Hostage {ℍ𝕐𝕌ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾} -- DISCONTINUED

Chapter Eight

Jisung was running.

He didn't know where to or where from, only that he had to run. It was dark everywhere around him, not a sliver of light to be found. He stumbled over his own feet as he continued on despite the fire spreading in his lungs, the air seeming harder and harder to obtain.

There was a single, striking thought that broke through the cloud of confusion that had settled over him – he wanted to go home.

All of a sudden, light opened up just ahead of him, illuminating a metal door; it seemed foreboding and dark, but it planted a seed of hope in his chest, a possible escape from whoever it was that was chasing him. He reached for it, fingers curling around the handle, yanking it out towards him.

The moment he stepped through, it was like he was falling, falling. When he landed – it didn't hurt. He thought briefly that it should, that something was amiss, something was wrong... He blinked, and the darkness around him shifted into something entirely different, something much worse.

Jisung shrunk until he was nine years old again, bound to a chair with layer upon layer of duct tape on his wrists. He was shaking, he realized, his body jerking with ragged sobs as he begged; to who, he didn't know. He felt as though he was forgetting many things – it was like he saw it all through a sort of third lens; a view that was his, and yet separate.

He was brought back into that small, fragile body quickly enough, his perspective shifting and narrowing until he was able to see it all in perfect detail, even through his watery eyes.

"How much do you think we have to hurt you to make your daddy come get you, hm?"

An incoherent response bubbled past his lips, his small body already far past its limit. He struggled against the restraints binding him to the chair, immobile, desperately seeking for a way to escape, but it was futile. How could he break duct tape?

The man – whose face was clouded over – approached, something sharp and glinting held tightly in his hand. Jisung screamed when he saw it, shaking his head as his movements grew more and more desperate. There was no one to hear his wails, no one who would bother listening, anyway.

Jisung's eyes snapped open; it took him a while to process what he was seeing, a deviation from the usual dark ceiling. It was a face, mere inches from his own. He lashed out before he'd even had a chance to process anything, shoving as hard as he could. The movement sent his shoulder screeching in agony, but his heart was pumping too fast for him to really care much right at that moment.

"What the hell?" Hyunjin shouted, hand reaching up and pulling himself up. His eyes were wide and alert – no surprise there – though irritated. His gaze swept the room, and upon noticing that there weren't any threats, his eyes narrowed into a glare.

He tried his best to grin as he always did, but his breaths were coming out so ragged it was difficult for him to make it very far. "Oops. Forgot you were there." He laughed, but it wavered, shaking in such a blatant show of weakness that Jisung wanted to slap himself despite his injured shoulder.

Before Hyunjin could scrutinize him anymore, start to pinpoint the exact tells of his distress – he knew he was already doing it, his eyes calculating. This wasn't a friend, far from it; they may have been allies, but that was nothing but a temporary fix. Deep down, they were both enemies from two different sides of a war that likely would only end in bloodshed.

He threw his legs around on his side of the bed, ignoring the ache in his shoulder – which did nothing to calm the palpitations of his heart as it rammed against his ribcage. He approached one of the dirty windows, cracking it open ever-so-slightly, pretending as though he was observing the outdoors for any sign of a threat.