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Stray kids mafia AU

Echoes of the Shattered Mirror

The air in the Stray Kids’ safehouse was thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation. For three days, they had meticulously planned their "reclamation." They didn't come with explosives this time; they came with ghosts. They had gathered old photographs, a worn-out hoodie that still smelled faintly of the laundry detergent they used back in the dorms, and a recording of the vocal exercises Seungmin used to practice until his throat was raw.

"We just need to break the spell," Chan whispered, his eyes bloodshot. "If he remembers us, he’ll realize Yang is just a gilded cage."

The infiltration was easier than expected. Yang’s security was high-tech, but Jisung was a genius fueled by guilt. They slipped into the penthouse through the service ducts, moving like shadows until they were positioned in the vents above the main office.

Below them, the scene was peaceful—a stark contrast to the violence they were about to inflict on Seungmin’s fragile psyche. Seungmin was sitting on the floor, his back against Yang’s legs as the boss worked on a laptop. Seungmin was wearing a pair of delicate lace panties and a short, pleated skirt, his bare back exposed to show the jagged map of his trauma. He was humming a tuneless melody, his black-nailed fingers busy threading a needle through a piece of fabric. He was trying to sew a button back onto one of Yang’s shirts, his movements clumsy but determined.

"Now," Chan signaled through the comms.

A small speaker they had planted dropped from the vent, landing softly on the rug. Before Yang or Seungmin could react, the sound of a piano filled the room. It was the melody of a song Seungmin had written back when he was a trainee.

Seungmin froze. The needle pricked his thumb, a drop of crimson blooming against the white fabric. He didn't hiss in pain. He simply stared at the speaker, his head tilting at that unnatural, broken angle.

"Minnie?" Yang asked, his hand immediately dropping to Seungmin’s shoulder. "What is that?"

"Song..." Seungmin whispered, his voice trembling. "I... know... song."

From the vents, Felix’s voice drifted down, soft and tearful. "Seungminnie. It’s Lixie. Remember the rooftop? Remember the stars?"

Seungmin’s hands flew to his head, clutching his short hair. The voices—the ones that screamed of water and sparks—suddenly changed. They began to chant names. *Chan. Minho. Changbin. Hyunjin. Jisung. Felix. Jeongin.*

"No," Seungmin whimpered, his breath hitching. "Stop... names... stop!"

"Seungmin, look at this," Chan said, dropping a photo from the vent. It fluttered down like a dying bird, landing right in front of Seungmin’s knees. It was a picture of the eight of them at the beach, Seungmin laughing so hard his eyes were closed, his skin tanned and healthy.

Seungmin picked up the photo. His eyes darted between the vibrant boy in the picture and his own black, ruined nails. A physical jolt racked his body. The "reprogramming" Yang had done wasn't a deletion; it was a burial. And now, the earth was shifting.

"I... I am..." Seungmin gasped, his voice cracking. A flood of memories hit him like a tidal wave—the smell of the practice room, the feeling of a microphone in his hand, the warmth of a seven-way hug. But with the light came the dark. The memory of the mission. The feeling of the cold water filling his lungs. The smell of burning flesh as the jumper cables touched his thighs.

"AHHHHH!"

The scream that torn from Seungmin’s throat was primal. He collapsed onto his side, his body curling into a tight ball. He began to sob, a violent, racking sound that made the members of Stray Kids flinch in their hiding spots.

"Too much! Too much!" Seungmin shrieked, his childlike speech vanishing under the weight of the agony. "Make it stop! Yang! Make it stop!"

Yang didn't look at the vents. He didn't reach for his gun. He dropped to the floor and pulled Seungmin into his lap, wrapping his entire body around the boy. He tucked Seungmin’s head under his chin, rocking him with a frantic, desperate intensity.

"I’m here, I’m here," Yang hissed, his own voice breaking. "Look at me, Seungmin. Look at my eyes. Forget the ghosts. They aren't real. Only I am real."

"The water!" Seungmin wailed, his eyes rolling back in his head. "They’re holding me under! Chan didn't come! Why didn't he come?"

In the vents, Chan turned away, a sob catching in his throat. He had wanted Seungmin to remember, but he hadn't realized that remembering the love meant remembering the abandonment. He hadn't realized that to Seungmin, the "family" was synonymous with the moment his life ended.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," Seungmin blubbered, his face pale and slick with sweat. He grabbed the leather collar around his neck, pulling at it until the skin underneath turned red. "I’m a good pet! I’m a good boy! Don't put me back in the dark!"

"You aren't going back," Yang growled, his eyes flashing with a murderous light toward the ceiling. "You’re staying with me. You chose this, Minnie. Remember? You chose the collar because it hides the mark. You chose me because I held your hand when you couldn't walk."

It was true. The members of Stray Kids watched in horrific realization as Seungmin began to calm down under Yang's touch. He wasn't being forced. He was clinging to Yang like a man drowning in a stormy sea clinging to a jagged rock. The rock might be sharp, it might be cold, but it was the only thing keeping him above the surface.

The voices in Seungmin’s head began to settle into a low hum as Yang hummed a different tune—a dark, possessive lullaby.

"Better?" Yang whispered after a long ten minutes of sobbing.

"Better," Seungmin rasped, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. He reached up, his fingers trembling as he touched the leather of his collar. "Hide... the... ugly?"

"It’s not ugly to me," Yang said softly, kissing the scar on Seungmin’s neck. "But if it makes you feel safe, we keep it on."

The peace was shattered not by Stray Kids, but by the front doors of the office blasting open.

A tall man with a sneer that looked like a permanent deformity walked in, flanked by a dozen armed guards. It was Park, the boss of the rival group—the man who had kept Seungmin in a basement for three months. The man who had broken him.

Stray Kids froze in the vents, their hands on their triggers. They recognized him instantly.

"Well, well," Park laughed, his voice like sandpaper. "I heard you were keeping my runaway dog, Yang. I see you’ve dressed him up. Lace? Really? He used to look much better covered in his own blood."

Seungmin’s reaction was visceral. He didn't scream this time. He whimpered, a small, pathetic sound, and scrambled behind Yang, trying to merge with the man’s shadow. He began to shake so hard his teeth rattled.

"Go away," Seungmin whispered, his childlike speech returning in the face of his ultimate nightmare. "No... water... no... sparks."

Yang stood up slowly. The air in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. He didn't look like a boyfriend or a savior anymore. He looked like the devil incarnate. He stepped in front of Seungmin, shielding him completely.

"You have five seconds to leave this room before I make your death a legend in this city," Yang said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

Park laughed, stepping closer. "You think you own him? I made him. I broke his mind until he couldn't remember his own name. I’m the one who carved that 'perfect' little machine you use. He’s my masterpiece. Give him back, and maybe I won't burn this building down."

Park reached out, as if to grab Seungmin’s hair.

"You... touched... him," Yang whispered.

In a blur of motion that even the Stray Kids snipers couldn't follow, Yang moved. He didn't reach for a gun. He reached for the heavy, serrated combat knife he kept strapped to the underside of his desk.

He tackled Park to the ground before the guards could even raise their weapons.

"You broke him?" Yang roared, the sound echoing through the office. "You touched my Minnie?"

The first strike went into Park’s shoulder. The second into his thigh. Yang wasn't killing him—not yet. He was dismantling him.

"This is for the water," Yang hissed, plunging the knife into Park’s stomach.

"This is for the electricity," he snarled, twisting the blade.

Seungmin watched from the floor, his eyes wide. He wasn't crying anymore. A strange, twisted smile began to spread across his face. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, his bare feet silent on the rug. He sat just inches away from the carnage, watching the blood spray across Yang’s white shirt like a new kind of art.

"More... Yang," Seungmin whispered, his voice high and sweet. "Make... him... quiet."

Yang didn't need the encouragement. He was a man possessed. He stabbed Park again and again. Twenty times. Thirty. The guards tried to move, but a hail of bullets from the vents kept them pinned back. Stray Kids were firing now, not to save Yang, but to protect the perimeter of the madness. They were witnesses to a slaughter.

By the time Yang stopped, his arms were coated in red to the elbows. Park was no longer a man; he was a heap of ruined meat. Yang had stabbed him sixty times.

Yang dropped the knife and fell back against the side of his desk, gasping for air. His face was splattered with blood, his eyes unfocused.

Seungmin didn't recoil. He crawled into Yang’s lap, heedless of the blood soaking into his white skirt. He took Yang’s bloody hands in his own and began to lick a stray droplet of red off Yang’s thumb.

"Good... Yang," Seungmin cooed, leaning his head against Yang’s gore-stained chest. "He... quiet... now."

Yang looked down at the boy in his arms. The rage vanished, replaced by a terrifying, soul-deep exhaustion. He pulled Seungmin close, burying his face in the boy’s hair.

"He’ll never hurt you again," Yang promised, his voice a ragged sob. "I’ve got you."

Up in the vents, Chan lowered his rifle. He looked at his team. Felix was shaking, his face buried in Hyunjin’s chest. Jisung looked like he was going to be sick.

They had come to "save" Seungmin from a monster, only to realize that Seungmin had found a monster of his own—one that loved him with a ferocity they couldn't match. They had tried to bring back the old Seungmin, but the old Seungmin was dead, drowned in a tank of cold water two years ago.

The person sitting on the floor, surrounded by blood and lace, was something else entirely. He was a creature of trauma and devotion, held together by the only man who was willing to be just as broken as he was.

"We can't take him," Chan whispered into the comms, his heart finally breaking for good. "If we take him, he’ll die. He doesn't belong to us anymore."

"He belongs to the dark," Minho added, his voice devoid of emotion.

On the floor below, Seungmin picked up a blue marker that had fallen during the struggle. With a steady hand, he began to draw a small, blue flower on Yang’s blood-stained cheek.

"Beautiful," Seungmin whispered, looking at his work.

Yang closed his eyes, leaning into the touch of the marker. "Yes, Minnie. It’s beautiful."

Outside, the sirens began to wail in the distance, but inside the office, there was only the sound of a boy humming a broken song and the drip, drip, drip of a debt finally paid in full. Stray Kids began to retreat, slipping back into the shadows of the city, leaving behind the brother they had lost twice—once to their enemies, and once to a love that was far more dangerous than any war.