after all?

He couldn't remember. Thick fog filled his head, slowing his thoughts to a crawl. He blinked at the darkness and then looked back down at the handcuffs, sucking in a breath.

His hands were on fire.

He stared at them, raising them up in front of his face. The fire crawled down his arms, eating away at the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. There was no sensation. No reality. The fire just moved on, turning his skin black and filling the darkness around him with the ashes from his clothing. He could hear it, barely-- a soft whooshing. Orange and yellow flared up around him, and he closed his eyes.

Nothing.

Out in the darkness beyond his eyelids, chains slithered along a stone floor. He could feel the coolness of it against his cheek, seeping into his skin through his shirt. Was he awake again? Asleep? He shifted but kept his eyes closed, letting the cold seep into him.

"You found him sleeping in the house?"

"Yes. Just like you said."

"And he can't sing..." shuffling footsteps came closer to him, and a hand was placed on his throat, over his windpipe. "No matter. We can fix that."

"Sir?"

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry."

The hand drifted up the side of his neck and across his face, hovering over his eyes. He shivered and heard a man chuckling.

"He's awake now; move him to his room."

"Right. Uhm... will you come, later?"

"Of course I will." the hand was withdrawn, and Jungkook relaxed, then flinched as he was lifted into the air, flopping against someone's shoulder. He began to open his eyes, but they were covered by a hand.

"Of course I will," the voice repeated, softer this time.

Then it was gone.