Sometimes, Chanyeol dreams.
He always dreams the same thing.
There are green, tall pine trees that surround him, towering and creating shadows over the soft meadow below his feet. He’s laying over it, flowers in between his fingers, and he feels peace. The warm sun hits his face, kisses his skin. It’s cold outside, but Chanyeol feels warm.
In his dreams, the sun is always hot, bright, and shining above him. Chanyeol had no idea something like it could exist. He does not remember ever being allowed outside the facility before this, and he can feel the happiness spreading all the way to his fingertips.
Sometimes, he feels too much of it. Sometimes, his happiness comes in bursts of fire that lick at the stems of flowers. Sometimes, it engulfs him, and it burns, burns bright, hot, and takes the entire forest with him.
When he wakes, he is cold.
He does not have a window in his room, but he knows it is night time. His body can tell when the sun is no longer shining in the sky, and he gives a soft sigh, turning to his side as he blinks his eyes open. Lately, he has been sleeping less and less. He has been having a harder time not dreaming, and his dreams always leave him tired, nervous, sad.
It takes a few seconds for him to find the strength to sit up, and perhaps an entire minute passes before he stands. He’s not really thinking of anything, and he does not have to think, memory leading his feet to move through hallways, take the hallways he knows are safest for him. One last right turn, and he faces a metal door he knows too well. He does not knock (no one will answer), and instead simply opens the door before closing it softly behind him.
There’s a lump over the bed, and Chanyeol would feel really bad about waking said lump up if it were anyone else, but he knows there is little risk of that. Chanyeol gives a soft little sigh, sitting on the bed and moving a hand to gently pull down the sheets covering the boy.
Kyungsoo looks peaceful, and Chanyeol can’t help smiling at that, a hand reaching out to brush hair away from his foreahead.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and just above a whisper. “I missed you today.”
