“who is he?!” chanyeol’s voice echoes of pain and hurt and regret as his screams reverberate throughout the cold, empty greenhouse, sound amplified within the small, confined space. his fumbling hands grope across the edge of the wooden table, knocking over a few potted plants and pruning sheers, before his fingers curl around the shaft of his silver dagger, swinging it forward blindly as he tries to cut out kris’s heart as effectively as kris had done to his.

“what are you talking about?!” kris’s long fingers wrap around chanyeol’s wrist, trying to pin his arm down before the blind man manages to hurt himself. “who’s he?!”

“the boy with the red hair, the hotel with the white sheets? ring a bell?” chanyeol hisses, dropping the blade as kris’ grip tightens around his wrist. “who’s the fucking red head?”

"i don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to calm down,” kris avoids the question, his blood thundering inside his ears so loud, he can barely hear himself think.

how does he know?

“i may be blind,” chanyeol says in a deadly whisper as he yanks his arm out of kris’ hand, stumbling a little from his balance being thrown off, “but i can still see.”

"what do you mean?” kris asks, icy cold dread trickling down his spine, a shiver following in it’s wake. “i don’t understand.”

“when i lost my external vision,” chanyeol explains coldly, “i received the sight.” he straightens himself up, lifting his chin and holding his head high. “and i see everything.”

the blood drains from kris’ face as his entire world shatters around him, breaking off into thousands of jagged, razor-sharp shards that slice into his skin, making his body burn and freeze at the same time.

"get out,” chanyeol warns in a voice barely above a whisper, dripping with fury and hate. “get. out.”

“chanyeol, please,” kris begs, reaching for chanyeol’s hands to keep him from walking away. “please, you don’t understand. i can exp…”

“i’m finished listening to your excuses,” chanyeol wrenches his hand away again, slowly shuffling backwards until his back hits the wall beside the door. “now leave. we are done.”

“baby i love you.”

“just go!” chanyeol screams, a glass vase exploding behind kris’ shoulder. and kris scrambles out the door before chanyeol’s volatile state can blow him up next.

—

“my child, what happened?” the supreme bends down to place a hand on chanyeol’s shoulder, who’d been sitting on the cold tiles of the front hall for god knows how long, staring blindly into the ceiling, mind a stormy chaos of questions springing forth just more questions and more.

“get your hands off me,” chanyeol finally snaps out of it, shrugging junmyeon off and struggling to drag himself into a standing position. junmyeon tries to grab his son by the elbow to help him up, but chanyeol pushes him away. “i hope you’re happy,” chanyeol glares with his puckered, empty sockets, staggering to his feet.

“why would i be happy that my baby is hurting?” junmyeon asks in a wounded tone, taking another step closer as chanyeol holds his hand up in warning.

“cut the bullshit,” chanyeol replies, his other hand grappling through the air until his fingers slide along the smooth wooden banisters. slowly climbing up the stairs, chanyeol pauses halfway, back still turned. “you’ve got everything you want. now leave me in peace.”

—

kris throws open the parlor door, strings of plastic beads clacking against each other as he lurches inside the dark and silent room. he crashes into a shelf, knocking over assorted bottles of hair care products and cosmetics.

“you’re drunk,” yixing’s voice floats through the darkness, and kris spins on his heels, pistol raised, before stumbling into a coffee table.

“fuck!”

“i would highly appreciate it if you didn’t destroy my furniture,” the voodoo master rises from one of the chairs lined in front of the mirror, staring down the point of kris’ weapon.

“this is all your fault,” kris slurs, chest heaving as he tries to keep his anger under control.

“my fault?” yixing repeats incredulously, crossing his arms and raising a brow. “your foolish ass fell in love with that witch, and you failed to keep your end of the bargain. all the blame lies with you, my dear. your inadequacies, your failures.”

"you shut the fuck up!” kris spits, cocking the bullet. “i’m the one with the gun here, and i won’t hesitate to shoot.”

yixing merely laughs, waving a hand through the air and forcing the pistol out of kris’ grasp. the gun flies across the room, colliding against the wall and clattering uselessly to the ground far out of kris’ reach.

“now you listen to me here,” yixing says, closing the distance between them and staring up into kris’ eyes, a hint of threat and menace lacing his voice. “junmyeon’s coven is only getting stronger every day. and i cannot allow this to go on any longer.”

“what do you want from me?” kris asks, forlorn, drowning under a wave of hopelessness and misery.

“you will get back into your witch’s good graces and you will get back inside that house, whatever it takes,” yixing commands, his heavy lidded gaze burning with distaste.

"he’ll never forgive me.”

“you will find a way, witch hunter,” yixing turns away, leaving kris standing alone in the middle of the dark parlor, head pounding from a mixture of the alcohol flowing through his veins and the inner turmoil and confusion crippling him into paralysis.