Warnings: heavy angst, abandonment, neglect,underlying theme of family issues, vague mentions of self harm in the beginning(just once), reader experiencing long term emotional detachment with themselves and their surroundings. Let me know if I have missed any âĄ
Word count: 2.9k~ words.
A/n: the world's biggest shout out to @operation-steal-chans-laptop for being the nicest bubby and reassuring me about this fic, they're the bestttt âĄâĄâĄâĄ
The usual comfort of Minhoâs arms wrapped around yours felt suffocating in the few moments that followed after youâd step in your house. It was routine for you by then to come back to an empty house, so Minhoâs sudden appearance almost felt foreign and out of place as he had practically stuffed his head in the crook of your neck. Minhoâs kisses had been your favorite thing on the face of the planet, but you werenât as sure of that statement anymore. His hold felt like a memory your brain purposefully erased without even ever telling you. Your body gravitated to it as it would have because thatâs what you had started to identify and remember as home, but your brain saw it as the supermarket where your family had abandoned their 6 year-old daughter once, and hadnât comeback till hours had passed and you were done bawling your eyes out and nothing but sniffles escaped your trembling lips. It was where you were abandoned and would be forgotten at again, and it was dangerous. Danger would usually send young little you into overdrive, making you fight for survival, but it made you feel numb now. The sirens would still blare, the headlights would still flash you in the eyes till they became unbearable and you had to close them inevitably, but now your hands didnât raise up to protect your head from the damage anymore. Neither did you move, you just waited for it to come, run you over, and to render you lifeless again, but well the bleeding was never strong enough, the scars littered all over your body gave testimony for that. They bled, they bled often, reopening every now and then, but the bleeding was never strong enough, the cut wasnât deep enough. Shallow cuts, shallow breathing, dizzy spells, and multiple pills, it didnât bother you anymore. Â
The art of numbing yourself to a majority portion of your life came with practice and well, consequences. While the consequences on the surface looked like zoning out in the middle of a conversation and a constant need for some sort of stimulation, they spread their ends deeper into your being and grasped their roots strongly into your entire existence. Chunks from your earlier years just literally gone like they never happened, emotions never lasting longer than a few fleeting moments, and most of it was fine. Sure, you didnât feel as crazed and as deeply in love with your boyfriend as he was, you knew you loved him with everything that you could, but your everything felt so small against Minhoâs smallest gestures of affection. It had never felt out of place for you to feel like the smaller person in all your personal relationship dynamics, of course you were made to believe and brought up that way. Breaking out of that habit with academics and your work had been easy, but personal relationships? Thatâs what the norm was. Everything the other person did was completely fine and you? Well, you werenât even human enough so how dare you make a mistake?
But this time, it wasnât.
You realized how youâd been up in your head for the past 5 minutes and Minho was still attached to your form while your hands laid limp by your side, body unmoving but your boyfriend of 3 years was yet to take a hint. Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders to give him a light pat on the back to acknowledge his presence, but his presence in itself had shaken you enough that your ability to process things had already boiled down to a quarter and maybe your brain was back at what it did best, numbing you so you couldnât feel.Â
âI didnât expect you to be home, Iâm sorry you had to clean up after me. Why didnât you tell me earlier you were coming?â the silence had been too loud for the past 25 minutes. The same silence earlier would have been comfortable. Hums and nods with no words spoken till you both eased into the night was the norm, and probably one of the most possibly liberating experiences of your life but this, this what you were stuck in right now felt like ropes served to you on a silver platter that didnât take your consent before wrapping itself around your throat and chest, constricting your airflow just enough to let you barely breathe. Your question brought Minhoâs attention to yours again, his steps slow and calculated across the living room. Minho felt his heart feel as constricted as yours did when he realized you hadnât picked a shirt of his to wear to bed how you usually did. He didnât blame it on you, they probably didnât smell like him anymore anyways.
Lee Know from Stray Kids was a busy busy man and that was the first obstacle one had to deal with when it came to dating him. Weeks spent with no physical trace of him other than being on your phones to keep up with each other. Texts unanswered for hours, calls going straight to the answering machine much more often than the average personâs ability to handle, a partner that was mostly exhausted and often not as emotionally available as the regular person would be but of course that was fine. You werenât much of a texter anyway, and would rather deal with your problems on your own, and going out? Pfffft who wants to do that, when you could just stay in and order food to your doorstep, right...?
Things were great with Minho; sure it was also your first time seriously dating anyone after high school and maybe you didnât really have much personal experience to compare your relationship with Minho to, but nothing had ever felt particularly wrong in your time with him. Minho steps up to you finally, hands restless against his sides so he just chooses to ruffle his hair instead, though he wishes he could just hold yours into his instead. He answers your questions when you prompt him to it with a raise of your eyebrows.
âyeah, I took a few days off, itâd been a while since I stayed homeâ
Home. You almost chuckled when he said that, but chose to acknowledge it with a light nod another hum in response. Your steps make way to the kitchen to search through for what you could whip up for your usual excuse of a dinner. Dinner with Minho was different though. Dinner with Minho when you both worked in the kitchen after a long week to make something hearty for the both of you, when you acted like his own sous-chef, finally sitting down to eat meals that spoke the most amount of love you could have possibly experienced. Maybe you didnât experience love like Minho did, where heâd take fragments of memories and store them away as small trinkets of joy into his showcase of love that had your face all over it and he would just have to pick one memory from it to put a smile on his face on a bad or gloomy day. But you were sure you experienced love because he tried to give you his love and you would try your absolute hardest to not let go of his smile after heâd been pleasantly surprised with something new that he tried to make. You hoped your brain wonât let go of the memory of Minhoâs smiles, so youâd made sure you smiled like him when you wore his earrings, the gentle weight feeling like his nose that would nudge your cheek on days he had off and you sadly didnât . Even if your brain was loopy with things every now and then, your muscle memory would definitely do its job, Minhoâs smiles werenât just things youâd let your squeaky machine of a brain let go of so easily, they were your trinkets.Â
Taking out leftovers of the previous night from the refrigerator, you pull out the saucepans to heat them up, of course for one. Minho hadnât eaten at home in a while, well Minho hadnât been home in a while. But even before that, Minho had almost stopped eating at home altogether for a good bunch of weeks to make you realise there wasnât a point to cooking for 2 anymore. Dance practice would stretch late into the night, he had to work for the comeback, he was out with the boys so he ate with them, he was too exhausted so he crashed onto the bed the moment he was home, he was spending the weekend at the dorms because Music Core had been exhausting and Monday schedules looked too dreadful, Minho hadnât simply eaten at home for almost 2 months till it was time and he left for tour again. Presuming he already ate wasnât a bad presumption and Minho understood where all of that came from. He sighs as he notices the barely put together dinner you were now serving in your plate, movements sluggish and automated as you looked like you didnât have a single thought in mind.Â
Minho would be lying if he said he didnât saw it coming and it definitely wasnât his first time witnessing this. Every time the two of you ended up in a rough patch, youâd usually just say its fine, apologise to him for your mistakes, even if there werenât any, and just grow distant for a few days till you eventually came back. And you did, you always did. But he couldnât deny the creepy feeling that had his insides feel like they were all jumbled up and placed wrong. Like the elevator he was standing in had suddenly stopped and nobody had been answering the help bell. He knew the elevator would be back up and running in no time but he couldnât avoid the âwhat ifâs that had started to slowly creep up his body like vine. You play around with the food in your plate as the elephant in the room stares judgingly at the both of you, wondering when youâll finally address it.Â
âBaby Iâm really sorry for what I did, I know it was really horrible on my end to do that, loveâŠ..â Minho reaches for your free hand, which lays limp in his hand for a few seconds, and then grabs his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Your hand leaves his to busy itself with your plate of food again, head slowly nodding in response to his words. Minho was quick to realize that talking to you about what had happened would be the best approach rather than beating around the bush. Minho waits, and waits some more till you finished your meal and pushed your chair back to get up, the loud noise disrupting the eery silence that had settled over your house. Minho gets up as well, following behind you as you start on the dishes, because the thought of him doing the dishes like he once used to felt so strange and foreign, your brain had pushed you to finish them before he could even get to it.Â
ây/n can you at least say something, get mad at me, shout just give me something hm?â he pleaded as he stood to your side. You were unresponsive again for a few seconds, and before Minho could say anything again, you finally address him,
âWhat am I even supposed to say Minho? What do you expect me to say to you?â youâre calm, surprisingly calm, too calm for his liking even. Minhoâs face falls again, dejected as he looks at you eyes pleading as heâs at a loss of words again.
ây/nâŠâ
âMinho can I ask you something?â you dry your hands on the kitchen towel as you face him again. His head hangs low again as he nods silently.
âthis was probably one of the very few times I really needed you to be there for me Min. Youâve cancelled on dates, heck even forgotten and stood me up so many times, youâve forgotten anniversaries, I never got mad or objected. This was the one time I needed you to be there for me.â
ây/n I know I fucked up-â Minho looked up at you to see you teary-eyed again.
âLet me finish please, okay?â youâre still calm, your voice was watery as it was, breaking a bit too, but you were still, eerily calm.
âMy parents were in the country for 4 days. Iâve dated you for 3 years, and all I asked for was maybe 3 hours at max for you to have dinner with them. What did you do? Ghost me completely? Avoid me after reassuring me that you were going to be there? Barely 2 hours in the span of 4 days, thatâs all I asked for ... unbelievableâ
âI know⊠Iâm so so sorry what I did, I have no idea of even how to make it up to youâ his tears had started to gather at the corner of his eyes while he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. He wasnât the one who had been hurt in this entire situation and knew he needed to hear you first. His strong-willed composure almost breaks down when he hears your breath being caught in your throat as you heaved a bit.
âYou know- âyou sniffle again as your voice betrays you, breaking and causing you to cough, but you continue nevertheless. âYou know what the worst part is? Youâre one of the few parts of my life that Iâm most proud of. I was so proud of you, of us, of what we have, I wanted to show you off to the people that have doubted me the most my whole fucking life. And you know what you did?â your composure starts cracking like a layer of ice frozen on top of a lake, the water underneath beginning to escape on to the surface, your index finger pointing at the centre of his chest,
âYou. Fucking. Abandoned. Me.â Each word punctuated with a poke of your finger to his chest and Minho probably wanted to touch his chest to check for any bleeding because it as much as daggers to his chest would have. His uneasiness from earlier that had started at his gut, started to now feel like a cinder block that had been hung off of his heart with a rope and was dragging it down into a bottomless pit of nothingness. To hear and realise heâd done the same thing youâd been subjected to continuously over the years, especially by the ones youâd mentioned earlier, he was sure he couldnât actually be able to process how big of a problem it had really been. To imagine you sitting in a restaurant, waiting for him to show up while having to deal with your parents and to defend your relationship all alone with zero trace of him, which he was sure, was probably the best case scenario, hurt him in ways he didnât realise he could have felt hurt.Â
âI donât think either of us has anything else to say anymore.â You say with a sense of finality to your tone after a few minutes, you couldnât take more of you both sobbing with a few feet between you, each too proudful to go hug the other and let go of everything. In your course of being with him, this was probably the most sure about anything that youâd been, it wasnât your fault. It had been a week since heâd been back from tour, accompanied with him showing zero signs or intentions to stop by your shared place for more than a few hours. Even though this plan had been discussed over multiple times and heâd promised you heâd be there, he chickened out. No contact, no response, just complete silence till he just randomly decided to show up at your house again and youâd been too close to your breaking point. You knew youâd let go of this overtime too like youâd always done, but the âmaybeâ and âwhat ifâ questions had been too loud in your brain for you to just ignore them how youâd always do.Â
Minho probably sensed that, his fear escalating exponentially. His steps are hesitant as he tries to follow you to your bedroom, your shared bedroom though it hadnât been shared off late. All you could really think of was to just slip under the covers and cry yourself to sleep, even though you didnât have coherent memory of when was the last time youâd actually had a good cry. The sound of his footsteps following up right behind yours on the hardwood floor, couldnât sound louder than the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You turn around in your steps to face him again,
âI need some time. Can you not sleep next to me today please?â you ask him with your hardly regained composure, the last thing Minho wanted was to let you fall asleep that upset,
âits our bed, please just let me try and fix this kitten, hm?â his hands grab onto your forearms with a light hold, form bending down to look into your eyes again, but what you say next, leaves Minho speechless and absolutely heartbroken from how fucking stupid heâd been,
âyou havenât slept in our bed in ages. The last time I checked, it was just on your side of the mattress.â
A/n pt.2 : i am extremely thankful for you to have reached the end, and i hope you enjoyed reading through this. While it was very self-indulgent, i hope it was enjoyable nonetheless. Your comments, reblogs, feedbacks, likes, mean a lot!!!
ATTENTION ALL GIRLS AND LADIES: if you walk from home, school, office or anywhere and you are alone and you come across a little boy crying holding a piece of paper with an address on it, DO NOT TAKE HIM THERE! take him straight to the police station for this is the new 'gang' way of rape. The incident is getting worse. Warn your families. Reblog this so this message can get accross to everyone.
Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort
Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.
A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3
No contact. Thatâs what Chan was told was best for you. Thatâs what was going to help your healing process.Â
No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.Â
He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to youâ that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.
Hell, it might even make you worse.Â
Itâs killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.Â
But the worst part is that you donât even know it. You donât know how heâs collapsing inwards like a dying star.Â
It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?
You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.Â
He shouldâve put up more of a fuss. He shouldâve put his foot down. He shouldâve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.Â
He shouldâve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He shouldâve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.
But he wasnât.Â
A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friendâs car at a speed that you shouldnât have even survived.
Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.Â
For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.
He was the last to know.Â
After all, he wasnât your emergency contact. Heâs only your boyfriend.
Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isnât. But he is. There was no breakup.Â
Is that what heâs going through right now? A breakup?Â
Youâre not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.Â
Itâs fucked up. Itâs a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.Â
Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.Â
Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a timeâ and he wasnât about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.Â
He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turnâŠÂ
He never got to see you.Â
âThe last five years?â Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?
âShe says doesnât remember anything, Chan.â Your motherâs voice was just as hollow as his. âShe was asking about her freshman roommate.â
A doctor stood in between him and your mom. âItâs best if we donât throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but weâve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.â
Chanâs mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.Â
Does that mean�
NoâŠ
âHe canât see her at all?â Your mother asked quietly. âNot even to visit? He doesnât have to mention heâs her boyfriend, he can just say that heâs a friend, or a coworker, orââ
The doctor cut her off. âNo contact. Not until weâre a bit through recovery and sheâs starting to get her memories back.â
Chan was suddenly in a chair.Â
When did he sit down? The Doctorâs hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare. Â
âItâs not forever, son.â
Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.
Books often speak of moments as âEarth-shatteringâ. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.
He gets it now.Â
The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.Â
Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldnât even see you.
Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like heâs losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?
Why didnât he pick you up from that fucking party?
âShe loves you, Chan⊠sheâll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.â
Itâs been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since heâs talked to you. That long since heâs known peace. Since heâs known any sort of comfort.Â
Youâre the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.
Itâs not a healthy mindset, he knows. And itâs not that you were codependent on one another, thatâs not it at all. You were just⊠ripped away from him.Â
Food has no taste. The sky isnât as blue as it used to be. Clouds donât make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasnât had the guts to look at them.Â
God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they areâ how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.
How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. Whatâs the point of making music if youâre not there to listen to it?
5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You donât open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You donât tell him about the things that happened during your shift.Â
He canât leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.Â
Mice would get to it before you did.Â
His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but itâs not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.Â
All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.
It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that dayâ you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. Itâs now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.Â
Just like him.
It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.Â
He didnât want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.Â
Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.
Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. Theyâre still there, donât worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.Â
Do you even remember themâŠ? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.Â
There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.Â
Youâre a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.Â
This sort of haunting is unbearable. Youâre not a phantom in his life, though. Youâre something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.Â
Itâs like youâre a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.Â
Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?Â
Chan feels like heâs banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile youâre on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.Â
Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.Â
You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.Â
To him too.Â
Itâs the library where he first met you.Â
The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.Â
He shouldnât go in. He canât go in. He absolutely should not go inside.Â
Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.Â
Absolutely not.Â
The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.Â
Thereâs a certain type of silence that sits in a library. Itâs closer, thickerâ warmer. Itâs an expected silence. Theyâre supposed to be quiet.Â
Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. Thereâs no one sitting behind the front desk; thatâs where you usually were.Â
His eyes look all around, but thereâs no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.Â
Thereâs more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. Thatâs new. They didnât have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.Â
On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.Â
Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.Â
When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.Â
Your eyes met. He was a goner.Â
How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldnât be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.Â
Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.
Maybe youâre not working today?Â
No one is anywhere to be seen. Heâs checking down all the aisles but he doesnât see you anywhere.Â
Maybe itâs for the best that youâre not here. Heâs not supposed to see you anyway. Heâs breaking the doctorâs rules by doing this anyway.Â
He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.Â
His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.Â
Empty.Â
You-less.Â
If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.Â
What a moment.Â
Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?
He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, heâd even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.Â
Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.
âCan I help you find something?â
His breath catches in his throat, it feels like heâs physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasnât heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.Â
Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.Â
His throat immediately tightens.Â
There you are. You. Beautiful you.Â
Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.Â
âIâŠâ his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didnât think this through, did he?
Youâre staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. Youâre waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.Â
Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. âA history guy, hm?â
No.
âYeah.â
You giggle. âI always had a thing for History.â
He knows.Â
âReally?â
âMhmm.â You respond with a grin.Â
Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.Â
You continue. âSpecifically Ancient Rome.â
Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.Â
He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that heâs been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until youâre breathless. He wants you to hear the new song heâs been working on.
Butâ
âIf you need anything, let me know.â
You start to walk away.
Chan feels his heart physically break. Itâs happening again. Heâs on the other side of that one way mirror. Itâs happening again! No, no please.Â
His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!
âW-Wait!â he says quickly.Â
You turn around with a curious look.Â
âThe Odyssey,â he blurts. âWhere uh⊠where can I find it?â
Your eyes light up. âOh, I love The Odyssey.â
He knows. You collect different translations of it.Â
âI collect different translations of that book, here Iâll show you where it is.â
With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.Â
He watches you like youâre an oasis in the desertâ maybe itâs because you are. Youâre what heâs been crawling towards for two months.Â
You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.Â
Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.Â
The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrickâs Day.Â
Y/N, please.Â
âThis translation is my favorite,â you whisper and hand him the book.Â
Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that heâll lose it. Heâll fall to his knees and cry.Â
âThank you,â he whispers back.Â
You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, itâs a little, secret superpower.Â
From foot to foot, your weight shifts.Â
You only do that when youâre confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?
âIâm sorryâŠâ you start, sounding so unsure. âYou remind me of someoneâŠâ
It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chanâs eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.Â
Youâre looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.Â
Y/N, please.Â
âI just⊠I canât figure out who. Do I⊠do I know you? I wasââ You stop yourself.Â
Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!Â
Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that heâs your soulmate, that heâs the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.Â
Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.Â
He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.Â
He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and thatâs how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.Â
Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but youâre so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.Â
He knows everything.Â
âI just have one of those faces, I guess.â It comes out of his mouth so strained.Â
You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?
âMaybe,â you say slowly. You donât believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word heâs saying. âAre you sure?â
Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesnât go down, more tears prick at his eyes.Â
âI would never forget a face like yours,â he chokes out.Â
Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.Â
After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.Â
âHere,â you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees itâs your phone number. He has it memorized. âIf you ever need more books to read⊠or find⊠call me.â
Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. âI think I will,â he whispers to you.Â
Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. âWell, I gotta get back to work, so..â
Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.Â
Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.Â
Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. âOh, I didnât catch your name.â.
âChan,â he answers softly.Â
âChan,â you repeat. It goes right through him.Â
Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.
âIâm Y/N,â you whisper to him with a friendly smile.Â
âNice to meet you, Y/N.â Chan has to physically force the word âmeetâ out of his mouth.Â
âYou too, Chan.â
And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.Â
An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.Â
And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.Â
And the worst part? You said yes.Â
So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.Â
How is he supposed to do this? Heâs not, thatâs how.Â
Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.Â
His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.Â
âAh, fuckâŠâ he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.Â
âHello?â he asks warily into the phone.Â
âHi, Chan,â she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.Â
âHow are you? Is everything okay?â
âItâs Y/NâŠâ Her voice lowers. Chanâs heart drops. âBefore you panic, sheâs okay! Itâs um.. sheâs getting ready right now⊠for a dateâŠâ
Chan isnât moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words wonât form in his mouth.Â
âChannie.. Iâm starting to wonder if that doctor isnât right.. I canât stand the thought of her finding someone else when youâre waiting for her⊠I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.â
His jaw clenches. Now or never.Â
âItâs with me,â he blurts.Â
Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.Â
âI wish I could say Iâm angry,â a little laugh follows it. âI think Iâm only angry that you didnât say something.â
He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.Â
âWell, youâre going to have to tell her eventually.â Your mom sounds unsure, herself.Â
âOr maybe sheâll remember me.â
âWhat if she doesnât?â
Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.Â
Sheâs right. What if you donât?Â
âThen, Iâll just ⊠do it all again.â
Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. âI always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.â
âIâve never eaten here before,â you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.Â
Yes, you have.Â
âReally?â Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.Â
âI pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.â
He looks back down at the old menu.Â
This restaurant was more than special to him. Itâs where he took you on your first date. Itâs an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.Â
The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.Â
âIâve been here a few times, itâs really good. The milkshakes are some of the best Iâve ever had.â Chanâs sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.Â
Heâs more nervous now than on the first date.Â
âWhatâs the best one?â you ask with a smile.Â
A small laugh comes out of his nose. âThe peanut butter one.â
It was your favorite.Â
âYeah but then you canât have any,â you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.Â
His eyebrows knit together. âWhat?â
ââCause of your allergy.â
He stops.Â
You stop.Â
He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.Â
His lips purse like heâs going to say something but you beat him to the punch.Â
âIâm sorry,â you blurt out. âI⊠I donât know why I thought that.â Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. âMaybe Iâm thinking of someone else?â
Chan shakes his head. âNo, no, itâs okay. I⊠I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?â
You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. âYeah⊠um. Maybe.â
He definitely did not say something.Â
Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends heâs never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows heâs said before.Â
The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. Heâs not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown. Â
Youâre the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesnât seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.Â
A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.Â
Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. Youâre looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.Â
You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.Â
âAre you⊠are you sure I donât know you, Chan?â
He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when youâre confused?Â
âI just⊠I really feel like I know you. Thereâs justâŠâ you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you donât want to weird him out.Â
What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?Â
âSomething happened to me a little while ago, my brainâs been⊠fuzzy since then,â you explain shyly. âI know you said you donât know me but I just⊠I canât help feel like thatâs not true.â
Chanâs jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.Â
Your motherâs words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like itâs swelling to the size of his mouthâ making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?
âI donât mean to make it weird, Chan.â
He licks his lips and opens his mouth.Â
Your phone rings.Â
A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chanâs chest.Â
Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. âHello? âŠ. No, I didnât knowâŠ. Yeah, of courseâŠ. Sure⊠Yeah, see you tomorrow.â
Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.Â
âSorry,â you mumble. âSomeone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.â
âDo you need to get going?â Chan asks, looking down at the time. Itâs well past 10 oâclock.Â
A sad smile crosses your face. âI mean⊠probably.â The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you donât want to go home yet.Â
âCome on, Y/N, Iâll walk you home.â
Chanâs already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.Â
Itâs three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. Itâs only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.Â
âI have to say Iâm a little excited to meet your friends,â you giggle. âI hope thatâs not weird.â
You already have.Â
âItâs not weird at all. Iâm sure theyâd like you.â Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.Â
âChangbin sounds like a blast.â
He was your favorite before.
âThe two of youâŠâ Chan thinks over his words carefully. âThe two of you would definitely cause some mischief.â
And you have.Â
A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.Â
Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.Â
With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.Â
You are just so⊠you. Youâre just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you havenât changed a bit. Itâs so charming.
âI canât remember the last time I went on the swings.â You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.Â
Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.Â
The brightest smile stretches over your face.Â
God, it really doesnât take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesnât take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.
He canât help it.
He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.Â
âWhatâs wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?â you tease.Â
He rolls his eyes with a smirk. âNo, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.â
Your cheeks flush. If he didnât know you, maybe he wouldâve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.Â
âYouâre a smooth talker, Bang Chan.â
âIt comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.â
Another laugh from you.Â
âShameless flirt.â
He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. âOuch! I just speak the truth, thatâs all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.â
Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, heâs in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.Â
Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.Â
It has been four dates. It wouldnât be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.Â
He wants to kiss you so bad.Â
Should he? Shouldnât he? God, why is this so hard?
Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.Â
âUh oh, fun police,â you tease and look up at him with a grin.Â
Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You havenât changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.Â
Itâs the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.Â
The same asymmetrical eyes that youâre so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.Â
Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.Â
His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.Â
Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But theyâve always done that.Â
Youâre always so enchanting.
Is this a good idea?Â
Is kissing you the best option?Â
But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?
Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and thereâs still this nagging feeling that he should stop.Â
One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.Â
Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.Â
He canât take it anymore.Â
Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. Theyâre warm and slightly chapped.
But, my god, heâs never felt anything this heavenly before. Itâs like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.Â
He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. Itâs just like he remembers.Â
Itâs just the first kiss, he canât let himself get carried away. He canât.Â
He canât let his fingers wind through your hair. He canât melt into your touch on his cheek. He canât let himself drown in your lips.Â
But he is.Â
Heâs letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.Â
How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? Itâs like youâre ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.Â
No matter how hard he tries, he canât bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.Â
Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chanâs gut. Itâs like the first time for him all over again.Â
Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he canât help but take a large breath through his nose.Â
God, he canât stop himself. It feels too good.Â
His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.Â
He immediately stops.Â
Why is your face wet?
Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.Â
Youâre crying. Why ⊠why are you crying?
Your eyes open and you look at him confused.Â
âChan?â you whisper. Youâre confused too. What?
âWhy are you crying, Y/N?â he asks with a thick voice.
Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, youâre met with tears.Â
âI⊠I donât know,â you say so quietly. âI-Iâm not sure.â
Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. Youâre still so confused.Â
Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.Â
Every muscle in your face is twitching.
Whatâs happening?
âChannieââ your own voice cuts off by a sob.Â
Chanâs heart jumpstarts. You havenât called him that⊠not in two months⊠thatâs what you and your mother called him before the accident.Â
Are youâŠ? Are you remembering? Whatâs happening?
Please.Â
Slowly, your hand falls from his.Â
Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. Whatâs happening inside your mind right now? It looks like youâre reaching and reaching for something that you canât quite put your finger on.Â
He's watching you struggle. Itâs like when you canât remember a word. Itâs right there. Itâs on the tip of your tongue.
You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.
Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. Heâs biting back his own.Â
âItâs okayââ âIâm sorryââ are both said at the exact same time.Â
He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you donât know him. Not anymore.Â
But you do.
âIt wasnât the kiss. IââÂ
âItâs okay, Y/N.â
You know him.Â
âChan, I really loved the kiss.â
Chan. Not Channie.Â
He brushes his thumb over your lips. âItâs okay,â he repeats gently. âYou donât have to explain.â
His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.Â
Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.Â
âIt happens sometimes,â you whisper. âItâs from the accident I had.â
Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.Â
The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldnât care less.Â
âYou donât have to talk about it,â he whispers back to you.Â
You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. âNo, no. I⊠I want to tell you. I need to tell you. Itâs been happening more and more whenever Iâm around you. Itâs like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.
âEvery time Iâm with you I feel like Iâm trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just canât remember what it was.â
Youâre rambling. You only ramble when youâre overwhelmed and scared.Â
âChan, every time Iâm with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.â
Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.Â
âI was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.âÂ
How is your voice so even?
Chanâs jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.Â
He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, itâs him.Â
âIââ he starts but you cut him off.Â
âPlease,â you choke out and take a deep breath. âAnd since then Iâve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes theyâre in large chunks, other times they just ⊠come back.
âWhen I try to think about my life before the accident. Thereâs this⊠person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I donât know who it is. Theyâre a constant. And I love that theyâre a constant.â
Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.Â
More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.Â
âBut I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they donât get enough sleep at night.â
Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.Â
Him. Youâre talking about him.Â
Chanâs hands hold your face gently. His thumbs canât keep up with how much youâre crying.Â
Nothing has ever hurt this bad.Â
You know him. You just donât know itâs him.Â
Nevertheless, you continue. âI remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though itâs their favorite.â
Chanâs own eyes begin watering, he canât stop it. You know him. You know him. Youâve remembered him this whole time and you didnât even know it.Â
You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.Â
That same heartbeat heâs been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.Â
âIâve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and Iâm so confused, Chan. I can tell that thereâs something that everyone is avoiding telling me.â
A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. Itâs now he realizes how many tears are falling.Â
A sob tears from his throat.Â
You grip his hand tighter.Â
âTell me Itâs you, Chan.â Youâre begging. Youâre actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.Â
âTell me that youâre the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me youâre the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that youâre the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but canât stand the taste.â
Oh, god, Y/N.
âTell me that youâre the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.â
He breaks.Â
He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.Â
He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.Â
Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.Â
Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. Theyâre deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound thatâs been open for months is bleeding. Â
Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. Itâs all coming out.Â
Youâre crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.Â
Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like heâs the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.Â
Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He canât lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.Â
âIt is me,â he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. Itâs just like he remembers. âItâs all me, Y/N, Itâs me.â
Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.Â
âIâve missed you, Y/N,â he cries harder. âFuck, Iâve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, Iâve missed you.â
Chan canât pull you close enough, he canât get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.Â
âIâm so sorry, Y/N. Iâm so sorry I didnât pick you up that night. Iâm sorry I wasnât there for you. Iâm so sorry you got hurt.âÂ
Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.Â
âIâm sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. Iâm so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctorâs orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.â
Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.Â
Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. Thereâs a sad smile on your face.Â
âPlease donât apologize, Channie, itâs okay. I forgive you.â
Channie. You called him Channie.
He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.Â
Youâre still crying. Both of you are.Â
âI know you were just doing what you were told to,â you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.Â
All he can do is cry.Â
Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.Â
The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.Â
Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.
Youâre finally in his arms. Youâre finally back where you belong.Â
âI missed you,â he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.
âI missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.â
He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.Â
âEvery day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.â
Chan canât find any words to say. He just stares at you.Â
"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."
His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.
The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.
It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.
But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.
The burn is soothed.
âIf you think about it,â you start with a tiny smile. âWeâre luckyâ in a way.â
His entire face screws up, even more confused. âLucky?â
âHow many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?â
Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.Â
You and your glass half full attitude. Heâll never fucking get enough of it.Â
His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggleÂ
âYouâre never leaving my sight,â he breathes out. âNever again, baby, never.â
âI donât ever want to, Channie. I never will.â
𫧠I'm gonna preface this now by saying I'm not sorry for the feral woman I'll become once the ATE tour content starts making their rounds on here - I am and will forever be nothing but a hole to be used and done away with in a moments notice. Touching grass is equivalent to using a water gun to put a wild fire out. I am a SLUT, a HARLOT, there will be no morals in this house - not cutesy, not demure, only delusions and pearl clutching takes.
