TARGET

서른 다섯

Sometimes, Minghao hated being right.

Don't get him wrong, some times it would be nice: his chest would swell in pride, he would relish victory, it was one of the most euphoric feelings- to bask in his own ego.

At that moment sadly, he was not graced with the enlightenment of a heightened self-esteem, rather cursed with an agonizing feeling of dread and regret. It genuinely sucked how the two would birth from the same sense of speculation.

Yeah, getting a face full of metal hurdling towards him was definitely not considered pleasant, not in the slightest.

Turns out his conjecture that the target could externally wield and control metal, was right.

"Our bullets wont do shit, its like fighting fire with fire," Soonyoung spat, dodging a oddly shaped clump of steel launch in his direction,

Minghao ripped another grenade, chucking it at the target for a momentary diversion, "Yeah, no shit Sherlock,"

"Um, hyungs, I'm seriously not enjoying playing dodge ball with the tin-man," Jeno panted, taking cover behind a tarnished couch adjacent to Minghao, "Got a game plan?"

The smog from the grenade was sliced by another grotesque cluster of metal, zipping through the gaseous substance and nearly hitting Soonyoung square in his forehead.

Soonyoung squatted down, loading his assault rifle at the target, "Uhhhh, first act of this plan is don't die, then we can start talking game plan,"

Except his shower of bullets didn't hit the target, not even in his relative vicinity, but rather the balcony above the target's head that clung onto the wall with its last means of strength,

Jeno winced, "I think you missed-"

And before he could finish, the the chunk of cement came plummeting down in a shower of powdery white, dust clouding around the scene of destruction- obstructing the view of the target, if he wasn't crushed under the body of drywall, of course.

Soonyoung briefly lifted his goggles to wipe the sweat pooling above his brow "I've been shooting at that shit for like 15 minutes, took it long enough," 

During the whole ordeal, Minghao's mind had been racing, desperately trying to formulate a plan.

And he did.

Well, kinda.

"I have....something," Minghao vocalized warily, gesturing the two over,

The chinese man tore off his goggles and pinched his nose bridge, "Look, the best I could come up with is if one of us distracts the target and the others get as close as possible to tackle him down,"

The other two blinked, brains busy internalizing the ludicrous plan before their senses came washing back over them,

"Now what in fucking hell-"

"With all due respect, hyung, that's not a plan, that's suicide-"

Minghao gestured with his hands for the ruckus to subside, "I know, I know, but at this rate, the line is to preoccupied with the west wing, and we still have a while until reinforcements come it, so that's the best I got,"

Behind his mask, Soonyoung pursed his lips,

"Fuck it, not like we have any other choice anyways,"

Jeno's eyes widened from behind the frames glued to his face, a ocular protest that he couldn't muster to make oratory, out of the utter absurdity of his notion.

The dusty desert of chipped paint and fragmented cement shifted, a minuscule motion but enough to catch Minghao's eye.

"Okay then, lets get to it,"

He twiddled with his lanky fingers, trying to divert his undivided attention to the concealed cuticles. His lower back ached from lying against the cool concrete for such an elongated period of time, and as time passed, it was as if his pain subdued and numbed, and the burning disquiet stirring up in his gut boiled.

From behind his helmet, Jisung could feel the feverish sweat plaster his bangs to his forehead, only the few fortuitous beads being able to trail down his side burns. Each sensation like fire upon his skin, every sense was heightened due to the rousing anxiety that jarred his figure.

Thus, accordingly, he jolted when he felt a hand rest against his thigh.

"You alright, Sungie?" The apricot-haired male asked, genuine concern laced with his thick accent,

Jisung cleared his throat sheepishly, "Y-yeah, I'm fine don't worry about me," the younger croaked.

"You can't lie to me, stupid, I know you," Chenle ran his hands across his lower thigh, a lulling act to ensue reassurance within the shaken boy, "I know your anxious, but our time will come, and when it does, you'll be ready, loser."

The corners of Jisung's lips tugged into a small smile, "If I'm a loser, you are too. Did you forget we're apart of the same team?"

"Whatever," Chenle rolled his eyes, obnoxiously snatching his hand away,

Instinctively, Jisung's hand flew to catch the other's holding his hand within his large grasp. Once he had discerned what he had done, the apple's of Jisung's cheeks flamed, swiftly retracting his hand.

Chenle's brows furrowed, reaching out to grab the other's hand, holding Jisung's one palm in between his two, smaller hands. Chenle tugged off Jisung's glove and promptly cupped the back of his hand with one of his own, using his other to aimlessly draw figurines upon Jisung's palm.

The younger was left to gawk, he hadn't experienced such intimacy with anyone ever since...

Chenle hummed, "What? Too full of yourself to hold my hand?"

The younger hurriedly shook his head, basking in the feeling of his palm being encompassed in warmth, the pad of Chenle's index finger delicately gliding across the ridges of calluses strewn across his palm. Jisung felt his worry gradually seep from his mind as he relaxed his fingers within Chenle's grasp.

Seungkwan glanced over to his two junior's, internally envious of their bond. At that time, it was an arduous task to acquire such a companion, a lover, to confide to. Most gave up on finding their soulmate, and simply woke up each day to see the next.

Seungkwan considered himself one of those people, he tried not to dwindle on topics extraneous to his work, because he feared his mind, when he let it wander.

He feared his memories.

Seungkwan possessed that ingenuity that distanced himself from every soul he came across to neutralize the hazard of reliving his past. And upon those self-decreed guidelines, he was essentially incapable to distill a bond of that magnitude with anyone.

It the midst of Seungkwan wallowing in self-pity, he heard static chime in his ear,

"SEU- WE NEED BACKUP- ITS- AND- METAL-" The words were diced by the static in between, he could barely derive that it was Minghao over the line, but thankfully he did.

Seungkwan sighed, checking the ammo on his rifle, "Okay lovebirds, their calling for us in the east wing,"

"Let's get this show on the road,"