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event: D9W 2022 - Starlight (closed)
description. when in doubt, have a karaoke night out. or in which the first real hurdle of your seemingly flawless relationship is finals week (and miscommunication and a tad bit of overreaction).
pairings. han jisung x female reader
genre. fluff, slight comedy, camping!au, established relationship!au
word count. 2.1k
notes. inspired by the jisung’s bit from skzful days in jeju #3 (min. 20:53 onwards). the one and only karaoke prince i will acknowledge.
You can hear him singing from half-way down the path. No, not really singing, wailing.
An exchange of glances with your friends assures you that you weren’t hearing things and by the way they turned your way and not at each other meant they recognized the voice too. So you trudge on, making it to the end of the path and into the clearing—a grass field supposedly for camping bordered by a ring of trees. Lights hang on wirelines over the head of figures moving around a long table. The voices are clearer now; two distinct ones amplified by microphones and a cacophony of laughter echoing in the background. The night was young but they’ve been out here for a while now, half-empty beer bottles and sauce-slicked chopsticks littering the tabletop from the hours they’ve spent in the open. Han Jisung stands over everyone else, gripping a microphone with one hand while the other conveyed what his voice couldn’t. The MR boomed through the speakers, his cries along with it, into the open air of the night as the others howled in laughter beside him.
“Oh boy,” Taehee says beside you, heaving a sigh just before you could.
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➻ WARNINGS. language, violence, blood, children are all in 'rehabilitation' camps, injuries, themes of trauma and death, one instance of implied assault (that is stopped), kissing, innuendoes, food, superpowers (PG-13)
➻ WORD COUNT. 29k
➻ SUMMARY. after a horrible disease had spread across the world, killing most children, the ones that survived were left with special powers. not long after, the government began rounding up all of the remaining children, sending them to camps in hopes of "treating" them. but you all know the truth...
they were never worried about the kids that might die. they were afraid of you - the ones who lived....
➻ A/N. welcome to the first instalment of my new series 'the owners of clé'. i began working on this fic back in june 2021 but 95% of it was written in the past six weeks. it's inspired by 'the darkest minds' my favorite ya book growing up (be wary - there are some spoilers!) and the fic is full of (sometimes cringy) quotes from the book bcs i was whipped and chan is also whipped </3. i worked really hard on this fic and i'm kinda happy with how it turned out so feedback is as always appreciated :3. tysm to @jakes-tummy for the beautiful banner <3 part of the once upon a time collab by @daybreakx !! Tysm for being so patient with me T_T and I apologize for the endless delays </3
➻ GLOSSARY. PSI — a term that refers to the surviving children of the disease that developed special powers. PSF (psi special forces) — a government organization meant to control, contain and watch over kids in camps. skip tracers — adult bounty hunters that hunt for kids with psi abilities and turn them in for profit. white noise (calm control - cc) — a sound at a frequency that only psi can hear.
MASTERLIST | CLÉ MASTERLIST
𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎
When the White noise went off, you were in the gardens, pulling weeds.
You always reacted badly to it, a lot worse than all the others and you never understood why. It didn't matter if you were outside, locked in your cabin, or eating in the Mess Hall. Wherever you were, the White noise managed to get into your head, mess with your mind, and get you on your knees.
When it blasted, it felt like someone was repeatedly hitting your head with a hammer, and it always took you hours, as opposed to the few minutes the other girls took, to pick yourself up and return to previous activities, taking care of the West Creek facilities like it wasn't a prison they were forced to stay at. It was quite ironic, to say the least.
You didn't expect this time to be any different from all the other times.
But it was.
Having not seen what happened to provoke the punishment, you had the privilege of fantasizing about what horrendous thing some kid must have done. Maybe someone got bold (and stupid) enough to bravely step out of the designated area you were bound to. Or perhaps someone lived out the dirty fantasy you all shared and threw a rock at one of the PSF Special Forces soldiers.
If that's what they did, you could definitely understand, maybe even say that it was fully worth it.
You too would have done anything to make them suffer, at least a little bit. Just like any kid here in West Creek, you wanted them to feel at least a crumb of pain that they put you through.
The speakers situated in every corner of the “camp” spurted out two warning blares that served to immobilize you. The first one was short and strong; like a powerful jab to the stomach, whereas the second one was way more prolonged. The skin on your neck crawled and you felt shivers run down your spine as you hunched forward into the dirt, pressing your palms to your ears to try to block out as much of it as you could.
To the State government and the Department of PSI Youth, the alarm was a lovechild between a dental drill and a car alarm, that was racked loud enough to make some less fortunate kid's ears bleed.
The sound blasted out of the speakers rendered you all useless. It rippled through the air, shredding every nerve in your tired, overworked body, forcing its way past your hands which were—may you add quite pitifully—trying to block the loud noise.
It got so intense that a girl next to you screamed out in pain as blood gushed out of her ears, drizzling her uniform in what would normally look like cranberry sauce. You on the other hand fought the urge to ram your head into the dirt ground, knowing that once this would pass, you wouldn't be allowed to shower properly, and after years of living here, you knew that the grime fifteen seconds you had under the cold showerhead wouldn't give you enough time to properly wash your unruly locks.
You bit your lower lip in order to prevent yourself from bursting into tears. That would only result in more punishment.
And then it all stopped...and silence followed.
𝚡𝟶𝟷𝚡
Chou Tzuyu was the first to die. Or at least the first in your fourth-grade class in Glow elementary school. At the time, probably tens of thousands of children were dead. The government simply managed to do a really good job of hiding it from you.
People were too slow to piece it together, and by the time they all realized that the deaths were connected, it was too late. When it finally came to light that the excessive passing of children wasn't exactly a coincidence, the school had already put a strict ban on teachers talking to you about the situation. They thought that it would be better to keep you all in the dark, as they all prayed for the finding of a proper cure that could potentially save you all.
The disease was later called the Choi disease, after Choi Beomgyu, presumably the first victim of the mysterious death. Yet it wasn't just Choi's disease...it was all of yours.
During the excruciating weeks that lead up to you being taken to the camp, you were still entirely in the dark, stuck in your world of drawing and playing catch in the backyard. The night before, when your mom read you a bedtime story right before you fell asleep, a smile present on your lips, you would've never expected the tragedy that was about to occur.
That night it had rained, which meant that your mom sent you to school wearing purple rain boots. In class, you talked about dinosaurs and practiced some simple math before Mrs. Min dismissed you for lunch break.
You remembered every detail of lunch that day. You remember staring at the beef stew on your plate with disgust as you eyed the lunch lady warily. You remember racing with Renjun for the last spot at one of the tables.
The table where all the popular kids dined, including Chou Tzuyu.
You remember her passionately arguing with Mina about whether there was a strand of hair in her stew.
“I'm not a liar!” Tzuyu argued, her cheeks tinting pink as the tips of her ears turned red in embarrassment. The entire class was now watching the brawl as Tzuyu helplessly tried to locate the hair she claimed to have seen on her plate. “I swear it was here just a sec—”
Her movements halted.
The fork she used to dig through the food slipped out of her hand, banging against the delicate porcelain of the plate. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were trained at something beyond your head. You swiftly turned around hoping to see what she was oh so desperately looking at when you heard a thud.
Silence followed before loud screams and calls for help erupted from everywhere around you. When you turned back at her, you saw her body slump down in the seat, eyes trained at the ceiling as a little drool escaped her mouth.
One of the teachers immediately ran towards the girl, lowering her ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. Her face went paper white as she heard none, but at this point, you and your classmates still thought that she had fainted, similarly, like Sunoo did a few weeks prior during dodgeball.
The school nurse rushed towards her limp body, pushing the teacher away and instead trying to pump her chest multiple times before she lowered down and pressed her lips to hers, attempting CPR. Despite all her best efforts, the girl wasn't waking up. And once Mark nudged her hand with the tip of his sneaker, you all finally realized that she was dead.
Loud screams erupted, and panic flooded the cafeteria as the teachers desperately tried to contain the children, trying their best to calm them down and set some order.
You stayed glued to your spot, eyes hazy as you trained them at the spilled cup of orange juice on the floor that the nurse knocked over when she tried to save your classmate.
If it wasn't for the security guard that carried you outside once the Special Forces came in, who knows how long you would've stayed.
At home, you could only remember seeing president Hwang address the nation in sorrow, announcing that the disease has spread and that it was endangering the lives of all the children.
But then it hit you. The government was never scared of the kids who might die. Quite the opposite—they were scared of the ones that would survive. It was never about the ones that lost their lives. It was about containing the ones that would remain.
They were afraid of you.
𝚡𝟶𝟸𝚡
The rain was blasting against the windows on the day they brought you to West Creek.
You were seated inside of a school bus, along with about seventy other kids, all of you covered in sweat, grime, and tears. Most of you were pulled out of your homes at the most unfortunate times, including you. Dressed in your pajamas and no shoes, it wasn't exactly the most pleasant, your body was shivering as it tried to contain some of your heat. But you knew better than to complain.
Amidst everything that the soldiers have told you when they shoved you aboard the vehicle, silence was the most important one. That's why you focused on keeping your eyes trained out the window and watching each building in the distance come and go.
Your hands were tied behind your backs with a thick rope, making the entire five-hour ride painfully uncomfortable. You could already tell your wrists would be sore.
After they had forcibly taken you from your home, you were dragged, along with hundreds of other kids, into the city hall which was transformed to offer very little comfort, but to take in as many children as possible. Your ten-year-old self didn't understand at the time that there was no going back.
It took more than six years for it to finally sink in.
Ever since the first meeting you had with the doctor, you could sense the dread filling your gut before you even knew of anything. The man introduced himself as Dr. Kim, or simply Namjoon as he insisted you called him.
You were sat in a white, leather-bound chair, akin to the one at the dentist, and a large scanning device was hung above your head. The tremors wracking through your body must've been clearly visible, as he quickly jumped to point at the large poster on the wall.
“You see, after the disease broke out, each and every child was left with a… a power. A lingering side effect of the Choi disease.”
He cracked his knuckles, turning from the computer to give you a wry smile. Pushing up the glasses on the bridge of his nose, he questioned, “do you have any symptoms? Were you pre-classified when they took you?”
You shook your head mutely, still unable to mutter a single word. When the PSFs took you, the only thing on your mind was what had just happened. The memories of your own mother, staring at you like she didn't know who you were, like you were a stranger in her house, made the bile rise in your throat once again.
“Okay, so let's start from the basics,” he pointed at the lowest point of the pyramid. “The first category, and the one you're most likely to be placed in, are the Greens. These children possess a very high IQ and are able to solve puzzles and memorize tens of digits at a moment's glance.”
You suppressed the urge to violently shake your head. That wasn't you.
“Next, we have the Blues—who can lift things with their sheer willpower—like telekinesis, basically.”
‘Oh,’ you thought. So those were the kids that were trying to break out of the PSFs hold by moving rocks at them.
“Then, we have the Yellows and the Reds, who can respectively control electricity and wield fire. It's a pretty dangerous power when not kept under control, although they are pretty rare.”
“And lastly,” he clasped his hands together, a grim shadow casting over his face, “there's the Oranges, the most dangerous ones.”
Upon seeing the look of horror on your face, he hurriedly reassured, “Don't worry, you likely will never come into contact with one of those. They make up about 0.003 % of the population. The chances that you'll even cross paths with one of them is abysmal.”
Your hand clutched onto the armrest, nails digging into the faux leather as your voice cracked, “T-Their powers?”
“Mind control. They can enter people's minds, mess around with their memory and freely control them to do anything.”
You felt your heart fall into the pits of your stomach. This sounded… oddly familiar. If you were to classify what happened to your parents, you'd likely say something along the lines of their memory of you being erased. But what could've caused it? You didn't do anything out of the ordinary, did you?
Your hand just brushed against her arm as you pleaded, looking into her eyes…
And then it hit you. Touch. Could it have been activated by you touching her?
Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud cough, Dr. Kim's eyes glancing at you with a mixture of worry and suspicion. In a hurry, you mustered up the most “innocent-child-like” expression you could, hoping that he wouldn't ask any further questions.
“I'll have to scan your brain to see what color is beginning to develop inside of you, okay?” he gestured towards the device hanging above your head.
You could feel your hands begin to tremble. If this thing could find out what you were from just a simple scan, it would mean that Dr. Kim would find out soon. He would know, and then, they all would know.
Clenching your fists, your eyes shut as the beeping sound echoed through the room, the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard coming to a jarring stop. Namjoon's eyes widened at the warning sign that popped up on his screen before he hastily recomposed himself, his hand gently reaching to pat you on the head.
“It's okay, don't worry. I just have to call a colleague of mine to help me with something, alright? I'll be back—”
“No,” your hand shot out, panic flooding your veins as your little fingers clutched onto his wrist. “Please don't go.”
He sighed at the desperation in your pleading tone, breaking out of your hold. “I'll be right back, don't worry—”
Suddenly, your eyes flashed bright orange, pupils dilating as grabbed onto his hand once more. This time, with much more force. Hiding the tremble in your voice, you uttered, “don't go! I am green… I am a Green. I'm not a threat.”
His eyes went blank as he nodded, almost mechanically, retracting his hand from the receiver behind his belt. “You are a Green.”
“Okay. N-Now mark me as one in the system.”
𝚡𝟶𝟹𝚡
“Ouch,” you winced, shoving the tip of your finger in your mouth, and tasting the copper flavor of blood on your tastebuds. The thick, long needle you were forced to sew with had pricked your finger once again, this time drawing blood.
You hated working in the textile factory with passion.
The Sun was always glaring at you through the shabby roof, the wind would gust through the ruptures in the wall and the rain would drip on you through the cracks in the cement. Not to mention the dozen of PSFs standing behind you and breathing down your backs as their beady little eyes carefully watched out for any tiny mistake, something that would give them an excuse to scream at you.
You could feel your eyes getting heavy, lashes fluttering to try to keep them open. The muscles in your arm were twitching, causing you to drop the needle to the ground. Groaning, you bent down in hopes of finding it in the dirt but to no avail.
You were about to turn around to ask for a new one when you bumped into someone's chest. A woman, you assumed in her late thirties, was glaring down at you with her teeth barren, rifle hanging off her chest.
“You're doing this all wrong,” she sneered, pointing at the jacket you were sewing together. “Not to mention you're slacking off on the job.”
You furrowed your brows, focusing all your energy on not exploding. This was exactly what she'd wanted—for you to lose your cool and give her an incentive to punish you.
“Why are you so sloppy? I thought you Greens were supposed to be smart… Yet you can't even follow instructions properly.”
Next to you, Jeongin's hand slowly extended from under the table to gently palm at yours. It was his way of subtly reassuring you, telling you that he was there.
“Don't say anything,” he mouthed grimly, hoping that he had managed to convey the number one unspoke rule of the camp.
Never talk back to PSFs.
“What's with this stitching?” she jabbed you in the side, finger moving to point at the piece of clothing in front of you. Her teeth were bared, like a wild animal deprived of food and ready to pounce. But that didn't change the fact that the stitching was perfect.
Sewing wasn't that hard, and after having done the same job for years, it would've been almost laughable if you weren't able to do a simple backstitch by now.
“Answer me, Green!” she yelled in your ear, the taunt in her voice clear as day. It was an old trick by now, something you've seen happen so many times and you wouldn't let yourself fall into that trap.
When you didn't respond, a round of snickers echoed through the run-down building, the other PSFs enjoying the show. The woman looked around angrily, seconds away from dragging you away. Tears were already welling up in your eyes, knowing what would likely follow.
However, just as she was about to grab your arm and pull you out of the line, a loud clank resonated through the air, and everyone went quiet. If people weren't watching before, they sure were now.
Snapping your head to the side, dread filled you up as you watched your friend stare at the ground. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Jeongin kept his eyes trained at the crate he just pushed off the edge of the table. A dark shade of red blossomed on his cheeks and from the corner of your eye, you noticed that his hands were trembling.
And then it hit you—he did it on purpose.
He successfully managed to take the attention away from you, thus freeing you from the unwanted spotlight you were cast in. Cries bubbled up in your throat but you knew better than to let out a single noise.
Instead, you watched as the PSFs hauled him away, a single tear rolling down your cheek. Jeongin stayed quiet the entire time, but as he was dragged through the doorframe, he turned around to catch your gaze. Before he disappeared completely, his lips formed a weak smile, as if reassuring you that everything would be okay.
Well, to be completely truthful, it wasn't…
𝚡𝟶𝟺𝚡
Three full days passed before Jeongin returned to your cabin.
That was 72 hours, 4320 minutes, and 259200 seconds. And while the days at West Creek used to fly by in a monotonous haze, having repeated the same routine for years, these past three days were nothing but excruciating pain.
It was almost like you could feel each second.
The anxiety was eating away at your insides, and you often found yourself returning to an old habit you thought you had gotten rid of back when you were in second grade—biting your nails. But the stress of not seeing Jeongin for so long causes your heart to cave in from the inside.
You were sitting outside the cabin, hogged up with your blanket when you finally spotted him.
He was walking back from the closed-off sector of the camp, and even from your spot on the ground, you could see that he was limping. His right leg was visibly injured, you noted, and from the way he clutched onto his stomach, you would assume that he hadn't eaten in a long time.
“Jeongin,” you sprung up to your feet, running up to him. Despite his horrible state, you were glad to see him back alive. Jeongin, however, didn't seem to share the sentiment. He breathed out a shaky breath but didn't respond, leaving you to worry for him even more.
“Look, I left you something from dinner,” you gestured towards the small tray with food, attempting to break the ice, but he simply shrugged you off, walking (or rather limping) past you. When you turned around and called for him, he finally murmured, “I-I'm sorry… I just need to be alone now…”
With a heavy heart, you watched as he dragged himself back into the cabin before unceremoniously plopping himself on his bunk, immediately falling asleep.
That night, as he tossed and turned under you, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. No one really knew how the PSFs punished you, except for the children who have been punished themselves, of course. But it didn't stop you guys from forming your own theories.
And that was how most of the stories came to be, some just baseless rumors created to occupy your mind with something other than the neverending cycle of monotonous work at the factory, while others were a mix of that and the little snippets of truth that one of the unfortunate children could confirm after having experienced it first hand.
And that night, you realized a sad, bitter truth. Talking to Jeongin, laughing with him, eating together in the mess hall… it would never be the same.
Actually, Jeongin would never be the same.
Not after what they had done to him.
𝚡𝟶𝟻𝚡
You spent the following days nervously trailing behind your friend, unsure of how to act around him after what had gone down. The circles under his eyes were heavy, and the way he carried himself seemed almost lifeless.
Every time he wordlessly passed you in the gardens, you felt your heart shatter. Guilt washed over you, sweeping through your mind and trickling into every crevice of your conscience.
How could you not feel like it was your fault?
As you grappled with the wrenching feeling of penitence, the days went on, burly winter days bleeding into spring. The few flowers that were left were beginning to bloom and they lent West Creek a sort of coziness, as unreasonable as it sounded, but when in peril, you had to find joy in the little things.
You were begrudgingly digging your fork into the mystery vegetable soup when Jeongin suddenly slammed his tray next to yours, plopping into the seat beside you.
Your eyes shot up to him, confused, as you shoved another spoonful of the suspicious liquid into your mouth. Seconds later, you regretted that decision, nearly gagging at the salty flavor.
“Yeah, I wouldn't eat that if I were you,” Jeongin's lips quirked upwards into a half-smile as he tore off a piece of bread. You watched him, slightly jealous, as he ate the only thing that was edible in this entire canteen—stale bread.
When he noticed how you gazed at it, some drool appearing at the corners of your mouth, he chuckled, splitting the remaining piece in half. “Here you go.”
You stared at it for a few seconds before it finally registered. Blinking, you look up at Jeongin, making sure that this wasn't just a dream.
“Go on,” he noded in your direction, nudging the bread into your hand. “You can eat it. The lunch lady gave me some—I think she heard about the incident and felt bad…”
“Thank you.”
The two of you continued to eat in silence, the bustling crowd of kids slowly dissipating until it was just you guys who were left. There was this weird sort of tension in the air, everything around you suddenly feeling heavy.
As if on cue, Jeongin turned around to face you, a serious expression on his face. His hand extended under the table, enveloping yours as he whispered, so quietly that you almost missed it.
“We have to escape from here.”
At first, you snorted. It was a natural reaction to something as preposterous as escaping from this hell on earth. There was no way he was serious, was there? This was ludicrous…
“I'm not kidding,” he spoke hushedly, training his eyes at the ground. Then, his expression morphed into one of fear as he stuttered, “T-They're gonna send me away…”
Immediately, your grip on his hand tightened. “What do you mean?” you implored, tears welling in your eyes. “Why would they be sending you away?”
A-All of us,” he choked out. “They're sending all of us Yellows away next week. Just like they did to the Reds before…”
N-No… no. this couldn't be happening. This absolutely couldn't happen. Biting down on your lip, you could feel your mind beginning to shut off. Jeongin, having spotted your reaction, immediately reached to caress your face.
“It's okay, Y/N. Please, don't cry…”
You wiped away the tears with the back of your hand, looking back at him. “A-Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he let out a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair. “I heard some of the PSFs discussing it. It seems like their decision is final.”
You desperately tried to keep the tears at bay, burying your head into his chest. Sniffling, you gripped onto his yellow uniform. “What are you going to do?”
Taking a deep breath, he looked around to make sure no one was listening. When he found the coast clear, he whispered, “I want to escape this hellhole. I was hoping you'd agree to come with me…”
He was awfully gentle about it, making sure to phrase his thoughts in a manner that wouldn't sound like he was forcing you to come with him. He was well aware of the risks, and he himself had no problem putting his life on the line if it meant he could escape from this prison.
But he wouldn't be able to live knowing that he had left you behind. That's why he was asking you in the first place while giving you an option to reject his offer.
All his qualms dissolved into dust when you responded, voice slightly shaky but with an air of conviction.
“I'll come.”
𝚡𝟶𝟼𝚡
The following morning, you and Jeongin woke up at the crack of dawn, in hopes of preparing for your little mission before all the others would wake up. Granted, there wasn't not much for you to do; you didn't own any memorabilia and Jeongin insisted that he had a plan, a plan he was so confident in that his certainty never wavered.
“Are you ready?” he asked, helping you put on your backpack filled with knickknacks the two of you thought could be useful once you escaped. Looking over at him, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you nodded.
“Still don't want to tell me this grand plan of yours?”
He smiled, opening his mouth to speak when a loud beeping noise echoed in your ears. A glint appeared in his eyes. “Come on, we need to go,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand and running towards the north sector of the fence.
“We don't really have much time, but a new shipment of PSI children is arriving today. Most of the PSFs will be guarding the main entrance.”
When you raised your brow, he continued, “I heard them talking about it. One of the guards mentioned that nearly everyone will be sent to the main gate to handle the transaction. We should be safe for as long as they're away. We have maybe around ten or fifteen minutes.”
The two of you managed to slip through the narrow alleyways between the cabins, successfully avoiding the main path where you were likely to be spotted. It took nearly five minutes of continuous running to reach the tall, electric fence that bordered West Creek.
“I-I don't get it, Jeongin,” you implored, breathing in deeply. You haven't run like this in ages. “What now? How do you want to escape?”
“Well,” Jeongin paced towards the left, pointing at a small rip in between the thick cord of metal. “This is our ticket out of here.”
His voice rang in your head. He sounded so triumphant as if he was convinced that this was truly the way to get out of West Creek. You hated to be a killjoy, but you weren't able to suppress the disappointment that painted your face.
“Hey, hey,” Jeongin called out to you, cupping your face. “Don't worry, I have it all under control.”
The way your lashes fluttered must've given it away that you weren't really sure if you could trust him on that. Sighing, he extended his palm towards the fence, fingertips nearly touching it.
“Did you forget that I control electricity?” he piped, squashing down the worry that blossomed in your chest when he was about to touch the fence.
Your grin suddenly mirrored his, a wave of relief washing over you. You supposed that since using your abilities was prohibited in the entire camp complex, you had forgotten that underneath the color of your jumpsuit and behind the title the PSFs would refer to you as was a power linked to it.
Never had you seen Jeongin, or any Yellow, for that matter, use his abilities. The closest you have seen were a few blues throwing rocks at the angry PSFs when you were first hauled into the camp.
It was the first time you had seen the boy so concentrated. His brows were furrowed, and the tip of his tongue was peeking out from the corner of his mouth. His eyes flashed yellow, and for a brief moment, you thought you had imagined it.
He clenched his hand into a fist before releasing it. And just like that, you could see the bright yellow hue color the fence as the golden mass appeared to wrap around each metal cord. Then, when he added his other hand, the yellow seemed to withdraw away from where he was pointing, like the red sea parting in front of Moses.
“You're making the electricity disappear?” you asked in awe, eyes widening at the sight. It was singlehandedly one of the most amazing things you have ever seen. Jeongin smiled fondly at your genuine amazement, chuckling to himself.
“Not exactly. I can only control it, not generate it or make it disappear.”
Once he was sure that the electric current was gone, crouched down. The morning bell rang loudly, drumming in your ears as the boy whispered, “Quickly! We don't have much time left.”
His nimble fingers reached to wrap around one of the loose cords, tugging upwards. When it didn't budge, he applied more force, finally causing it to bend to his wishes. You helped him pull it up, silently cheering when you had managed to create a hole big enough for you to crawl through.
“You go first,” Jeongin pointed toward the new opening in the kilometers-long fence. You shook your head softly. “No. You should go first.”
“Y/N,” Jeongin began, a smile spreading across his face. “Just go, okay. We're both going to make it out of here, understand? There's no need to argue about this.”
“Okay.”
Laying down on the muddy ground, you pushed your backpack through the gap, following almost immediately. You did your best to shuffle through the tight space, cursing when you felt something tug at your jumpsuit.
“Shit, something got caught on my collar,” you whisper-shouted, panicking as you couldn't move forward. And if that wasn't enough, you heard loud stompings from behind you, which could only mean one thing…
“Fuck,” Jeongin cursed under his breath, reaching his hand to unhook the collar of your jumpsuit from the barbed wire. You heard him mumble a string of colorful words when the sharp metal spike grazed his palm, tearing through the skin.
“Don't move!” a loud voice hollered from across the garden, causing panic to flood your veins. “J-Jeongin,” you whimpered, tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks as you struggled to move.
“Don't worry,” his voice was calm and leveled. How he had managed to sound so collected in this situation was unknown to you, but you appreciated it nonetheless. “I'm getting you out of here.” He took a few controlled breaths before skillfully unhooking the wire from your clothes.
You cried in relief once you finally emerged on the other side, massaging your sore limbs. When you turned around to look at Jeongin, however, you froze, watching in horror as one of the PSFs grabbed his rifle and aimed it at the boy.
The screams got caught in your throat, the loud bang ricocheted before you could even warn him. The bullet pierced right through his arm, causing the limb to fall to the ground as he howled in pain.
“J-Jeongin,” you whispered, the sound barely audible as you stilled in your spot, eyes glued to the wound as crimson started to color the fabric of his jumpsuit.
“Damn it,” he cried, clutching his arm in pain as he desperately tried to stop the flow of blood. “Fuck! You have to go, Y/N. Now!”
The words are stuck in your throat as you vehemently shake your head. “N-No. I c-can't leave you here. Y-You have to come t-too.”
“Y/N,” the chuckle that left his lips was broken, a sound so heartbreaking you could feel your insides clenching. “It's obvious that I'm not making it out of here so please fucking go before they get you.”
You sucked in your lower lip, tears streaming freely down your face. “Please… for me? If you don't go, this entire mission will be useless, do you hear me?”
“B-But I—”
“Please.. Just go, I'm begging you,” his voice cracked and you noticed how heavily he was breathing.”
“Don't move!” the PSFs shouted, their voices now a lot closer. Another bullet whirred past you, missing you by a hair.
As you struggled to stand up, Jeongin gave you a somewhat reassuring smile, blinking away the tears. Your trembling hand reached down to cup his face, unknowing of what a big mistake it would be. As you gently caressed his cheek, trying to imprint every single feature of his fox-like face into your mind, something flashed in his eyes.
They were suddenly blank, and he gazed at you distantly. You could see the gears spinning in his head as he opened his mouth, heart-shaped lips uttering a question that would replay in your head for the following weeks like a broken record.
“Who are you?”
Your mouth parted in shock, realizing that history had repeated itself.
With a loud cry, you sprang up, running away from the fence as if your life depended on it (which it did). You could hear the screams, alarm blaring off as one of the PSFs finally remembered to use the White Noise.
You clutched your hands over your ears, feeling the bits of blood trickle down your forearms as you fought to move forward, wanting to put as much distance between you and the camp.
Stumbling through the forest, you finally emerged on the other end of it, your feet having carried you to the main road. Tears were streaming down your face, and you felt sick to the stomach.
What have you done?
Not only did you leave Jeongin behind, even though he was the one that was in danger, but you had also managed to erase his memories of you.
Just like with your parents.
It was exactly because of this you had decided to not make friends and grow attached to anyone—you didn't want to go through the pain of realizing that someone you considered close to you, someone you cherished, was gone.
He had no memories of you.
You had managed to obliterate your existence from his mind. Choked sobs left your mouth as you ran, leaving the past six years of your life behind. The dark forest was far behind you, as you heard the voices of the PSF officers drow out into a quiet buzz.
You were on your own now.
𝚡𝟶𝟽𝚡
Everything was quiet.
In front of you, a long strip of land extended over the horizon, nothing but fields in sight. You had been walking for at least a few hours now, and the afternoon heat was beginning to get to you as you wiped off the sweat from your forehead.
Thankfully, after a few minutes, you began to see the outline of a rundown structure. It was a gas station, you realized, and a breath of relief escaped your lips.
You burst through the door of the beat-down gas station, relief washing over you immediately as you spotted that there was still some food on the shelves. Holding your breath, you walked through the aisles, searching for the goods with a long shelf life. The ground was littered with old cardboard boxes and shattered glass bottles, so you tried your best to tippy-toe around it.
Just as your hand was reaching for a bottle of water, you heard a loud crash coming from the front of the store. Two voices were arguing, and by the sound of it, they were both men (or perhaps boys, you had no way of knowing for sure).
You began to panic, grabbing the bottle and a bag of chips from the shelf as you quietly headed for the exit. Then, as if on cue, you heard a truck pull up to the curb, two men dressed in black with rifles in their hands coming out.
“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, cursing your fate. You had just escaped West Creek, why did you have to run into someone? You were startled from your transfixion by a quiet voice.
“Pss,” you turned around coming face to face with a guy around your age. He was crouching behind the counter, motioning for you to follow him. Under any other circumstances, you would've run away, but it seemed like you had no choice.
The handsome boy quietly led you out of the store from the back entrance, his hand wrapped around your wrist. You flinched at the contact, the memories from today's morning flooding back into your head as you tugged your arm from his grip.
“Uh, s-sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, running his hand behind his neck. It was then that you noticed he had taken you to a small minivan. “I figured you'd wanna get away from the skip tracers.”
Your brow arched at the unfamiliar word. His eyes slid down to your uniform and understanding, along with surprise, flashed across his face. “Did you just come from a camp?”
As if the words were stuck in your throat, you nodded, nervously looking behind you. Whoever these skip traces were, they sure seemed like bad news, and you didn't want to stay and find out what they'd do to you.
You looked back at the boy to find that he was still looking at you, worry written all over his face.
“You can come with us if you'd like,” he motioned to the vehicle, walking up to the front and opening the door. As soon as he did, a lanky mass of limbs stumbled out, nearly hitting the pavement.
“What took you so long, Chan? I thought you were just—”
The words stilled in his throat, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. You took the moment to take him in; he was notably around your age, but nearly not as tall as Chan and had a leaner build. His hair was a mix of honey and light brown, the unruly mop of curls splayed in front of his eyes, framing the circled spectacles perched on top of his high nose bridge.
His mouth twisted into an exasperated scowl. “I thought we said no strays!?”
Chan rolled his eyes, “We were talking about the cats, Sung. Not people…”
Your eye flickered from one boy to the other, brain going into overdrive. Sweat was beginning to line your forehead as you fiddled with the sleeve of your green uniform. It had been way too long since you had properly talked to anyone other than Jeongin.
“I'm sorry,” you lowered your gaze to the ground, not wanting to hold eye contact. “I don't want to intrude, I'll be leaving so you don't have to worry.”
The last part of your sentence was directed at the lanky boy who merely scoffed, but cowered under the glare Chan sent him. Running his hand through his greasy hair, he mumbled, “that'd probably be for the best.”
Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated through the air, causing you all to look back at the gas station.
“Shit,” Chan cursed under his breath upon seeing a man with a rifle run towards you. “We have to go. Now.”
Grabbing you by the arm, he opened the back door of the truck before shoving you in, jumping in behind you, and sliding into the driver's seat. Slamming his foot on the gas pedal, the engine roared to life and the vehicle shook before finally moving forward.
“Are those skip tracers?” Jisung screeched, craning his neck to look out the window. “No,” Chan snorted. “It's Ronald McDonald… Of course, it's the skip tracers!”
He shot Chan a half-baked glare before turning around, his fingers gripping around his seat. “Are you okay, Min?”
It was only then that you noticed the young boy, maybe a couple of years younger than you, curled under a blanket. He was wearing what you assumed used to be a Power Rangers graphic tee and a pair of faded sweats.
Peering at Jisung from under his lashes, he nodded breathlessly, bracing himself as the loud sound richoteered through the air.
The first gunshot popped like a firecracker.
It was loud and piercing, but it wasn't aimed at you. Almost like a warning. The second shot, however, pierced through the back and the bullet exited the minivan from the front window.
A groan tore from Chan's mouth as he swerved the van, turning to the right in hopes of losing whoever was behind you. One of the glass panels shattered into tiny pieces, and you had to put your hands above your head in order to protect your eyes.
“Is there a freaking skip tracer convention around here? Why are there so many of them?” Jisung wheezed, frustration enveloping him as he turned around to face you. “You know, this is kind of your fault. They never would've latched onto us if—”
“Jisung,” Chan cut him off, glowering. “It's not her fault, okay. They pulled up when both of us were in the store.”
The argument was cut off when yet another bullet pierced through the van, flying right above your head. You didn't even register the scream that left your parted lips. Chan turned around, eyes filled with concern as he bit his lower lip.
He furrowed his brows as if pondering before he parted his lips to ask, “do you know how to ride a bike?”
You peered at him, utterly confused as you slowly nodded your head. Your dad had taught you when you were about seven, a mere three years before you got taken to camp, and you supposed you still remembered something.
“Y-Yeah, why?”
His lips curled into a grin, eyes brightening as he swerved the minivan. Your hands sprung up to brace yourself from hitting your head against the window. “Well, driving a car is almost the same. And I need to you take the captain's seat.”
No. You were about to protest, half a dozen of arguments against you driving springing up in your head but it appeared that you didn't have a say in the matter. He slammed his foot on the brake, the vehicle coming to a halting stop and he undid his seatbelt.
“It's really simple—left foot is the break, right is the gas. You just need to steer with the wheel, okay?”
His strong arms wrapped around your torso, squashing any remaining objections at the tip of your tongue as he lifted you from the back of the van, lowering you into the driver's seat, too gently considering the fact that you had a bunch of armed men trailing behind you.
“Okay, I'll need you to go. Now, Green!” he urged, nearly stumbling back as your right foot hit the pedal. “Great! Now keep going.”
The adrenalin coursing through your veins matched the rapid beating of your heart as your clammy hands gripped the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, you could see Chan opening the back doors of the van.
You were about to question what the hell he was doing, putting himself in so much danger, but Jisung beat you to it. “What the fuck are you doing, Chan? This is insane…” his voice eventually trailed off into nothingness. You had almost forgotten he was there.
“Don't worry,” he chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. “I got it.”
You didn't know what he meant by “it” until you looked back up into the rearview mirror to see a giant tree hurling through the air, effectively blocking off the van behind you. All done with a flick of his wrist.
It then hit you; Chan was a Blue.
You have never witnessed one use their abilities to this extent, not to mention showing a sliver of control over the newfound powers. The most you had seen were the small group that tried to rebel when you were brought to camp, and that was now over six years ago.
Slamming the door shut, Chan returned to the front seat, patting you on the shoulder.
“See. I knew you'd do a great job.”
You lifted your hand from the steering wheel to smack him on the arms. An exaggerated cry left his lips as you grunted, “that was nothing like riding a bike!”
“Okay, okay. But you did a great job,” his lips formed another smile, this one even brighter than the previous one. “Perhaps you can be our permanent driver.”
“No way,” you shook your head, unable to stop the corners of your lips tugging upwards. “Why couldn't he drive,” you pointed to Jisung who was still curled up in the passenger's seat, the round spectacles nearly falling off his nose.
“Not a chance—Sung can't see more than a few feet in front of him. Trust me, you wouldn't want him driving us, darlin'.”
You nearly did a double-take at the term of endearment, heat rising to your cheeks as you concentrated on the road, praying that he didn't notice.
He leaned over the seat, his head right behind yours and you could've sworn you felt his breath fan your neck. “Alright, you have to be careful—they blew out the back tire so you're driving on the rim. You can pull up on that gas station over there—” he pointed to the right.
Jisung managed to squeeze himself through the tiny gap between the two seats, climbing over them with a grunt.
“Are you okay, Min?” he asked, voice gentle and sweet—nothing like the way he talked to you or Chan. Your eyes flickered upwards, straining your neck to see the young boy to whom Jisung was talking to.
“Oh, right,” Chan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We haven't really introduced ourselves, have we?”
Slamming your foot on the brake pedal, the vehicle came to a stop, tucked behind a row of trees. You turned around to face the three, smoothing down the creases of your uniform as you replied, “Yeah. Well, I'm Y/N, nice to meet you.”
Chan chuckled at your attempt to curtsy while seated, running his hand through his hair before he held it out to you. “Well nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Chan, as you may have heard, and the cranky one behind me is Jisung.”
Said boy gave you a simple nod as his hands continued to run through the younger boy's tangled locks. “And this lovely guy is Seungmin, our little lightbulb.”
It took you a few seconds to comprehend what he meant. Yellow. He was a Yellow. You supposed that was the reason why there was a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves on his hands.
“How long have you guys been traveling together?” you asked, using your hand to prop yourself up from the driver's seat, trading places with Chan. A grim expression took over his face, but it quickly passed, replaced with a bashful smile.
“We just broke out of camp a few weeks ago. We're searching for Yellow Wood.”
Upon seeing the confusion on your face, he questioned, “you haven't heard of it?”
But you didn't hear him, your face had gone completely blank when he mentioned the three of them escaping camp as if it was something normal. Memories of your own escape—the one that was made possible only because of Jeongin—flooded your mind. His eyes… the empty stare he gave you once you accidentally wiped all traces of yourself from his memories… it all came rushing back.
“Y-You managed to break out? How many of you?”
Chan's brows furrowed as he seemingly pondered, “Maybe around two dozen? I'm not really sure, we just ran for our lives…”
Your mouth parted in shock and you nodded, strands of hair falling over your face as you let the information sink in. Two dozen. How was that even possible? You barely managed to get out of there in one piece, so how did they manage to escape in such a large group?
“What about you?” Jisung suddenly asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. His arms were crossed and the expression on his face was unreadable—nearly a perfect poker face. “How did you escape?”
Almost immediately, you shrank, curling yourself into a ball. You avoided his gaze and instead looked out the window, trying to blink away the tears that were gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I-I–” the words got caught in your throat as you gulped, clutching onto the sleeves of your uniform.
Chan noticed the way you seemed to want the ground to swallow you alive, grabbing your hand with his warm one and giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes were clouded with apprehension as if he understood why you didn't want to talk about it.
He gave Jisung a dirty look, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Don't,” he mouthed.
His friend shrugged in response. “Is it so weird that I want to know something about her if she's going to travel with us for some time?”
Rolling his eyes, the older male opened the door, turning to you to say, “do you want to get some fresh air? I have to change the tire anyways…”
Wiping your eyes with your sleeve, you nodded, jumping out of the van and nearly stumbling to the ground. For the next five minutes, you watched Chan flick his wrist and take out the bolts before taking out the tire. When you asked if you can help, he waved you off with a smile so you opted to sit down and watch him work.
It was somewhat surreal to see him in action; it was clear that he had a lot of practice to be able to perfect his moves like this. And what was the most noteworthy was definitely the contrast between manipulating such small objects versus hauling a large tree from the forest. Unlike before, he wasn't using raw strength and power. He was relying on skill and precision, elegantly twirling his hand in the air.
“I'm sorry for Jisung,” Chan's voice cut through the silence, followed by a quiet grunt as he stood up and wiped his palms into the rough material of his jeans. “It takes him some time to warm up to strangers but he really doesn't mean any harm.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled under your breath. “I know. And it's understandable that he's so hostile towards me—he clearly cares about you guys and wants to make sure you're all safe.”
A chuckle escaped his lips as he grabbed the spare tire from the back with a groan. Your caught sight of the way his muscles bulged under the fitted shirt, heat rising to your cheeks causing you to look away.
“He has his own ways of showing he cares.”
𝚡𝟶𝟾𝚡
After successfully replacing the tire, Chan ushered you back into the van and claimed his rightful spot behind the wheel. You weren't really sure where you were headed, nor did you feel too comfortable prying about their destination, so you opted to quietly sit back and watch the fields transform into forests and the Sun bleed into the sky.
Some time passed, it could be anything between twenty minutes and two hours—you didn't really keep track—before you finally began to see some forms of life.
Chan took his hand off the wheel to crank up the radio, switching up between stations before he stopped, the first seconds of one of your favorite songs beginning to play. A smile appeared on your lips as you bobbed your head to the melody.
To your utter surprise, Chan began to sing along with so much passion you had to hold in a snort. He was purposefully exaggerating the lyrics and balling his hand into a fist to mimic a microphone causing you to giggle while Jisung could only roll his eyes.
The way he sang, despite obviously not taking himself seriously, was captivating. You realized that you really loved his voice—powerful, yet at the same time soft and tender. Towards the end of the song, the urge to join him overcame you as you began singing the outro together.
“You're here, there's nothing I fear And I know that my heart will go on…” you belted, surprisingly well for someone who never had any sort of vocal training in their life. You got so into it that you didn't realize Chan stopped singing, watching you have your little moment.
You were really pretty when you sang, he noted.
Once the last words left your parted lips, you gently closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before sighing contently. When you parted your lids to look around, you found that all three guys were looking at you, your skin crawling and the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.
Their reactions were encompassing a wide range of emotions—from Jisung's raised eyebrow to Seungmin's almost aloof expression. Lastly, Chan was looking at you with what could only be described as fondness which caused you to look away shyly.
His eyes were nearly glassy, overtaken with awe and joy that began to seep through his veins. A charming laugh left his lips as he refocused his gaze back on the road, his mouth curling into a mellow smile.
After a while, he spoke up with a teasing glint. “Didn't expect your throat to pack such a powerful voice?” You pouted, playfully hitting his arm as he yelped. “You pack a powerful punch too!”
After that, the four of you simply indulged in the rare, peaceful silence that was accompanied by only the occasional song from the radio that Chan deemed to fit the vibe. It was nearly nighttime when he pulled up into the parking lot of an old, run-down motel.
“Stay inside,” his tone was unyielding. “I'll go check if the place is safe.”
With that, he jumped out of the car, briskly pacing towards the back entrance to scope out the area and any possible danger. You turned around to face Jisung, worry on your face.
“Does he do this often? Just leave and walk straight into the lion's den on his own?”
“Yeah,” his face relaxed and a more impassive expression took over his features as he gazed out the window. “He's always making sure that we're safe and all, yadi yada…”
But you could tell that despite his attempts to look like he was annoyed by his actions, Jisung was secretly grateful. When he thought you weren't looking, he but down on his lower lip, body tensing. He was nervous, you could tell.
Just like you were…
It felt like an eternity when you heard Chan's footsteps crunch against the asphalt. Your head shot up, a wave of relief washing over you as you saw his familiar figure head back towards you.
When Chan noticed you watching him, he shot you a wink, causing your insides to burn as you quickly plastered your gaze onto your hands in your lap. His head suddenly appeared right in front of your face as he leaned in through the open window.
“C'mon, the coast is clear.”
You tried your hardest not to stare when you noticed just how broad his shoulders were—they wouldn't even fit through the car window for God's sake!
A loud cough interrupted your train of thought as Jisung gave you a knowing look. Spluttering, you stumbled out of the car, nearly tripping over the uneven ground in the process. “Woah, careful there,” Chan's arms wrapped around your waist to steady you, helping you stand on your own two feet. “T-Thanks.”
The three of you followed the eldest's lead as he made his way through the back gate but not without his hand reaching back to hold a few of the unruly branches from hitting you in the face.
“Hey! How come she gets preferential treatment and we don't?” Jisung whined from behind you, oblivious to the warming of your cheeks. Once you finally reached the shabby motel, Chan led you towards the room on the very left, reaching for something under the mat.
Before you could ask any questions, he pulled out a single key, inserted it in the lock, and twisted it. A satisfying click sounded in the air as the smell of mold and wet socks filled your nostrils.
“Ladies first,” he motioned for you to go with an exaggerated bow causing you to chuckle. “Why thank you.”
Once you entered, you had to block out your ears since Jisung shrieked at the sight of the bathroom that was stocked up with basic hygiene supplies.
“Finally! I can shave my mustache,” he groaned, plopping himself on one of the two twin beds. A grumble escaped your lips. “Yeah sure, like you have one.”
You thought that no one heard you but a muffled sound from behind you told a different story. “Make sure he doesn't hear you say that,” Chan cackled, throwing himself on the faded armchair across the bed.
After Jisung and Seungmin took turns showering, it must've been near midnight. Exhaustion had overtaken your body as you gazed at the bathroom door, your lids fluttering.
“Don't you wanna go?” Chan suddenly questioned, motioning towards the shower. You turned your head to face him. “Y-Yeah, I'll go but I thought you should go first…”
“It's okay, I can tell you're pretty tired,” he gave you a soft smile. “I'll wait up for you.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling gratitude fill your insides as you stumbled into the bathroom. Immediately, the flickering lightbulb greeted you with a series of light bursts, causing your head to spin. You steadied yourself against the counter, hands gripping onto the granite as you fought off the initial dizziness. A long continuous crack stretched across the mirror, reaching all the way to the upper right corner.
As you gleefully shed your camp uniform, a chill ran down your spine—likely from the AC that was blasted above your head. You hastily stepped into the shower, a blissful sigh leaving your lips as you finally washed the physical remains of camp off your body.
Once you stepped out of the tub, a grim realization hit you: you would have to put these nasty clothes back on…
You were seriously contemplating sleeping in your undergarments when suddenly, a knock sounded against the plywood.
“Come in,” you mumbled after clumsily wrapping a towel around your body.
The door creaked open as a blushing Chan stuck his head through the doorway. His ears were completely red as his eyes jumped across the room, trying not to stare.
“Uhm so I realized that you, uh, that you didn't have any clothes to change into,” he murmured, voice rising an octave higher towards the end. You nodded in encouragement for him to continue. “So I, uh well… I thought you'd maybe– I have a spare shirt!”
After an awkward pause, he added, “I know it isn't much and you obviously don't have to if you're uncomfortable, but I figured you'd be more comfortable sleeping in something clean rather than your camp uniform.”
The heat rose to your cheeks as you stared at his hand in which he nervously clutched the piece of fabric. It truly was a sweet gesture but for some reason, you were completely tongue-tied.
After another beat of silence, Jisung grumbled, “Y/N, just take the damn shirt and put him out of his misery.”
“Shut up, Sung,” the blush had reached his neck now, intensifying when he heard you giggle.
“You got a way with the ladies, man. You gotta teach me your moves someday, pal.”
By now, you were convulsing with laughter. Despite the sarcasm dripping from his tone, this was the happiest Jisung had seemed all day. Even Seungmin seemed to crack a smile.
After the laughter had died down, your face filled with concern as you reached toward Chan's extended hand. “A-Are you sure I can take it? Won't you need it to sleep?”
“Ah, it's okay,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I sleep shirtless anyway.”
Now it was your turn to become flustered. Pushing away thoughts of a shirtless Chan, you gripped at the shirt, mumbling your thanks. And before you could chicken out, you leaned in and pressed a small kiss to his cheek.
It was too late for you to do anything about it but you already regretted your actions when the door shut. A sigh escaped your lips as you wondered on a scale of one to ten, how much did you fuck up.
“You're such a damn idiot,” you whispered to yourself, pulling on your underwear and slipping into the garment. Immediately, you were enveloped by warmth as the soft cotton material reached the top of your thighs, grazing against the sensitive flesh.
When you emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your hair, Chan's brain was going into overdrive as he fought the urge to look at you for longer than was appropriate. Running past you with burning cheeks, he locked himself in the bathroom where he finally allowed a breath of relief to escape his lips.
It had been a while since he felt like this.
Jumping into the shower, he turned the faucet all the way, hoping that the icy water would rid him of his crude thoughts. But who could blame him? He was still, at his core, a teenager, and just like any other, the hormones were currently rampant inside of him. And no amount of camp and survival would change that.
When he finally stepped out of the shower, he grabbed the last towel from the top shelf and used it to pat himself dry. After sliding on his boxers, he brushed his teeth, grimacing at the sting of the old, peppermint toothpaste.
Glancing back at the mirror, he took a proper look at himself for the first time in a couple of months. The sight that greeted him wasn't all that pretty. Between the cracks in the glass and the condensation from the water, he could make out the general shape of his face littered with all kinds of scratches and bruises—some of them from camp while others from fighting PSFs or running away from them. The long cut under his jaw was from a sharp tree branch that catapulted at his face while they were running through the woods. There was another wound that called for his attention, specifically, the gash that ran against his lower abdomen. Gently touching the smooth creamy skin, a wince tore past his lips, the recollections of the skip tracer attack still fresh in his memory.
Throwing the towel over his shoulders, he walked out of the bathroom, sighing as the less damp air of the bedroom hit him. A fond smile crossed his face when he noticed Jisung and Seungmin curled up in one of the beds. They looked so calm and peaceful, he was happy they'd finally get some well-deserved rest.
His brows furrowed—where were you?
Scanning the room, he found that the second bed was empty so his eyes gazed across it. Just as he was about to panic (who knows, Jisung could've annoyed you into leaving), he noticed a limb peeking from around the corner. He quietly stalked up to the bed, worry washing over him as he noticed you curled up with your back against the bed frame.
You fell asleep on the floor.
Lowering himself to your level, he gently wiped away the bit of drool from the corner of your mouth, chuckling at the display. His hands slid under your body as he hoisted you up, laying you on the bed before pulling the cover over your body.
He smiled as you immediately curled yourself into the sheets. You looked like you were in need of a proper rest too. Just as he was about to lower himself onto the ground, he felt a tug at his hand.
“Y/N?” he questioned, unsure of what to do. “Where are you going?” you murmured, your lids fluttering. He wasn't even sure if you were properly awake.
Crouching down beside the bed, his hand reached to push the hair away from your forehead, “it's okay, you can go back to sleep.”
“But what about you? Where will you sleep?”
He chuckled, “don't worry about me, I'm used to sleeping on the floor.”
Your lashes fluttered open, “s-stay. You can sleep with me.”
Even in the darkness, you didn't miss how Chan's face went beet red. It was the waking up that you needed to realize what you had said. Once you did, a wave of embarrassment washed over you, causing you to stutter, “I-I didn't mean it like t-that! I wanted to say that, uh, that…” the words got caught in your throat, much to Chan's newfound delight.
“What is it, darlin'? How did you mean it then?”
“Well,” you slowly sat up, suddenly feeling a bit bold as you patted the space next to you. “There's enough room for the both of us is what I'm trying to say.”
Chan felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest at your confession, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. After making sure that you really didn't mind, he carefully lowered himself onto the mattress, a blissful sigh escaping his lips as his back made contact with the mattress.
“Don't think I've slept on one of those in years,” he groaned, sliding under the covers. It was only when you felt his skin against yours that you realized what he mentioned earlier. He slept only in his undergarments. You two were sharing a bed.
Well… fuck.
But it was too late to do anything now, besides, you'd gladly keep yourself in check if it meant that Chan would get to sleep on a bed instead of the cold hard floor. Not to mention that the presence of someone next to you was somewhat calming, and perhaps it would help soothe your nerves and stop any impending nightmares.
Yeah… you wouldn't mind being spared those.
It didn't take long for your body to start feeling heavy. In your half-asleep state, you managed to grab onto Chan's hand, entwining your fingers with his as the clutches of a deep slumber finally grabbed ahold of you.
And although Chan's heart was beating like crazy, it didn't take him much longer to doze off after you.
𝚡𝟶𝟿𝚡
The following morning, Chan woke up to an empty bed. He panicked, patting down the space next to him to realize, in horror, that you truly were gone. Jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of pants and a jacket, he rushed through the front door throwing caution out the window as he called your name.
“Hey, Y/N,” he sighed after finally spotting you. You were sitting on the steps, just a few yards away from the edge of the parking lot that blended in with the forest. When you turned your head, your lips formed a gentle smile as you waved him over.
“What are you doing out here?” Chan paned after having run, plopping next to you onto the concrete. “Aren't you cold?”
You chuckled when he skeptically eyed you after you shook your head, clearly not buying it. “Here,” he shrugged off his leather jacket, throwing it over your shoulders. “You're shivering.”
Too tired to argue with him, you accepted it with a quiet 'thanks'. The two of you sat next to each other in silence, occasionally bumping shoulders before Chan finally spoke up.
“Did you sleep alright? You, uhm, you tossed around a lot…”
Fiddling with your thumbs, you murmured, “yeah. I woke up in the middle of the night and I couldn't fall asleep for a bit. But I'm fine, thanks for asking.”
“O-Okay.” A beat of silence followed. “You didn't have any nightmares, though, did you?”
“Surprisingly, I didn't. Must've been the first time in weeks.”
Chan's heart filled with concern as he watched you slouch down, pressing your nails into the palm of your hand. The somber timbre of your tone wasn't missed on him and he recalled how despondent you seemed when Jisung tried to hammer out of you some details from West Creek.
“I-Is it… is it because of camp?” he gulped, nearly wanting to face-plant himself for asking such a stupid question. “You don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it,” he quickly added, biting his lower lip in desperation before continuing, “but if you need someone to vent to… a shoulder to cry on– what I'm trying to say is that I'll gladly listen. T-That's only if you'd like, of course.”
Gulping down, his eyes were trained on you as he tried to gouge your reaction after having failed miserably at being tactful. You, on the other hand, appreciative of the gesture, simply chuckled.
“Honestly, I'm not sure if I have much to share. West Creek was Hell on Earth, but after living there for what– over six years, I got used to it.” Taking a deep breath, you continued, “There was one person who made it bearable for me… my friend Jeongin. It didn't matter what would happen, Jeongin always had my back.”
By the time you got to talking about your friend, a single tear rolled down your cheek. Chan noticed it, heart shattering at the sight. “Sounds like a great guy,” he murmured, thumbing away the wetness from the apple of your cheek.
“Y-Yeah. He always took care of those around him and stood up for the weakest. Until one day, he found out that they'd be sending away all Yellows—that's when he came to tell me we had to leave.”
A wave of melancholy washed over Chan, the grief in the air now thick enough that he could cut it with a knife. “And I assume you were the only one who made it out… right?”
Unconsciously, your hand clutched onto his as a fresh wave of tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. “Y-Yeah. He pushed me through the gate. He saved my life, Chan, even if it was him that was in danger.”
By now, you were nearly sobbing and Chan's arms had encircled your body, pulling you onto his lap. “There there,” he whispered, his voice managing to soothe you. “It's not your fault, you know? You're safe now so don't worry. I'll protect you… I'll protect all of you.”
Clutching onto his shirt, you whimpered, “I'm so sorry, Chan. I know under how much stress you already must be with wanting to keep Jisung and Seungmin safe. I-I'm just dead weight to you… I-I promise I'll detach myself from you guys soon—”
“Nu-uh,” Chan interrupted, stopping your breathless rambling with a finger pressed to your lips. “There's no way I'm letting you just go, darlin'—we're stronger in numbers, remember?”
When you meekly nodded, he sighed, “we're all headed to Yellow Wood and we plan on taking you there too.”
Upon seeing the visible confusion etched onto your face, he continued, “it's a safe haven for us PSIs lead by the Slip Kid. He's been escaping authorities for over a year now and Yellow Wood is his latest project—a camp led by and for us. Colors don't matter there, all of us just do our share and we get back everything we need—food, shelter, a sense of community.”
Noticing the way you stared at him wide-eyed, he blushed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “A-At least that's what the rumors say. It's supposedly a safe haven. Not to mention that if you want to find out about your friend, Jeongin, right?” his lips stretched into a wide smile, “Yellow Wood is the place to go to. Apparently, they can trace anyone.”
For the first time in ages, you felt something new bubbling up inside of your chest. Hope. “Do you really think so? T-That he'll be able to find Jeongin?”
Chan nodded. “Yeah. I'm sure of it.”
The conviction in his voice, paired with the sparkle in his eyes made you feel like he actually believed it. And this conviction of his had managed to transfer onto you as you hugged him one more time, burring your head into the crook of his neck.
“Thank you, Chan.”
Your peaceful moment of tranquility was suddenly interrupted by a loud cough. Both you and Chan nearly jumped up in surprise and you were greeted by two figures standing behind you.
“Sorry to interrupt your, uh, private times,” Jisung snorted, hands shoved in his pocket as he circled around you two before plopping down on the concrete, “but Seungmin wanted to give something to Y/N.”
Looking up from Chan, your eyes grew wide. “For me?”
Climbing up from your position seated on his lap, you tried not to think about how close and intimate that position was. Your cheeks were burning as you inhaled, instantaneously finding yourself missing the scent of his cologne.
Seungmin took a few steps towards you, his hands secured behind his back as he gave you a bright smile, one that showed off his white pearls. Your heart melted at the sight.
Then, he brought his hands forward, holding a clump of bright red fabric in front of you as you carefully examined it. Gently taking the item from him, you let the light drop, eyes widening at the display.
It was a beautiful red dress, one that seemed to flair at the waist, and you nearly felt tears pricking your eyes once again. It was weirdly cathartic to see such a nice piece of clothing after having been stuck in a nasty camp uniform for over half a decade.
Almost like a confirmation that things were truly looking up for you.
“Min found the dress a while ago when we were grabbing supplies from a local mall and held onto it,” Jisung explained, cutting off your inner swirling of emotions. “He thought that you'd maybe appreciate wearing something other than your clothes from camp.”
Your mouth tried to form a coherent response, but nothing came out, the words getting caught at the back of your throat. So instead, you gave him the brightest smile you could summon, barely managing to squeeze out a heartfelt “thank you”.
To your utter surprise, Seungmin parted his arms and enveloped you in a bone-shattering hug that made you feel all fuzzy on the inside.
It was an out-of-world experience for Chan to watch the cordial interaction between you two. Even Jisung cracked a smile at the thought.
When you and the youngest finally parted, Jisung was surprisingly the one to speak up.
“I don't want to be a buzzkill or anything, but we should probably be going. We aren't sure who's around and it might be dangerous to stay any longer.”
Chuckling, Chan gave him a hard pat on the back as he slowly got up, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Not usual for you to be the voice of reason, Sung.”
The younger one flushed, irritation washing over his face. “Shut up! I'm supposed to be the smart one here, remember.”
“Yeah sure, whatever,” Chan replied nonchalantly, which in turn only angered Jisung more.
“You think you're all that just because you're taller and have some muscles, don't you?”
By now, Chan was full-on laughing at the exchange, inhaling to catch his breath. “Seriously? Do you wanna have this conversation now when I can deadlift twice your weight in a heartbeat?”
That didn't seem to stop Jisung as he muttered under his breath, “muscle pig.”
Another chorus of laughter ensued as the four of you made your way back to the minivan where you changed into the dress. It was around 10 in the morning, the sky was clear with no clouds in sight, which meant that it was the perfect time to start your journey.
“The dress– uh, you look really pretty in it,” Chan suddenly commented, the tips of his ears turning red. You giggled in delight, twirling around so you could watch the skirt spin.
“Thank you. Haven't worn one since I was ten.”
“It seems really formal though. I feel like I should ask you to prom or something…”
“Yeah,” Jisung snorted, “like she'd ever go with you.”
You rolled your eyes at the playful banter, feeling warmth seep into your veins. The more time you spent with the three, the more you wanted to stay.
And that was dangerous.
You shouldn't get attached.
Suddenly, a loud thud resonated through the air, causing you to flinch. A black pickup truck parked a few yards away from you and a middle-aged couple walked out. Chan immediately assumed a protective stance, stepping in front of the three of you, as if wanting to shield you with his own body.
The couple scanned the area, their gazes promptly falling onto your little group. Perhaps it was the way he was glaring at them with pure venom in his eyes, or maybe they just happened to be decent people who didn't grab and turn in every kid they saw for the large cash prize, but they only gave you guys a one over before walking away, no sings of pursuing the reward money.
“We should go,” Chan murmured, ushering you into the minivan as he jumped into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life.
𝚡𝟷𝟶𝚡
The following two hours were spent in silence as Chan turned off the radio ten minutes into the drive. You could tell that something was bothering him.
“Are you okay?” you bit your lower lip, hand reaching to his shoulders. His body tensed at the touch before eventually relaxing into your hold, a sigh escaping his lips.
“Y-Yeah, just a bit tired.”
A sudden burst of energy enveloped you, like a mist, it swirled around you until it took a shape. Your heart was beating when you realized what it was—a picture. Or more like a vision; it was still slightly blurry but you could make out the general shape of it.
Once the fog set, it finally hit you—the reason the setting seemed so familiar. It was a camp, a different one from West Creek but a camp nonetheless. There were people, kids, running around. No. Running away—they were all running in one direction—towards the fence.
“Everyone, run!” a boy shouted, raising his arms to lift the kids over the fence. It was Chan, you realized. A loud round of gunshots blasted through the air as you watched someone run out from one of the cabins, holding a small child in their hand.
Jisung, it struck you. He was saving Seungmin.
Another loud bang sounded, this time, a lot closer than before. Everything was in slow motion, Chan's head snapping as his jaw went slack, a scream tearing from his throat. And then it all disappeared.
“Is everything okay?” Chan questioned concernedly, his gaze flickering back and forth from the road to you. It seemed like time ran a lot faster when you got into this state when you could see other people's memories, but it didn't stop you from flinching.
“Yeah,” you murmured, hastily retracting your hand. “I'm fine.”
Lies. You weren't fine. And Chan knew it, his lips pressing into a thin line but he didn't push you, instead choosing to focus on the road. Unknown to you, Jisung was staring intently at the exchange, his eyes flashing with understanding.
So that's how it was…
You were staring out the window as you contemplated the scene that had just unfolded in front of your eyes.
You were sure it had something to do with your powers as an Orange—nonetheless, you still didn't have those under control so it was hard to navigate what had exactly happened. It seemed like it was a memory of Chan's, something that was weighing down on him for some time now. You wondered if the person shot was a close friend of his, if so, that would explain why he was holding on to this painful memory.
The four of you continued to ride in silence, Seungmin letting out an occasional snore as the landscape began to drastically change in front of your eyes. Gone were the lengthy fields and crops, slowly replaced by more industrial terrain.
Instead of watching wheat and flowers, you were greeted with crumbling factories, old barns, and the outskirts of a more rural town began to paint the view from behind the glass window. You couldn't quite decide if that was a good thing or not.
When a run-down gas station slowly appeared in your peripheral vision, Chan hit the breaks, swerving the car into the right lane.
“We should go there and see if we can siphon some gas. We're running pretty low.”
𝚡𝟷𝟷𝚡
Nearly a week had passed since you joined Chan, Jisung, and Seungmin on their quest to find the so-called haven—Yellow Wood. Your journey so far had been stripped of any grave dangers, save for the time you ran into a skip tracer while parked on the side of the highway. Luckily, Chan had managed to fling his device away into the woods before he could log into the skip tracer network and post his sightings.
And without what he likely considered his strongest weapon—his way to communicate with other tracers—he chose to slowly walk away, fear evident in his eyes.
Chan was now pulling over at a local mall that was just off the main road, the engine grunting as he parallel parked behind a cluster of trees, hoping that the leaves would at least provide a little bit of protection.
“Are we ready?” he questioned, turning around to face Jisung and Seungmin sprawled in the back with a grin. “Yeah, let's hope we don't run into any skip tracers.”
The four of you walked towards the main entrance, or rather—what used to be the main entrance. The neon sign above the glass doors was crooked, clearly not having been used in ages, and the gate itself was no longer functioning, the glass having been broken in with a sharp object.
The smell of rotten milk and processed food hits you in the face full force as you step through the entry, mindful of the sharded glass on the floor.
“Ugh,” Jisung groaned pinching his nose, the noise coming out more nasally than usual. “This fucking reeks.”
“Language,” Chan reprimanded, furrowing his eyebrows. “We don't want Seungmin to have your potty mouth.”
Jisung shot him a pointed glare but Chan was already a few feet ahead, walking towards the food section. Picking up a bag of candy from the lowest shelf, he grinned. “Grab whatever you deem edible. We should stock up on goods while we can.”
That's when your little group split up, each of you going in a different direction as you grabbed whatever you could get your hands on.
You were in one of the last aisles, standing on your tippy-toes as your hand extended towards the uppermost shelf. A groan slipped past your lips as your fingers managed to only push away the small box of Pocky instead of grabbing it.
“Need any help?” a breathy voice suddenly whispered into your ear, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. “C-Chan, God… you scared me!”
He chuckled in reply, his eyes flicking upwards to scan the shelf. “You want the Pocky?”
When you nodded, he pressed himself closer to you, his chest going flush against your back as his arm stretched towards the paper box. “Here you go,” he handed it to you, not noticing the way the heat rose to your cheeks. “Thanks!”
“No problem. My arms are really long so I'm glad I could help,” he supplied with a grin, grabbing a tube of Oreos for himself. “Let's go catch up with the other two.”
The four of you gather by the soft drinks aisle, Jisung grabbing a few bottles of Mountain Dew for himself. When Chan asked him what he'd need this much energy for, Jisung shot him a glare, muttering a few curses under his breath.
“Is there anything else we need?” you poked Chan in the side, struggling to hold the heaps of food in your arms. “We should probably look around the mall to see if they have any other useful items,” his hand shot out to catch the KitKat that was about to fall from the top of your little food pile. “It would be nice to find some clean clothes, maybe even a blanket or so.”
A small nudge to your back made you turn around, only to find out that Seungmin had brought back a shopping cart from the other side of the store. “Thank you, Min,” your hand reached out to ruffle his hair, dropping all your items inside. “My arms were beginning to hurt.”
Jisung placed his energy drinks in the cart with a breath of relief, pushing it towards the exit of the grocery store. You made your way through most of the shopping mall, looking for a store that seemed at least somewhat intact but to no avail. It wasn't until you reached an old hypermarket all the way in the back did you find what you needed.
“Finally!” Jisung groaned, leaving the shopping cart stranded in the middle of the entrance as he ran towards the section relatively filled with clothing and home decor. “I can get some fresh underwear!”
While he headed off to the undergarments section with Seungmin nervously trailing behind him, you and Chan made your way towards the blankets and sheets.
“Oh my God!” you screeched once you rounded the corner, placing your hand in front of your mouth in shock. “Is everything okay?” Chan ran up to you, placing his hands around your waist from behind. “Oh.”
A sea of beds were arranged in front of you, a massive clearance of the store being dedicated towards bedroom furniture. “This is amazing,” you whispered, eyes flying from one side to the other, unsure of where to go.
When Chan turned to you with a grin, you knew something was up. His lips were curved into a mischievous smile, one that signaled that he was about to do something big, eyes twinkling. “C'mon,” he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the sea of beds. “How long has it been since you jumped on a trampoline?”
Hand in hand, both of you ran at full speed before jumping in the air, landing on the first bed. A chorus of laughter echoed through the empty store as you leaped from one bed to another, giggling like little kids. A burst of energy flew through you when you saw the massive King's bed, the gap between it and the one you were on currently a lot larger than the distances you've jumped over so far.
Placing your other hand on Chan's bicep, you motioned towards the prized piece of furniture, lips curved into a playful smile. His eyes widened in bewilderment as he shook his head, “that's way too far. We'll end up smothered on the ground.”
Despite him usually being the voice of reason, something inside of you didn't want to comply. Instead, you clutched onto his palm tightly as you made a run for it, leaping over the rift between the two beds.
“What the hell?” the curse flipped past Chan's lips but it was already too late. He landed on the bed on his back with a thud, your own body toppling over his as his hands reached to steady you at your waist.
“Shit! Are you okay?” you breathed out, using your hands to push yourself off of him in hopes of not smothering him. Chan bit his lip, something dark flashing in his eyes as pulled you back onto him.
“I don't know, are you okay?”
Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would leap out of your chest, heat rising to your cheeks as you felt Chan's toned body right under you. Your hands were curled into his t-shirt and your eyes flew from one place to another, not wanting to look into his eyes.
His hand suddenly cupped your cheek as he steered you so that you were looking him in the eye. “Is everything alright?”
You whimpered, “y-yeah, I'm fine.”
Chan smiled so brightly that you for a second thought he was the Sun, somehow managing to reassure you without having to utter a single word. His touch was as delicate as silk, and you could feel his breath fanning against your lips. You shivered at the foreign sensation, leaning into his soft caresses as his hand slid from your cheek to your waist.
“C-Can I… can I kiss you?”
Breathlessly, you nodded, closing your eyes as you felt him press his lips against yours. Almost as if fireworks had exploded in you, you felt your insides burst with love, excitement, and affection, feelings you knew were dangerous.
Your hands curled into Chan's hair, gently tugging at the locks causing him to groan. Your lips danced together as you found a steady rhythm, a shiver running down your spine when he alternated the way his lips moved, applying more pressure.
You felt like you were on cloud nine, all your thoughts turning into mush as Chan continued to kiss you with so much fervor it made you dizzy. His hand was now cupping your waist, pulling you closer to him as his lips devoured yours.
Suddenly, a loud thump echoing through the store made you two part, breaking off the heated kiss. You exchanged worried glances as you somewhat awkwardly slumped down from the bed, slowly sneaking back towards the source of the loud noise. Chan protectively extended his arm to the back to cover you, sweat beginning to line his forehead.
Why was everything suddenly so quiet?
The silence was nerve-wracking, giving you the feeling that there was someone out there. And to confirm your darkest fears, a loud set of footsteps sounded. This time, much closer to you than before.
Suddenly, you felt a strange force tug you up, your limbs flailing like a ragdoll. You let out a choked scream feeling the air getting knocked out of your lungs. Then, you felt warmth envelop you, covering you like a blanket.
You opened your eyes to see your hands digging into Chan's back as his strong arms encased you, circling around your shoulders. A second passed. Two seconds. You were hanging in the air with Chan's arms wrapped around you, bewildered and afraid.
What was going on?
“C-Chan,” you whimpered, the sound raspy and coming from the back of your throat. “What's happening?”
“Shhh,” he pressed your head into the crook of his neck, scanning the area with a knowing glance. Then, almost wistfully, he whispered, “close your eyes.”
Just as your fluttering eyelids closed, you felt the force tug you upwards. Another breathless scream left your parted lips as you clung to Chan, feeling as if life was draining from your very being. Up, down, left, and right. These people had absolutely no qualms throwing you and Chan in every direction, the latter having to brace himself every time you two were flung into one of the metal shelves lined with bottles and cans.
“Fuck,” Chan whispered when a broken glass bottle slashed his arm, dousing the back of his shirt with whatever cheap beer was inside. “Don't you think that's enough, you assholes?!”
A chorus of boisterous laughter resonated through the store, causing anger to bubble up in his veins. The muscles in his back tensed as he balled his hands into fists, growling, “we're PSIs too, fuck's sake, so why don't you put us down and we can have a nice and civil discussion about this.”
As a response, you were thrown even higher in the air, the attacker spinning you a few times like a pinwheel. The insides of your stomach were churning as you coughed out, feeling as if you were going to pass out.
“What the fuck do you want from us, cowards? Let's settle this one-on-one, I'll fight you and we can see if you'll be so confident then you fucking bastards!” Chan bellowed, his grip on your shoulders tightening involuntarily.
Straining your ears, you picked up on the hushed whispers of a group of people—four, maybe five tops. Then, the somewhat deeper voice mumbled something, and the rest, albeit some begrudgingly, agreed with what he said, a breath of relief slipping from your mouth when you finally found yourself standing on the ground.
But you couldn't say that you were standing on your own two feet. Immediately as the soles of shoes made contact with the vinyl flooring, you felt yourself tumble, knees buckling under your weight.
“Shh, you're okay,” Chan instantly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, affectionately patting the back of your head. “ 'M so dizzy,” you mumbled, feeling your consciousness slowly slip away. You felt as if someone had thrown you into the deep end and you were barely trying to get above the surface and keep yourself afloat.
But you were failing.
And Chan realized that too as he scanned his surroundings, making note of the fact that Seungmin and Jisung were hiding in one of the nearby aisles, the latter signaling that they were alert.
A shadow glimpsed in front of him, and Chan now knew their positions. If worse came to worse, he could probably handle a couple of them now that he knew their location, or at least hold them off for Seungmin to reach a source of electricity.
That kid could be really scary when he wanted to…
“Are you gonna show yourselves?”
Almost reluctantly, the first one stepped forward, and to Chan's surprise, he found out that he knew him. His brow immediately shot up at the sight, confusion etched onto his face.
“Jeno?” he rasped, blinking to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The boy smiled, eyes turning into crescent moons as he scanned his former roommate of approximately two months. “Chris? Is that really you?”
Chan nodded, mouth agape as everything slowly began to settle in his head. This guy—Jeno—was his bunkmate back when they first came to camp. They didn't stay together for too long though since a new surge of children flooded their tine camp and the PSFs had to rebuild all the cabins.
But his shock didn't last long, instead, rage filled him at the thought of someone he used to consider a friend turning into such a monster. He watched as one after the other, four more guys came out from behind him, dressed from head to toe in military gear and armed with various weapons.
Suddenly, one of them stepped forward, twirling a small dagger in his right hand. Even from a distance, Chan could see how sharp it was, the cheap, flickering supermarket light reflecting against the sharpened blade. Gently laying you against one of the shelves, he stepped forward, shielding you with his body.
“Not a step closer, do you understand?” he threatened, voice low and dripping with venom. The guy chuckled, tossing his blade in the air before catching it, his gaze never wavering.
“Why do you think you get to call the shots here? Last time I checked, we're at a clear advantage here since it's just you and the passed-out girl.” His lips curled into a sinister smirk. “Not that she'd be of much use anyway. Although I must say she's a real babe, I wonder how good her mouth is…”
A chorus of laughter followed as the group laughed at their leader's crude joke. Chan, on the other hand, didn't find it really amusing. Blood was boiling inside his veins, his hands balled into fists as he struggled to keep himself under control.
‘Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,’ he kept repeating to himself like a mantra, hoping that if he said it enough times, the anger would disappear like a puff of smoke on a chilly day.
“Hey, hey,” Jeno's mellow voice suddenly cut through the air, “it's okay—I can vouch for him, cap'! He's cool. Not to mention he's strong as hell too—he was the one who broke us out of our camp.”
Upon hearing those words, the boy stilled, visibly pondering as he weighed out his options. It seemed like Jeno's reassurance had eased him though, his battle stance relaxing. Slipping the dagger back into his belt, he glanced back at Chan, his lips forming a crooked smile.
“It seems like one of my guys trusts you, so I'll let you go. You can grab whatever you need and stay one night but that's all that we'll allow.”
Chan almost wanted to remind him that they weren't the ones to arrive here first, therefore they had no reason to dictate who could and couldn't stay but he bit his tongue. There was no point arguing with them and realistically speaking, he doubted any of you wanted to stay here for longer than one night.
“Sure. We'll be gone first thing in the morning.”
𝚡𝟷𝟸𝚡
“Are you sure you don't want us to help?” Jisung asked once again as he trailed after Chan, Seungmin shuffling behind him. “You can put her down and go look for the meds while we watch her, you know?”
“No way,” Chan cut him off, his facial expression hardened into a mask of apathy. “I'm not leaving her anywhere.” His voice then took a somber tone, “you didn't hear what they said about her, did you?”
Jisung's gaze softened, “a-actually… I did. It was pretty awful, I know you want to protect her and make sure she's okay, but—”
“But what?” Chan cut him off, his pace quickening as he turned into the houseware aisle. “Why is there always a but with you, Jisung?”
The boy's eyes widened at his friend's harsh tone, the words cutting deeper than intended. Jisung felt as if a knife had just been plunged into his stomach, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes. Was he really that annoying?
Seungmin, having noticed the change in mood, watched as Jisung's steps slowed down before grabbing his hand, squeezing it in reassurance.
“I just… you're always taking care of us and I-I don't want you to get hurt…”
Suddenly, everything went quiet, Chan's footsteps slowly diminishing into nothingness as he processed Jisung's words. It was hard for him to focus, to fully grasp what his friend had just said—his brain having turned into mush long ago.
Chan was a born leader… or at least that's what everyone had been telling him since birth. He was praised for his strong yet soft voice that could command nearly anyone to do virtually anything. He had good morals—his mother had ensured that by raising him right—and that in turn made people willingly place their trust in him.
Wherever he went, people followed, unknowingly putting the burden of authority guidance on his shoulders. He always carried the weight of other people's problems, and while he enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction that protecting and caring for his loved ones provided, sometimes, it became a little too much for him to handle.
Somewhere along the line, he began to lose sight of who he was. All of his energy was always directed towards others, making sure that they were okay. Yet rarely had anyone asked him if he was fine.
Tightening his grip on your limp body, he took a step forward. Warmth filled him upon hearing Jisung's words—gratitude swirling inside of him, seeping into every crevice of his body.
“Jisung?” he breathlessly whispered right before he rounded the corner. “Thank you for caring. It means a lot.” He wondered if he even heard him.
Grabbing the pack of meds from the shelf, he made his way back to the clearance in the middle of the store where the four of you had made your little base. Gently laying you on the bed, he dusted his palm against his pants before opening the box with shaky hands.
‘There's nothing to be worried about,’ he whispered to himself, hoping that those bleak words of reassurance would make a difference if he made himself believe in them. You just got dizzy from being thrown around in the air—it was perfectly normal for people who weren't used to the sensation of telekinetics to feel woozy for a bit.
Hell, Chan remembered how one kid even threw up after being exposed to a sudden burst of the power.
Pulling the small bottle from the paper container, he sat at the edge of the bed with a plastic spoon he retrieved from the party section. He poured some of the milky-white liquid onto it before carefully cupping your cheek with his other hand, angling your head to let the syrup spill into your mouth.
“You'll be okay,” Chan murmured, brushing the hairs from your forehead. “Stay strong, darlin'.”
As your stomach rose and fell with each breath you took, dark thoughts began to fill his mind. The memories from the night of the escape trickled back into his head, flooding his thoughts with the gruesome scenes filled with blood, gore, and gunshot.
Running a hand through his hair, he groaned, shaking off the unpleasant memories. He’d have to move on.
“Oh… hey, Seungmin,” he waved, cracking a smile when he saw his younger friend. Though his expression fell when he noticed the boy’s glare.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. “It’s about Jisung, isn’t it?”
Seungmin nodded, angrily pointing to where he came from. He then motioned to himself and to you, his hand reaching to grab yours.
“You want me to go talk to Jisung as you watch over Y/N?”
Another nod. Chan sighed, remorse painting his face. “You’re right. I’ll go talk to him and apologize. Will you make sure she has everything she needs, Min?”
Seungmin smiled brightly, revealing his tiny pearls, and it was enough of a confirmation for Chan. He knew you were in good hands now. Standing up, he ruffled Seungmin's hair before heading out to look for Jisung.
It didn't take him long to find him; he was curled up against the wall next to the canned goods, head in between his knees. Chan felt horrible. It pained him to see his friend in such a state, not to mention that he was the one to cause the predicament with his insensitive words.
Crouching down beside him, he whispered, “hey, Jisung.”
Jisung didn't answer at first, sniffling before he lifted his head, looking at Chan with puffy eyes. “Y-Yeah? Do you need anything?”
It was official; Chan felt like an absolute asshole.
His expression softened as his eyes scanned Jisung's face, counting the tears staining his cheeks. Chan had half a mind to wipe them off with his thumb but managed to restrain himself. He came here to clean up the mess he made.
“I'm sorry, Jisung,” his hand dropped to his friend's shoulder, rubbing gentle circles into his shirt. “I was way out of line and I took my anger out on you—which I know wasn't cool.”
Blowing his nose into a napkin, he mumbled, “it's okay. I know you're just trying to keep her safe. I can tell how much you care about her.”
Chan's eyes widened, “her? Jisung, I care about all of you, you know… it's not just her.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jisung replied, looking away. He crumpled the napkin, shoving it into his pocket, “it just feels like you don't care about us as much anymore.”
It took Chan a few seconds to bounce back from that. His heart began to beat against his ribcage so fast that he was afraid it would jump out of his chest. Is this how Jisung had truly felt the entire time? Was this the reason he had been so cold to you in the first place.
His hand dropped down to the floor as he looked him in the eye, a serious expression painting his face. “I hope you're not thinking that I'm replacing you guys with her. We're still in this together, no matter what.”
Judging by the way Jisung grimaced, Chan knew he hit the nail in the coffin. He felt the knife in his chest plunge deeper, tearing at his insides. “We're still the dream team, remember?” his voice cracked, the first layers of the strong facade he had built around himself beginning to crumble. “We're still gonna find Yellow Wood, right?”
“Of course we are,” Jisung exclaimed, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “You know I'd never willingly leave you guys. It's just that…”
Chan quirked his brow, egging Jisung to continue. “It's just that I'm afraid you'll grow tired of me. You're so… you're so powerful and I'm just… I'm just me…”
He breathes out, casting his gaze down as he stares at his shoes. “There's nothing special about me.”
Choking on his spit, Chan's eyes grew wide as Jisung's words finally sunk in. They weighed heavy on his chest, filling it with an unexplainable black void. His hand reached out, fingers flexing before he retreated it back, letting it drop by his side.
His tone was raspy when he spoke. “I thought you, out of all people, would know that I don't care what color you are. It doesn't matter one bit. I just… we talked about her time at camp and she told me she had a really hard time.”
Chan sighed in exasperation, frustration evident in his tone as he continued, “West Creek is nothing like the small regional camps. That place is hell, Ji. It's hell on Earth and when they were escaping, her friend didn't make it out. So yeah… I may have been by her side a lot but it's only because I want her to feel like she isn't alone. Not to mention that Y/N is Green too so your point no longer stands.”
Jisung's lips curved into a bitter smile as he chuckled, the sound so hoarse and raw. “At least I can always count on being the smart one. You may have the brawn but it seems like you were spared the brains.”
Raising his brow, Chan almost wanted to take offense at the statement but he brushed it off, way too curious now to interrupt Jisung's train of thought. And perhaps Jisung was right—he was, after all, the one to always come up with all their strategies. Which is why it frustrated him on no end that he had no idea what he was talking about.
“You really haven't noticed, have you?” Jisung shook his head, slightly amused. He couldn't fault Chan for becoming so enamored with you, but he could've at least paid more attention to his surroundings. One day, his naivety would bite him in the ass.
Chan was becoming more impatient by the second, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “What haven't I noticed?”
“She's not a Green, Chan,” he looked him in the eye, his gaze unwavering.
“She's an Orange.”
For the following few seconds, Chan felt like the air was being kicked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he realized in panic, as his breath began to heave. His brain was foggy, almost as if he was thrust underwater with no way out.
“H-how do you…” the words died out in his throat, “how do you know?”
Before Jisung could even answer, a loud crank ricochetted through the store, causing the both of them to look up. A bright spark of electricity flashed above their heads before eventually vanishing from sight, but it was enough. It was enough for them to know that something was wrong.
“Shit, Seungmin!” Chan exclaimed, hastily climbing up onto his feet and breaking into a sprint. Jisung was hot on his heels, fear coursing through his veins as he thought of all the things that could've possibly happened.
And none of them were pretty.
“Stay behind me,” Chan instructed as they ran, causing Jisung to roll his eyes. “I mean it—you saw what they did to us—and it would've been a lot worse if it weren't for Jeno vouching for me.”
“Of course,” he sighed. “I'll let them hurt you instead of me, sure.”
Chan turned around to shoot him a half-baked glare but a loud scream caused him to nearly trip, his arms shooting out to brace himself against the wall.
“Let go of him! Don't you dare hurt him,” Chan heard you scream, your voice hoarse and muffled, as if you were being held.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, clenching his fists. They've just crossed into uncharted territory.
Suddenly, someone shouted, disbelief evident in their tone. “What the fuck? What did she just do?”
When Chan and Jisung arrived at the scene, their eyes flying from one side to the other as they tried to understand what had just happened, you were gripping onto the leader's wrist, staring at him with an unmatched intensity.
Your eyes flashed orange as you dug your fingernails into his arm, feeling the inexplicable rush of power course through you as you slowly sunk into his subconsciousness. His memories were foggy, almost as if you were trying to swim through mud, but you persisted, a clear goal forming at the back of your head.
It took you approximately fifteen seconds to get a good grip on him, and when you felt like you finally had control, you uttered the words with so much spite and venom it later shook you to the core.
“Let him go.”
In the relatively short time that Chan knew you, he had never seen you so angry or heard you order anyone to do anything in that tone.
The boy looked lost for a moment as if he was struggling to get out from under your spell but it was a relatively short battle. In no time, he found himself nodding blankly, his eyes devoid of any emotions as he turned around to his goon that was restraining Seungmin.
“You heard what she said. Release him!”
Scared and visibly confused, the boy released him, immediately retreating with a few hurried steps, hands held high in the air. “O-okay. Calm down. P-Please.”
Another one spoke up, “b-boss? Are you sure? What's going on—”
“She's a fucking Orange, mate!” the guy who had restrained Seungmin shouted. “That's what's going on. So if you don't want to get brainwashed—”
“Shut up!” you cried over their chatter, feeling the dull throb in your head intensify. You felt like someone was hammering against your skull as you released your physical grip on the boy. Pressing your palm to your forehead, you mumbled, “get out of here. Take your entire group and go somewhere far away.”
Eyes still blank, he nodded, motioning for his cronies. “C'mon, guys. We're out of here.”
Two of them were about to protest but one look at the empty, lifeless eyes of their boss and they knew that they had to do what he said if they didn't want to suffer the same fate. As they were picking up their stuff, Jisung immediately ran up to Seungmin, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. “Shhh, it's okay now,” he whispered into the crook of his neck, wiping away his tears.
But before they could go, an idea flashed through your mind. “Wait a sec,” you called out, clenching your fists. “Do you know anything about the location of Yellow Wood?”
The leader turned around, catching your gaze as he whispered, “where the grass grows blue…”
You were dizzy, confused. It felt like the ground was being yanked from beneath your feet, causing you to brace yourself against the bedpost. Your head was pounding and you felt like shit, suddenly remembering how you lashed out.
It was scary to realize you were capable of doing such a thing. This was the second time in your life that you used your powers willingly. You had half a mind to grab your few belongings and run out of the store, not wanting to face any of your friends, but you were too weak for that.
“Y/N!” Chan called instantaneously, finally finding the voice that had died down in his throat. “A-Are you okay?”
You slowly looked up, teary-eyed as you shook your head, choking out a sob. “N-No.”
With hurried steps, he eliminated the distance between you, hands reaching to wrap around your waist to prevent you from falling as he gently lowered you on the bed, rubbing comforting circles into your waist.
“Hey, hey. It's alright, okay? You're probably very tired now, aren't you?” he cooed softly, looking at you with so much fondness it made your heart clench. You looked away, whispering, “stop it. Stop being so nice to me. I-I know you must think I'm a monster now.”
“We don't.”
This time, it was Jisung who spoke up, walking over to you, clutching onto Seungmin's hand. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself and Seungmin. There's no way we'd ever hold that against you.”
“I-I never told anyone…” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Six years had passed since I last used my power. I-I did it to avoid getting sorted since I knew they'd send me away. It was easier to pretend that I was a Green…”
“You're no monster, darlin',” Chan swallowed, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. “You're a survivor, just like the rest of us. You're one of us…”
“It just seems like… I feel like the more that I try, the more damage that I do,” you uttered, balling your hands into fists. Despite having so much disposable power at the tips of your fingers, you felt utterly powerless.
“There are times when my abilities go out of control. I-I… I managed to erase myself from someone's memories… twice.”
Hiccups wracked through your throat as you finally let it all out, the dam that was holding you together now breaking loose. Chan wrapped his arms around you, allowing you to sob into his chest. The tears kept streaming down your face like a waterfall and you were sure you looked like a complete mess, but it felt so good to be held in someone's arms. You felt safe and protected as you held onto him, crying into his chest.
“My parents. My parents and Jeongin.”
Chan immediately knew what you were talking about as he felt his heart crack at your confession. He knew how much Jeongin meant to you and he could only assume you felt as much love for your parents too.
“Shhh, it's okay,” he whispered, pressing you closer into him. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
And for some unknown reason, you felt like he was right. You allowed yourself to indulge in the momentary feeling of peace as Chan held you in his lap, strong arms wrapped around you protectively.
“Do you think we can stay here overnight?” Jisung asked as he walked up to you with Seungmin in his arms. “Min's out of commission for today so it may be a good idea to rest here properly before we head out. We can also try to brainstorm and figure out what they mean by blue grass.”
Chan pondered, glancing around as if to make sure that the group was truly gone. “Yeah,” he sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “They should be gone by now.”
“Okay, great. I’m still not sure what happened to him though but I think I must’ve drained his energy.”
As he laid the boy on the plush duvet of the neighboring bed, Chan decided that it would be nice for you guys to rearrange yourselves into a more comfortable position. He felt how you tensed in his arms when Jisung began to question what had previously occurred, his brows creasing.
“I’m really sorry for asking about this, Y/N,” he sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation, “but well… I-I’m wondering if you could tell us what exactly happened. I know this must be really hard on you, I really do, but Min has been through some tough things as well and it would help a great deal to know so we know how to react once ha wakes up.”
You held your breath, unable to prevent your lips from tugging upwards at the corners. Chan was flustered, words spilling from his mouth and you could tell how apologetic he was. If it weren’t for the fact that Seungmin was involved, he wouldn’t have pressed you about it.
But the entire situation was still too much for you to put into words. Merely thinking about it got your insides all twisted.
“Yeah,” Jisung suddenly materialized right in front of you, crouching by the bed. “I'm really sorry about this.”
“It's okay,” you sighed, looking away. Your brain was going into overdrive as it struggled to find a way to tell them what exactly had transpired without having to utter the words. Chan, noticing how you tensed, grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
And then it finally hit you—you didn't have to tell them anything.
You could show them.
Taking a deep breath, your free hand reached out to grab Jisung's, the boy glancing at you with a quirked brow before he smacked his lips in understanding. “This will feel a little weird,” you warned before plunging them into the depths of your own memories, concentrating on steering them towards today's events.
Chan felt like he was walking on a cloud, slivers of your memories flashing before his eyes. He saw you laughing with your mom, riding your bike with your dad, and celebrating your birthday at your grandma's.
Those were the happy ones. The recollections that you seemed to treasure and keep close to your heart. He subconsciously smiled at the thought, enjoying the fact that he could see you so young, so joyful, and full of life.
But there was a clear moment that broke through the peaceful calmness and tranquility. Chan saw red. You were crying, sobbing even, as you were dragged away from your parents and thrown into a school bus with a few dozen other kids. You looked barely ten, he noted.
All the reminiscence onwards was from camp. To his horror, he realized that the nickname ‘hell on earth’ didn't do West Creek any justice. Inferno would be more fitting. Yet amongst the traumatic memories, Chan was surprised to have found a few that seemed to help you through these tough times.
He saw a boy, maybe a year or two younger than himself, eat lunch with you. The same boy would later reappear in a few of your other memories, always donning a bright yellow jumpsuit and always smiling.
And then he saw pain. You were crying as Jeongin looked at you with lifeless eyes as he uttered a question that chilled Chan to the bone.
“Who are you?”
And judging by the way you began crying, Chan knew that from this moment onward, you'd truly despise the power you possessed.
All of these recollections passed through them like a whirlwind, in reality taking mere seconds as opposed to the long minutes it felt like for the two boys. Your grip on their arms tightened when you finally reached today.
Chan saw himself bid goodbye both to your half-asleep body and Seungmin, ruffling his hair as he went off to search for Jisung. As soon as he saw himself round the corner, he spotted the group of guys walk in. He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding in when he confirmed that Jeno wasn't in the forefront of the group.
But the scene that unfolded before his very own eyes (well, not really…) was so mind-boggling he balled his hand into a fist. Seungmin had just gone to get you a bottle of water after you had quietly asked him, your throat feeling unusually parched.
In the meantime, the leader of the group made his way to you from behind, his hand sliding down your shoulder causing you to gasp. You whipped your head, flinching when your eyes met.
“What do you want?” you croaked, cursing yourself for sounding so meek. The gears in your head were spinning as you struggled to think of what to do. You shivered when you saw the hungry look in his eyes, feeling disgusted as you watched his gaze drop down from your face as he checked you out.
While you were laying in a bed. Sick. Because of him.
“Oh, nothin' really, sweetheart,” he mumbled, tracing his finger down your arm. “I just wanted to talk. It's been a while since I've had the honor of speaking to someone as pretty as you”
A vein popped on your forehead as you grumbled, “I wonder why. Now scram, I don't have anything to talk to you about.”
His brows furrowed when he heard the frustration apparent in your tone. “Anger doesn't really suit you, you know. You should come join us, I'm sure you'd have a lot more fun without those losers,” he whispered into your ear, his hand lowering to your hip. “I guarantee it.”
“Enough,” you protested, shooting him a glare. With enough force, you were able to tear yourself away from him, smacking his hand away in the process.
“Seungmin!” you called for the boy who had just appeared from around the corner, a bottle of water firmly clutched in his hands. “It's okay,” you tried to reassure him, noticing the fear in his eyes. “Go get Chan and Jisung. We're getting out of here.”
He nodded hastily, scrambling to get your friends but the boy behind you shouted, “grab him, Seojoon!”
Your eyes widened when said boy sprinted towards Seungmin, curling his palm to lift him in the air. ‘A Blue,’ you realized. And a pretty damn strong one too.
Seungmin struggled, trying to hold on to one of the shelves but he wasn't strong enough to resist the pull. You watched in horror, calling for them to stop but Seojoon merely laughed in response. In a last-ditch effort though, Seungmin's hand managed to graze one of the old lamps on the ceiling, sending a firework of sparks into the air.
“I wouldn't do that again if I were you,” he warned Seungmin, the boy curling into a small ball as he was brought back down, straight into Seojoon's arms. He made a quick work of restraining him, ignoring your protests.
“That's enough,” you shouted, lunging forward, your arm extending. You let out a satisfying hum when you managed to grip onto his arm, slowly beginning to sink into his head…
It took you a minute or so to come back to reality.
You didn't even realize you were crying. Silent sobs wracked through your body as Chan rocked you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
“Shhh, everything will be okay,” he mumbled, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb. “I won't let anyone hurt you.”
You sniffled into his shirt, calming your breathing. “I-I'm sorry, I think I ruined your shirt.”
“It's okay,” Chan chuckled, grinning. “I couldn't care less, darlin'.”
A sudden loud clang caused you jump in Chan's hold, eyes widening as you nervously looked over his shoulder.
“Jisung?” Chan exclaimed in disbelief, “what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Jisung grumbled, allowing his hand to fall back down by his side, clenched into a fist. He had just knocked over all the contents off a shelf which caused the loud echoing noise.
“I'm just fucking pissed.”
“I can tell,” Chan sighed, rubbing his temples, “but that doesn't mean you should go destroy things. You could wake up Seungmin.”
Jisung stared at him, completely bewildered, his mouth twitching. “Are you fucking serious? How can you be so calm after what they did? You should be— you should be fucking livid!”
Irritation flooded through Chan's veins as he glared at his friend, unable to comprehend why the usually calm and rational Jisung was reacting in such a way. It's not that he didn't understand where he was coming from, far from it. Chan was furious. But at this point, aggravation wouldn't do them any good.
“Look, Ji,” he mumbled, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. “I understand how you feel. Trust me, the sole thing I regret in my life the most is not bashing in their skulls. But there's nothing we can do now. Our best course of action is to get a good sleep and make sure something like that doesn't happen again, okay?”
Jisung's eyes darted from Seungmin to you, his expression softening slightly. He exhaled, propping his forehead against the well before he murmured, “seems like you're the voice of reason for once, Chan.”
Gently pushing yourself away from Chan's chest, you jumped off of his lap, walking towards Jisung. “Hey,” you placed your hand on his shoulder. He turned around, his eyes glassy. “Y-Yeah?”
“I really appreciate your concern, Jisung. It's heartwarming to see how much your care about your friends, but you shouldn't worry yourself so much. Seungmin and I will be okay, alright?”
He smiled at you from under his lashes, whispering, “Sung. You can call me Sung.”
“Okay. Now, how about we put our heads together and figure out what blue grass they're talking about, Sung?”
He grinned, peering at you from under his lashes. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
𝚡𝟷𝟹𝚡
“Ugh, I'm so done,” you groaned, slamming your head against the table. From next to you, Chan chuckled, patting your pack. “Patience is a virtue, darlin'.”
You shot him a glare, mumbling, “patience my ass. You were just complaining a few minutes ago about how much you hate them for leaving us such a stupid riddle.”
“She is right,” Jisung chimed, grinning when Chan scowled.
The three of you have been sitting around the table closest to Seungmin's bed for a few hours now but to you, it felt like a lifetime. You were straining your neck to peer at the paper placed in the middle, filled with messy notes and scribbles. To be fair, it was hard to keep things organized when the only thing you had was a Hello Kitty notepad and a green crayon.
“Look,” Jisung muttered, grabbing hold of the colored crayon. “He was under Y/N's powers, right? So whatever he said must be true. And if that's the case, then we should take ‘blue grass’ at face value. I highly doubt that it's some sort of overcomplicated metaphor that the two of you are making it out to be.”
As if to accentuate his words, he circled the word ‘blue’, adding another note. “Don't you see it?”
Chan exhaled through his teeth, his hand that was propping up his chin suddenly falling to his side. “But that doesn't explain where's the blue grass in the first place. I, for one, am only familiar with the green one.”
“I know,” Jisung rolled his eyes at the snarkiness, “but that doesn't mean that there can't be blue grass under some specific circumstances.”
You sat by the table in silence, each one of you lost in their own little world as you explored different theories. The gears in your head were spinning, and you were beginning to feel dizzy, the exhaustion from prior today slowly catching up with you.
Chan noticed you dozing off when your head lolled to the side, your hair brushing against his shoulder. He slowly propped you up, declaring, “we should probably go to sleep now. Hopefully, after a proper rest, we can look at it with a fresh set of eyes.”
“Okay,” Jisung replied with the crayon in between his teeth, brows furrowed as he focused on the paper in front of him. “I'll call it quits in a few.”
𝚡𝟷𝟺𝚡
You woke up to the loud sound of snoring, shuffling under the covers till you were face to face with a sleeping Chan. Heat rose to your cheeks as you watched his chest rise and fall, his plush lips gently parted and oh-so inviting for you to just press a kiss to.
But you managed to ignore the feeling nagging inside of your chest, instead stretching your limbs with a groan. It was nice to finally sleep on a proper bed.
“Is it mornin' already?” Chan suddenly rasped, his morning voice a lot deeper than usual. But why did it manage to send shivers down your spine?
“Morning, sleepy,” you giggled, ruffling his fluffy hair. “I'm not really sure what time it is but the Sun is rising.”
“We should probably get going then,” he yawned, stretching his arms above his head. You nearly cooed when he began blinking, chasing away the sleep from his eyes. He looked up at you, a delicate smile plastered on his lips.
“Do you know where's Jisung?” you suddenly asked, straining your head to look over the sea of beds. Seungmin was on the one behind you, still curled up in the sheets, but Jisung was nowhere to be found.
Chan shot up, limbs tangled in between the covers as he swept his eyes across the room. And true to your word, he didn't see him.
“Shit!”
“Bring Seungmin,” he mumbled, tumbling out of bed. “I'll go check in the van.”
When you managed to drag a drowsy Seungmin into the parking lot, you could hear loud voices arguing. You peeked into the inside of the van, spotting Jisung and Chan sprawled on the floor.
“Thank God,” you breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was afraid something happened to you for a second there.”
“Y/N!” Jisung shouted, your name rolling off his tongue in excitement. His bright eyes were peering at you with way too much joy despite it being so early in the morning. Yet what worried you the most were the prominent dark circles under his eyes.
“Geez,” you frowned, “you look like you haven't gotten a wink of sleep.”
“Oh well,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as guilt washed over his features. “I kinda pulled an all-nighter.”
Chan glared at him, his hand jerking beside his side. He looked about two seconds away from conking him in the head. Instead, he settled on mumbling, “idiot.”
Shuffling through a stack of paper, Jisung pulled out a map, placing it on the floor of the van and smoothing out the folds and creases. He turned to face you, excitement pooling in his eyes.
“But I think I may have figured out where Yellow Wood is,” he grinned, before adding, “oh, well… at least the general area.”
Your brows shot up as you plopped onto the ground, pulling Seungmin into your lap.
“Please do share. You've piqued my interest.”
“Okay. So basically, I was thinking about yesterday's conversation. I firmly believe that you can't really come up with any cunning metaphors under an Orange's influence so I took his words at face value.”
He pointed to the words ‘blue grass’ boldly written in the middle of the paper. “I chose that as my starting point.”
He lifted his eyes, catching your gaze as a mysterious smile played on his lips. You glanced back at Chan, noticing that his chin was propped by the palm of his hand as he stared at Jisung, a blank expression on his face.
“So I stumbled upon a chemistry book in the literature aisle at the store so I began reading through it,” he continued, pulling out an old book that was nearly falling apart at the seam. “And coincidentally, I happened to come across a chapter about grass. Specifically, about how heat affects its appearance.”
“Are you trying to say that we should look for the hottest region?” Chan questioned, scooting closer to Jisung so he could look over his shoulder. The boy shrugged, turning the page.
“Not necessarily. You see, there are actually multiple things that could trigger grass discoloration and cause it to turn it a shade that resembles a metallic blue. And you know where all these correlations meet?”
“Here!” his finger pointed to the bright red circle on the map. “It all comes together in the Southeast Hills wasteland!”
“I-I,” you tugged your lip between your teeth. “I don't understand. Why Southeast Hills?”
“All the circumstantial evidence points to it! First of all, we have an abnormal drought in the area—and dry soil contributes greatly to this phenomenon. Secondly, when you look at the location,” his index finger ran over the map, pointing to the blob of sandy yellow, “you can immediately tell that it couldn't be any better. A vast land that's basically just forests and fields, and get this, not a single government body or camp in sight.”
“Okay,” the word rolled down Chan's tongue slowly as he licked his lips. “That all looks pretty promising, Sung, but I still feel like it isn't definitive enough for us to be sure…”
Jisung smiled, the expression not fully reaching his eyes as he flipped through the book, stopping at one of the last pages. All three of you bent over in anticipation, hanging on his lips.
“You see that's what I told myself too,” he quipped, a certain intensity to his tone, “but then I found this. It's an article from over forty years ago about a chemical spill that happened during the Cold War. There was a disaster at a nearby power plant that resulted in the entire area being contaminated by a chemical often referred to as ‘myrtille’ which means blueberry in french. And can you tell why?”
He paused, glancing over the three of you, a grin appearing on his face. “Because of its coloring properties.”
The van was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your mouth was parted in awe as you stared at Jisung, still in shock from his revelation. Chan was just as bewildered as you were, if not more, and you could nearly see the gears spinning in his head as he tried to put all the puzzle pieces together.
“So… do you believe me now, guys?” Jisung suddenly spoke up, grinning proudly as he watched your jaws drop.
Then, Chan broke out into a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows, “I think we know our destination now.”
The four of you returned to grab all the supplies you've gathered, storing them in the back of the van as you hit the highway, cheers and laughter spilling from your lips.
“Let's carpe the hell out of this diem!”
𝚡𝟷𝟻𝚡
Your arrival at Yellow Wood was something you'd never forget. After three days of driving across the country, almost getting caught by skip tracers twice, Chan finally pulled up by the old road sign with the words ‘Southeast Hills’.
The four of you jumped out of the vehicle, Chan pulling the doors shut as you examined the vast, unkempt meadow. Planes and planes of wildflowers, tousled grass, and greenery stretched in front of your eyes, the thick blades having grown tall enough to obstruct most of the barbwire fence that fringed the wasteland.
“Look!” Jisung called out, pointing to the sign. “This is it! W-We're here!”
And true to his word, someone carved out the words ‘Yellow Wood’ right under the name.
“Holy shit!” Chan whispered, still in shock. “We actually made it.”
As if on cue, a dozen or so figures emerged from the bushes, all dressed head to toe in military gear with weapons in their hands. Although your first instinct was to panic and run back into the van, Chan grabbed your hand, pulling you into his side.
“No way! Is that you, mate?” one of the guys stepped forward, letting his AR-15 drop to the ground as he briskly walked up to Chan, drawing him into a hug. “You've bulked up!”
Chan chuckled at his words, patting his back with a smile. “Nice to see you, Sangyeon! Who knew we'd cross paths so soon.”
Sangyeon walked up to Jisung, embracing him as well before picking up Seungmin into his arms and twirling him around. “Hey, bud. How's it going?”
You watched the exchange with nothing but fondness in your eyes, the edges of your mouth curving into a sad smile. After Sangyeon finished greeting the three, he turned around to face you, an odd twinkle in his eyes.
“I see that you've managed to pick someone up along the way.”
“Yeah,” Chan grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist. “This is Y/N, we met and scooped her up as we were running from some PSFs. She escaped from West Creek. Y/N, this is Sangyeon. He was one of our friends back in camp.”
“Hey,” you shook his hand, suddenly feeling shy from all the eyes looking straight at you. You weren't used to the attention, a bashful smile on your lips. “Nice to meet you.”
His grip was firm, you noted, and he had warm brown eyes. The watched you intently as he let go of your hand, bringing it to his mouth and whistling.
“All right, everyone. They're cleared.”
And then like the Red sea, everyone stepped back, creating a pathway for you to go in. It felt nervewracking to walk into an establishment with a barbed wire running across its border when you had just bent over backward to escape from one.
Chan must've noticed the way your hand lightly trembled because in no time, he placed his palm over yours, gently intertwining your fingers.
“I have to take you to the boss first,” Sangyeon spoke as he led you through the camp, sucking on a lollipop as he greeted all the passing kids. “He's been dying to see you.”
“No way,” Chan gloated, “the Slip Kid wants to talk to us?”
Sangyeon released the lolly with a ‘pop’ before shoving his hands into his pocket. “Yeah. He's been especially excited to finally meet another Orange.”
Your mouth parted in shock, muttering, “this can't be. The Slip Kid's an Orange too?”
“Yeah. and a damn good one at that! C'mon, it's time for you to meet him.”
𝚡𝟷𝟼𝚡
The rest of the day passed by like a whirlwind, and before you could even register it, the Sun began to set.
The four of you were welcomed to Yellow Wood rather warmly, and you immediately noted that the way things were run here was a lot smoother than in any of the government camps. Everyone had their own responsibilities—their own little obligations to fulfill. Yet not a single person you passed by seemed unhappy.
On the contrary, everyone was joyful and full of life. It was almost too good to be true.
Meeting the Slip Kid was also an experience in and of itself. You should have known—it was ironic how you instantly recognized him, even though you've never actually seen him in your entire life.
But you were surrounded by posters of his younger self for the past six years, haunted by his lifeless eyes and pale skin.
Yet now, he seemed to be glowing.
Hwang Hyunjin was just as handsome in person as you would've expected.
His dewy skin glowed under the fluorescent lamp hanging in the middle of his room, his hair had grown out, dark brown tips now reaching his shoulders, and most importantly, his cherry lips were as plump as ever, still the same shade of pink.
“No way,” Jisung gasped, taking a step back. “You're the Slip Kid? B-But you're Hwang's son—”
“Nu-uh, save your inquiries for later,” Hyunjin tutted, pushing himself upwards into a standing position. “There's a lot I'd like to discuss with you.”
He then walked up to you, placing his hand on your shoulder as he scanned your face, smiling brightly as his eyes turned into little crescent moons. “I've heard a lot about you. You're Y/N, right?”
You were in shock, your entire body tensed as it refused to move a muscle. The way he was looking at you… it was weirdly unsettling and you weren't entirely sure why. You felt like you were stripped naked in front of him, vulnerable… almost as if he could see into your head and share your thoughts.
And then it hit you. He could.
Calmly, you grabbed his hand, gently taking it off your shoulder. “Yeah, that's me. How could you've heard anything about me though?”
“Oh,” he laughed, the sound dripping from his lips like honey. “I have my ways. I know everything, you know? Especially if it concerns the last undetected Orange.”
Then he turned around to face Chan, “ah. I know you too! You're Chris Bang, right? The most wanted kid in the country.”
When Chan refused to answer, his hand reached nack to pick up a stack of papers from the desk, rearranging them in his hands. “I must say, you guys will be a great addition to the team. We've been in dire need of a strong Blue.”
Turning around, you noticed the way Jisung shuffled his feet, heat rising to his cheeks as he looked away, clearly embarrassed. He must've been uncomfortable to be completely ignored and disregarded by Hyunjin, almost like he wasn't wanted here in the first place.
“See, they're offering a real' fortune for whoever brings you in.”
Chan scoffed, rolling his eyes at his words. He didn't like him, that was for sure. Hyunjin, who must've sensed the unease, placed the heap of papers back on the table as he gave Chan a mischievous smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“I must ask the three of you to wait outside for a few minutes. I'd like to discuss something in private with Y/N.”
Frowning, Chan looked him up and down, an unreadable expression playing on his lips. He still didn't want to let go of your hand and leave you alone with Hyunjin, but there was nothing he could do. He threw the taller boy a glare as he walked out of the room, Jisung and Seungmin following suit.
But before the door could slam in his face, he turned around, catching your gaze. The way his mouth quirked, you could tell what he was trying to convey.
‘Don't worry. I'll be outside, waiting…’
And the door slammed.
𝚡𝟷𝟽𝚡
Hyunjin's words were still echoing in your head as you walked out of the small building. The sunlight streaming through the cracks of the wooden rooftop illuminated your face, casting a gentle glow on your skin.
“Oh, hey,” you greeted Chan whose back was against the wall, looking up at the sky with his eyes closed. It looked like he was soaking up the sunlight, relishing in the rare moment of peace and tranquility.
“Hey, how did it go?”
Plopping on the ground next to where he was standing, you sighed, “I think it went okay. He asked me if he could train me though, as in like… help me hone my abilities.”
Chan's brows furrowed as he looked down at you, pulling his hands out of his pockets before sitting down beside you. “Isn't that a good thing though? I mean—you can already do some awesome shit but I can imagine how much your skills would improve if you had some guidance?”
When he noticed your skeptical expression, he elaborated, “trust me, I've been in your shoes before, unaware of all the things I could do before someone senior offered to help me.”
“I see your point,” you mumbled, casting your gaze into your lap, “but I'm still trying to finger out if what I'm doing is even morally acceptable. I need to know where to draw the line… how far can I go without being a monster?”
“Y/N,” Chan sighed, grabbing both your hands in his as he looked you in the eye. “You're not a monster, okay? And you never will be if you're simply protecting yourself. We all have to make do with what we have whether we've got the ability to slip into someone's mind, hurl a truck at them, or outsmart them with our super brain.”
You giggled at his reply, feeling a little better after hearing his reassuring words. “Thank you, Chan,” you whispered, leaning into his side and allowing your head to drop onto his shoulder.
With your warm body so close to him, Chan felt like his heart was about to explode inside of his chest. Smiling, he scooted a bit closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.
“No problem.”
And the two of you sat there in a comfortable silence until dinner was announced, neither of you wanting to get up. But then, as if on cue, your stomach let out a loud rumble, heat rising to the tips of your ears as Chan stifled a laugh, grabbing your hand and dragging your begrudging form along with him.
“C'mon. We need to feed that whale in your stomach, darlin'.”
𝚡𝟷𝟾𝚡
You've never felt so content and at peace as you did right now.
The night sky was clear, not a single cloud in sight as you watched the sunset cast a warm, golden glow. You were sitting around the massive bonfire, watching the flames lick away at the wooden planks pilled up in the middle, curled into Chan's side as his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist.
Everything felt so serene, you relished in the peace and welfare that Yellow Wood had so far offered you. Everyone seems so happy here, and it shocked you to no end how they managed to create such an atmosphere where you momentarily forgot about everything going on outside the fenced-in walls that guarded this place.
Almost as if the camps didn't exist in the first place — as if the Choi disease had never happened…
When the music started playing, everyone suddenly got up, beginning to dance to the summery track. You smiled—the mood was great, everybody clearly having a good time. If you could, you'd stop time and stay in this moment forever.
“C'mon, dance with me,” Chan grinned, standing up. He extended his hand towards you, like a true gentleman, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Would you do me the honors?”
Your eyes widened, you had to fight the urge to look back and make sure he wasn't talking to anyone else, before pointing at yourself with a shaky finger. “M-Me? You want to dance with me?”
Chan placed his hands on his hips, pretending to be deep in thought. “No. Actually, I wanted to dance with that really jacked dude that's standing a few feet behind you.”
“Hey!” you swatted his arm playfully, nervously biting your lip. “Stop being sarcastic all the time.”
“I'm sorry,” he broke out into a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “You're just so easy to tease,”
You looked up, heat rising to your cheeks when you saw the lingering anticipation on his handsome face, the signature dimples appearing making an appearance. It was nearly impossible to say no to him, but for some reason, you were too anxious to come join him, instead murmuring, “I'm a terrible dancer. The last time I tried was on my ninth birthday.”
Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted into the air, the evening breeze grazing your skin.
“It's okay,” Chan replied, gently carrying you through the sea of bodies, his movements precise and controlled. “I can lead.”
“C-Chan!”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he lowered you into his arms with a flick of his wrist, his hand gently settling on your waist as he began to sway to the music. “I-I… nevermind…” you whispered, everything in your head going blank.
The simmering air around you, combined with the heat from the flames, made your muscles turn into mush. If you could press pause and stay in a single moment for the rest of your life, it would be now.
“You okay now, darlin'?” he reached to brush the hair from your face, his thumb grazing against your lips.
“Yeah. Better than ever.”
Your fingers found the bare skin of his forearms, gently tracing the muscles and the overlying veins. His skin was so soft, save for the few bruises and scratches that decorated it. When his hand slid under your shirt, gently rubbing your lower back, you felt like your knees were about to buckle under your weight.
His hands were so warm and wide and his touch was electrifying. Almost as if a current passed through you, you shivered, pressing yourself closer to him.
As the melody of the track thumped through your body, Chan's steady hand managed to safely maneuver you through the heaps of people. The entire time, his gaze was fixed on you, eyes gazing into yours.
“God,” he murmured, strengthening his grip on your waist.
“What?”
“Did you know that you sometimes make me forget how to breathe?” he blew out a shaky breath, his facade crumbling right in front of your eyes.
“I'm looking at you and it's like the only thought inside of my head is how much I want to kiss you.”
Your heart was beating inside of your ribcage and when you felt his breath fan over your cheek, you looked up at him and whispered, “so why don't you do it?”
And that's all the motivation Chan needed; his hand cupping the back of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours, sealing them with a kiss.
Chan was a great kisser, you've deduced that from the grand total of two times that the two of you had kissed. His lips molded against yours perfectly, finding the ideal rhythm and pace.
When the two of you parted, you both had the dumbest smiles, giggles spilling from your lips.
“Wanna do that again?” his voice was shaky, still out of breath.
You grinned, placing your hand on his shoulder and pulling him closer to you. “Yeah, I'd love that.”
So Chan dove right back in, devouring your lips with his own as everything around you faded, leaving you to focus only on each other and the oxytocin coursing through your bodies.
𝚡𝟷𝟿𝚡
Your nerves were tingling as your hand reached for the doorknob. You weren't too excited to meet Hyunjin again, to be completely honest, but you knew it had to be done. Chan was right—honing your skills was important.
Plus, there also came the added bonus of Hyunjin agreeing to search through his network for Jeongin if you allowed him to train you…
It was oddly quiet and you wondered if he was even inside. Your question was answered when as soon as you knocked on the door, Hyunjin slammed it open.
He smiled breathlessly, his eyes turning into little crescent moons as he let you in, flushing when he realized that he was still in his PJs.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking down at the oversized t-shirt and Garfield shorts. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but relaxed when he heard you giggle.
“It's okay, your shorts are kinda cute.”
You thanked him for holding the door open for you and walked inside. Looking around the room, you noticed the array of photos hanging on his wall—lots from his childhood and some that were more recent.
“We can sit on the bed,” he motioned towards the back of the room, leading you before settling on the springy mattress. You took off your shoes before joining him, a soft smile playing on your lips.
“Okay so the first thing I'd like to say is that you can ease your nerves, there's no need to be nervous or scared.”
Slowly, you unclenched your fists, not even realizing how tensed your muscles were. “S-Sorry.”
“It's okay—we're learning here. No need to apologize.”
He took a deep breath before continuing, “one of the most important things when it comes to getting out abilities under control is learning how they work. You need to know how to fight the intrusion if you want any hope of being able to do so safely and without any accidents.”
You shivered at his words, remembering the times when you erased yourself from the minds of your loved ones. Hyunjin, noticing your distress, reached to grab both your hands in his.
“It happened to you before, didn't it?”
You could tell that he knew as he gave you a look of pity and understanding. Almost as if he'd been through it too, eradicating himself from the consciousness of someone close to him.
“Y-Yeah. Twice…”
Hyunjin cursed under his breath softly, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “You're not alone. I had done it too back when I didn't even know what it meant to be an Orange.”
You smiled, anguish written all over your face as you whispered, “it sucks, doesn't it?”
“Yeah. And I'll make sure it'll never happen to you again.”
The first exercise Hyunjin gave you was to block him out of your mind when he tried to slip into your memories. It sounded like a simple task, but in reality, you felt completely powerless when you felt him clawing at your precious consciousness.
“Build a wall around yourself, Y/N,” his voice managed to reach you, although you felt like you were slipping underwater, your mind foggy. “You need a visualization. Imagine there's a wall, curtain, door… or frankly any sort of barrier between the two of us.”
You frowned, closing your eyes as you swallowed down the ball of spit that had formed in your throat. You needed to focus.
Slowly, you began to picture a wooden door towering in front of you. In your mind, you forced yourself to extend your hand, pulling the door shut and turning the key. And bit by bit, you felt Hyunjin's intrusion fade out, no longer sensing the obtrusive presence of someone else in your head. The vulnerability you felt also disappeared as you gained some confidence after your successful defense, smiling to yourself.
“Good job!” Hyunjin cheered, positively beaming at the sight. “You've managed to do it on your first try! That's quite impressive.”
“Oh stop it,” you sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck. “I'm sure went easy on me.”
The guilty smile that appeared on his lips made you chuckle. “I didn't really go easy on you, per se… I just didn't fight back too much when you began to push me out. But it's important for you to get a feel of how it's like to fight off the intrusion, you know?”
“Yeah, that makes sense. But it was pretty exhausting to do if I'm being honest.”
Shuffling his legs, he threw them off the edge of the bed before answering. “It always is when you try it for the first time. But soon, it'll feel like second nature to you, so don't worry, okay?”
You nodded, joining him at the edge of the bed as you gazed outside the window, smiling when you saw everyone running around and having. A comfortable silence enveloped you, and from the corner of your eye, you caught Chan in the group, settled on one side of the beach volleyball field as he tossed the ball in the air and sent it flying over the net.
You silently cheered, a large grin appearing on your face as you followed the game intently, trying not to waver as Chan slipped his shirt off mid-game, continuing to play without it. Hyunjin chuckled when he saw your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips, placing his hand on your shoulder.
“You can go watch them play, you know? We're done for today.”
Nearly jumping in your seat, you turned to him, embarrassment written all over your face when you realized that he caught you staring at Chan. “O-Okay. I'll head out then. Thanks for everything.”
“No problem,” he simpered, waving you off. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
𝚡𝟸𝟶𝚡
The following few days you stuck to the same routine, focusing on resting and your training with Hyunjin. He had insisted that you weren't assigned any job yet so as a result, you had quite a lot of free time.
Today, you woke up a little bit earlier than usual, the sun filtering through the wooden planks of the small sleeping cabin you were assigned. Stretching your arms above your head, you yawned, throwing your legs over the bed and walking out into the morning sun.
“Good morning, Sung,” you plopped down next to the boy, patting him on the shoulder.
“Mornin'.”
The tone of his voice immediately set off alarm bells in your head as you turned around to face him, barely catching a glimpse of the pained expression on his face. He looked like he hadn't slept at all if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by.
“You okay, buddy? You don't exactly look like you're happy…”
“I'm fine,” Jisung groaned, burying his head in between his legs.”I'm just… uh… I don't even know, honestly. I've been feeling pretty weird ever since we got here.”
“How come?” you inquired, your heart breaking at the sight. It was unusual to see Jisung so sad. Sure, he could get grumpy quite often, but you had never seen him so… so miserable.
“It's just that…” he blew out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. “I feel so… lonely here. Like I'm not even welcome. Almost no one here's a Green—which of course makes sense—we're least likely to escape from camp since we both don't have the powers nor are we in such imminent danger as the others—”
“Jisung,” you gently cut him off mid-ramble, cupping his cheek. “Look at me; it's okay, you don't have to explain yourself in such detail every time, okay? Just tell me why you're feeling down.”
“I just feel like there's no place for me here…”
“Hey,” the word came out shakier than you'd hoped it would, but you brushed it off, looking him in the eye. “There's always a place for you, alright? And even if it's not here, you'll always have us, remember? I care about you, Ji, I really do… Chan would die for you, and Seungmin… you're his hero, don't you see that?”
Your heart nearly cracked when you heard him sniffle. Jisung blushed, wiping his face into the sleeve of his hoodie and turning away from you in embarrassment. “Don't look at me,” he mumbled.
“Okay, I've gotta go now, Sung,” you sprang up, sending him a quick thumbs-up before trudging away. “See you later.”
“Yeah,” Jisung whispered, wiping away the tears from his face. “See ya!”
𝚡𝟸𝟷𝚡
On your way to Hyunjin, you passed Chan by the soccer field, your heart rate quickening at the sight. He was, once again, surrounded by at least a dozen of people, laughing as he effortlessly passed the ball while managing to stay focused and converse with the person on his right.
Your chest tightened uncomfortably. While you had always assumed that Chan was the popular and outgoing type, you were shocked nonetheless to see how quickly he had managed to form his own little group of friends in less than a week.
Honestly, you couldn't help the pang of jealousy blossoming inside you.
You were looking forward to today's lesson; Hyunjin had promised you that he'd teach you how to undo the memory erasure—something that you desperately wanted to learn…
There was also the added bonus of his laptop sitting in the middle of his desk. It was the only technological device that could connect you with the outside world in the entire camp.
The lesson passed by in a blur, your mind still foggy as Hyunjin handed you a glass of water, patting you on the back.
“It's okay, you did well,” he praised, rubbing comforting circles onto your back as you gulped down the beverage. “It's a bit more complicated, especially since you don't have anyone to try it on…”
“I'm okay, don't worry,” you reassured him with a smile, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I'm just a bit out of breath, that's all.”
In the meantime, Hyunjin had walked up to his desk, plopping on the chair. He powered up his laptop, the shiny logo appearing on the screen illuminating his face.
“I got an email from one of my contacts in the morning,” he suddenly spoke up, catching your gaze. “I figured I should wait for you to read it though—it's about Jeongin.”
You tensed, feeling all the muscles in your body lock as you positioned yourself behind Hyunjin so that you were looking over his shoulder.
You felt your breath hitch when he clicked on the attachment, impatiently tapping your foot against the ground when the document lagged. When it finally loaded, you began skimming over the text, your frown deepening with every word that you read.
Towards the end, your eyes widened in disbelief, a single tear rolling down your cheek as you let out a shaky breath, clenching your fists.
“N-No… t-this can't be. I don't believe it!” you shouted as your eyes began to water. Hyunjin slowly stood up, a frown on his face as he rubbed your shoulder. “I'm really sorry…”
“I refuse to believe this,” you sniffed, not caring anymore that you looked pathetic with puffy eyes and watery cheeks. “This is not the Jeongin I know… he'd never do anything like this!”
“Y/N, I'm sorry but it's the truth and you need to accept it,” Hyunjin tried to grip your hand in hopes of comforting you but you tore it away, glaring at him. “How do you want me to accept that there's a fucking ten million dollar bounty placed on his head? And not only that!” you choked out, pointing a shaky finger at the screen and at the note under the ransom.”
“Dear or alive… they fucking offered 10 million for his corpse, for fuck's sake!”
With that, you stormed off, ignoring Hyunjin's pleas as you let the door slam behind you. You ran through the fields, stepping over the campfire site, sniffling at the thought of Jeongin. You were still in shock from what Hyunjin's email had contained.
It felt like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water on your head, you felt broken… miserable. All you wanted to do was just bury your head under your pillow and pretend that the last ten minutes of your life had never happened. But now that you knew, you couldn't just ignore it.
Jeongin's life was in grave danger now that the bounty had been listed on the skip tracer network… it was only a matter of time before they'd all start looking for him, tracking him all over the country. His listing had beaten the previous highest ransom by a longshot—all the skip tracers who were focusing on Chan would now no doubt divert their attention and go after Jeongin.
You fumbled through the bushes, wiping away your tears as you inched closer to your little hut. In all honestly, you wanted to simply pack up your scarce belongings and disappear with the wind but your prayers were cut short as you heard a pair of loud voices.
You stumbled onto the tiny clearing in front of your assigned cottage, eyes blown wide as you watched Chan and Jisung engage in a very heated debate, the latter fuming with anger.
“Oh, hey, Y/N—wait, what happened?” Chan questioned, his voice cracking at the sight of you. You were a mess, to put it lightly, even Jisung frowned deeply at the sight, his eyebrows creasing.
“Are you okay?”
You ignored both of their questions, pushing past them to get through the door. There, you began to pull out all your stuff from the drawers, granted, you didn't own that many things, before shoving them into your little backpack.
“Hey, darlin', please,” you could sense the desperation in tone. “Tell me what's wrong…”
You snapped your head to face him, ready to tell him off but the words died on your tongue. Watching the different emotions flash on his face, you felt your heart softening. It wasn't his fault after all, wasn't it? He had done nothing wrong…
You hadn't even realized that you began to cry again, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hiccuped into your sleeve, embarrassed that the two got to see you in such a state. Chan immediately rushed to your side, pulling you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Shhh, it's okay,” he whispered, pulling you close to him as you sobbed into his t-shirt, no doubt staining the cotton with your tears. “Everything will be alright, don't worry.”
As cheesy as it sounded, Chan's soft reassurance and his gentle caresses managed to lull you into a state where you were able to think rationally, struggling only a little bit to get the words out of your mouth.
“I-It's Jeongin,” you murmured, hiding your head in the crook of his neck. “Hyunjin had managed to trace him.”
Gently running his hands down your sides, you felt oddly encouraged to continue, “there's a ten million dollar bounty on his head, Chan. Dead or alive…”
After uttering these words, you felt your heart constrict in your chest once again as you hiccuped. “A-And that's not even everything.”
Chan tried his best to hide his shock, not wanting to freak you out more than you already were, so he bit down his tongue to prevent the surprised gasp that threatened to leave his parted lips, instead burying his head into yours as he inhaled the sweet scent of your shampoo.
“H-He's not the same person he used to be, Channie. He's turned into a monster… I-I just, ugh—” you groaned, clutching onto his shirt tightly. You were both scared and frustrated at the same time.
“He apparently escaped with some other Yellows and they formed a tribe. But the reason there's such a high bounty over his head is because t-they'd,” you choked out, unable to produce a coherent sentence.
“They began attacking supply vans and killing the drivers in the process… I can't believe it. The Jeongin I knew—he'd never do such a thing!”
“You know, sometimes, the people we once knew do unspeakable things—that's just how it is,” Chan muttered under his breath, tilting your head so that you were looking him in the eye. “You can't take responsibility for other people's actions. As much as you'd like to believe it, you never truly know what each person is thinking. They could've had a reason that drove them to resort to such extreme measures, even if we don't agree, there's always reasoning behind one's actions.”
“But taking other people's lives?” you cried, your voice going an octave higher. “That's not right, no matter the circumstances.”
Chan held you in his arms for a few more minutes until you calmed down, suddenly pushing him away and getting off his lap.
“Where are you going?” he asked, tone laced with panic as he watched your expression harden. You wiped away the remaining tears staining your cheeks before you got back to packing your bag.
“I'm leaving this place. I have to find Jeongin before he gets himself killed.”
There was no room for negotiation, Chan was sure of that. Behind your moist eyes blazed a fire, a strong, determined, and powerful fire that he couldn't put out. No. He had to add fuel to it for it to burn.
“We're coming with you.”
No. They couldn't. There was no way you'd allow them to go with you, no way in hell would you watch them leave the safe haven they've been dreaming about for so long.
You turned around to face him, and with lifeless eyes, you whispered, “no… you can't.”
It was more of a plea than a statement, your voice cracking terribly as you tried to control the onslaught of emotions. “Chan, please, you can't keep risking your lives for me, you know?”
“Well, you can't keep trying to run away from me. I'm not letting you go alone.”
You clutched the piece of clothing in your hand, lowering your gaze onto the ground. “I-I… t-this—this isn't gonna work, Chan…”
“Why?” his voice was suddenly louder, filled with fervor as walked up to you, grabbing your hands in his. “Give me one reason why we can't be together and I'll give you a hundred why we can. We can go anywhere you want. I'm not like your parents, I'm not going to abandon you or send you away, not ever.”
As if on cue, the door burst open, Jisung popping his head inside. “Min and I packed up our stuff. We're ready to go.”
You stared at them in disbelief, the words beginning to form at the tip of your tongue but Chan beat you to it, a grin already poking at his lips.
“See, you're not the only one that wants to leave this place. All four of us will go and help you find your friend, isn't that right?”
From the entrance, Jisung gave you a smile and Seungmin nodded aggressively, causing you to nearly tear up all over again. You were so touched that this little group of misfits that you've joined had become like family to you, willing to risk it all just to help you.
“Are you sure, guys? I-I mean… you can't take this back once you come…”
Chan slowly lifted his head and there was so much conviction in your eyes it made you dizzy. When he uttered the following words, it seemed to be the surest he'd ever been about something in his entire life.
“Let's go.”
After Chan had packed his small bag, the four of you walked out of the cabin, heading towards the main gate. A small group of kids stopped what they were doing to watch you, clearly having never witnessed people leave the camp.
When you arrived at the main gate, you were surprised to see a small group of armed people with guns slung over their shoulders clearly guarding the exit. They all tensed up when they saw you, immediately blocking your way as one of them spoke up.
“What do you want?”
Chan raised a brow, clearly not expecting any pushback. “Isn't it obvious? We're leaving.”
“That won't be possible,” another one replied icily, his hand reaching for his gun. “You need to first fill out a form and get it approved by the Slip Kid.”
“You're kidding?” Chan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You can't force us to stay here.”
Suddenly, a loud voice from behind said, “actually, we can.”
You snapped your head to look behind you, clearly taken aback. “Hyunjin? What the hell?”
The young man in question twirled a small dagger in his hand before getting a proper grip on it, looking you dead in the eye. “You see, we can't just let anybody leave this place. We have to make sure they'll actually survive out there on their own. And unless I want to be accused of being biased, I need to check for myself, don't you understand, sweetheart?”
You nearly shivered hearing the term of endearment fall from his lips. His tone was menacing and sly, nothing like the way he spoke to you for the past week.
“So unless you want this to get ugly, I suggest the four of your go back to your cabins.”
Your expression hardened as you reciprocated his intense glare. “Yeah, that's not happening.”
Turning back, your eyes immediately caught Chan's, the two of you sharing a nod. He knew what this meant—you wouldn't go down without a fight. Yellow Wood clearly wasn't the place the four of you thought it was.
A cheshire grin tugged at his lips as he cracked his knuckles.
“Give ‘em hell, darlin’!”
a/n: hello <3 tysm for reading this far. if you've enjoyed, please consider letting me know and reblogging. I've spent two months working on this fic (including the entirety of my summer break so far...). feel free to ask any questions too :3 sending you my best wishes and i hope you stay safe :>
❥ genre: fluff, established relationship, just a smidge of angst in the beginning, tiny bit suggestive
❥ warnings: mentions of a sad mood
❥ word count: 1.1K
❥ A/N: well! i know i said no fics until august. but it’s my birthday so i thought i’d make an exception! here’s a little present from me, to you 💛 please reblog and leave a comment. it’s my birthday. that’s the least you can do alshskshsksj
TICK-tock TICK-tock TICK-tock
that was all you heard as you lay on your bed, a million thoughts running through your head, none of which you could discern, let alone understand. staring up at the ceiling, your eyes stung a little. why were you so sad today? you weren’t sure.
perhaps it was just one of those days.
perhaps you were exhausted from the long week you’ve had. or maybe everything just became a little too overwhelming. or maybe… you just felt empty and this was your body’s way of making you feel something. anything.
taking a deep breath in, you let your eyes fall shut, drowning in the depths of your muted emotions, head almost bursting with how much louder your thoughts screamed in your head. you were so lost in your mind that you missed the loud jingle of the doorknob, the slight creek of the door and the soft padding of bare feet across the wooden floor. that is, until you felt the bed suddenly dip on your left, nimble fingers attacking your sides, making you jerk awake with a yelp, small, breathy laughs leaving your lips.
‘what are you doing?’ you slurred between giggles, having backed away a little, hands shielding your body from a certain dimpled man’s wandering fingers.
‘hi~’ he sang, tilting his head a little, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
‘hi. what are you doing?’
chris moved a little, leaning over you, his face hovering over yours. ‘nothing,’ he kissed the tip of your nose. ‘it’s noon. it’s no time to be asleep.’
‘i wasn’t sleeping.’
‘well you weren’t awake either.’
‘and what do you propose i do?’ you asked, hand moving up to play with his hair, prompting him to playfully hum, his eyes staring deep into your soul. though what was supposed to be another attempt to fluster you, soon made his smile drop as he caught the exhaustion thinly veiled by the amusement on your face.
‘you okay?’
‘hm? yeah. why?’
‘you look down.’
‘well yeah if you’re gonna wake me up by tickling me, that’s gonna happen,’ you joked, and he cracked a smile, but didn’t let up.
‘baby you weren’t sleeping. i could see you fidgeting with your feet.’ he lowered his body to lie down beside you and slid his arm under your head, pulling you to rest on his chest—right beside his heart. ‘talk to me. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?’
feeling your breaths steadying as his heartbeat rang in your ear, you pressed your lips in a thin line to hide the grin crewing on your face. moving back a little in his arms to look at his face, you raised your brows with an amused look.
‘you think you have me all figured out, huh?’
chris smiled. ‘i don’t think—i know,’ he retorted, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead before pulling away, thumb moving to stroke the expanse of your cheek. ‘now come on, tell me what’s wrong.’
his actions made you simper with a small pout. truthfully, in that moment, you really couldn’t remember anymore. your love was there, holding you close, looking at you with stars in his eyes—and you forgot how it ever felt to be empty. if your glass was half full before, it was now overflowing with a million emotions, all directed at the beautiful man before you.
‘it’s nothing,’ you whispered with a smile. and you meant it.
‘you sure?’ he asked, just to make sure, eyebrows furrowed in playful suspicion.
you gave him a quick nod, holding his loving gaze in your own, mainly to distract him as your hand moved to tickle his sides. your fingers had barely grazed his body when he grabbed your wrist.
‘whoa hey! what do you think you’re doing?’
you laughed, trying to break free from his ever-tightening hold. ‘what you did to me!’ you cried out as you laughed a little harder, trying to twist your wrist out from his fingers.
‘uh uh baby, it’s not that easy.’
you threw your head back, half in amusement, half in frustration, high pitched giggles leaving your lips between squeals and groans, making the small dips at the corners of his lips go deeper. seeing as he was clearly distracted by his satisfaction of holding you in one place, you tried to sneakily inch your left hand closer to his torso, catching him for a second before he moved once more, catching your left hand and moving it away.
your right hand, now free, tried to aim for his neck when he quickly moved to lock both of your wrists in place. after a moment of playful wrestling, one you lost miserably, he had you pinned down on the mattress, making you laugh even harder. there was something so amusing about you trying to wrestle a man ten times stronger than you.
‘told you it wasn’t so easy,’ he whispered, a smug look on his face. you rolled your eyes.
‘makes you feel good trying to overpower me, does it? you feel strong?’ you taunted with a pout and a playful glint in your eyes.
he raised his brow, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek before he leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. ‘don’t think i’m the one who feels good when i overpower you, sweetheart,’ he whispered, eliciting a string of flustered, high pitched giggles from your lips. escaping his loosening grip, you brought your hand up to swat at his bicep.
‘shut up what’s wrong with you? it’s 12pm,’ you laughed, face heating up as your heart started to race. he laughed along with, eyes scrunching up to form little crescents.
‘made you laugh though, didn’t i?’
there was a beat of silence as you two stared at each other, breaths slowly calming as the giggles died down, melting into soft smiles and lovestruck eyes.
chris brought a hand up to your face, brushing back a few strands of stray hair. ‘you’re okay, yeah?’ he asked, still worried. he knew what he saw and he wasn’t going to let you brush it away.
‘yes,’ you breathed out, leaning into his touch. ‘i mean… i wasn’t. was feeling a bit off. just the usual funk. but now you’re here and i feel perfectly fine. i promise.’ your hand rubbed his wrist as a way to reassure him, and he returned your smile.
‘i’m always here for you, my love,’ he whispered, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. ‘whenever you need me,’ he mumbled against your lips before pressing a couple more kisses.
➤ summary: being invited to chan’s studio usually means one isn’t just going there to listen to music, which is why you’ve never been invited—until tonight
➤ pairing: bang chan x gn!reader
➤ genre: suggestive, fluff; rated PG-13
➤ warnings: none!
➤ word count: 1.8k
➤ a/n: this is my second piece for @neo-shitty‘s 24/8 collab! everyone check out the collab masterlist and show the other writers lots of support!
please reblog and leave feedback—your comments, no matter how small or vague, mean a lot to me!!
All it takes is one text from him at 3:01 AM, just as your eyes are fluttering shut. You would be annoyed, but hey, it’s Chan.
Do you want to come to the studio? I want you to listen to something.
warnings. none. it’s just a tad bit too personal and the writing’s a mess lmfao
word count. 2.1k
soundtrack. welcome to the show - dpr ian
notes. last week in the midst of hell week, i thought of the concept of the lonely hearts club and how broken hearts aren’t the only ones that fall into this category but also hearts that beat for other things and other places yet are stuck where they don’t want to be. this one’s for us.
Seungmin isn’t sure why the auditorium was the last place that crossed his mind on the list of places to look for you, even when he knew it should’ve been the first one. The thought flicked on like a light switch, at random halfway up the staircase to the sixth floor where he thought you’d be. And in seconds he was making his way back down the same steps he climbed, leaving only a trail of ‘excuse me’s and apologies in his wake as he raced for the ground floor. He was walking faster now, a little reckless too, bumping into more strangers as he mazed through the hall of gentle-paced students unconcerned of his rush.
He takes the first opportunity to sprint when the path clears. The way across the field takes only half the time it would take to round the perimeter, so he chooses that route and winds up breathless by the time he reaches the steps. The double doors loom before him, tall and ominous but not locked—in fact, ajar. A moment of hesitation stops him from bursting them open but it’s not enough to hold him back, his desperation overriding rationality for the time-being. The door creaked at the gentlest of pushes, opening a path for the afternoon sunlight to pour into the dark hall.
The auditorium was empty, nothing but a void-like silence rushing up to meet him.
warnings: cheating, language, smoking/drugs, changbin is a very bad friend, suggestive
a/n: I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING NOR BELIEVE CHANGBIN IS A CHEATER, THIS IS PURELY FICTION AND IMAGINATION. this was originally a yunho drabble bc my changbin one was doing terrible so maybe you’ll get a yunho fic soon. not proofread, many errors probably, sorry, it’s kinda late and i’m annoyed that i can’t write anymore :( also yes, knee socks by arctic monkeys inspired this one <3
The strong vibrations coming from under Changbin’s pillow wakes him up from a heavy sleep.
He’s groggy, barely able to fully open both eyes and catch a good look of what you’re doing in front of him. He can hear your feet stomp, mumbling a few curses to yourself as you struggle to get your pieces of clothing together.
“What are you doing?” He asks, voice extremely gruff and full of sleep. He manages to open an eye, shutting the other one as to avoid the bright light incoming through the curtains you’d opened earlier to help you find your things. He recognizes the blue sweater he’d worn the day before draped over you, hanging at your mid thigh. Changbin brings a hand to his head and pats down his hair down.
“I have to go. Yeonjun won’t stop calling me and it’s pissing me off.”
And just as you say that, your phone begins to vibrate again. He reaches under his pillow to grab your phone and slides it over to you. You eye the screen, the contact name of Changbin’s friend and trusted drug dealer, Yeonjun, and the green ‘accept call’ button that you’d been avoiding. Both of you know that if you don’t pick up now, the calls will never end.
“Hello?” Changbin hears you answer, turning his head to stare out the window. “I’m on my way. I fell asleep at Ari’s house.” You pause, listening on to what Yeonjun is telling you, probably ordering you around some more. “Yeah, all of it. Okay, bye see you later.”
When Changbin turns back to face you again, he’s met with the sight of you rolling your socks on, pulling them up until they meet just under your knees. The way you curl your leg in allows him to catch a glimpse of the marks littered along your thighs, crawling all the way up and under where the hem of his sweater hides your skin. It brings a sly smile on his face as he remembers last night.
It might sound funny and you’ve definitely laughed at him when he first told you but he loved the way you looked when you counted his money, exchanging the bills for a small plastic bag of drugs that couldn’t compete with the way you made him feel. He doesn’t know why he still does drugs if they don’t work on him anymore.
warnings: breaking up, kissing, mention of food (having meals)
a/n: this was supposed to be 10k lol
from the author of this guidebook
the following content is broken up into phases that couples who are going through a certain rough patch in their relationship will find themselves exposed to if a civil and mutual breakup concerning both parties is intended. this guidebook by no means is a universal strategy and results may vary for individuals, but nonetheless the author hopes that one finds themselves in a better place and that the good memories remind them that every relationship is subjected to its ups and downs and that breaking up is not the end of the world.
the author hopes this guidebook finds you in good health and kindred spirits of finding happiness and peace with your beloved ones.
phase one – slowly disengage.
initiate healthy boundaries with your partner. do not completely cut yourself off or go no contact with the person intended, since this can greatly hurt their feelings. know that this person might already be aware that you are drifting apart, hence, if they truly respect you and your boundaries, they will learn to regard your feelings even though they might be fighting to keep your relationship alive.
almost as if you were mapping out a statistical analysis, you and changbin both start noticing the dip in your chart. spending more time apart, eating meals apart, now more because that is how you prefer it rather than being obliged due to clashing schedules, waking up to find the other side of the bed empty. the list goes on and forthcoming.
it’s not upsetting at first that you both decidedly ignore the small stuff. it’s not even frustrating when plans get cancelled or rescheduled or simply be made under an impression that neither of you intends to see through.
in a way it’s comforting to know that neither will be too upset at the outcome and the mutual agreement to eventually just let things happen acts like a consolation to the drift that slowly emerges out of it.
your house that was once too lively and warm starts dimming under its owners’ dampened moods and melancholic mourning. you were both so very aware of what was happening that neither of you deemed it necessary to bring it up or address it.
changbin asked you not to bother dropping by for lunch since he would be busy with the other boys, you in turn politely accepted this as more time apart. you both saw each other at home anyway. this could have possibly been an active response to the waning flame in your hearts – absence does make the heart grow fonder.
did it work? who’s to say. evenings would be livelier, the longing heart would welcome the other gratefully in the empty and silent house till the need to stay on your side of the bed at night overtook the weak urge to bury yourselves into each other’s arms.
verbal ‘good mornings’ and kisses on the lips turned into text messages and an empty bed by the time the other woke up. shared warm breakfasts of fresh fruits and laughter turned into sitting alone at the kitchen counter with a piece of toast and bitter coffee to swallow it down.
once the bathroom light flickered and gave out, the room darkened in the middle of your shower. changbin came home that evening and fixed it up. the light felt too bright, too harsh. too cold. you showered the next day in darkness anyway.
changbin stopped calling you at lunch, simply texting you to have a good meal before those too faded into no messages at all. he didn't think so much of you while he worked, didn’t mind too much when you responded to his morning text with a late afternoon one. he saw it in the evening anyway.
you didn’t lay the table for two at dinner anymore, instead, dragging yourself to the couch and watching the television while you ate. changbin came late, already having eaten with his friends. you don’t cook as much as you did either.
you work overtime, changbin spends more time in his workplace too. your home simply becomes a resting place, a buffer zone between night and morning.
phase two – talk it out.
do not think that you can completely avoid this part. conversation comes hard even for the best of the communicators. you may not have to enunciate your feelings, but there’s a chance there may be some misunderstandings – some dues that need to be cleared – and you should talk through it. remember, a healthy relationship always comes with communicating with your partner. to end things on a good note and with as few regrets – for they come in plenty – you need to clear the air and settle it on a definitive tone.
glancing at changbin’s side profile illuminated by the blaring television in front, you lose yourself for a moment in his features. his sharp chin, round cheeks and pouty lips.
your finger finds respite in his hair, stroking and curling his locks around your fingers gently. changbin is not completely unsurprised, you haven’t initiated physical touches in such a long time, he sighs in content when your fingers graze his cheek.
he tilts his head toward you, the movie long forgotten as you both hold each other’s gaze for a while. you don’t mind when he leans in to place a tiny kiss across your lips, one in quite a few months and you miss the way he lingers over you.
you’re pulled onto his lap and kiss him back, lips hungry and passionate, aching for a touch and melting into its familiarity after such a long time. there’s no time to breathe, hands travel across chests and backs and moans are muffled into each other’s mouths.
the kiss breaks abruptly. breaths are warm across your skins. hands hold on to each other after a long day.
“changbin…”
“we need to talk.” he says.
you know. he knows.
breaking up is never easy, but you have to let each other go.
phase three – don’t hate the other too much.
there may have been some bad memories. but there may have been some good ones too. which do you want to hold close to your heart?
boxes on the table. suitcases packed and placed carefully by the door.
changbin finds an old bracelet of beads while moving the empty bedside desk. he calls out to you in the kitchen and you come stand by the door, wrapping up a cutlery set you got for your fourth anniversary in bubble wrap.
you recognise the old piece of jewellery and eyes lighting up, laugh when changbin puts it on his wrist. the elastic is too small across his skin, the beads space out, the transparent thread underneath visible. you both reminisce and laugh over the memory.
the kitchen counter has two cups of warm tea. a plate of salted crackers you both like so much. a parting gift to one another – the last date sitting across the counter in a home that was too big now.
you talk, you kiss. you both still love each other.
you’ll find yourselves in each other’s memories way down the road and when you meet again, it will be as friends with happy memories.
summary ▸ from being chased by officers of a planet, to catching fireflies and exploring new planets, you’d never want to do any of this with anyone other than your favorite person.
pairing ▸ lee felix x gn!reader
genre ▸ space!au, established relationship!au; sci-fi, super fluffy
other characters ▸ original characters very briefly
warnings ▸ explicit language, food mentions, mentions of guns briefly (more like the sci-fi stormtrooper type tho) bc felix and mc are space travelers and they got chased haha
song rec ▸ Scars : Stray Kids / 11:18 Move It Muffin! & 10:27 Appledew Stew : Danger
a/n ▸ whoooo something fun is here for you guys!! this is a fic i wrote as a part of the multifandom writing collab hosted by @planetdream and @hwaflms !! :D the challenge was to write something following or inspired by the plot of a kpop mv and so i chose scars!! i chose to be inspired instead of following the mv directly. the forest scenes with the fireflies were my main inspiration, it helped me come up with something super fluffy! i think the song also really had me feeling the space vibes too just based on the inst. haha
feedback
☕— like my writing and wanna support me? consider buying me a coffee (kofi link in my bio) do let me know what you thought of this story by sending me an ask here!! :3
one.
“I SWEAR LEE FELIX, I’M GONNA KILL YOU IF WE MAKE IT OUT OF THIS ONE PIECE!” YOU YELLED AS YOU RAN WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT. YOU HAD NEVER BEEN SO MAD AT FELIX UNTIL RIGHT NOW.
Felix, on the other hand, could only laugh at your mock threat. He was running too, he’d apparently enraged an officer from this planet and now he and his two lackeys were chasing you two through the forest.
“Almost there!” Felix yelled behind you in reference to getting to your ship.
“And I was really liking that burger I was eating until you dragged me out of that diner!”
“Are we seriously having this argument in the midst of running?” he asked you and dodged a laser projectile from one of the officer’s guns.
“May as well!” was all you said as you ducked and grabbed Felix’s hand, pulling him with you into a dark hole in between two trees.
description. when his own light dims, changbin wades the darkness of both the night and his mind alone. he needs someone tonight but that isn’t something the local convenience store across the street can offer. or can it?
pairings. seo changbin x female reader
genre. hurt/comfort, fluff, platonic(?), student council!au, high school!au
warnings. mentions of passing out, a nosebleed and a lot of overthinking.
word count. 5k
notes. a very much needed backstory for my favorite checkmate duo, iykyk :’D happy changbin day!!
Changbin wakes to a brightness that burns, the type that forces your lids back shut when a sliver of it slips in. The tears sting as they spring from the glands in his eyes, blurring his vision but cushioning the blinding beam. It takes a few blinks for him to open his eyes wide enough and a few more for his vision to refocus. There’s a white ceiling above him, adjacent to an off-white wall with peeling paint. He makes a mental note, request for repaint, until he realizes that the council office’s walls were never white nor did the office have a bed.
warnings: mention of a fight, injury, blood, medication, suggestive
a/n: not proofread, so please lmk if you find any mistakes!
"you actually got into a fight?"
standing in the middle of the room, you regard chan incredulously, taking in the bruised cheek and split lip. his eyes remained downcast, trying to play it off nonchalantly by leaning across the doorframe.
"yeah."
chan doesn't elucidate further, leaving you to scoff silently as he enters the room with the first aid kit in his hand and plopping down in the middle of your bed.
"okay cool, i'll leave you to it then." you move to leave the room but chan is already scrambling up, blocking your path before you can leave.
"help me clean up?"
crossing your arm against your chest, you're amused at the way his eyes betray the vulnerability in them though his stance looks like he couldn't care less. his eyes always give it away, not a very desired trait in someone who claims to be tough and cold.
"you think this is a movie? some sort of stupid cliche where we'll share a moment?"
"we're sharing a moment now," chan shrugs
"and what's the magic word?"
eyes snapping to yours, you don't bother disguising the instant smirk on your face when he frowns. he should know that he doesn't make the rules every time.
gulping, perhaps his ego or dignity or whatever, he concedes.
"please."
his voice is stiff, breathy and yet it's not in the least bit demanding. it's genuine.
you move to the bed without answering, fumbling with the ointments and disinfectant, pulling out clean cotton swabs.
"what, you want me to do it standing up?" you question and it has him quickly taking a seat opposite you.
without another word, you set to dipping the cotton in the brownish liquid, dabbing it lightly on his cheek right under his eyes, blowing cool air without him asking to.
he sits still, shoulders pulled back as you work, steadily gazing at you without meaning to.
"why did you really fight?" you ask, pulling out another cotton swab and swiping some ointment off a tube before applying it on the bruise. if he was in pain or it stung, chan didn't show it.
"he's an asshole, he deserved it."
now working on his lips, you press upon them slightly and it elicits a hiss and a glare from him.
"that's what you get for lying."
"i'm not lying! he really is, ask the boys, they'll–"
"they'll be sure to take your side, you're like some sort of messiah for them."
chan glares, clenching his jaws and growing at your disbelieving nature. what had he done to deserve this kind of treatment?
"you never believe me," he sulks as you swipe off more ointment, completely unbothered by his tantrum, "do you really have to treat me like this?"
"like what?" you stare at him, waiting for him to reply before you could apply the ointment on his lips.
"like i'm the last person you would trust even if the world was ending…"
you can't help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, the seriousness of his childish accusation undelivered under your constant assumption that given a chance, chan would want nothing to do with you, and yet, here he was, seemingly worried that you didn't care when you could very well say the same for him.
"that's because you wouldn't either," you splutter, sniffling at his comment.
"that's not true, i trust you with my life."
"oh yeah?" you deadpan, "well, even if i wanted to, i think it would be hard to trust someone who has so little regard for his own safety."
you raise your hand to finish tending to his wounds, but he's already pulling it down, his fingers circling around your wrist, skin cold against your own warm hand.
"but i would never put you in danger," his voice softens, eyes boring into yours and god, you know he's not kidding. his eyes always give him away.
"okay, i believe you," you say quietly, tugging your hand but he doesn't let go just yet.
"you sure you aren't just saying that?"
chan leans ahead, your noses almost touching and you can smell the disinfectant off him. his breath falls warm on your face and his cold fingers leave a tingle down your spine.
"what if i kissed you right now?" you take your chance.
"what if you did?"
moments pass in utter silence, your hand still in his and his face so very close, but you contemplate whether you should lean forward or not. if you know anything about chan, it's that he won't make the first move. he never did, always waiting for you to initiate things when you were comfortable enough.
sitting here so close to each other, chan wants to be the one to lean in and kiss you like he's always wanted to. yet, he thinks he can wait for as long as you make him and he'll never complain.
but when you glance up, there's the question glimmering so clearly in his eyes.
how long will you make me wait? i can wait, no doubt…but i want you. and you know you want me too.
slowly, you lean forward, closing your eyes and tilting your head before slotting your lips against his. the tiniest push of his lips, the pressure warm against your skin and you kiss him properly.
lips moving against each others' slowly as if you had all the time in the world, he nibbles on your bottom lip and pulls you closer. his cold fingers rest on your neck and you tremble under his touch, your own fingers moving to grip his hair.
neither of you tries to take it any further, simply moving your lips in tandem and savouring the moment.
you pull apart, licking your lips and breathing heavily. chan rests his forehead against yours, placing a small peck at the corner of your mouth and you melt at the feather like touch, burning hotter than his hold against your neck.
"you taste like disinfectant," you murmur against his lips, kissing him again nonetheless.
"and yet you're still kissing me," he raises a brow, returning the favor with his own little kiss right under your jaw. it takes you your all not to push him back on the bed.
"never said i didn't like it," you remark.
chan hums, tracing his lips against your neck and kissing you on your shoulder.
you're doing your best to stay calm. you fail miserably when a soft sigh leaves your lips at his touch.
"you also thought we wouldn't share a moment," he smiles into the crook on your neck and you shake your head in denial.
"i asked whether you think we would share a moment," correcting him, you pull his face away from your neck and kiss the tip of his nose.
"are we," he pulls you right onto his lap, your legs straddling him instantly as he holds you by the waist "having a moment now?"
"i would think so," you smile, kissing his cheeks.
"you only think?" the grin on his face gives nothing away, but his eyes do. they always do and right now they hold you in their dark pools with so much love, you wonder how you've missed it before. maybe because you've always been looking at him the same way and never noticed how they mirror you.
"i'm supposed to put on the ointment now," you mutter reluctantly.
"but then i'll taste like ointment and you'll get it in your mouth," chan says, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the thought.
"or maybe," you say, almost relinquishing to his little act, "i can finish taking care of your wounds and kiss you later."
"that's no fun," he grunts, pulling you closer and you vividly feel him under you when you move.
"pervert," you simply state and before he can say anything you hold his face and give him a long kiss.
"you seem to like this pervert," he smiles when you pull apart.
"and does he like me?" you anticipate his response.
"yeah, he does. a lot."
you know he's not lying, his eyes give it all away. they always do.
pairing: bang chan x reader
genre: angst, fluff
wc: 1.6k (1.699)
warnings: none!
a/n: let's ignore the fact that this request is literally over a year old. thank you. also me? writing for skz? wow. a miracle.
listen to: i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys
requested by: @neo-shitty | THINGS YOU SAID MASTERLIST
26) things you said in writing
where he can't tell you that he's gonna miss you, because now, it will have more depth to it, and where on the train station, tucked away in your handwritten letter, you beat him to it and say it first.
Standing at the train station, his nose covered with a woolen scarf and his body dressed in a big, padded jacket, Chan observes you from under his eyelashes. Your ears are covered with your warm, knitted hat and you almost look like a michelin man with the thick coat you’ve got on, shielding you from the mean cold.
It’s quite dark out, the lampposts providing the only source of light, situated above the railway, shining down at the empty station. There are a few people scattered around, standing, because the benches are too cold to sit on in the winter, waiting for their train. Chan wonders who he’ll travel with– will the nice looking grandma take a seat next to him on his train, or will the lost-looking boy with doe eyes ask him for the direction of the train before he enters the carriage and nods at him with an appreciative smile?
The silence is only making his heart more at peace when he watches the snowflakes fall down, resting on the ground. The white cover over the whole town makes his departure look almost magical, although he doesn’t feel like leaving at all.
Leaving to go to university is always hard. Sure, he’s studying what he always wanted to, at one of the best universities in the country. He worked really hard to get where he is right now, but even though he’s satisfied with his progress, the fact that he has to leave everyone and everything behind every once in a while, when he moves back to his dorm room at the other side of the country, never fails to make him feel a little saddened.
This time around, it’s January. The Christmas break is over and it’s time for him to get back to his usual state– away from everyone, a little alone mostly in the sleepless nights he suffers through when he misses his hometown, but most of all, content with the path he’s chosen. It’s a bittersweet feeling, one you can’t battle, one you can’t make go away. Homesickness. Loneliness.
He has friends, but none of them really compare with the ones he has at home. None of them compare to you.
Looking at you again, he finds you tracing shapes in the snow with your foot, absent-minded. It’s always been you that’s sending him off, waiting with him for the train. Each and every single time, his family wants to come with him, pay their last goodbyes before their son and brother leaves for the big city, but he rejects them again and again, for this moment is always sacred between the two of you. There’s no one else he’d rather have by his side when he so deeply wants to remember the remains of his home than you. He’d be cheesy to say it, but you are his home, in a way.
Sensing that he’s looking, you mumble under your breath. “Don’t say it.”
Chuckling at your tone, the pout present in your voice, he shakes his head. “Don’t say what?”
“You know what,” you shrug, looking up at him and meeting his eyes, your gaze honest and full of emotion, “don’t say you’ll miss me.”
“You always say this.”
“Yeah, and you always do it anyway,” you grunt, pointing your look to the ground again. A silence is shared between the two of you, one that slowly eats Chan from the inside, when you finally decide to speak up again, voice faint as you sniffle from the cold. “Don’t say you’ll miss me today, because now, it will have a whole new depth to it. Don’t say it now, because… because it will hurt more.”
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he nods in understatement. He won’t say it, at least not today, but that doesn’t mean that every single cell of his body isn’t screaming it at the top of its lungs, making it heard between everyone dead and alive. He won’t say it, but you know he’d like to. Isn’t that quite the same?
You’ve been friends with Chan for ages. You grew up together, in the same neighborhood, attending every single one of each other’s birthday parties over the years. You know everything about him and he knows everything about you– your thoughts, desires, your dreams and your silly beliefs, your quirks and habits, your school schedule, your hobbies and interests– he knows it all, and he never dares to forget it, or else he knows he won’t forgive himself if he did.
It would be impossible for the two of you to not fall for each other. Perhaps this is how the universe wanted it, perhaps that’s why it joined you two together, glued you to each other’s side. It’s been there for ages, but only this Christmas was the time when neither of you were strong enough to battle it anymore.
This is Chan’s last semester of university. When he comes back, he’s staying. Forever.
Maybe that’s what made you two act on your feelings. Maybe that’s why you kissed under the covers of his bed one evening, when you were too tired to go home. Maybe that’s why he whispered that he loved you when you fell asleep, and maybe that’s why you dreamt of the same thing in his arms, tucked away and safe in his hold.
Maybe that’s why the goodbye hurts twice as much today. Maybe that’s why you don’t want him to miss you. You were right, today, the words– and the feeling– have much more depth than before.
The screeching of the train’s brakes wakes both of you up from the slumber, shooting your heads upwards to watch it arrive at the station. It’s time to say goodbye, once again. Looking at you with sad eyes, you meet him halfway as you hug him, bodies dressed in jackets pressed closely to each other, trying to feel the other one as much as they can before it’s the time to leave.
His arms hold you firmly around the waist, and yours get lost somewhere in the fabric of his hoodie, clasped around his neck. Looking into each other’s eyes, you almost kiss him.
Only god knows why you didn’t allow yourself to do it. Perhaps you want to hold on to the memory of your kiss in his bed, the memory that’s warm and bright, the memory that’s full of excitement, fondness and love. You don’t want to remember your kiss at the station– it would be a sad one, wet from tears, signed with goodbyes.
“I have to go,” Chan mumbles, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone.
“I know,” you nod, “I… I have one last thing for you, though,” you say, moving apart from him and opening your purse, taking out a white envelope.
Taking it into his hands, Chan furrows his eyes at you in confusion. Moving to open it, you stop him, a bashful, shy look on your face. “Read it on the train.”
“Okay,” he nods, turning the envelope around in his hold once more, before he hugs you again. The hug is shorter now, full of rush, but still in the essence of tender care, wanting to remember how you fit into his arms one last time before he has to forget it until June. The time before that is long, but looking at your face, he’s sure he can do it.
Adjusting the bag on his back, Chan shuffles his legs through the snow, ready to enter the train. Looking around at you at the door, a smile sitting on his lips, he remembers the ritual and waves at you, watching you wave back with a pout on your face that you desperately want to battle with a fake smile.
Chan never verbally says goodbye. Goodbyes suggest that you might never see each other again– but Chan is set on the fact that in a few months, you two will meet again, and you’ll embrace each other with calmness in your heart, because he won’t have to leave again, and he will stay by your side as long as he can.
Setting his feet into the train, no longer looking back, for he thinks that image might tear him up, he takes a seat in his usual carriage, putting his bag on the floor, in between his legs. A grandma with a nice smile on her face asks if the seat next to him is free, and he nods at her, recognising her from the station. It’s funny how life works, he wonders, when the image he had of her, while still waiting for the train, comes true to the last detail.
Taking a deep breath in, he opens the envelope you thrusted into his hands on the station. Taking out a sheet of paper, plain white, written over in light-blue ink of your most favorite pen, he recognises your handwriting in the love letter he’s received.
Dear Chan,
my mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you might kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since, well, before any kiss.* I’m treasuring the moments of us two deep in my heart, keeping them there for the nights when I miss you the most. Promise me you’ll come back soon.
I miss you already.
Y/N xx
Done with the short message, Chan folds the paper back in half, the way he found it in the envelope, ignoring the look the old lady from beside him gives him with eyes full of saddened adoration, reminiscing of the way she read her love letters on the train so long ago.
Looking out the window one last time, Chan wants to meet your gaze before he leaves, but the train is already moving and he only finds the blurry scenery behind his window. Scoffing, while he chews on his bottom lip, trying to make his heart stop hurting with the amount of love it feels for you, he curses you out for saying the words you prohibited him from speaking out loud.
He, too, misses you already.
*an excerpt from Alex Turner's love letter to Alexa Chung
pairing: roommate! han jisung x reader
genre: roommate au | fluff, platonic
wc: 2k (2.030)
warnings: swearing
a/n: another one of my over a year old requests :pp (i only have one left im sorry to the anon who sent it they probably forgot already lmao)
listen to: i'm gonna love you - d.o. ft. wonstein
requested by: @feyregels | THINGS YOU SAID MASTERLIST
13) things you said at the kitchen table
most bad news are always shared at the kitchen table.
Most things between you and Han Jisung are shared at the kitchen table.
It’s been this way since you two moved in together. The small flat you two live in is just big enough for the two of you, with two bedrooms and a tiny living room. The kitchen, surprisingly, has more space than the tiny room that acts as your lounge, and is adorned with a fairly big– for two people, that is– dining table; so it’s only natural for the two of you to meet in the cosy area and sit down when you share news to each other, however important or silly they might be.
The first time this little tradition of yours started was only two weeks after you two moved in. The flat is close to the town centre, where both of your university buildings are located, and with how small it is, it’s still at an affordable price. The cheap rent is, however, reflected in the quality sometimes, and when Jisung asked you to sit with him in the kitchen, because he has something to tell you, the pink glasses were taken off your eyes really quickly as he explained that your toilet flooded the downstairs neighbours due to the drain being rusty and old, not able to hold water in it anymore. It’s only safe to say that your first kitchen table talk cost you a lot of money.
The next few talks at the kitchen table weren’t much brighter either. Even after all those months, you can still remember comforting Jisung at the kitchen table when he failed an important exam or when he broke his favourite mug. The talk you two had about your failed dates and your fights with your friends all went on at the kitchen table as well.
It’s easy. It’s convenient. You sit down, sometimes you even have a bite of the left-overs you’ve acquired over the week, wiping your tears as you eat the spicy pizza Jisung forgot to tell you was spicy in the first place because the chilli flakes were easy to mistake with any regular seasoning, screaming at him to bring you some milk.
And while you may hate how small the place is, and how some of the kitchen appliances stop working from how old they are from time to time, you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Because truth be told, it’s comforting, coming home to a flat you know all and throughout and not having to care about getting back your safety deposit, since the apartment is old in the first place and a few more cracks in the ceiling from opening champagne on your birthdays too carelessly will come unnoticed by the owner. He’s old too, after all– his eyes aren’t even in the state to see all the flaws you’ve naturally made in the flat just by simply living in it.
“You know that our lease is ending at the beginning of July, right?” Jisung asks you one evening, while you both eat ramen after a long day in the dimly lit kitchen.
“What?” you ask him in shock, opening your eyes wide as you glance up at him, mouth full of food. In any other circumstance, you’d at least swallow first before talking, but it’s Han Jisung you’re talking to; your roommate and your eldest friend. He had to bring you toilet paper when it ran out at least 5 times in your life so far. You don’t care anymore.
“Yeah,” he nods, swallowing and resting his back against the chair, “the owner called. He said he’s not sure if he can let us live here anymore, since his daughters moved out and he doesn’t need to live in a house anymore. Said he’s thinking of selling the place and moving to this flat instead, since he’s alone and doesn’t need that much space.”
You look at him with wide eyes full of shock, heart beating at a speed you never knew it could get to. Swallowing hard, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, inhaling deeply through your nose.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Why would I be lying to you?” he squints his eyes at you, shocked that you don’t believe him.
Moving the ramen a little further to the centre of the table, suddenly not feeling like eating anymore, you fold your arms at your chest. “Well, what now? We move out?”
Your roommate shrugs, chewing on the last bite of his lunch. “We wait. He wasn’t sure about it yet. He said he’ll let us know before the end of the month, so we have time to find a new place.”
“Great. This is… just great.”
A few weeks pass by, and each day, you can’t help but think about what Jisung told you. What if you have to move out? What if you have to leave all the memories you made in the flat with Jisung behind? What if you have to find a new place? You doubt it will be easy, considering the rent prices in the town…
When you come home one day, Jisung greets you at the door. Something about him is really suspicious, when he helps you put away your things and his smile is a little too timid. When he invites you to the kitchen, saying he has something to tell you, you’re already prepared for the worst.
“No.”
“What, no?”
“No- you’re- you’re gonna tell me bad news and I know it. Is he moving back in here? Do we have to look for another place? Is he-”
“Please, woman,” he takes you by your shoulder, tugging you into the kitchen, “calm down.”
“I can’t just calm down when you’re about to tell me bad news!”
“How do you know they’re bad?”
“Because we’re in the kitchen! Everything bad always gets discussed in the kitchen,” you mourn, finally sitting down on your designated seat that’s closer to the door to the living room. You put your head into your hands, sighing heavily, your anxiety making your thoughts run in laps around your brain.
Looking around, almost absently, you register Jisung putting a mug of tea onto the table in front of you and an encouraging hand onto your shoulder. Everything about him– his hesitant face, the way he cares for you tonight, the way he doesn’t say much, although he can hardly shut up on any other day, suggests the worst. Your lease is ending and it won’t get renowned, because the owner of the flat decided to move back in and kick you out.
“Are you listening to me?” you register, looking up at Jisung in front of you, hands by his sides.
“Not really…” you mumble, making him sigh.
“Okay, listen to me now, then,” he says. Taking something out of his pocket, folded into a little, white square, he kneels in front of you and holds his palm open in front of your face.
You look at him as if he was an alien. What the hell is he doing, kneeling in front of you? As far as you’re concerned, there’s no ring wrapped in the little paper square in his hands, so what’s this fuss all about? Hesitantly taking the folded paper from him, watching him grin as you open it, he comes behind your sitting body, hugging you around your neck.
“Will you be my roommate for a few more years?” he asks, noticing the pause in your actions.
Your eyes quickly scan the paper in your hands, reading out the contents of it. There you have it– a fresh, new lease, a paper already signed by Han Jisung himself at the very bottom of it, with a spot empty right next to his signature, waiting for you to scribble down your last name to seal the contract. Full of disbelief, you don’t react.
“Will you say something, or… shall I wait a few more hours?”
He doesn’t get a reply from you. Staring at the paper in your hands, you almost don’t believe it. All this time, your intuition has been telling you that you’re gonna have to move and leave everything behind. The image of it was scary, so heavy in your heart that even now, the whole situation feels unreal.
“He… he changed his mind?”
“I mean… he… he…” your roommate struggles to find his words, looking a little suspicious.
“Jisung?”
Now is his time to remain silent. “Han Jisung?” you glare at him, sensing that something is off. There is only a few seconds left before you stand up and chase him around the apartment, and considering the fact that it’s small and he hasn’t been in the gym in ages, he won’t run far. Han Jisung knows that, since it wouldn’t be the first time you’re chasing him around the apartment in anger, so, admitting defeat, he spills the truth.
“Well,” he giggles, almost a little nervously, “he… he wasn’t really going to in the first place. He just called me the other day and told me about the lease ending… and that he’ll come by and drop off the new contract…”
“Jisung?” you look at him with eyes that scream explain yourself or else you’re sleeping on the stairs outside of the apartment tonight, making him snicker in stress.
“Look! I just wanted to surprise you! And if I just told you that the lease is gonna get renown, it won’t be fun. All I wanted was to bring some excitement into your life, since you were taking the place we have for granted, you know- SIT BACK DOWN OR ELSE I’LL JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW!”
Chasing him around the apartment, Jisung quickly tries to hide in his bedroom. There’s no use in running, though– as already mentioned, there’s not much place to do so anyway. You meet him in his bedroom in no time, gritted teeth and pupils shaking in furry, searching around his room for something to throw at him in nerves. Finding his lost shoe in the corner, you take it into your hands and get ready to hit him right in his head, when the boy tucks away and hides on his bed, body disappearing under the duvet.
Jumping after him, the shoe hitting the other corner of the room, your body lands on the lump of him under you, throwing the covers off in the process. Your expression must look truly horrifying, when the boy scarily tries to get you off his body and hide away again.
“Leave me alone, you monster! This is what I get for wanting to surprise you?” he screams, bursting into laughter when you corner him on the bed, taking the covers off his head exactly a second after he puts them back, creating a predicting rhythm.
“Fuck you, Han Jisung. Can you imagine how stressed I was?” you scream, glaring at him in the spare second when you see his face.
“I just-”
“Apologise!” you scream, hearing him laugh under the covers, before he takes them off his head himself, looking you in your eyes and sighing.
“I won’t-”
“You’re sleeping on the stairs tonight!” you threaten, completely serious.
Knowing that you’re completely serious and 100% able to lock him out if you really wanted to, he sighs. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out so much,” he says, honest eyes softening.
Stopping with your attack, you stay sitting on him, the duvet being the only barrier between your bodies, frowning at him once more.
“Can you go sign the lease now, though? He said he’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”
“Fine,” you squint, sighing as you lean closer to him before standing up from the bed, sending a flick to his forehead.
“Aw!” he screams in pain, although a little over-exaggerated, making you giggle.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you grin, putting a quick peck to the spot you hurt on his forehead, leaving you both a blushing mess as you escape the room and run towards the kitchen table to sign perhaps one of the only good news you’ve received in that place.
genre | heavy angst, hurt-comfort, fluff undertones
wc | part one : 20.6k+
warnings | suicidal themes, suicide attempt, mentions of drowning, dysfuntional family, death, smoking, themes of depression, mentions of anxiety, cancer, language, heavy themes, suggestive, eventual allusions to smut (there will be allusions, but i’m hoping i won’t have to write actual smut for this).
a/n | here she is, officially rolling out part one, otherwise i’ll never push myself to complete this :’D
parts | one | two | three
PART ONE.
ONE – UNWASHED DISHES IN THE SINK.
It's a Saturday afternoon, and Kim’s Diner is brimming with locals and tourists alike during a particularly busy lunch hour.
The suds of the dishwater splatters on your arm, tiny bubbles staining the sleeve of your old black sweater before getting swallowed into the fabric in an oval patch. The lingering worry of the rolled up sleeves getting drenched is drowned in the pile of dishes waiting to be washed and dried, something Minho reminds you of with an attempt to hurry you up in the process with a subtle threat of the orders on hold. It mocks you, somewhat.
You can smell it, the oily meat and the spicy soup in the midst of the lemony scent of the dish soap, clanging of pots and ladles behind your back and the swift hands working their knives into chopping vegetables.
A bead of sweat slides down the side of your face, falling into the sink, the tiny kitchen cramped and hot, making you perspire and wipe your face, but you resist the urge to rub the tingling left behind by the trickling sweat down the side of your face in the fear of getting soap bubbles all over your face. That would certainly be a gross feeling.
The bell on the wall dings, another order slip clipped to the wire mesh across the small window separating the dining and the kitchen area, a new set of instructions being yelled. Another portion of soup, another plate of grilled meat, a bowl of udon, pan fried noodles; a loud chorus of yells break out, everybody scattering towards their workstations – in essence it’s mostly the same, because the restaurant doesn’t offer much when it comes to a diverse platter. Not that you were catering to people with a refined palette, it was a small local restaurant tucked away in a small cranny of the hill where everybody knew everybody, and for those who had been living here for years, they didn’t even require the menus – now yellowed and fraying at the edges of its lamination, the plastic bent and peeling.
Stacking the last plate onto the drying rack, Felix is quick to take over, smiling at you as he picks up the dry cloth and wipes them down before putting them away carefully on the shelves. Removing your pink scrubbing gloves, your attention is called to the front where Mr. Kim – the owner, a man in his sixties now, who mainly mans the front desk and chats with the customers, giving free reign to the younger generation after keeping this place alive for almost thirty years– asks you to serve and clean up tables. A sharp pain jolts through your left wrist, the first sign of a terrible ache seeping through your bones. You ignore it.
Untying the damp apron from around your waist, you leave the chaos of the kitchen, wiping your sweat on your sweater sleeves only to shiver when you push open the door into the diner, the sudden change in temperature noticeable and a temporary respite from the heat of the oils and spices, but only for so long since it would eventually start to feel much too cold out here as it got darker outside.
It’s not long after that the chilly air makes you pull your sleeves down, your loose knitted sweater too flimsy for withstanding the cold by itself, but hustling around the diner helps you disregard the occasional gusts of winds through the open doors and cracks in the windows.
The restaurant itself was a quaint little thing with white stone walls, the telltale coziness of being perched atop a hill between tall trees, aged with vines draped around its chipping paint like a dress made of leaves, flagged along the perimeter by small ground lights, all glowing in different intensities with age. A wooden sign with roughened edges now fading engravings of ‘Kim’s Diner’ hung above the door.
Nobody minded the worn out wooden furniture and the same old chequered tablecloths in red and white, if anything, there was a sense of familiarity to it all, like a place preserved in memory for years, still running and still alive.
Tucked in the hills, the sloping terracotta roofs perched up were visible from the foot of the hill, burnt brick and missing a few tiles, but a certain landmark even still after years. The huge trees almost clamped down like an overgrown canopy, wide steps with moss carpets gradually merging into a downward slope leading down to the main hill town, but it was a decent walk downhill and the spot where the restaurant was nestled felt like a secret shared by the people of this small hill town.
You liked it up here though, leaning against the rusty railings to look down upon the town under a darkening sky, lights blinking into life and people walking by; nothing seemed rushed, it wasn’t quiet but it was calm.
From where you leaned across the table, running a slightly damp cloth over the plastic covering the tablecloth, you spot a figure through the window with bright blonde hair climbing up the stairs, struggling to breath and bending against their knees to catch his breath. Another tourist, you suppose, from the looks of their bright hair and camera bag strapped across their shoulder.
They stop for a moment, leaning against the balusters of the long railings, their profile inclined sideways such that the foggy windows don't let you have a good look at their face, but you discern it to be a man. You stare for a while at the broad back, the weather inappropriate attire of a simple brown cashmere sweater with the neck of a white t-shirt visible under the collar unsurprising, since most tourists didn’t often feel the cold of the hills as you did, usually coming from lands hotter and their winters more cruel that the winds of the hills were but a mere breeze of respite after a long day of hiking for them.
Inhaling a long breath, he’s still for a few seconds, eyes closed and turned towards the sky as if soaking in the winter sun, lips parting when he exhales through his mouth, chest heaving at the slight exertion, one strap of his bag slipping off his shoulder before he pulls it back up.
A low rumble echoes and you're momentarily distracted, your eyes turning towards the sky which was starting to turn grey, the clouds slowly rolling in and you knew the evening would get chillier if it indeed rained. The thought makes you shiver, drawing the knitted sweater closer around you, too flimsy for the incoming weather, the familiar sting in your wrist explained.
Placing the salt and pepper shakers beside the napkin stand, you attend to a call of a bottle of soju, pacing towards the refrigerator and pulling out a chilled bottle of the drink before placing it on the table with a shot glass for the customer.
Felix calls from the front, order for table seven ready to be served and you make your way to the serving counter, placing the hot steaming bowls of udon and a set of chopsticks each, swishing it away amongst the loud chatter and gradually louder rumbling of the skies with a practised proficiency, almost missing the ding of the bell that goes off when the front door opens.
You're in a hurry to serve though, not catching the person entering and by the time you've placed the dishes down in front of the hungry teenagers who ordered them, you only catch the same broad back with a mop of brilliant blonde hair walking towards one of the tables and sitting with their back facing towards you. The tourist from before.
The first few drops of rain are fat droplets of water, you’re in the kitchen again, the steam of dimsums and steamed vegetables greeting you as you stir a pot of clear soup, heating it exactly for three minutes and then ladling the slightly frothy and thickened with cornstarch liquid into white bowls, plating them on a large tray, ready to be handed out. With Seungmin, your usual helping hand, on a three day leave, you suddenly found yourself helping with the serving and cooking simultaneously, Felix helping you out as much as he could but he could only do so much, especially when Minho required him in the back, chopping and cooking. Regardless, you appreciated the help and didn’t mind the extra work.
There wasn’t really a concept of the intricacies of cooking like in high end restaurants such as the ones in the city, in fact, all the recipes were a Kim family heirloom, handed down through generations before Minho came and changed up the dynamic in his own way without ever entirely changing the essence of it. The noodles were handmade, the vegetables cut using only a knife, without worrying about the exact thickness of the onion rings – at the end of the day, really, no one cared about all that fancy stuff, satisfied to just be able to enjoy the same old dishes.
Maybe that’s why you stayed, even though you had craved change so longingly. In the end, you only found comfort in what was familiar.
A new order is strung up on the mesh wire. You’re already out the doors with the previous order, the rain now having picked up pace and turned into a steady drizzle. It already smelled like wet earth and freshly mown grass. You have no time to stop and appreciate the scenery though, quite literally hustling now since it was only you on serving duty now.
The sound of chatter increases, the rain falls harder, harsher, the already dim diner turns darker and gloomier, only alive with the constant chattering of people and the sound of cutlery. Felix rings from the front, handing you the order for table number five, a two seater near the window where the blonde haired tourist sat, head turned towards the window and watching the rain as it poured now.
You smile and lift the tray, wincing when your wrist bends a bit too painfully, almost dropping the tray but you’re quick to disregard it as you move with caution now, slightly breathless at the exertion. You might not be complaining but it seemed like you did mind the lack of another helping hand what with the diner being busier on weekends.
“Order for dim sums and udon,” you say, carefully picking up the bowl and pot of steamed dim sums and placing them on the table with a pair of chopsticks, “enjoy your meal.”
You look up at the man, your perfunctory smile for the customers already making its way up to your lips before you abruptly stop short, lips awkwardly turning back down in belated realisation.
You stare at the man with a breath you don’t even realise you’re holding, the cogs in your brain positively churning, and yet you don’t exude the bewilderment on your face, containing it in your chest with pursed lips and a choked up throat.
“Hey (y/n), it’s been a while…” the man smiles, the dimples on his cheeks deepening then vanishing when he realises you don’t return his greeting.
Your claw-like hold around the tray goes limp, almost slipping through your fingers as you stare dumbstruck and quite idiotically. The rain pounds on the roof like a torrent of bullets outside as if to maim, trees swaying under nature's assault, the diner lights up in a yellow glow under the darkening sky.
A jolt of pain surges through your wrist again, your fingers twitching against the serving dish. The noise in the diner heightens, a dull throb in your head like blood rushing up too suddenly, the heat from the kitchen suddenly turned reminiscent even though you had just been in there not even five minutes ago.
A loud gust of wind blows through the cracks of the doors and windows, carrying with it tiny splatters of rain that tickle the back of your neck as it seeps through your loose knitted sweater and settles like a chill in your bones.
It doesn’t bother you.
TWO – ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON.
It was late by the time Chan woke up.
Rubbing his eyes groggily, he groaned at the light filtering through his windows, covering his face with his hands, his limbs still weighing him down in a relaxed state on his worn out mattress. The time on his phone read way past noon, and with an absentmindedness induced by his just woken up mind, he noted that this was by far the most he had slept in an entire week.
Sitting up on his bed, he scratches his naked chest, recalling getting rid of his shirt sometime in the middle of the night when he kept tossing and turning against his sheets. Lazily stretching out his limbs, he lets out a loud yawn that makes his jaw hurt and eyes tear up.
He has no plans today, except staying at home and studying for semester finals. He wasn’t looking forward to it, his body promptly confirming that doubt when he plopped back down, head hitting the pillow with a dull throb.
His phone buzzed somewhere around him, his hands prodding and searching amongst the scrambled up sheets for the device. A message from Jisung reminding him to cover his afternoon shift at the cafe and thanking him yet again. He groans when he realises he promised Jisung to cover for him today and only had a little more than two hours to get ready and as he had been putting it these days, get his shit together. Two hours was more than enough, it wasn’t like he had much to do except shower, eat and smoke a cigarette.
His thumb scrolled through his planner app, his day cleared off his usual ‘history - finish module 1’ to ‘cafe shift!’, the former shifted to a later part of the day since weekends were mostly flexible for him.
Chan had fallen into a habit of planning his days, which meant every day on his calendar had been planned to the T weeks prior, from exactly every single activity and chore he would carry out the following month so that by the end of it, he had something going on for him. If Friday was grocery shopping, then no matter how tired he was after an extended tutoring session, he’d be there at the 24/7 mart at three AM, slapping watermelons to check their ripeness or grabbing whatever was left of the fresh kale in the isles.
For the majority of his day, he was impelled to study for his finals in a week from now, hunched over his desk cramming his History of Photography III textbook wondering why this was necessary in the first place, while he tried not to be distracted by the imposing anxieties of the world waiting for him after these last few months of the protection of his university.
In his final year of his photography major, he couldn’t deny the increasing apprehension of having to step out from under the protective umbrella over his head, his professor’s chimes of his prodigal achievements deemed smaller and superficial the nearer he approached his graduation. Already politely turned away from three interning companies, his alleged talent was under full threat of being judged and tossed aside as an average to decent performance. He still had a few months, but time either seemed to slow down on some days and yet on others speed past him in a whimsical blur where he would be left reeling under his unproductiveness and the growing pain in his chest of not being enough.
His planning had not all been in vain; he had started off with a fresh mind, keeping up with applying for internships, completing his assignments all the while working at a cafe that had been a godsend in the form of Jisung and his unusual knack for convincing the manager to get another barista even though they weren’t short of staff, and on some days doing photoshoots for weddings and the fashion department for a decent wage. He was adulting, and though his sixteen year old self had looked forward to the prospect of this notion, now he wanted nothing but to go back to those days.
It was this same prospect that had excited him when he received a full scholarship to his university in Seoul. Much of his life, all he could remember was spending it in the hills, where even though the weather was pleasant and the people were kind, his starry eyed dreams as a teenager to leave that small town and move to a metropolitan city had been a fixation – a drive for him to work hard and shoot his shot and get out of that place.
It was nice for a while, he was in his honeymoon phase, quite literally marvelling at the fast paced life in the streets, adrenaline filled lungs breathing in the new life excitedly till his nights bled into days which bled into more nights and not long after, he felt like he was dangling from the hands of a clock that dictated every move he made.
He forgot about his home in the meantime, so caught up in the chaos of everyday life, of the same smell of coffee and baked buns, the same fabric of his brown apron, the same bus to the university campus, the same classes with a professor droning on about visual literacy, the same stick of cigarette dangling between his lips, the same stress of finals every year. Same, same, same. Boring. Mundane. Exhausting.
The stars in his eyes dulled with every passing day, his room often reeked of takeout food, prints upon prints of films lay in a scatter across his desk, none of them seemingly what people were looking for.
Turning the shower cap on, Chan lets himself dwell on his mundanity, at the end of the day he was another faceless person in the crowd because the city was too big and too grand and too dazzling that it hid all other beings in its shadows. It was a big wide hole, a void sucking everybody in. Chan was also lost somewhere in there, lured in by the diamond like gleam at first sight, only to be trapped in a tedious life where he competed against himself every day without knowing what he was competing for. It was like sitting in a test without knowing what he was to be tested on.
The water spurts out ice like in the cold January, making him flinch when it hits him out of nowhere. But he stays rooted under the showerhead, standing his ground till he got used to the temperature and the water gradually turns lukewarm. It reminds him of a memory in the back of his head, of children squealing and a water fight. He urges the images to go away, inexplicably chastised at the mere thought of it. He was no child anymore, whining for a nostalgic summer in the cold months.
The water has always been Chan’s greatest friend.
In fact, he’d go as far as to say that it’s been a sort of companion to him when he was younger. He claims so only because of a vivid recollection of throwing himself in the huge wave with his dad yelling at him before two strong arms picked him up and away from the clutches of the water.
He had whined, missing the way the foamy waves had engulfed him in a topaz hug, the sand under his feet dissolving like air through his toes, the silky curtain leaving him drenched and longing for a taste of more. He whined and whined and whined till at last he was sent to swimming lessons just to shut him up. That, and also, his parents didn’t want their son to drown doing something reckless like that again.
He was comfortable in the water. It held him snuggly in its embrace and when he dunked his head underneath and opened his eyes, he was met with a blue silence that deafened any other noise with its dulcet palms over his ears.
Under the comfort of the transparent blanket, the voices and shapes above his head were garbled and distorted and a part of him liked that. A part of him liked to envision those shapes as blurry blobs speaking a gibberish language. He didn’t have to put a name to them nor try to distinguish them from one another; a childhood fantasy that became a habit and stuck like a leech to him.
It’s a calming fixation on most days now when he doesn’t have to worry about his career. But of course, we will talk about it, because there’s a trouble plaguing everybody in the small nooks and crannies of their life, some people just let it stay there, oblivious to its existence and others have a hard time fighting it off when it seeps into their bones like moist vapour, settling down heavily in the calcium crevices.
Chan likes to believe this process of staying underwater for as long as his lungs permits him to, now heavy with the smoke he’s injected in them, as cathartic. A shit load of help that is when he’s vividly aware of his rotting insides with what he had done to them himself, but regardless, he likes to think that the longer he stays in water, he’s ridding himself of the plague that is always a hair’s breadth away from attaching themselves to his core, except he takes the extra measure of ensuring that he’s inhaling chlorine water if he loses control and spluttering in surprise as if that weren’t his intention from the start.
He wouldn’t like to admit it, but it was his coping mechanism as Jisung had put it so blatantly, because doing so would mean he needed help. He didn’t need help. He just liked to hold his breath underwater when things got slightly inconvenient, but that did not equate to needing help.
He’s out of the shower soon enough, draping on a black hoodie in his cramped one-and-a-half room apartment, the most he could afford under his crippling student loan, strolling towards the tiny refrigerator for breakfast. There’s only some leftover kimchi, a day-old kimbap roll and ripe bananas.
Chan didn’t have a dining table, he didn’t deem it necessary, rather a hassle to fit it into his tiny apartment, especially when he ate all his meals alone, which he could do perfectly well sitting on the ground with his back against his beaten down couch, the plastic takeout containers placed on the low coffee table and his laptop beside it, playing some movie he put on for the sake of a break from his hectic days.
Yet, he wasn’t entirely unhappy with the way things had turned out. His gaze trails up from where he sat on the couch, the wall in front of him bereft of any photo frames but filled with strings of polaroids and sticky notes. The grainy films with smiling people – his friends, sticky notes, crumpled and some torn and taped back with silly doodles and one with a lipstick stain – Chan still smiles, even though the paper jaggedly torn and the number of the girl who hit on him at the bar two years ago tossed out a long time ago, Hyunjin had thought it funny to add the memento to a growing collection of silly, smiling people on the wall. He was happy, he was fine. He had friends, they loved him and he loved them.
But why couldn’t he smile? Why were his muscles so tense and tired? The food in his mouth suddenly feels too hard to chew, his jaws aching and throat burning when he swallows. His eyes suddenly blurry, a thin curtain of moisture veils them. One moment he swallowed the smoke of his cigarette and the very next he gasped for air like a novice beginner.
He was fine, but as he sat there with a mouthful of rice, he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face in a gentle stream.
THREE – UNFINISHED CHAPTERS
The present would not exist for you had there not been a past.
In hindsight, everything that you did now, whatever you were now, had all been because of who you had been in the past, or rather whatever scraps the past had left you to be sewn.
You wake up rested, but even more exhausted than when you went to bed. Your days sewing a paradoxical blanket whose weight you had gotten used to.
You’ve never paid much attention to how people around you felt, because mostly they were happier than you were with dysfunctional families and it only rooted a sense of deep reproach in you; how were you not allowed to be this happy? How could people smile and pretend the stench of their broken homes didn’t stick on their clothes and seep through their skin, following them around wherever they went? How did people go around you without feeling the continuous need to scratch that itch of jealousy and resentfulness of not having what someone else did?
You realised it was so jarringly easy to disassociate yourself from all that under a pair of chocolate eyes that stared down at you kindly, just a sliver of boyish mischievousness behind them, but the inexplicable yet unavoidable comfort of slowly easing yourself into a sense of warmth that they brought.
It's the smallest of things that lead to a bigger plan premeditated all along and in your case it was the forgotten pencil pouch on your study table at home that fateful Wednesday morning. Of course you scrambled around, rummaging through your bag in the hopes of finding a stray pen in the depths of it, but it was no luck and you had resigned yourself to borrowing one from the person sitting behind you except, he seemed to have beaten you to it.
Three little taps on your shoulder had you turning around to a kind smile and an upraised hand with a pencil between its fingers, motioning at you to take it.
You decided then that you didn’t like this boy.
It was an impulsive decision, yet it was one of those intuitive feelings of having an immaculate dislike to someone who didn’t mind being scoffed for helping the scapegoat of the class, perfectly capable of ignoring the disbelieving stares of his classmates.
Had the sixteen year old you sensed an ulterior motive to his actions? Or had you just reproached the genuinity in his eyes? You had ultimately accepted his offering, the wooden stick with its yellow plastic wrapping around its shaft feeling alien against your fingers, but before long you had learnt to ignore the confused glares directed towards you and pressed the lead against your workbook as you proceeded to work in silence.
You weren’t at the extreme brunt of your class’s ramifications of simply wanting to be on the top of something, but you weren’t exactly the most ingrained in its social gratifications either; it was perhaps your aloofness to it all that made you a part of the outcasts. So far, eating alone had worked out for you, jogging along the track at your own pace had suited you, spending your time in one corner of the library in your free time had been gratifying.
In spite of making it clear that it was what you preferred, you found yourself being plagued by him at all times. Those brown eyes seemed to be looking out for you everywhere you went and the kind smile always curled on his lips when you finally took notice. You didn’t like it, not one bit, starting from the way the chair beside you at lunch was always occupied, there was always a pair of panting lungs when you jogged along the track field and the ever so present sound of pages being flicked in your ears in a spot in the library that was supposed to be only yours.
You didn’t like finding yourself gazing up at a pair of chocolate orbs, drowning you in their depths every time you stared too hard, a beat longer than you were supposed to. An unusual friendship bloomed out of it, one where you reprised your aloofness and Chan, his endearing demeanour of sticking to you like a leech. The much too energetic one and the much too tired one – a dynamic your classmates had never expected, but you weren’t complaining when it acted like a shield before eventually, they started to take less notice of you. Or transitioning to high school made them mature.
Your dislike for him did not arise of its own accord; at first it had been a conscious decision to resent someone who looked happier than you. But even the most stubborn person can be moved by genuinity, and you had never quite turned entirely stone cold stubborn. Perhaps he had saved you in a way, for a brief moment, but he had prevented you from walking down the steps of the dark void.
Where does one even start with Chan? In all fairness, you didn’t think you would ever have to start with him again; he was an unfinished chapter in your book you had long decided to omit. You were sure if you were to ever pen down your autobiography, you would not mention him in the least, treating him like the air around you, unnecessary to bring to notice.
But even air is ever so present, though not required to be brought up in everyday conversations because of its unconsciously silent presence.
He would be there, under countless drafts of your uneventful life, the pages filled with a curly haired, brown-eyed boy whose cheeks blossomed into dimples when he smiled. It was romantic, it was tragic. It was a story you wished would never end, but even so, the gurgling pit in your stomach ever so present served as a reminder that every story has an ending.
The only thing worse than having an ending would be an unfinished book. You hid under the cover of the pristine pages under this reassurance, that Chan would not be an unfulfilled fragment of memory you would jot down in ink like a summer dream, before exactly that happened. Aloofness causes no pain until brought to reality.
The basis of your friendship lay on a strong foundation of your peculiarly clashing personalities, interests and fears.
While Chan was a social butterfly in your school, you were the quiet one simply there for education. Making friends had never been your forte nor was that on the forefront of your mind for as long as you could remember. Till Chan, quite literally, thrust himself into your life.
Yet, quite amusingly, he was the one who made you resent the water less.
There has only been one instance you’ve had a brush with (almost) drowning, but it made you regard the prospect of even stepping near a water body a daunting and scary once.
You were in second grade, the time when people this age are usually immature little brats and would do anything for the sake of entertainment. You had only learnt how to doggy paddle and float in water, but even so the thought of trying to stay afloat in the 6 feet deep end, the idea of not being able to feel the ground with your feet, had daunted you and you pretty much made it through every time by just swimming along the length in quick strokes till you were certain the water didn’t reach above your waist with your feet touched the slippery ground beneath.
It was an unpleasant surprise therefore, to find yourself being pushed into the deeper end out of nowhere, your body falling straight down vertically and your inability to come up to the surface making you take huge gulps of air which in turn only choked you more. It was quite a scene, your limbs flailing and silent screams of help escaping in bubbles through your lips.
You never went near a pool again.
Almost four years later, you feel yourself drowning again - in a set of familiar eyes you had already once found yourself a victim to ages ago. The familiarity was nostalgic, akin somewhat to finding a lost piece of jewellery years later after you thought you had lost it. And it was so different. It was breathing and suffocating at the same time, it was fear and euphoria in a concoction, it was too much all at once. You liked it. You hated it. You hated liking it. You liked hating it. You… you missed it. You didn’t resent it.
You find yourself getting drawn into those eyes again, perhaps similar to the way you had back then, ever since, but you've never quite been able to place this feeling.
You've both changed drastically, it’s not just physically you’re sure; he looks wiser, more tired and much more mature. You catch a whiff of mint breath fresheners, a scent you had never associated with him but nonetheless so characteristic of him, you couldn’t call it alien or unlikely of him to adopt it.
Yet it's more than that, he is just so... so very beautiful.
You blink.
Once, twice and thrice. He grows shy (or perhaps uncomfortable) under your gaze, flickering his eyes down to the condensing drops of water glazing around his cup of iced tea, beaded diamonds easily destructible with a flick of his fingers. He twists his digits in his lap, resisting the urge to do so.
You wonder what would have happened had you not forgotten your pencil case at home that Wednesday morning.
“Hi (y/n), long time…”
The din inside the restaurant feels like white noise, it’s everywhere, sticking to your thin sweater, buzzing through your hair, nipping at your skin.
“Long time indeed…”
You smell like dishwater and oil. Chan smells like breath mints.
“Good to…see you?”
White noise. Humming, buzzing, electrifying. Everywhere; on your skin, on your clothes, in your hair.
“Um (y/n),” a halt in your steps, you turn around, “we should…hang out some time. Catch up, maybe?”
Expectant eyes, hopeful voice, cautious words.
Do you want to finish this chapter after all?
FOUR – ICED TEA IN A SPOT OF SUN.
Most people don’t understand the amount of theoretical knowledge that goes into a major like photography, it’s not always pointing a lens wherever you want and taking a picture. Anybody can do that, anybody can be good at taking pictures without having to pay for a degree for the same.
Nonetheless, Chan rose beyond the intimidating notion of having to do well. He enjoyed what he did, had a passion for it and therefore he thought he could make it past four years banking only on his passion and talent.
What nobody told him was the world outside was too cold, too frigid – downright ignorant of him and his flame that spluttered out the second he stepped outside. He was a nobody in the huge bowl of success stories chosen at random by the universe.
In fact, who was Chan at this point? What was he?
Another product of the society that force feeds their generation to do well…. No, he had risen above that semantic error, he had worked hard, he had understood every single text and every single parabolic function in his textbooks rather than remembering them by heart before throwing up the texts jammed in his head on his exam papers.
He read every single book like they held the world’s greatest information, studied extra hard, solved equations for the mere fun of it all because he wanted to understand; he wanted to know the working behind them, dismantle them and play with them.
And yet here he was, twenty three and supposedly much wiser than when he was in middle school, and still! He understood nothing, what was he supposed to be doing?
All his life, he had been fed the grains of being a talented individual, sure to do great things, of having such a pleasant personality, someone who would never hurt a fly. Someone loved, adored and precious to not just family and acquaintances but even to fleeting strangers who strayed into his life momentarily.
It’s admittedly easier to hold back on such thoughts as of the moment though, when Chan is busy battling the cobwebs all over his clothes and sneezing into his hands so he doesn’t further unsettle all the dust around him.
Since the day he arrived, he’s been at the gargantuan task of cleaning up his old house in the hills. Granted, his parents had put it out for rent even as a holiday home, they had never hired someone to regularly keep this place in check. Now that their son was back in the hills for a few months at the most, they were more than happy to let him stay sans the rent.
While it wasn’t all that bad, he would have to call in for some minor plumbing work and look at the light out front in the porch since it wouldn’t work and he had almost tripped on his own feet trying to navigate his way to the front door through the dark.
Though only a week had passed, he had not made his presence known explicitly. He knew for a fact that you and Minho had stayed back, he wasn’t sure he was up for a rendezvous with the town people. It wasn’t like him to avoid social gatherings, he had indeed noticed most of the older folks who were still here, but he would much rather have some time to himself before stepping out and announcing his visit.
So he busied himself with cleaning up the house, turning down his mother’s proposal to find a helping hand, insisting that he would rather do it himself. He needed that time for himself, and though a helping hand sounded like a godsend, the ache in his back every night he went to bed almost felt gratifying. The dust in his nose and the grit under his nails did not.
Though a part of him was slightly impatient in wanting to reach out to his old friends, it was also equally anxiety inducing to anticipate your reactions. Where does one even start with such things? Back in the city, it was easy to lose connection for weeks during finals, but there was an unspoken bond of reconnecting right after with a simple text and a coffee date down a few blocks.
Chan hasn’t been here in almost four years. That was four years of lost contact and unknowingly, it was suddenly starting to weigh down on him of how quickly the time had passed by without him even noticing. How do you reconnect with friends you haven’t talked to in so long?
The answer came in the form of his front door ringing on his fourth day while he was in the midst of scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of grime on the floor.
He opened the door wearing his rubber gloves, sweating and with a frown at the interruption. The moment the stranger makes themself known, Chan is gasping in recognition and grinning almost like his ten year old self had – all too bubbly and pleasantly surprised.
“Minho! Holy shit!”
The boy in question smiles back gleefully, pulling Chan in for a hug disregarding the protest and a faint cry of dirty gloves and clothes.
Chan pulls back and stands at his doorstep, watching almost in awe as Minho takes his shoes off and lifts up a box wrapped in blue cloth, grinning down at the boy who had been a dominant part of his childhood. He still had his catty eyes and pouty smile and was as tall as Chan himself, maybe even taller, definitely a toned physique since when he last saw him in high school. Still reeling under slight shock, he realises he hasn’t stopped ogling at the boy till pointed out rather sassily by him.
“I know I grew up handsome and all, butt geez, are you gonna invite me in or stand here the whole day?”
Letting out a fond scoff, Chan leads him in, still grinning.
Minho sits on the floor where Chan had laid out a jute mattress for the time being, all his furniture subjected to a rough dusting and cleaning out in the backyard where they now sat basking in the sun before he would bring them in later in the evening.
“Sorry for the mess, and uh, lack of furniture,” Chan remarks sheepishly, bringing out a large glass flask of filled honey lemon tea and two glasses, “I’ve been making this place habitable again.”
“No worries, I don’t mind.”
Chan adjusts the table fan to face them, taking a seat beside him in a spot of sunlight streaming in through the huge windows in the front. Though colder in the evenings and at night, Chan lived at the foot of the hill where it was comparatively warmer for most part of the day and his house always received a good spot of the sun during afternoons.
Minho takes a swig from his cup, letting out a sigh of satisfaction when the cold drink hit the right spots and pushes the box towards Chan.
“I brought you some food, guessed you could use some when I heard you’ve been ordering takeout for three days straight.”
Chan eagerly unwraps the bundled knot to find a huge wooden lunch box sitting within.
“Thanks a lot Minho, your mom sent this?”
“No, I made it.”
“You did?!”
Minho scoffed at the look of surprise on Chan’s face and he worried he might have offended him in some way, but before he could apologise, Minho cut in.
“Yeah, I went to culinary school and know how to cook now, surprise!”
If anything, all the new information was only slightly overwhelming to Chan who was still getting used to his old friend’s presence again in his childhood home. It was reminiscent and nostalgic.
“That’s great! We should…we should catch up some day, there’s so much I want to talk about.”
“I’m sure there is,” Minho smiles and Chan can place him again in his memories of a sixteen year old nerdy boy with a shy smile and glasses, “I would love to as well. You should come over to Kim’s Diner, it’s on the top of the hill. I work there now.”
“Hey, I remember Kim’s Diner. Wow, you work there now…that’s just…wow.”
Minho laughs again at his friend’s disbelief. It was fascinating how much had changed in the past few years and yet, now that they sat here chatting and catching up, it was easy as always to laugh and smile in each other’s presence.
“So…culinary school huh? I always thought you would either end up majoring in CS or performing arts maybe. Not that it’s not good, I just mean, you know…you were always inclined towards those.”
Minho contemplates the question for a while, leaning back on his palms and stretching his toes in the sunlight. Chan takes the time to gaze at him more; he really has changed so much. His naturally black hair was dyed a dark midnight blue now, falling gracefully across his eyes that were bereft of the glasses he had been so used to. His hands are more callused and the veins visible, posture so much more mature and confident. Lee Minho had grown up so well, and a surge of pride flowed through Chan at the sight. He was happy for the man Minho had become and proud of him even though he didn’t know all that was to know yet. But that was okay, they will catch up gradually. Yet, there was no doubt Chan would only feel more proud of his friend.
“I guess I didn’t see it coming either. It just sort of happened. I think I met Seungmin around that time and he may have hinted that I could make some real use of this talent. The rest is sort of history.”
“Seungmin?” Chan asks, not missing the fond smile on Minho’s face.
“My boyfriend.”
“Huh?!”
“Why, is there a problem?” There was a split second of defensiveness to his tone that is not lost on Chan but he'll be damned if Chan made the impression of being against it.
“I mean! I don’t care if you date boys…I mean I care of course, but like– not as in…it’s not a problem, not that I consider it one! I just meant that you– that…”
Minho cocks a brow at his friend, stifling the laughter bubbling up his chest at the way Chan’s ears grew hot and red and the man basically stuttered his way through the piece of information.
“It’s just…you keep dropping all this stuff out of nowhere, I’m just surprised. In a good way, I mean!”
With that Minho finally laughs, and it’s only then that Chan can really recognise his friend behind all the changes. The soft tinkle of his voice and the uncontained glee as he almost rolls on the floor. Ah yes, this was Lee Minho indeed – his childhood friend.
Chan cracks a smile, joining in the laughter and sipping iced tea late into the afternoon. They talk a lot, from university to life in the city and the hills and old memories and friends and all the new people in their lives but there’s still so much to uncover and so little time.
It was around half past five when Minho finally stretched on his spot on the floor and sat up.
“I should head back now, I need to start preparing for the dinner shift. Besides, Seungmin’s leaving for Seoul tonight, I promised to spend some time with him.”
“Oh?” Chan remarks, sitting up too from where he had been slouching against the wall, “he’s leaving tonight? I was hoping I could meet him.”
“Oh don’t worry, he’ll be back in a few days. He got invited to a teaching camp for extra credits and he intends to go. You know Shinha University in the next town? He works there as a TA.” Minho says with some pride.
Chan nods in acknowledgement, walking Minho to the door where the latter struggles to wear his shoes standing up, eliciting an amused chuckle from him.
“Hyung, you should come to the diner tomorrow. I’ll treat you to a meal and…you can also meet (y/n).”
For the first time since the afternoon, Minho had almost cautiously let your name slip into the conversation. He would like to think it sneaky of him, but the stunned look on Chan’s face almost made him feel guilty for not mentioning your earlier.
Chan on the other hand simply stood and stared at Minho who met his gaze sheepishly.
“(y/n) is…still here?”
Minho nods, shoving his hands inside his pocket.
“Oh. I guess I could drop by sometime this week.”
Biting his lips, Minho contemplates his next words carefully, trying to decipher what the smile on Chan’s face meant and whether he had crossed the line or not. When it seemed like Chan wasn’t upset at him, he ventures to say:
“We all missed you, you know? And…(y/n) had a bit of a hard time after you left,” taking a deep breath, he confesses, “but you’re back now so…so maybe we could all catch up.”
Breathlessly, Chan nods with a clenched jaw. He forces himself to keep smiling though his chest has suddenly started weighing down on him. He knows that Minho probably didn’t mean to keep your being here a secret, but just the minuscule realisation that he had waited until he was leaving made him wonder whether this had been the intent of his visit after all. Regardless, the soft undertone to his words was not lost on him and he was thankful to Minho for letting him know.
“We will Minho, I promise. I just gotta…figure some stuff out and then I can face my past I guess.” A light chuckle follows his statement and Minho smiles, tight lipped.
Chan bids him a good night and stands on his porch, staring at Minho’s back till it grows smaller the further he walks away. The sun was already touching the tip of the mountains by the time he retreated into his house, picking up the empty glasses and placing them in the sink.
Though for a moment Chan wanted to believe he could carry on with a few more chores before night fell, he doesn’t let himself feel too bad when he retires into his room and flops down on the mattress with a thump.
Closing his eyes, he drifts into a slumber, gulping down the thoughts of facing his past and a certain someone who kept plaguing his mind all night.
FIVE – MINT AND NICOTINE.
When Chan had left right after graduating high school, a part of him had also been sad regardless of the exciting prospect of a new life awaiting him.
He had to ultimately leave his friends behind and too many memories that had been a part of him since childhood. He felt like he was trying to bury their existence by leaving and it filled him up with immense guilt at the thought.
Yet, perhaps the most heartbreaking part would have been your muffled sobs against his chest, your hot tears falling into his red scarf and soaked up into a wet patch. He might have shed some tears too, but in his grief stricken mind, he had been too concerned with your sobs that had threatened to wrench his heart and tear it in two.
You had known, even then, that Chan would leave one day; that this sedentary lifestyle would never suit him and there lay your varying personalities. All you knew, and accounted it to therefore, was that he had always been a restless person. Always looking to do something all the time.
Sitting and merely observing like you, was not a glove he fit into. Always volunteering for events, the first one to suggest dragging you around town during your breaks against your protests which were laughed off with a promise of a fun time. You didn’t want a fun time; you wanted to stay home and sleep in till well past noon and spend the remaining of your day reading. Chan wanted nothing more than to be the one to teach you how to swim.
It was a fateful summer. Eventful, mostly for him. While you spluttered in four feet water, he swam past you in obnoxious strokes, splashing your face with more water. It enraged you, and yet you didn’t just up and leave, fumed at him maybe but he took it all in stride.
You wonder why he stuck by you, you used to have such an awful temper, even you wouldn’t want to spend time with yourself.
But Chan was driven by his restlessness, his enigmatic soul if you may. You may have learnt to float and master the front stroke at the cost of many a gleeful and not-so-peaceful days, but watching Chan glide in the pool like a fish, as if it were his natural habitat, was a reward in itself. It was peaceful too, simply sitting with your feet dipped in water while he bobbed up and down in the water gracefully.
Unaffiliating yourself from the constant presence of the boy you had grown used to had been more difficult for you than you had ever thought it to be. You tried not to mind too much when your phone never rang and no new messages popped up either. You were already easing yourself into the realisation that Chan had indeed forgotten about you.
For a fact, it seemed to have been of some consolation when you found out that Minho has lost all contact with Chan too. It definitely hurt significantly less, but you both grieved the distance together.
You supposed, and accepted eventually, that this was part of life. Of friends who would come and go – some would stay and some would leave, the pain will be there, s bit of regret of not being able to protect those relations, but in the end you would have to swallow it like a bitter pill and make do with what you had.
Except, it had been so hard for someone like you. University had not treated you well, if anything it had been like a huge blow across your face. Where once you had certainly been a part of the above average crowd, you had faced the wrath of being placed even below decent performance and gradually let yourself believe that it was all you would sum up to be.
Minho had kept you company, been there when you were feeling at your lowest and held your shoulders shaking with your sobs in his arms when you finally broke down. He had assured you that you were no less, nor would you ever be so, if you decided to give up. People made the wrong choices all the time, there was no need to beat yourself up over it no matter how much you justified yourself for it.
You dropped out and Minho loved you the same. Things were okay; you were okay.
Chan had become a distant part of your memory by then. Relationships were not a part of your life and the more you floundered in an unknown place, the thinner the strings connecting you to people became until they finally snapped and you were left quite alone. You embraced this life as best as you could and did what you could. You worked whatever small jobs you could, learnt a little bit of cooking from Minho and stacked away all your hard work to get into uni in a closet you never opened; what was it worth anyway when it got you nowhere in the end.
You had not planned out your entire life and it had played to your advantage. You didn’t feel as disappointed in things as you would have earlier because you didn’t expect things to follow a predetermined path.
There was so much to say about this matter, but who really wants to wallow in disappointment? There were still moments in your life when you would wake up with a heavy heart and an empty mind. Days like those would be harder to see through, every move you made pulling on your muscles and tugging you down under their heavy weight. You would want to cry and yet find yourself unable to. There would be no meaning to why you did what you did, an urge to find out what would happen if you stopped doing those things and a desire to sleep for a long, long time.
Yet you would sit at night in an empty house, curled into yourself and find that you were incapable of doing anything. You would wait for the next day to arrive and the clock would tick ever so painstakingly slow.
So when you found yourself facing the blonde boy, tall and broad with kind brown eyes you had once drowned in looking at you, the ghost of the past you didn’t even realise had lurked within you was suddenly coming back to life without a warning, that it left you breathless.
You felt your head being dunk underwater, cold and dark liquid enveloping you as you struggled to resurface and gulp the air greedily.
Minho had dragged you, against your protests after a long and tiring day, to the community hall where a meeting was supposedly about to start promptly at eight in the evening.
So far, most of the townsfolk that had arrived had managed to snag the front seats, leaving you, Minho and Felix to grab ones in the middle. They were good spots, hidden behind people so Minho could make fun of whatever new agenda was going to be discussed and not get caught snickering. You don’t understand why Minho forces himself to sit in these meetings when he doesn’t even pay attention, but you’ve found it’s his way of relaxing after a long day and part of the reason is because he gets to hang around town before finally heading home.
Initially it had been because of Seungmin, their cat and mouse bickering, quite the talk of the town, and under a very teasing confrontation from you and Felix, Minho had given away his little growing crush on the boy he had referred to as his ‘arch enemy’.
The three of you wait while chatting, Minho texting on his phone and you can only assume it’s Seungmin, waiting for the town head to arrive along with everybody else. He seemed to be running late, because soon the large hall filled up with people until there’s practically no more seats left.
It has been two days since you last saw Chan.
Well, you’ve seen him since then, but never gone up to him or started a conversation. You had almost bumped into him at the grocery store, but quickly retreated in your steps to avoid him. There had suddenly been too much Chan in your life, even though you had only seen him a couple of times since he last showed up at your workplace, and it had left you feeling confused and weird at having his familiar face pop up in a place as mundane and everyday as your local grocery store.
Quite frankly, you wouldn’t like to ponder upon the reason for doing so because you already know it arises from a place of pettiness and of an urge to make him taste his own medicine. Minho though, as you had gathered from the boy himself, had met up with Chan on more than one occasion since he last came to the diner. Though he had not raised any questions on your part since you largely avoided talking to him about Chan, he had been unable to keep you out of his conversations with the said boy since he had been so keen on asking about you every time they met.
Chan’s arrival back to your hometown had been weighing on your mind since forever. To you, his existence had become a strongly pronounced obstruction in your day to day life. You worried he would pop into the diner again and you almost anticipated it, you had nearly given in to Minho’s invitation to go down to his house.
Oh god, his house. You had more than enough memories of his house stored away in your mind, it almost made you sick with its overwhelming presence made known to you.
The seat next to you suddenly creaks when someone sits on it, your attention turning towards the source and you find yourself staring directly at the source of your worrying mind.
Chan smiles at you softly and you almost choke on your spit when you notice his newly dyed black hair and the small silver hoops in his ears.
“Hey (y/n), long time,” he offers you a small wave before greeting Minho.
“It’s been two days,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes, shifting ever so slightly towards Minho who was seated beside you. Chan notices, masking the sudden heaviness in his heart with a pursed smile, but doesn’t point it out.
“Chan, this is Felix, another helping hand at the diner and my junior at culinary school.” Minho speaks up, introducing Chan to the younger boy who smiles at him brightly while you sit stone faced in the middle of it all.
“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m–”
“Bang Chan, I know,” Felix smiles warmly and you can attest to the fact that Chan likes him immediately by the way he grins and his dimples appear, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Minho. He couldn’t stop talking about you, you’re like an idol to him or something.”
Minho turns red while Chan laughs shyly, the former smacking Felix on the head who retorts with an “you do!” and sticks out his tongue.
While Minho and Felix bicker, Chan smiles and turns his attention to you, about to say something when the huge doors to the hall suddenly opens and the town head walks in to loud protests from the people complaining about being kept waiting for too long. You glance at your wristwatch and sure enough, it was twenty minutes past eight.
You try your best to ignore the presence by your side and listen to the man talk – something about the annual spring festival still three months away – but it’s admittedly hard to do so when Minho and Felix keep snickering beside you like five year olds at a church and Chan’s cologne and the nicotine disguised under breath mints ever too present in your nose. You want to ingrain this scent in your memory but at the same time hold your breath till you choke and die.
Chan suddenly leans towards you, his lips close to your ears and whispers.
“Are town meetings usually this long?”
You nod at him and pretend to listen attentively to people now raising questions and concerns like they did in every meeting to discuss whether the town needed any new facilities or not.
Chan was a lot of things; he had been a lot of things. To you it was the strong smell of chlorine and the cheap aftershave he used to disguise the smell of the bleach. It was a mild odour of sweat mingling with those two scents and the freshly washed laundry detergent on his clothes. And if he leaned a bit closer, just to annoy you or tease you, then the slightest whiff of his papaya shampoo.
Realising now that he didn’t smell anything like that anymore, it makes you shudder at the revelation of the mint concealing the nicotine. Change must have been so drastic for him, that you could no longer find a place in your memories where he fit. He was gone, the youth from him was gone, long ditched in a puddle of illusion where things were still bright and days were pleasantly sunny and the world smelt like fresh rain on earth. The boyish glimmer was lost from his eyes, sucked deep by the void behind them.
Your own body itches under your clothes, the smell of soap and oil so deeply ingrained in your skin after your entire day at the diner, you’re almost certain he can smell it too.
However awkward you felt in your own skin right now, it was nothing compared to the obvious attempt Chan was making at conversing with you and your blatant refusal to offer him that, yet, it didn’t seem like Chan had any intentions of dropping the opportunity of a conversation.
“Are you free tonight? Minho said we might get dinner together after this.”
His voice is still hushed, but you cannot ignore the shiver that passes down your spine every time he leans in, clenching your fingers against the cold metal of your chair.
“Maybe.”
Twiddling his thumbs again, he chews on his bottom lip with a frown on his face. You miss his disappointment since you’ve made it your life’s mission to give your unfiltered attention to the town meeting, something you never thought you would do, but well, people change.
You are graced the chance to drop your hushed conversation when people start chattering around you and with a start you realise that the town meeting is over, everybody scraping their chairs against the floors and leaving in groups while some hang back to talk.
Felix is, thankfully, more than interested in your old friend and swoops down on the opportunity to strike up a conversation with Chan the minute he’s up from his chair; something that Chan obliges him with a lingering gaze that flits towards you. You step to the side with Minho, finding Felix more than capable to keep up a distinct string of chatter all by himself, sharing smiles with Minho at the sight.
“Did you tell Chan about the meeting?” you ask, pulling the scarf around your neck against the cold wind that blows in through the open doors. More and more people start leaving till it’s only a bunch of you who are left behind.
“Yeah, figured he could get out more and re-familiarise with the town.”
You nod at his explanation.
While Chan and Felix are still talking, your phone buzzes in your jeans pocket. Digging around to grab it, you let out a tired sigh at the caller ID. Minho peers at your screen and offers you a tight lipped smile, patting your back sympathetically. You excuse yourself and step out into the cold night to receive it.
“Mom, hi.”
“Hello (y/n), have you had your dinner yet?”
“Not yet, I was at a town meeting.”
“Again? Why do you even waste your time going to those?”
You feel it coming, this is where the conversation changes. And you’re not even four pleasantries in. You resist the urge to sigh yet again.
“Why did you call mom?” you know why she’s called.
“The semester applications are in three months, have you been studying?”
“Mom, I told you, I’m still thinking about it.”
“What in the world is there to think about? You’ve had enough time and I’ve wasted enough money on your hobbies already. Sit for the entrance exams and get into business school. At least get a degree!”
“I’ll think about it.”
“(y/n) please don’t start again, how many times do I have to repeat myself? Do you not care about your education? If you keep thinking now, when are you going to actually do something?”
“How many times do I have to repeat myself…I have no intentions of getting into business school mom, that’s just not for me.”
“Oh, so this is what you’ve been intending since the beginning then? Business school is not for you, you can’t even stick to…was it worth it? Was choosing your hobby as a career path worth it at all (y/n)? What exactly is it that you can do then? Waste your time and money? How are you going to get a job, how will you pay for yourself?”
“I’m doing it just fine right now, if you haven’t already noticed.”
The same shit, over and over again. You really can’t tell at what point of the day you would have to attend to these calls and have your entire day or night ruined.
“I’m tired of fighting with you over this (y/n),” your mom sighs on the other end, “do whatever you want.”
One would think that’s how you find yourself relieved of this matter, but that is exactly how it ends every time before you get another call like a weekly reminder that you are, in fact, not to forget.
“Good night,” you say and promptly cut the call. You’ll have to hear about this the next time she calls.
Taking in a long breath, you shut your eyes when you feel the prick of tears behind them. You could simply pay no heed to this and let it go, but you know you will overthink and you will definitely let it ruin your mood. The heaviness embedded in your muscles starts creeping up again and you find yourself, for a moment, panicking that your limbs will give away on the streets and you’ll fall down.
You hear the faint voices of your friends approaching and sniffle, blinking your eyes rapidly so the tears don’t fall. Instead, you feel the familiar weight like a pot of water quickly filling up, slithering its way into your head, a headache that will have settled by the time you reach home tonight.
Minho is the first to come stand beside you, gently pressing his arm against yours in a silent comfort. You wish he wouldn’t; it only makes it harder not to cry.
“We’re getting dinner down at Condiments, what do you say (y/n)?” Felix’s cheerfulness is lost on you. All you can focus on is the heaviness in your heart and your pounding head.
“Umm…I think I will skip.” you reply, causing Chan to look at you in concern. To be fair, you might be good at hiding your feelings, yet sometimes you cannot help but let it affect your mood. Right now, you know by the worried glance from Felix, that you were most certainly not doing a good job at concealing your distress.
“Everything okay?” Felix immediately moves to you, looping his arms through yours with a concerned pout.
You smile assuringly, not having it in you to let on that you were most certainly not fine right now.
“I’m okay Lix, just…got a headache and I’m tired. I’ll walk back home, y’all go get some dinner. I’ll join next time, I promise.”
“Okay,” Felix is convinced, you know that. In fact, you don’t feel half as bad for lying since you practically were telling the truth. You let him hug you before waving to Minho and nodding towards Chan before you start walking uphill.
“Wait,” Chan calls out from behind, making you turn in your tracks. Felix and Minho watch curiously as he approaches you.
“Let me walk you home? It’s late and–”
“Thanks Chan, but it’s alright, I walk home alone all the time, there’s nothing to be worried about. Besides, I live uphill and you live down here. It will only waste your time going up and down.”
“But–”
“I will be alright,” at this point you’re merely trying to convince yourself of the same, “I’ll see you…when I see you.”
Chan for sure is not convinced as easily as Felix. He may have missed four years being absent from your life, but he knows the signs of dismay on your face when he sees it even now. You may very well be tired and have a headache, but it still concerned him to see your gloomy expression. If you’re actively trying to avoid him right now though…
“Are you really fine? You don’t need any medicines for your headache? If it’s too bad then I can–”
“Chan,” you are firmer this time, smiling at him with a pained expression and a frustration poorly disguised under your breaking resolve of fighting your tears, “I am fine.”
Chan stands his ground for a moment in silence, inadvertently upset and slightly hurt that you were doing your best to push him away. He knows though, he cannot fight you on this; he has no rights. It’s only when Minho clutches his arm from behind does he relent.
“It’s alright Chan, (y/n)’s used to walking home alone and it’s not particularly dangerous either.”
You shoot Minho a thankful look.
“Okay,” Chan lets go, “you will let us know when you’ve reached home, right?”
“I will text Minho,” you promise, hurriedly agreeing to do whatever so long as you can finally leave.
“Okay then…get home safe.”
“I will. Good night guys, enjoy your dinner!”
A chorus of good-nights ring back and without sparing Chan another look, you walk away, alone with your thoughts and your drumming head.
SIX – PINE TEA, BURNT TONGUE.
Coming back to the hills has so far proven to be a good decision, as far as a healthy lifestyle goes.
Chan often finds himself waking up with the sun, even without an alarm, he would be up and about by at least eight in the morning and compared to sleeping in till after noon or not getting enough sleep at all, he preferred this. But on days that he would sleep way past noon, he wouldn’t wake up feeling anxious about the lost time at all.
He has also finally managed to clean the house, the strain in his muscles lasting for a few days for which he covered himself in pain relief patches, but otherwise it has been a fruitful journey. All that remains now is to set up his equipment in his old room. Though he’s out here on a break from life itself, he can never truly give up on the joys of his hobby-turned-career path. He almost never steps out without his camera when he’s wandering in the town, capturing the most mundane things and preserving the beauty in either his digital camera or in 8 mm films.
In the little time he had been back, Chan had taken over a hundred photos already. He didn’t believe in capturing everything visible to the eyes like some sort of maniac, but he also did not have anything against preserving memories.
It’s how he lived – through moments frozen in time, perhaps the only way he saw his little reign over life – by capturing them in films. It was his own solace, his peace of mind; something he could always come back to no matter how much the world around him changed. He would always have that piece of memory only he saw, something that would most likely change ten years down the line and he would look back on an old piece of glossy paper and be reminded of the world he had seen all those years ago.
This particular morning is not the most refreshing though. Last night had been a fun time indeed with Minho and Felix, catching up and recounting stories and exchanging more with Felix as a new friend. As promised, you had texted Minho when you reached home and that was all he had heard from and of you last night.
You had not ceased to plague his mind though, even long after he had bid goodnight to the others and walked back home. He had stayed up quite a while, slouched against his pillows, swiping through his collection of photos in the dark, the screen illuminating his face.
He had worried too for most part that the reason you left last night could have been him, because though you might have told him you weren’t avoiding him, the incident from his grocery store run kept replaying in his mind on loop.
He had definitely caught you rushing away from him but had decidedly not confronted you about it. What if you really were uncomfortable around him? If so, then he had promised not to bother you again, except, he just wasn’t sure whether he would be able to stay away from you much longer.
He’s reminded of the first time you met after so much time had passed, that day in the diner. You were wearing a thin sweater and your hair was in a mess like you were harried, serving and helping out in the kitchen. You had not cracked a smile then at first, staring at him wide eyed, and his first thought had been of how much you had grown up. How beautiful you had suddenly become.
Your cheeks were flushed with all the rushing about, strings of hair framing your naked face and he could tell that age and maturity had favoured you in all the right places even through your winter attire.
The thought makes him burn, his mind momentarily distracted at the very sight of you imprinted in his memory like all the pictures he captures. It’s not until late that sleep finally takes over him, but it’s a restless slumber that he tosses and turns through.
In the morning he’s met with a tourmaline sky, splotches of tissue like clouds splattered across as the sunlight filters through his windows. It was sunny and bright today and Chan squinted up at the sky through his window, rubbing his tired eyes as he lay basking in the January warmth that spread through his bones, toes curling up underneath the sheets.
Outside he hears the birds chirp in contrast to the constant honking and cars like in the city, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of pine and cyprus. Inhaling deeply, Chan feels like he must be in heaven.
His morning routine is unrushed and he takes his sweet time preparing breakfast and eating out on the verandah under the January sun above the hills, the rays of light bespeckling his skin in warm patches that danced with the trees in the gentle wind. It was a quiet meal and Chan was, for once, not planning his entire day out in his mind, though he did have a rough idea of how he might want to spend his day.
His phone pings with a message; it’s from his mom.
mom: morning son, don’t know if you’re up already, but this is your reminder to have a good day
The smile on Chan’s face is instant, he can’t help the little leap of joy in his chest at the sight.
mom: this is also a reminder to check your smoking habit
A small chuckle passes through his lips before he replies.
me: morning, your favourite son is already up. and he says he’s trying really hard to keep his smoking in check
mom: tell my favourite son (his words) to try harder
me: this is all dad’s fault you know?
mom: your mom is giving me the stink eye now, why did you have to say that to her - dad
Chan laughs in amusement, knowing that the last message was sent in good spirits and as a joke.
me: morning dad, hope you’re treating mom well!
mom: he is darling, don’t you worry about us. are you having a good time there?
me: yeah, it’s all pretty nostalgic and stuff, but i enjoy every day here. even went to a town meeting last night and grabbed dinner with minho. you remember him don’t you?
mom: town meetings! it’s been a while since i’ve heard of those. of course i remember minho…he was a darling boy back then. how is he?
me: he’s good, it was fun catching up. i also met (y/n)
mom: oh. how are they? last we heard before moving out was their father passing away…must have been hard all this time.
Chan blinks down at the message in surprise. He did not know that.
me: their dad passed away??
mom: yes, didn’t you know? it was cancer, i believe i might have mentioned this before.
Sucking in a breath, Chan finds it incredibly hard to process this piece of information. It was like a sudden dump of emotions and his stomach curled at the revelation. His mom definitely did not mention this, there was no way he would have filtered this kind of news away like it was nothing.
me: i don’t think you did, i would have remembered…
mom: oh channie…i’m sorry, we were probably too busy with all the packing and moving back then, we only heard in passing.
me: it’s okay, not your fault
mom: do drop by at (y/n)'s and give my best regards. let me know how they’re doing okay?
me: will do mom
After a few more messages about his day, he bids his mom goodbye and tosses the phone aside. Shutting his eyes, the very first person to come to his mind is you, a resounding pang in his chest when he’s reminded of your father too. He had never spent much time around your family, in fact, you had always been the one to come over at his place majority of the time and he had only met your parents once in a while during annual school meets or sometimes during the town festivals as a child. As it so happened, your parents were never around much, both busy with work as you often told him. Still, he remembered your father, and he had always seemed a good, kind man.
Why had Minho not mentioned anything to him about this? Sure, you did creep into the conversation snow and then, but even so, every time Chan brought you up, it’s like Minho tried to safeguard you and let on as little as possible.
Nibbling his lips, he sits and ponders whether he should ask Minho about this, even retrieving his phone to text him about it but in the end concedes. Maybe Minho had not deemed it his place to tell him.
Deciding that he would listen to his mom and drop by at your place, from what he knows you still live in your old home, he spends the next hour or so doing small chores like washing the dishes and getting ready for the morning.
He’s out of the house not long after, showered and refreshed and surprisingly ready to face the day. With his camera bag slung across his shoulder, he makes his way on foot around town, exploring some of the older shops lining the hillsides under tarpaulin covers, fresh steamed bread and hot noodle shops already open and catering to people.
Chan doesn’t stop much, only lingering enough to familiarise himself with the market place which was always seemingly buzzing with people and cheerful chatter. He makes his way up the hill, pulling up his hoodie to cover his head as he walks under the gradually thickening canopies of trees above him. The road leading up becomes narrower and fewer people lurk about, only some tourists who stop by the road to take photos.
Chan doesn’t use his camera till he’s way up higher, simply walking through the pine scent till he reaches a small hilltop that overlooks the town below. Colourful buildings nestled between sloping lush greenery, the roads snaked around the town in smooth curves. He can spot the community centre and the restaurant he had dinner last night at. The market place is the most lively place at this time of the day, strings of flags strung across the semi marketplace flapping in the wind. It was like a small community tucked away from the rest of the world. At one further end of the town, a tall blue tower rises up and immediately Chan is hit by nostalgic memories.
Almost instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up and exhaling deeply. He reminds himself that 9 in the morning is too early for this, but the optimist that he is, he’s also inclined to wave it off with ‘it’s midnight somewhere’.
He turns sentimental the more he looks at the lone tower visible behind a cluster of hills. It’s his high school and upon seeing it after so many years, he almost missed going to that place.
His hometown was not such a huge place afterall. Most people knew each other here after spending so many years in the same place, but there was also the never changing map of this tiny town that losing yourself here was practically an impossible task even if you want to do it on purpose. Everything was etched out like permanent ink, Chan still remembered all the prime locations of his childhood here like the back of his hand.
In a way it might have been the reason he left too, an aspect of waking up to the same thing every day had been his drive to leave this place but the city had been no different either. Chan was slowly starting to realise that now.
He takes in another puff of the stick, now dangling between his lips before dropping it on the ground and squashing it with his feet, guiltily reminded of his mother’s text this morning and his promise to her.
Shoving his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie he strolls aimlessly along without a destination in mind. He’s aware that only a few shops and restaurants dot the top of the mountain, he’s vaguely aware that there’s a few more clearings along the way and your house was somewhere there. He does remember you having to walk a long way down to school and complain about it often to him.
Soon enough, he reaches a smaller path branching out from the main road to the side. He takes the rocky path, edges lined with wild grass and strewn with stray pine cones, a flatter piece of land leading off to a bunch of bakeries and small cafes.
It's almost like a small chunk of hill had been cut off to create an alcove, small vintage shops huddled together and the scent of fresh bread and ground coffee wafting in the air like a sweet aroma.
Chan has had his fair share of cafes working in one himself and though he had been sick of the smell of coffee for a while, here, out in the open and so far away from the city, he almost didn't mind it.
He stops for a moment and takes a few pictures, the colourful vibrant roofs of red, blue and yellows catching his eyes as he squats to capture this seemingly fairytale come to life picture. Everything in the mountains was just naturally magical.
He's drawn to a tiny little cafe with a sloping blue roof tucked away further back against a huge rocky wall, a wooden sign on top with the words 'The Teapot' carved into it.
The wind chime tinkles against the gentle breeze above Chan who peers inside from the big window in the front with blue frames. The cafe is almost empty except for a few people scattered about on huge wicker seats.
There's no bell to notify you when a customer enters, just the loud creak of the door, which can be a bit alarming as you've often mentioned to the cafe owner.
You're at the counter scrolling through your phone when you hear the door opening, immediately shutting your phone and smiling at the customer.
"Welcome, how can we help–"
Oh. It's Chan.
"–you?"
Chan seems to be equally as surprised to see you here; he thought you worked at the diner. Nevertheless, he returns your smile.
"Hi," he greets, approaching you at the counter, "I didn't know you worked here."
"I don't, just here to cover for a friend."
You do sometimes pick up shifts here when you’re free of your duties at the diner. It’s more of a casual workplace for some extra cash and since it’s never too crowded, the employment criteria is not too rigid. You help out once in a while when the tourist season is at its peak and extra hands are required. As it so happened, January usually serves as a gradual ease into the rush, with a couple dozen or so customers always coming in for a warm drink and a cozy place to relax and read a book. By March, the tourist count increases and that is when you find yourself financially more stable. You are therefore quite dependent on the tourism sector. Right now, you're covering for Seungmin who won't be back till next week, and you could definitely make do with the cash.
"What can I get you?" you ask, waiting for Chan to look over at the menu and decide. While he examines the laminated display on the counter, you watch him quietly nibbling on his lips, the rings in his ears dangling gently when he moves, the smell of smoke nestling under your nose again. You dislike it but you can't bring yourself to look away until he turns to you with a sheepish smile and wide eyes.
"Umm…it's a bit hard to decide," he chuckles and the noise settles in your bones like a warm shiver, "there's too many to choose from. What would you recommend?"
Startled by the sudden question, you stare at him sceptically as if he had just asked you to do something unreasonable.
"You want me to recommend something to you?" You point at yourself as if to make sure for certain.
Chan nods with a smile, leaning against the counter for your opinion.
Licking your lips, you scan through the menu even though you remember everything by heart. It's just that, you can't bring yourself to meet his stare.
"Do you want a hot drink or something cold?" You question, glancing at him briefly to find him still staring. God, you hope you're not flushed.
"I would prefer something warm, but wouldn't mind if you recommend a cold drink either."
His smile again, the stupid upturn of his full lips and the tiny dimple on his cheek. You dislike it so very much. You don't even dare to meet his eyes, the brown in your memory too haunting even to this day.
"Then I'd recommend the pine tea. It's aromatic and light. I could get you some mushroom bread rolls with those or do you still not like mushrooms–"
You halt in your speech, eyes flickering up to his like a deer caught in headlights. Upon seeing him blinking back, you immediately start spluttering out an apology.
"S-sorry, I don't know why I said that…I shouldn't have assumed–"
"It's okay," Chan cuts you off hastily with a wave of his hand, "you didn't assume anything, it's fine!"
"Oh…oh, okay. I…so do you want to get something with your tea or just…?"
You trail off in embarrassment, every second a new word that falls off your lips feels like a shovel digging at your own grave. You should probably shut up right about now.
"Oh…oh yeah. Umm, anything without mushrooms," he claims, rubbing his neck with a nervous chuckle, "what about the orange loaf cake? Sounds delicious."
"Orange loaf cake, right. Good choice, it'll go well with the pine tea. I'll get you your order then, why don't you take a seat," you gesture at one of the empty tables by the window.
Chan obliges, nodding his head and taking a seat while you scurry into the pantry to get the tea leaves.
Inside the dark cool room, you take a moment to let out a breath you hadn't even realised you were holding in, leaning your head against one of the shelves, the cool wood like a comforting balm across your skin.
You just keep making a fool out of yourself in front of him. He's just an old friend, why does he affect you this way?!
The tea Chan receives is instantly aromatic, the gentle scent of pine and a savoury pinch of cinnamon in it making him look forward to the drink.
You place the steaming cup in front of him along with a plate of sliced bread, slightly warm and golden in texture. Chan feels his mouth watering though it hasn't been that long since he had had his breakfast.
"Umm," you hesitate, glancing at the box of cigarettes on the table, "there is a no smoking policy in here so…"
For all you know you could have said that just because you hated the sight of it, he could have very well just placed them on the table without any intention to smoke them inside. Your brain really wasn't in sync with your mouth today and you were regretting every second of it.
Chan follows your eyes, immediately flushing and pocketing the box, crumpling it almost as he hastily shoved it into his pocket.
"Of course, I don't smoke a lot. I mean, I do, but I won't right now. I work at a cafe too, I mean I used to, of course I know there's a no smoking policy–"
Chan doesn't finish his statement, feeling a rush of heat along his neck as if he had just been called out. He vividly remembers the red text of caution stating cigarettes causing cancer and nearly facepalms.
"Okay well, glad you know," nice save, you're doing a great job, "enjoy your meal then. Let me know if you want anything else."
With that you're gone by his side back to your place behind the counter where you immediately bury your nose into your phone, willing the heat in your cheeks to go away without fanning yourself.
Chan takes a large sip of his tea in a hurry to hide his face when you glance up at him and your eyes meet, scalding his tongue in the process and it takes him his all to not curse out loud. He stuffs a large piece of bread in his mouth to soothe the burn.
What an absolute mess.
SEVEN – IT MUST BE NICE.
Seungmin had texted you at night, a flurry of apologies and making up to you with dinner when he came back, and he was so flustered, he had completely forgotten to mention the reason for this impromptu travesty.
When you had pointed it out, it had only prompted another tirade of apologies and eventually you had ended up calling him. You were in your bed, showered and with an ache in your limbs that came with a long satisfied day.
“(y/n)? Oh my god, I’m so sorry–”
“Seungmin, stop apologising,” you had smiled, shuffling in your bed under the blankets, “how’ve you been?”
“I-what? Oh, yeah, I’ve been good.” he had sounded genuinely surprised at your inquiry, as if he hadn’t even thought you would ever ask him something like that.
“That’s good, how’s your workshop?”
“It’s fine, doable certainly. There’s a lot of interesting things, and I’m hoping to sign up for a few more non-credit courses because they honestly sound really amazing and I think I might be able to squeeze in a few after my credit classes.”
That was Seungmin for you, always the one who loved to learn and cram his breaks with a truckload of workshops and seminars, citing that he didn’t have enough time to attend them during the academic year, what with his classes at university. Your group was proud of him and all his achievements, but you were also concerned with his health.
He had just completed his teaching degree and was working as a TA in Shinha University, which was an hour away by train. You both had initially bonded over your shared interest in books and when you had told him that you had got into university for your bachelors in journalism, he had instantly clicked with you, having pursued journalism as well and then getting his B.Ed.
Seungmin had never been invasive of your reason to drop out, always keeping a polite flow in your conversations without sounding demeaning.
“Wow,” you remark, smiling into your pillow at his ramble, “does Minho know about this?”
“Does Minho know that I’m sleeping three hours a day?
“Jesus, Seungmin!”
“I know,” he groans on the other end of the line, “I couldn’t help it. Please don’t tell Minho, he will go batshit crazy.”
You can already imagine Minho getting upset, except, when it came to Seungmin and his ridiculously well planned but jam packed academic calendar, Minho tended to channel all that anger into making extra efforts at taking care of the younger boy. They would call this their freeze-zone, which lasted about eleven days at maximum – Minho would be all quiet and calm, not necessarily ignoring Seungmin, but neither did he acknowledge his lifestyle in high regards. Seungmin would also be quiet, but follow Minho around like an apologetic puppy, trying to make amends.
It would always end with a hug. And if you were unfortunate enough, then you would catch them in the kitchen after closing hours in the diner, making out heatedly. Then you would want to bleach your eyes.
Regardless, and you really had no other way to describe what they had as cute. They had a healthy relationship, as far as you knew, with their ups and downs, but they were tight. And it made you happy to watch them be happy with each other.
“Okay, I won’t tell him, but he’s gonna find out anyway,” you sigh.
“I know, I’ll be the one to tell him anyway. It’s like he’s got this sixth sense when it comes to these things you know, until last year I was convinced either you or Felix were tattling to him.”
“Hey, have some faith in us!”
“I do now.”
You can hear the smile in his voice and chuckle.
“So, what is it you were apologising to me about?”
“Oh. Right, so I've been working under Professor Lee for my research paper for a while."
You nod even though he can't see you, listening carefully.
"He’s been looking for an assistant for the new semester, and…please don’t get mad okay, but I may have told him about you. I told him you were pursuing your journalism bachelors…”
Sucking in a breath, you groan at the insinuation.
“Seungmin–”
“I swear I didn’t put you down or anything, I didn’t even tell him the reason you dropped out. It’s just…I thought you might want to check out the work at least.”
“That’s…that’s really kind of you Seungmin, it really is. I’m just not sure if I’m qualified enough.”
“You really think so? You almost completed your degree (y/n), you were going to graduate.”
“You know, you’re starting to sound awfully like my mom,” you mumble.
“(y/n)...you know I didn’t mean any harm.”
“I know Seungmin, I know…”
Which is why this was even more difficult for you. Seungmin’s been of immense help to you ever since you met. He’s got you to write for an anonymous column in their University paper a couple of times and though you had agreed, you had rejected the offer to become a regular in their columns. As much as Minho had been adamantly loyal to your decision of dropping out, Seungmin had his own gentle way of nudging you to pick up your pen again.
“What’s wrong (y/n), I know you want more than what you have right now.”
You detest the bitterness of his truth, the way it swirls around you in green coils and makes you sick. You do want more, but in the crevices of your bones laden heavy with the lead of your self proclaimed worth, you know you shouldn’t. You can’t want more, not when there’s better people out there.
“Seungmin I…I don't know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, just sleep on it yeah? But if you agree, and no pressure there, then let me know and I’ll set you up a meeting with the professor. Okay?”
“Okay…” you reluctantly agree. You’ll sleep on it for sure, but you lack the assurance of a positive response. Maybe Seungmin senses it too, apologising again.
“Don’t apologise, really, I should be thankful that you’re looking out for me.”
“Of course I am, that’s what friends do.”
Your head weighs down on the soft pillows, tears stinging your eyes in the darkness of your room.
“Yeah. Thanks a lot Seungmin, I appreciate it. I really do.”
You hope the way you force out your words is enough to let him know exactly how much this means to you even though you can never put it in enough words.
“Anytime (y/n). Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Guilt fills you up almost instantaneously when the call drops with a click from the other side. Looking back on the conversation, you detested how quickly you had compared Seungmin to your mother when all he had done was look out for you. Confusion and frustration diffuses through your guilt right after; were you a hypocrite because you felt guilty when it was a friend who looked after you and not when your mother did? Wasn’t she also just looking out for you?
You don’t find it in yourself to remove the phone from your ear, fingers loosening their hold against the device till the screen blacks out.
Left alone with your thoughts, you find the sleep behind your eyes slowly disappearing, replaced with a thin layer of tears that fail to escape, instead settling behind like heavy moss, fogging your mind and senses.
The bed feels uncomfortable, but the weight of your limbs tie you down in your place, unmoving against your will and you find the hands of the clock on your bed stand ticking too loudly. Moving your head, your gaze flits across the window on the wall, the tall peaks of hills visible, glowing with the faintest hint of warm orange from the town lights below.
Slowly, as if it ached your very soul to move, you rustle out of your blanket, dragging it along as you trod towards the balcony, curling your toes when your bare feet touch the cold marble flooring. Your flat was small but the balcony was spacious, often your haven on summer days but in the cold January, it leaves you numb. It's admittedly a good feeling, the urge to keep yourself warm by rubbing your arms and pulling the b;anket closer around your frame overtaking the need to think.
The family living below you is still awake, their apartment rings out in cheerful laughter. You can see the shadows moving on the grassy garden illuminated by the light from their windows. They dance like flames in the wind, flitting about aimlessly and chaotically, in tune to the kids yelling and playing around.
It must be nice, you think. You credit the sentiment to their laughter, but you’re unsure of whether there’s a longing behind that thought that popped up without a warning in your mind. What must be nice?
If you lean against the railings, you can catch a small portion of the town which was not hidden being a large clump of trees, twinkling under a starry sky. You hear the distant hubbub of the liveliness if you hold your breath and strain your ears. It must be nice, the voice in your head goes again.
You want to cry. What must be nice?
Why were you here on a Tuesday night, sitting on your cold marble floors wanting to simultaneously scream and cry and throw yourself off a cliff? Why did it feel so insanely morbid to feel so numb and feel so many things at once? Why would your limbs not move and tears not fall no matter how much you willed them to?
Why does this house not feel like a home? What were you so homesick for, a place that did not exist or a place that you had buried so deep in the depths of your tangled memory that retrieving it would cost you your life? Where would you run when you wanted to, how would you know what you’re running from, how long would you have to run?
What was this feeling you were drenched in? Why can’t you comprehend it? How do you get rid of it?
Your phone dings yet again with a notification and you retrieve it from somewhere in the depths of the blanket you had swaddled yourself in. another message from Seungmin.
seungmin: just in case. g’night.
seungmin: Professor Lee, faculty of Linguistics and Literature Studies, Shinha University.
Contact details: xxxxxxxxxx
Your wrist tingles uncomfortably and you rub your fingers across it soothingly. It was probably going to rain later. Or soon. Time was merely flitting past but your eyes remained wide open, not a drop of sleep to be expected any time soon.
The shadows on the grass settle down in a dark lump, quiet and peaceful. The floor under you grows warmer, the chill tranferred to your bones where they prickle you from the inside.
The sky turns darker, the lights below lose their glow, dimming into the night one by one as the town falls asleep.
It must be nice, to be able to sleep.
EIGHT – BUTTERFLIES, LOLLIPOPS, SHARED LAUGHS.
The next time Minho texts you about dinner plans, it's with the carefully added notification of expecting Chan's presence too.
You've been entirely too busy with the diner the past few days, that you've managed to avoid another encounter with Chan naturally. You woke up early to prepare for the day and went home late after cleaning up. It was the same for Minho and Felix, and only now do the three of you realise what a great help another helping hand is. You all miss Seungmin.
But the work pays off, and the cafe work is an added bonus to your savings. If anything, at least you're saved from overthinking once you get home all tired and grisly from kitchen duties. You don't have time to worry about little things as much nor the guilt of missing calls from your mom.
It was the gentle plea at the end of Minho’s text, asking you to please join in for at least old friends’ sake that gets you thinking about the whole thing.
It’s not a particularly mind gnawing decision, you simply decide that you don't need to avoid Chan as much. Fine, you definitely did not know where exactly you stood with his reappearance after all these years, but that didn’t mean you were going to be so cold as to continuously turn down these little reunions. Minho had definitely embraced his old friend with welcome arms and tonight he was finally going to meet Seungmin. You did not mind when Minho was open to introducing his life here to your old friend. There’s only so long you could possibly avoid all social interactions as you could keep up with a steady denial to let Chan affect your day to day life.
You text Minho back with a promise to join in on this dinner.
That is how you find yourself sitting in the tented bar, the sizzle of the barbeque and the delectable aroma of fried vegetables wafting in the air and a few too many bottles of beer in front of you, huddled together in a circle around a table.
Felix chats away excitedly, seemingly never at a loss of conversational topics, while Seungmin joins in with Chan. Minho looks after the barbeque, serving the food to everybody once he’s finally done. The first bite is like a doorway to heaven opening up, a bit too hot that you need to blow air before promptly stuffing yourself with more.
You stay quiet for the most part, only replying when someone asks you something, sitting directly opposite Chan and hence obliged to keep looking away when your eyes meet. It’s happened so many times already since you first came that you don’t even bother with the awkward smile anymore, glancing away quickly before downing your glass of beer.
Chan looks extremely good today, even though it doesn’t look like he put in too much effort behind his black hoodie and his usual silver earrings. His hair lays flat, fingers occasionally brushing through his fringes which he keeps straightening out. You really try not to stare, but when you do and catch yourself in the act, you convince yourself that it’s only because you’re trying to memorise this new and older Chan from the younger one with curly hair and unpierced ears.
“Hey, do you remember that time (y/n) got in detention because Chan kept poking them and they yelled at him in the middle of calculus?” Minho points out in the middle of dinner.
Chan laughs at the memory eliciting a fond smile from you too as you look back on that day, it had indeed been the first time you got into any kind of trouble at school and you had cried during your after school detention.
“I was somewhat troublesome back then, wasn’t I? Chan says, grinning at you apologetically but with a happy smile as if he held his mischievous days close to his heart.
“Somewhat?” you question incredulously, “you were quite the troublemaker, honestly how did you get appointed as student council head?!”
The table erupts into giggles and laughter, a surprised Seungmin looking at Chan in awe, finding it equally hard to believe Chan could have ever caused any trouble. You find it easy to laugh along, just old friends reminiscing on good days gone by, leaving behind fragments of floating memories you had to glue back together. It felt like you were teens again at one of your annual dinners after exams were over. It felt good to be here right now, maybe with a broken friendship, but with a sudden jolt you realise that you may have been looking forward to this unknowingly after all, and now that it was here, you were willing to put behind petty regrets and patch things up.
After all, how often will you find a friendship so precious, right? Shouldn’t you appreciate it and let go of the past for the sake of reviving whatever weak flame was flickering now?
A warmth blooms in you when you look around, eyes lingering a little longer on the man in front of you. He notices and tilts his head in question. You smile widely and shake your head and in a long while, Chan finds himself feeling elated as if the sun itself had bloomed inside his chest and was extending its rays all through his body. He has not felt this happy in a while and the sight of your smile directed at him lightens the burden without a source on his shoulders he’s been carrying ever since.
Though in the morning you might try to convince yourself that warming up to Chan had been a consequence of the alcohol in your system, you ease yourself into the light atmosphere and enjoy the moment for as long as it lasts.
Chan and Seungmin get along well, some sort of sibling dynamic forming quickly between the two with comfortable bantering which slowly backfires on Minho who gets teased by the two and turns pouty. You chuckle when he turns to you for help but only gets a pat on the back from you.
Regardless, Seungmin only needs to lean his head on his sulking boyfriend’s shoulder for him to smile sweetly and kiss his cheek. Felix and you pretend to gag at the sight, which is quickly shot down by protests.
“You’re only jealous because you’re both single!” Minho yells over the table, eliciting a gasp from you and faux display of hurt from Felix who clutches his heart and pretends to cry.
“You’re single?” you look up to find Chan looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face and you wonder why he directed his question at you even though Felix was sitting right beside him.
Before you can respond, Minho speaks up on your behalf.
“(y/n)’s been single ever since high school, I think they’re gonna die single and lonely.”
“Am not!” you stick out your tongue at him, “also I did date in uni.”
“Two weeks doesn’t count,” Minho smirks, “you didn’t even kiss him.”
“And how would you know that?” you challenge, glaring at him now.
Chan listened to the conversation curiously, hearing you talk for the longest time since the evening.
“Did you?” Minho’s eyes widen and you feel like they might pop out of their sockets if he kept staring any longer.
“No…but that’s not the point,” you grumble, hiding your face behind your glass and looking away.
“Why don’t you and Felix try dating once, huh? I’ve been waiting for y’all to get together since forever.”
You choke on your drink, suddenly embarrassed at all the attention. How did the conversation turn to your very prospective dating life all of a sudden? Granted Minho may be drunk, but he was better at holding his alcohol. You feel an apprehension when you look over and notice the smug grin he has on, regarding you through narrow eyes.
“What?” you splutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and ignoring the way Chan stares at you, “why would you even say that?”
Felix chooses that exact moment to lean in and cling onto your hand, rubbing his face against your shoulder. You know he’s had one too many drinks, and if you didn’t then he made it very obvious when he mumbled against your neck.
“Yeah (y/n),” he pouted, “if both of us are single by the time we’re forty, let’s get married!”
You laugh endearingly, letting him nuzzle his face closer for warmth, the tip of his nose cold against your skin and you shiver.
“Okay Felix, only if you promise to do the laundry,” you tease.
“Shit don’t do it Lix, it’s a trap!” Minho scoffs, leaning into Seungmin who nods vehemently, also under the influence of more alcohol than he can usually tolerate.
“For my beloved (y/n), anything! I will even cook and clean and take the dog out for walks!” he proclaims. You giggle, stroking his blonde hair gently and it seems to draw him closer.
“Okay Lix, whatever you say. Oh, you’re going to make such an amazing husband one day!”
Felix simply giggles like a child, hiding his face behind his hand as he leans away and slouches across the table, the tips of his ears now red, poking out.
Minho shakes his head disagreeably, sending you a nasty glare which you respond to by sticking out your tongue. While Felix stills remains slouched on the table, probably asleep you figure, but none of you have the heart to wake him up, Minho falls into a quiet conversation with a slightly drunk and sleepy Seungmin, the two huddling close and speaking in soft tones completely ignoring you and Chan who are left alone in an awkward silence.
Chan clears his throat, gaining your attention before mumbling an ‘excuse me’ and leaving the table to step outside. You follow his movements, moving the plastic curtain and shuffling out into the cold night, standing under the makeshift awning. He lights a cigarette and puffs in air, smoking out clouds which disappear into the night, distorted behind the plastic curtain, the orange glow splitting into a line whenever he brings up the stick to his lips.
Downing the last few drops in your glass, you excuse yourself too, though you don;t think anybody listens – Minho is far too invested in playing with Seungmin’s hair while the latter hums happily against his shoulder and Felix is, well…passed out, probably – and make your way out too, pushing the curtain aside and shivering when the cold wind hits you. Nights in the mountains get chillier by the hour and you’re glad you’re wearing a thicker cardigan tonight.
Chan looks up from where he’s standing, smiling in greeting when you come to stand beside him. The silence shared outside is shared comfortably, with all the late night buzz of people and veiled chattering around you. A few street lights line the street, glowing warm yellow under a darkened blanket studded with little silver dots that twinkle brightly without any clouds in sight. It’s a moonless night, but there’s enough light around you to make out Chan’s face; not entirely hidden in the dark but illuminated in a muted yellow glow that lines his side, sloping down his nose and falling onto his lips before disappearing under his chin.
The smoke from his lips coils into the air in a grey haze before disappearing into the air. You sniffle, warily eyeing the stick between his puckered lips, folding your arms across your chest when another wind blows.
“Those things aren’t really good for you, you know” you comment, feeling awfully like a nagging mother, always confronting him about his smoking habits whenever you see him. You almost snort at the revelation.
“Ah…sorry, I’ve been trying to quit too, but it just…force of habit.”
You smile sadly, tucking your chin in your neck and leaning against a wooden pole.
“I heard about your father,” Chan’s voice is cautiously quiet in the night, the syllables coming out hushed and apologetic, “I’m sorry about him.”
“Don’t be, we saw it coming but he was worse off than we had hoped,” you reply just as quietly, but without the tremor that had been present in your voice some years ago. In fact, you don’t think you’ve talked about your father in a long while, not even with your mother. It makes you slightly sad that the first time you’re doing this is because of an old friend who, until recently, hadn’t even been in contact with you.
“It was…it was all the smoking he did…the cancer, I mean.”
You sniffle, looking up at the sky, eyes mindlessly following the clusters of stars twinkling silently.
“Ah shit…I’m so sorry. Does this make you feel uncomfortable?”
You shake your head in denial, but even so you both know it does. You know you don’t want to see someone smoking in front of you; it had been difficult enough to get over that particular phase in your life where you blatantly disliked people for smoking, but you slowly got over the fact that you had no say in how they should live their life or not. Not everybody who smoked ended up with cancer after all. But you also knew that you would always try to help your friend quit, because quite frankly, you were the type to be haunted by the fear of something that had the tendency to scar you.
When you were seven, you had fallen off the monkey bars and bruised your knees pretty badly – the scars are still there, a dark patch against your skin – and you had a huge fear of the accursed bars, steering clear of it ever since. Then you grew up and grew taller and your fingers coiled around the cold metal bars without even having to lift your feet off the ground and you realised that it was no fun that way anymore; it was much more fun and exciting when your feet swung in air and your muscles strained trying to hold on to the slippery bars. There was a beauty in having to risk your seven year old soul to hang on to some monkey bars for dear life, something you had missed out on for the longest time in your life.
Then of course, there was your fear of water. You may have never mastered the element, but once you learn to float and keep your head above the water in the deeper end, you wonder why you had been scared in the first place.
Chan throws the cigarette on the ground and stubs it with his feet, picking it off and throwing it in the dustbin nearby. The silence prevails as he leans beside you. The smell of smoke remains in the air, stagnant and pungent under your nose.
Shuffling on your feet, you dig into the pocket of your jeans, fumbling around as you struggle to pull something out of it.
“Here,” you say, handing it out to Chan who regards the lollipop between your fingers with visible confusion but accepts it gingerly nonetheless, “I would rather you died of diabetes than cancer.”
The chuckle that he lets out is easygoing, tumbling from his lips like tiny bells, chiming into the night charmingly. You know you've heard it countless times before, but it makes you feel warm out here in the cold, like a sweet blanket of comfort and nostalgia.
“Why do I die either way?” he questions, snorting at your proclamation. You shrug, sharing a smile.
“It’s a better way to go?'' It sounds more like a question but doesn’t stop Chan’s amused laughter.
“You became funnier after all this time,” he teases, surrendering by putting his hands up when you threaten to hit him.
“So, do you always carry candies with you wherever you go?” he asks, fiddling with the patterned wrapper.
“No, Lix gave it to me. He’s always got some sort of sweet with him, god maybe he’ll get diabetes one of these days.”
“Is there something between you and Felix?” you miss the slight frown on his face and the nervous lip biting, his fingers fiddling with the crinkling wrapper of the candy between them.
“No, why would you think that?” as if realising the answer to your question you add, “Minho was just joking back then.”
“Oh, I thought you might. He’s just very…”
“Clingy? Sweet boyfriend material, makes everybody fall in love with him wherever he goes and whatever he does?” you raise a brow when Chan trails off, smiling teasingly when he sputters out another laugh, flustered.
“Yeah!”
“That’s just the way he is,” you snort, “isn’t he adorable though?”
You both take this moment to glance inside where you left the three boys. Sure enough, Felix is now cupping his cheeks between his hands, red faced and hiccuping with his eyes half closed and lips out in a pout like a duck, looking around like a lost kitten. He's had one too many drinks and you can tell; his elbow keeps slipping off the table and he glares in confusion as if to gauge the problem. Sharing a glance you both burst out laughing, doubling over yourselves as the giggles erupt out of you from nowhere.
The night is chilly, but as you both huddle close, laughing over something small and mundane as a silly friend who’s had too much to drink, you feel your cheeks warm and tummies tremble in merriment.
Chan laughs with his whole body, the chimes of his joy gurgling up from his chest like butterflies that fly around you with pretty wings. Unknowingly, you start filing away little things about Chan in a place that were fond to you in your memories, like a small cabinet of his quirks. The cute dimple on his cheek, the way his eyes turn into crescents and can’t stay open when he laughs too hard, his hands which circle his waist or often find respite behind his neck when he’s too sheepish and the way the silver rings in his ears tremble all the while he’s shaking with joy.
You let yourself bask in this moment, ignoring the voice in your head telling you not to enjoy so much. It gets drowned under the horde of butterflies that circle over it, out of its reach and high above as you watch with a longing to reach out and let one sit on your finger. You stay rooted though, keeping your hands to yourself, afraid you might damage its wings if you so much as brush against its petal like fragility.
The flap of their wings send a wave of small breeze towards you, gentle and almost akin to a fever kiss, fanning your hot face and urging you to look at them past the shambles of your ruined castle walls with moss and wreck. They fly too high and you have to crane your neck just to look. They’re free, without a threat of being captured inside glass cases or having their wings clipped and you know in that moment you wouldn’t want anything happening to them.
Maybe one day, one of these winged wonders will approach you and let you lend your finger to sit.
Chan walks home that night with a spring in his step and a smile that never leaves his lips, the lollipop inside the pocket of his hoodie with its tiny but obvious weight and crinkling wrapper.
It’s too sweet for him, but he finds that sucking on it does indeed act as a substitute in the long run. He sleeps at night with the lingering taste of cherry at the back of his tongue and a warm memory of shared laughter in the cold night. It spreads through his body and lulls him to a comfortable sleep.
The straightened wrapper of candy finds a home in his bedside drawer, placed carefully beside his camera.
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