Aloha darlings!

It is, after all, on my summer bucketlist to update this fanfiction as often as I can. So here you go! Another chapter!

MINHO:

"Did you see his face?" Triumphant words echoed between the bathroom walls. They were once again gathered between toilet stalls and sinks. It didn't matter. This was their castle. They were kings. Kings!

Alby let out a roar when he entered the bathroom. One after one, they charged through the door. All of the boys in the mayhem squad kept their heads high, their shouts loud and their eyes burning.

Alby threw one arm around Minho's shoulders and squeezed. He'd never felt so alive.

"We did it!" he screamed, every syllable drenched in sweet, sweet, excitement.

The boys were roaring with glee, with joy, with triumph, with success. They were drunk on their deeds, they were kings, they were invincible. Who could kill them now? No one, Minho thought and allowed a broad smile to split his face in two, not a single soul.

"Keep this up and we'll get hanged by dawn, ye loud shanks," Newt entered the room, his face unsmiling and authoritative but his eyes had the same mischievous shine as the other boys.

In a single smooth movement, Alby had pulled his arm from Minho's shoulders and put it, and his other arm as well, around the blonde boy's neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Save it for the bedroom, boys," Minho said with a laugh. Alby released a slightly red faced Newt and turned towards the rest of the group.

"As much as I would like to continue shouting and screaming and celebrating," the rest of the boys hade gone quiet and directed all of their attention to Alby. "I have to admit that Newt's got a point. We did it guys, let's not throw it away by waking up the rest of the student body and raising suspicion," he smiled when he said it, his eyes meeting every other pair in the room, one by one. Kings! Kings could behave.

Alby continued talking, now letting his eyes stay focused on the boy whom he were addressing.

"So, I'll start," he said, leaning against the door frame of the closed door. The other boys were gathered in front of him, Minho found himself standing next to Newt, both of them leaning against the same toilet stall door. "Everything went as planned," he dropped a backpack to the floor, one Minho hadn't noticed before. "In this bag, fellow members of this truly wicked mayhem squad, you'll find four containers of apple juice," he allowed them to be loud at this statement, their cheers rose to the roof and illuminated the air. "And in the downstairs kitchen, there are four containers of something that is not apple juice," Minho gave a quiet laugh. "And also one strategically placed black hoodie, curtesy of one bully named Gally."

The boys were on fire. Adrenaline burned every vein in their bodies, illuminated their eyes and made their hearts beat even quicker. They truly were kings. Kings of the night. Kings of this school. Wicked kings.

"Newt," Alby said and directed his eyes towards the blonde boy next to Minho. "How did your team do?"

"Well," Newt said, a huge smile splitting his face in two. "Ye all saw it on the wall, didn't ye? Quite a masterpiece, I dare say," the other boys laughed loud at this. "I think we managed to capture the essence of the Griever's sould, don't ye think?"

Minho had do admit, the painting on the wall truly was mindblowing. One could tell that it was the Griever, the janitor, even thought they'd taken some liberties. He truly was a huge, slimy spider, that janitor of theirs. Their artwork did do him justice.

"And Minho," Alby moved his stare to Minho, waiting for him to give a rapport on his mission. The mission him and Thomas had done.

Things seemed to happen all at once. Because the second Alby said those words, Minho realized that they were one member short. Two, actually. The other boys seemed to notice this as well, with wild eyes they started looking around in the bathroom, but quickly stopped as the door Alby leaned to suddenly burst open and a small figure with brown curls raging on his head stepped into the dimly lit room.

Chuck. One of the two missing people.

Where the fuck is Thomas?

Minho tried to keep those words for himself, but soon realized that he'd failed miserably at this task when all eyes suddenly were on him. The words that he'd ment to keep in his own head had somehow escaped his mouth.

He was staring at the boy in the doorway, fire in his eyes, a different sort of fire, not a young and proud and invincible one, but a fire threatening to consume him. One that actually hurt.

"I swear, I didn't do anything!" Chuck was out of breath, he must have been running all the way over here. "I did what you told me, he just sneaked up on me!"

Alby was by the boy's side in a second, his hand resting on Chuck's shoulder, eyes concerned. Minho didn't feel concern for the younger boy, he felt restless. Restless and angry and something close to worry. He felt like his skin couldn't hold these emotions for much longer. He might burst any second now.

"Who did?" Newt asked. He'd pushed off the stall door and taken a step closer to both Minho and Chuck. Minho had a feeling Newt wanted to be close to him, if he'd do something stupid.

"I knocked on Mr. Grossmans door, just as you told me to, and when I turned around he just stood there!" Chuck looked terrified, as if he was reliving the scariest moment of his life right there and then before their eyes. Minho felt a slight sting of compassion in the middle of his anger. He knew it was illogical to be mad at the younger boy, he hadn't done anything. He just needed to direct his anger towards something or someone, or else he might explode. "He said he'd heard the chaos, that it'd awoken him, and he knew you guys had something to do with it, and then he disappeared the exact moment that Mr. Grossman opened the door, and I don't know where he went," Chuck was shaking now. Poor thing. Minho redirected his anger, focused fully on the Griever instead. Thomas wasn't among them and the Griever was on the loose, there had to be a connection.

"Do you think the Griever might have Thomas?" Frypan said, stepping closer to where Alby was now comforting Chuck, one arm thrown over his chubby shoulders. Newt looked concerned, Minho figured he himself must look terrifying. Where had his pokerface gone? His coolness? He swore loudly. Newt joined him.

"It looks like it," Alby said, his eyes empty and tired and raging. With one swift motion, he seemed to be really good at those, he let go of Chuck and took place in the middle of the room. As if everybody wasn't already looking at him and only him. "Okay, first things first:" he had a hand draped over his chin and mouth for effect. "Do we know where the Griever might have taken him?"

Minho spoke without thinking.

"Hell," he said.

Nobody protested. They all knew what he meant. They'd been through a situation like this last year. One Minho had tried to not remember, tried to forget. As well as the other boys in the mayhem squad.

"How do we get 'im out?" Newt said. "Surely 'e must've changed the buggin' locks an' everything after last time."

Newt was right. Alby looked concerned. Minho didn't.

"We just have to be smarter than last time, boys." They were kings, after all.

THOMAS:

Darkness. Complete and suffocating darkness. It was everywhere. It had only taken a few seconds for it to start invading his body. He could feel the darkness in his blood, in his lungs. With every breath, with every heartbeat.

Where was he?

The darkness was blinding. Deadly. He knew he had to push through it. That the only way to survive this was to get his shit together. Deep down, in the sensible part of his brain, he knew this room couldn't be deadly, right? The janitor was indeed a sick bastard, but he wasn't capable of killing a student! Right?

"Fuck," Thomas said as a prickle of fear ran down his spine. "Fuck."