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Chanyeol has a recurring dream.Nigh
Chanyeol has a recurring dream.
Nightmare.
It’s not that scary. It’s very simple. He walks alone, on glass. Plick plick plick, the shards pierce his skin. Baekhyun is always walking a little ways in front of him, always just out of reach--Chanyeol has learned that no matter how long his arm is, he will never be able to put his hand on Baekhyun’s small, warm shoulder. Every step Chanyeol takes, Baekhyun seems to take three. In real life, Baekhyun has always had to take two for every half a step Chanyeol takes.
No matter how much he calls, Baekhyun never hears him. He leaves behind a trail of bloody footprints in the green-blue-tinted glass that Chanyeol traces without difficulty, but he doesn’t seem to feel the same pain Chanyeol does. Walks, never stops.
But Chanyeol always falls--he always trips on an invisible obstacle, hands screaming in protest when they throw themselves out to break his fall. Baekhyun always turns around right then, as though Chanyeol’s scream of agony is the only thing he can hear. His eyes are always cold, unfeeling, unrecognizing as they roam over Chanyeol’s face for the few seconds he pauses.
And he always continues walking, until the only thing left is his footprints.
Chanyeol has stopped setting an alarm. Baekhyun has taken to waking him up at precisely seven AM, and he doesn’t need an inanimate object screaming at him as well. This morning is no different; it is timed perfectly with the nightmare.
There’s a high keening that starts out like a small whine and reaches the approximate intensity and pitch of a boiling kettle until Chanyeol jolts awake to feel himself being shoved out of bed, blankets and all. His head cracks harder against the floor than usual today. He winces and lets his cheek rest against the cool hardwood floor, untangling the last tendrils of the dream from his consciousness, watching the dust bunnies dance to the music of his heaving breaths.
“You’re not Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, coiling into his sheets on his own side of the bed. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Good morning, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I don’t want anything,” Baekhyun says, narrowing his eyes at him and hissing. “I want…Chanyeol. Not you.”
“I’ll go find him,” Chanyeol says brightly. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
Baekhyun pulls his pillow to his chest, curling his arms and legs around it. He rolls his eyes up and blows a few locks of milky brown hair out of his eyes, and Chanyeol’s heart clenches slightly. This is the Baekhyun he remembers.
“Tell him to stop leaving home in the middle of the night,” Baekhyun says, rocking back and forth and resting his chin into the soft pillow. He picks at the ruffled hem. “Tell him to get back earlier if he does. Tell him that I’m sorry for all of this…that I hope he’s not cheating on me, because I’m not cheating on him. Even though there’s a stranger that looks exactly like him sleeping in my bed.”
“Just the same old, then?” Chanyeol asks.
“Mmm,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his mouth into the pillow. “Tell him I miss him.”
“…okay,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll tell him that.”
Baekhyun isn’t mad.
That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what he tells Baekhyun. That’s what he tells himself, but he’s not sure if he believes it.
Chanyeol tells himself that Baekhyun isn’t crazy, but he is still the one that has to see Baekhyun’s cold, untrusting eyes everywhere he turns. In the morning, when he wakes up and Baekhyun is shoving him out of bed and screaming. In the evening, when he gets home after class, and Baekhyun is turning around hoping it is the Chanyeol he is looking for. At night, when Baekhyun will curl into himself and say how he misses the one that comes in the morning.
Chanyeol trudges his way to Kris’s apartment three floors above, where half his clothes are just so he can change into them in the morning and trick Baekhyun into believing he’s the right Chanyeol. Rain is pouring relentlessly outside, and Chanyeol stops by an open window just to watch it pelt against the grimy glass. His own grey reflection stares back at him, fiery red hair lank around his cheeks.
Kris’s buzzer is so loud that Chanyeol can hear it on the other side of the door, and there’s a fair bit of banging and tumbling around before it opens. Kris steps back, and Chanyeol steps in delicately, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the mess on the floor of the living room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and he bends down and picks up a pair of boxers with panda print.
“Nice,” he says, and Kris splutters, snatching it out of Chanyeol’s fingers.
“Go change, asshole,” he mutters, and Chanyeol snickers, shucking his shirt off.
“Didn’t know you’d be sleeping with anyone on a school night,” Chanyeol calls, voice echoing through the hallway.
“I--shut up, okay?” Kris says, red in the face. Chanyeol feels something soft connect with the back of his head, and a dark blue settles over his vision. “I forgot. I threw your stuff in with my wash. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, thank you,” Chanyeol says. “Well, is he worth a school night?”
“If you don’t stop talking,” Kris says, “I’ll stick this toothbrush--”
“Okay, okay, Christ,” Chanyeol says, slipping the blue cardigan on. It’s just a little small on him, and he realizes that it’s Jongin’s--the one he borrowed a month back when this all had happened.
Kris softens slightly. “Any improvement this morning?”
“No,” Chanyeol says, with the pretense of sounding extraordinarily calm. “Shoved me out of bed as usual, told me to relay stuff to myself, here I am again. Nothing new.” He squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush slowly, deliberately, watching it settle into the bristles before he laughs humorlessly. “I wake up with one guy in the morning and get ready with another. Neither of them get angry at this, that’s the best I an ask for right now.”
Kris makes as apologetic a face as he can manage around a mouthful of foam. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.
“What is there to talk about?” Chanyeol says, jamming his toothbrush into his mouth as if this sealed his point. He unscrews a bottle of eyedrops, dribbling a liberal amount into each eye. Chanyeol sleeps with his eyes open, a little problem Baekhyun corrected by sliding his eyelids shut whenever he woke up at night. Used to, at least.
“You’re my friend,” Kris says simply. “You and Baekhyun both. I don’t want to see you hurting…either of you.”
“We’re past the point of hurting,” Chanyeol says, spitting into the sink. “There’s no saying how long this will last. No one knows. It’s been different in every case. We just have to learn to live with it and--” Chanyeol sighs. “Hope for the best.”
Kris holds Chanyeol’s phone out to him, at seven thirty on the dot. Chanyeol takes it from him, grunting his appreciation, and traipses to the kitchen. It’s quietest there in the morning, and Chanyeol settles into the only unbroken chair. With a deep breath, he dials Baekhyun’s cell phone.
He picks up on the first ring. “Chanyeol?” he says hopefully.
“Hey, Baekhyun.”
“Chanyeol, why aren’t you ever home?” Baekhyun asks. “You’re never home. It’s been a month--where are you?”
“I’m busy, Byun Baek,” Chanyeol says. “I have to do something and I can’t tell you what it is…I’m sorry.”
“You’re not cheating on me, right?” Baekhyun asks. “Because I would know if you were.”
“Of course not,” Chanyeol says. “I just…I’m sorry.”
“Chanyeol, there’s a stranger living in the house, aren’t you worried?” Baekhyun asks playfully. “He looks exactly like you. He’s your carbon copy!”
“I’m not worried,” Chanyeol says. “You don’t even like kissing me in public, what makes you think I’d be worried about you sleeping with a stranger?”
“Wow, touché,” Baekhyun says thoughtfully. “Though you can never be too sure. What if I get drunk? You know how bad I am when I get drunk.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun cackles. Tears almost come to his eyes at how much he misses hearing Baekhyun’s real laughs, ones not over the electrostatic hiss of the phone.
“Chanyeol, when can you come home?” Baekhyun asks in a tiny voice.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Not soon enough,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun makes a sad little noise of agreement. “But I have to go for now.”
“Okay. Chanyeol?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Chanyeol’s heart does a little something funny.
“I love you too.”
A month ago, Baekhyun had been walking home from class, just an hour before Chanyeol got out of his own. He had been walking at the crosswalk, he had been tired and weary, and he hadn’t been looking for the walk signal. From what Chanyeol was told, at least it had been fast and relatively painless, but he’d gotten there in time to see the blood and he’d never been so terrified in his life.
He’s honestly amazed how Baekhyun is even alive. He landed headfirst onto the asphalt, and he woke up after surgery without any use of his left arm. He had, miraculously, still been able to talk. Kris told him that Chanyeol had been the first person he asked for.
The thing was, when Chanyeol had bent over Baekhyun’s bedside, sick with worry and sleep deprivation, Baekhyun frowned and said,
“You’re not Chanyeol.”
That had only been the beginning.
“Yo, bitch.”
Six years of being addressed thus leaves Chanyeol in no confusion as to exactly who is speaking to him, but he takes his sweet time to look up. The boy is dropping into the chair across the library table. “Goddamn, you smell like Mexican food across the campus, the hell did you eat for lunch?”
“Hi Jongin,” Chanyeol says. “Fancy seeing you study for once.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Jongin says. “Kris told me you were here.”
“I’m far more curious as to why you were looking for me to begi
Nightmare.
It’s not that scary. It’s very simple. He walks alone, on glass. Plick plick plick, the shards pierce his skin. Baekhyun is always walking a little ways in front of him, always just out of reach--Chanyeol has learned that no matter how long his arm is, he will never be able to put his hand on Baekhyun’s small, warm shoulder. Every step Chanyeol takes, Baekhyun seems to take three. In real life, Baekhyun has always had to take two for every half a step Chanyeol takes.
No matter how much he calls, Baekhyun never hears him. He leaves behind a trail of bloody footprints in the green-blue-tinted glass that Chanyeol traces without difficulty, but he doesn’t seem to feel the same pain Chanyeol does. Walks, never stops.
But Chanyeol always falls--he always trips on an invisible obstacle, hands screaming in protest when they throw themselves out to break his fall. Baekhyun always turns around right then, as though Chanyeol’s scream of agony is the only thing he can hear. His eyes are always cold, unfeeling, unrecognizing as they roam over Chanyeol’s face for the few seconds he pauses.
And he always continues walking, until the only thing left is his footprints.
Chanyeol has stopped setting an alarm. Baekhyun has taken to waking him up at precisely seven AM, and he doesn’t need an inanimate object screaming at him as well. This morning is no different; it is timed perfectly with the nightmare.
There’s a high keening that starts out like a small whine and reaches the approximate intensity and pitch of a boiling kettle until Chanyeol jolts awake to feel himself being shoved out of bed, blankets and all. His head cracks harder against the floor than usual today. He winces and lets his cheek rest against the cool hardwood floor, untangling the last tendrils of the dream from his consciousness, watching the dust bunnies dance to the music of his heaving breaths.
“You’re not Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, coiling into his sheets on his own side of the bed. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Good morning, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I don’t want anything,” Baekhyun says, narrowing his eyes at him and hissing. “I want…Chanyeol. Not you.”
“I’ll go find him,” Chanyeol says brightly. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
Baekhyun pulls his pillow to his chest, curling his arms and legs around it. He rolls his eyes up and blows a few locks of milky brown hair out of his eyes, and Chanyeol’s heart clenches slightly. This is the Baekhyun he remembers.
“Tell him to stop leaving home in the middle of the night,” Baekhyun says, rocking back and forth and resting his chin into the soft pillow. He picks at the ruffled hem. “Tell him to get back earlier if he does. Tell him that I’m sorry for all of this…that I hope he’s not cheating on me, because I’m not cheating on him. Even though there’s a stranger that looks exactly like him sleeping in my bed.”
“Just the same old, then?” Chanyeol asks.
“Mmm,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his mouth into the pillow. “Tell him I miss him.”
“…okay,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll tell him that.”
Baekhyun isn’t mad.
That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what he tells Baekhyun. That’s what he tells himself, but he’s not sure if he believes it.
Chanyeol tells himself that Baekhyun isn’t crazy, but he is still the one that has to see Baekhyun’s cold, untrusting eyes everywhere he turns. In the morning, when he wakes up and Baekhyun is shoving him out of bed and screaming. In the evening, when he gets home after class, and Baekhyun is turning around hoping it is the Chanyeol he is looking for. At night, when Baekhyun will curl into himself and say how he misses the one that comes in the morning.
Chanyeol trudges his way to Kris’s apartment three floors above, where half his clothes are just so he can change into them in the morning and trick Baekhyun into believing he’s the right Chanyeol. Rain is pouring relentlessly outside, and Chanyeol stops by an open window just to watch it pelt against the grimy glass. His own grey reflection stares back at him, fiery red hair lank around his cheeks.
Kris’s buzzer is so loud that Chanyeol can hear it on the other side of the door, and there’s a fair bit of banging and tumbling around before it opens. Kris steps back, and Chanyeol steps in delicately, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the mess on the floor of the living room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and he bends down and picks up a pair of boxers with panda print.
“Nice,” he says, and Kris splutters, snatching it out of Chanyeol’s fingers.
“Go change, asshole,” he mutters, and Chanyeol snickers, shucking his shirt off.
“Didn’t know you’d be sleeping with anyone on a school night,” Chanyeol calls, voice echoing through the hallway.
“I--shut up, okay?” Kris says, red in the face. Chanyeol feels something soft connect with the back of his head, and a dark blue settles over his vision. “I forgot. I threw your stuff in with my wash. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, thank you,” Chanyeol says. “Well, is he worth a school night?”
“If you don’t stop talking,” Kris says, “I’ll stick this toothbrush--”
“Okay, okay, Christ,” Chanyeol says, slipping the blue cardigan on. It’s just a little small on him, and he realizes that it’s Jongin’s--the one he borrowed a month back when this all had happened.
Kris softens slightly. “Any improvement this morning?”
“No,” Chanyeol says, with the pretense of sounding extraordinarily calm. “Shoved me out of bed as usual, told me to relay stuff to myself, here I am again. Nothing new.” He squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush slowly, deliberately, watching it settle into the bristles before he laughs humorlessly. “I wake up with one guy in the morning and get ready with another. Neither of them get angry at this, that’s the best I an ask for right now.”
Kris makes as apologetic a face as he can manage around a mouthful of foam. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.
“What is there to talk about?” Chanyeol says, jamming his toothbrush into his mouth as if this sealed his point. He unscrews a bottle of eyedrops, dribbling a liberal amount into each eye. Chanyeol sleeps with his eyes open, a little problem Baekhyun corrected by sliding his eyelids shut whenever he woke up at night. Used to, at least.
“You’re my friend,” Kris says simply. “You and Baekhyun both. I don’t want to see you hurting…either of you.”
“We’re past the point of hurting,” Chanyeol says, spitting into the sink. “There’s no saying how long this will last. No one knows. It’s been different in every case. We just have to learn to live with it and--” Chanyeol sighs. “Hope for the best.”
Kris holds Chanyeol’s phone out to him, at seven thirty on the dot. Chanyeol takes it from him, grunting his appreciation, and traipses to the kitchen. It’s quietest there in the morning, and Chanyeol settles into the only unbroken chair. With a deep breath, he dials Baekhyun’s cell phone.
He picks up on the first ring. “Chanyeol?” he says hopefully.
“Hey, Baekhyun.”
“Chanyeol, why aren’t you ever home?” Baekhyun asks. “You’re never home. It’s been a month--where are you?”
“I’m busy, Byun Baek,” Chanyeol says. “I have to do something and I can’t tell you what it is…I’m sorry.”
“You’re not cheating on me, right?” Baekhyun asks. “Because I would know if you were.”
“Of course not,” Chanyeol says. “I just…I’m sorry.”
“Chanyeol, there’s a stranger living in the house, aren’t you worried?” Baekhyun asks playfully. “He looks exactly like you. He’s your carbon copy!”
“I’m not worried,” Chanyeol says. “You don’t even like kissing me in public, what makes you think I’d be worried about you sleeping with a stranger?”
“Wow, touché,” Baekhyun says thoughtfully. “Though you can never be too sure. What if I get drunk? You know how bad I am when I get drunk.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun cackles. Tears almost come to his eyes at how much he misses hearing Baekhyun’s real laughs, ones not over the electrostatic hiss of the phone.
“Chanyeol, when can you come home?” Baekhyun asks in a tiny voice.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Not soon enough,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun makes a sad little noise of agreement. “But I have to go for now.”
“Okay. Chanyeol?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Chanyeol’s heart does a little something funny.
“I love you too.”
A month ago, Baekhyun had been walking home from class, just an hour before Chanyeol got out of his own. He had been walking at the crosswalk, he had been tired and weary, and he hadn’t been looking for the walk signal. From what Chanyeol was told, at least it had been fast and relatively painless, but he’d gotten there in time to see the blood and he’d never been so terrified in his life.
He’s honestly amazed how Baekhyun is even alive. He landed headfirst onto the asphalt, and he woke up after surgery without any use of his left arm. He had, miraculously, still been able to talk. Kris told him that Chanyeol had been the first person he asked for.
The thing was, when Chanyeol had bent over Baekhyun’s bedside, sick with worry and sleep deprivation, Baekhyun frowned and said,
“You’re not Chanyeol.”
That had only been the beginning.
“Yo, bitch.”
Six years of being addressed thus leaves Chanyeol in no confusion as to exactly who is speaking to him, but he takes his sweet time to look up. The boy is dropping into the chair across the library table. “Goddamn, you smell like Mexican food across the campus, the hell did you eat for lunch?”
“Hi Jongin,” Chanyeol says. “Fancy seeing you study for once.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Jongin says. “Kris told me you were here.”
“I’m far more curious as to why you were looking for me to begi
0/5000
Chanyeol has a recurring dream.
Nightmare.
It’s not that scary. It’s very simple. He walks alone, on glass. Plick plick plick, the shards pierce his skin. Baekhyun is always walking a little ways in front of him, always just out of reach--Chanyeol has learned that no matter how long his arm is, he will never be able to put his hand on Baekhyun’s small, warm shoulder. Every step Chanyeol takes, Baekhyun seems to take three. In real life, Baekhyun has always had to take two for every half a step Chanyeol takes.
No matter how much he calls, Baekhyun never hears him. He leaves behind a trail of bloody footprints in the green-blue-tinted glass that Chanyeol traces without difficulty, but he doesn’t seem to feel the same pain Chanyeol does. Walks, never stops.
But Chanyeol always falls--he always trips on an invisible obstacle, hands screaming in protest when they throw themselves out to break his fall. Baekhyun always turns around right then, as though Chanyeol’s scream of agony is the only thing he can hear. His eyes are always cold, unfeeling, unrecognizing as they roam over Chanyeol’s face for the few seconds he pauses.
And he always continues walking, until the only thing left is his footprints.
Chanyeol has stopped setting an alarm. Baekhyun has taken to waking him up at precisely seven AM, and he doesn’t need an inanimate object screaming at him as well. This morning is no different; it is timed perfectly with the nightmare.
There’s a high keening that starts out like a small whine and reaches the approximate intensity and pitch of a boiling kettle until Chanyeol jolts awake to feel himself being shoved out of bed, blankets and all. His head cracks harder against the floor than usual today. He winces and lets his cheek rest against the cool hardwood floor, untangling the last tendrils of the dream from his consciousness, watching the dust bunnies dance to the music of his heaving breaths.
“You’re not Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, coiling into his sheets on his own side of the bed. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Good morning, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I don’t want anything,” Baekhyun says, narrowing his eyes at him and hissing. “I want…Chanyeol. Not you.”
“I’ll go find him,” Chanyeol says brightly. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
Baekhyun pulls his pillow to his chest, curling his arms and legs around it. He rolls his eyes up and blows a few locks of milky brown hair out of his eyes, and Chanyeol’s heart clenches slightly. This is the Baekhyun he remembers.
“Tell him to stop leaving home in the middle of the night,” Baekhyun says, rocking back and forth and resting his chin into the soft pillow. He picks at the ruffled hem. “Tell him to get back earlier if he does. Tell him that I’m sorry for all of this…that I hope he’s not cheating on me, because I’m not cheating on him. Even though there’s a stranger that looks exactly like him sleeping in my bed.”
“Just the same old, then?” Chanyeol asks.
“Mmm,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his mouth into the pillow. “Tell him I miss him.”
“…okay,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll tell him that.”
Baekhyun isn’t mad.
That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what he tells Baekhyun. That’s what he tells himself, but he’s not sure if he believes it.
Chanyeol tells himself that Baekhyun isn’t crazy, but he is still the one that has to see Baekhyun’s cold, untrusting eyes everywhere he turns. In the morning, when he wakes up and Baekhyun is shoving him out of bed and screaming. In the evening, when he gets home after class, and Baekhyun is turning around hoping it is the Chanyeol he is looking for. At night, when Baekhyun will curl into himself and say how he misses the one that comes in the morning.
Chanyeol trudges his way to Kris’s apartment three floors above, where half his clothes are just so he can change into them in the morning and trick Baekhyun into believing he’s the right Chanyeol. Rain is pouring relentlessly outside, and Chanyeol stops by an open window just to watch it pelt against the grimy glass. His own grey reflection stares back at him, fiery red hair lank around his cheeks.
Kris’s buzzer is so loud that Chanyeol can hear it on the other side of the door, and there’s a fair bit of banging and tumbling around before it opens. Kris steps back, and Chanyeol steps in delicately, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the mess on the floor of the living room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and he bends down and picks up a pair of boxers with panda print.
“Nice,” he says, and Kris splutters, snatching it out of Chanyeol’s fingers.
“Go change, asshole,” he mutters, and Chanyeol snickers, shucking his shirt off.
“Didn’t know you’d be sleeping with anyone on a school night,” Chanyeol calls, voice echoing through the hallway.
“I--shut up, okay?” Kris says, red in the face. Chanyeol feels something soft connect with the back of his head, and a dark blue settles over his vision. “I forgot. I threw your stuff in with my wash. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, thank you,” Chanyeol says. “Well, is he worth a school night?”
“If you don’t stop talking,” Kris says, “I’ll stick this toothbrush--”
“Okay, okay, Christ,” Chanyeol says, slipping the blue cardigan on. It’s just a little small on him, and he realizes that it’s Jongin’s--the one he borrowed a month back when this all had happened.
Kris softens slightly. “Any improvement this morning?”
“No,” Chanyeol says, with the pretense of sounding extraordinarily calm. “Shoved me out of bed as usual, told me to relay stuff to myself, here I am again. Nothing new.” He squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush slowly, deliberately, watching it settle into the bristles before he laughs humorlessly. “I wake up with one guy in the morning and get ready with another. Neither of them get angry at this, that’s the best I an ask for right now.”
Kris makes as apologetic a face as he can manage around a mouthful of foam. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.
“What is there to talk about?” Chanyeol says, jamming his toothbrush into his mouth as if this sealed his point. He unscrews a bottle of eyedrops, dribbling a liberal amount into each eye. Chanyeol sleeps with his eyes open, a little problem Baekhyun corrected by sliding his eyelids shut whenever he woke up at night. Used to, at least.
“You’re my friend,” Kris says simply. “You and Baekhyun both. I don’t want to see you hurting…either of you.”
“We’re past the point of hurting,” Chanyeol says, spitting into the sink. “There’s no saying how long this will last. No one knows. It’s been different in every case. We just have to learn to live with it and--” Chanyeol sighs. “Hope for the best.”
Kris holds Chanyeol’s phone out to him, at seven thirty on the dot. Chanyeol takes it from him, grunting his appreciation, and traipses to the kitchen. It’s quietest there in the morning, and Chanyeol settles into the only unbroken chair. With a deep breath, he dials Baekhyun’s cell phone.
He picks up on the first ring. “Chanyeol?” he says hopefully.
“Hey, Baekhyun.”
“Chanyeol, why aren’t you ever home?” Baekhyun asks. “You’re never home. It’s been a month--where are you?”
“I’m busy, Byun Baek,” Chanyeol says. “I have to do something and I can’t tell you what it is…I’m sorry.”
“You’re not cheating on me, right?” Baekhyun asks. “Because I would know if you were.”
“Of course not,” Chanyeol says. “I just…I’m sorry.”
“Chanyeol, there’s a stranger living in the house, aren’t you worried?” Baekhyun asks playfully. “He looks exactly like you. He’s your carbon copy!”
“I’m not worried,” Chanyeol says. “You don’t even like kissing me in public, what makes you think I’d be worried about you sleeping with a stranger?”
“Wow, touché,” Baekhyun says thoughtfully. “Though you can never be too sure. What if I get drunk? You know how bad I am when I get drunk.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun cackles. Tears almost come to his eyes at how much he misses hearing Baekhyun’s real laughs, ones not over the electrostatic hiss of the phone.
“Chanyeol, when can you come home?” Baekhyun asks in a tiny voice.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Not soon enough,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun makes a sad little noise of agreement. “But I have to go for now.”
“Okay. Chanyeol?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Chanyeol’s heart does a little something funny.
“I love you too.”
A month ago, Baekhyun had been walking home from class, just an hour before Chanyeol got out of his own. He had been walking at the crosswalk, he had been tired and weary, and he hadn’t been looking for the walk signal. From what Chanyeol was told, at least it had been fast and relatively painless, but he’d gotten there in time to see the blood and he’d never been so terrified in his life.
He’s honestly amazed how Baekhyun is even alive. He landed headfirst onto the asphalt, and he woke up after surgery without any use of his left arm. He had, miraculously, still been able to talk. Kris told him that Chanyeol had been the first person he asked for.
The thing was, when Chanyeol had bent over Baekhyun’s bedside, sick with worry and sleep deprivation, Baekhyun frowned and said,
“You’re not Chanyeol.”
That had only been the beginning.
“Yo, bitch.”
Six years of being addressed thus leaves Chanyeol in no confusion as to exactly who is speaking to him, but he takes his sweet time to look up. The boy is dropping into the chair across the library table. “Goddamn, you smell like Mexican food across the campus, the hell did you eat for lunch?”
“Hi Jongin,” Chanyeol says. “Fancy seeing you study for once.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Jongin says. “Kris told me you were here.”
“I’m far more curious as to why you were looking for me to begi
Nightmare.
It’s not that scary. It’s very simple. He walks alone, on glass. Plick plick plick, the shards pierce his skin. Baekhyun is always walking a little ways in front of him, always just out of reach--Chanyeol has learned that no matter how long his arm is, he will never be able to put his hand on Baekhyun’s small, warm shoulder. Every step Chanyeol takes, Baekhyun seems to take three. In real life, Baekhyun has always had to take two for every half a step Chanyeol takes.
No matter how much he calls, Baekhyun never hears him. He leaves behind a trail of bloody footprints in the green-blue-tinted glass that Chanyeol traces without difficulty, but he doesn’t seem to feel the same pain Chanyeol does. Walks, never stops.
But Chanyeol always falls--he always trips on an invisible obstacle, hands screaming in protest when they throw themselves out to break his fall. Baekhyun always turns around right then, as though Chanyeol’s scream of agony is the only thing he can hear. His eyes are always cold, unfeeling, unrecognizing as they roam over Chanyeol’s face for the few seconds he pauses.
And he always continues walking, until the only thing left is his footprints.
Chanyeol has stopped setting an alarm. Baekhyun has taken to waking him up at precisely seven AM, and he doesn’t need an inanimate object screaming at him as well. This morning is no different; it is timed perfectly with the nightmare.
There’s a high keening that starts out like a small whine and reaches the approximate intensity and pitch of a boiling kettle until Chanyeol jolts awake to feel himself being shoved out of bed, blankets and all. His head cracks harder against the floor than usual today. He winces and lets his cheek rest against the cool hardwood floor, untangling the last tendrils of the dream from his consciousness, watching the dust bunnies dance to the music of his heaving breaths.
“You’re not Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, coiling into his sheets on his own side of the bed. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Good morning, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I don’t want anything,” Baekhyun says, narrowing his eyes at him and hissing. “I want…Chanyeol. Not you.”
“I’ll go find him,” Chanyeol says brightly. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
Baekhyun pulls his pillow to his chest, curling his arms and legs around it. He rolls his eyes up and blows a few locks of milky brown hair out of his eyes, and Chanyeol’s heart clenches slightly. This is the Baekhyun he remembers.
“Tell him to stop leaving home in the middle of the night,” Baekhyun says, rocking back and forth and resting his chin into the soft pillow. He picks at the ruffled hem. “Tell him to get back earlier if he does. Tell him that I’m sorry for all of this…that I hope he’s not cheating on me, because I’m not cheating on him. Even though there’s a stranger that looks exactly like him sleeping in my bed.”
“Just the same old, then?” Chanyeol asks.
“Mmm,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his mouth into the pillow. “Tell him I miss him.”
“…okay,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll tell him that.”
Baekhyun isn’t mad.
That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what he tells Baekhyun. That’s what he tells himself, but he’s not sure if he believes it.
Chanyeol tells himself that Baekhyun isn’t crazy, but he is still the one that has to see Baekhyun’s cold, untrusting eyes everywhere he turns. In the morning, when he wakes up and Baekhyun is shoving him out of bed and screaming. In the evening, when he gets home after class, and Baekhyun is turning around hoping it is the Chanyeol he is looking for. At night, when Baekhyun will curl into himself and say how he misses the one that comes in the morning.
Chanyeol trudges his way to Kris’s apartment three floors above, where half his clothes are just so he can change into them in the morning and trick Baekhyun into believing he’s the right Chanyeol. Rain is pouring relentlessly outside, and Chanyeol stops by an open window just to watch it pelt against the grimy glass. His own grey reflection stares back at him, fiery red hair lank around his cheeks.
Kris’s buzzer is so loud that Chanyeol can hear it on the other side of the door, and there’s a fair bit of banging and tumbling around before it opens. Kris steps back, and Chanyeol steps in delicately, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the mess on the floor of the living room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and he bends down and picks up a pair of boxers with panda print.
“Nice,” he says, and Kris splutters, snatching it out of Chanyeol’s fingers.
“Go change, asshole,” he mutters, and Chanyeol snickers, shucking his shirt off.
“Didn’t know you’d be sleeping with anyone on a school night,” Chanyeol calls, voice echoing through the hallway.
“I--shut up, okay?” Kris says, red in the face. Chanyeol feels something soft connect with the back of his head, and a dark blue settles over his vision. “I forgot. I threw your stuff in with my wash. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, thank you,” Chanyeol says. “Well, is he worth a school night?”
“If you don’t stop talking,” Kris says, “I’ll stick this toothbrush--”
“Okay, okay, Christ,” Chanyeol says, slipping the blue cardigan on. It’s just a little small on him, and he realizes that it’s Jongin’s--the one he borrowed a month back when this all had happened.
Kris softens slightly. “Any improvement this morning?”
“No,” Chanyeol says, with the pretense of sounding extraordinarily calm. “Shoved me out of bed as usual, told me to relay stuff to myself, here I am again. Nothing new.” He squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush slowly, deliberately, watching it settle into the bristles before he laughs humorlessly. “I wake up with one guy in the morning and get ready with another. Neither of them get angry at this, that’s the best I an ask for right now.”
Kris makes as apologetic a face as he can manage around a mouthful of foam. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.
“What is there to talk about?” Chanyeol says, jamming his toothbrush into his mouth as if this sealed his point. He unscrews a bottle of eyedrops, dribbling a liberal amount into each eye. Chanyeol sleeps with his eyes open, a little problem Baekhyun corrected by sliding his eyelids shut whenever he woke up at night. Used to, at least.
“You’re my friend,” Kris says simply. “You and Baekhyun both. I don’t want to see you hurting…either of you.”
“We’re past the point of hurting,” Chanyeol says, spitting into the sink. “There’s no saying how long this will last. No one knows. It’s been different in every case. We just have to learn to live with it and--” Chanyeol sighs. “Hope for the best.”
Kris holds Chanyeol’s phone out to him, at seven thirty on the dot. Chanyeol takes it from him, grunting his appreciation, and traipses to the kitchen. It’s quietest there in the morning, and Chanyeol settles into the only unbroken chair. With a deep breath, he dials Baekhyun’s cell phone.
He picks up on the first ring. “Chanyeol?” he says hopefully.
“Hey, Baekhyun.”
“Chanyeol, why aren’t you ever home?” Baekhyun asks. “You’re never home. It’s been a month--where are you?”
“I’m busy, Byun Baek,” Chanyeol says. “I have to do something and I can’t tell you what it is…I’m sorry.”
“You’re not cheating on me, right?” Baekhyun asks. “Because I would know if you were.”
“Of course not,” Chanyeol says. “I just…I’m sorry.”
“Chanyeol, there’s a stranger living in the house, aren’t you worried?” Baekhyun asks playfully. “He looks exactly like you. He’s your carbon copy!”
“I’m not worried,” Chanyeol says. “You don’t even like kissing me in public, what makes you think I’d be worried about you sleeping with a stranger?”
“Wow, touché,” Baekhyun says thoughtfully. “Though you can never be too sure. What if I get drunk? You know how bad I am when I get drunk.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun cackles. Tears almost come to his eyes at how much he misses hearing Baekhyun’s real laughs, ones not over the electrostatic hiss of the phone.
“Chanyeol, when can you come home?” Baekhyun asks in a tiny voice.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Not soon enough,” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun makes a sad little noise of agreement. “But I have to go for now.”
“Okay. Chanyeol?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Chanyeol’s heart does a little something funny.
“I love you too.”
A month ago, Baekhyun had been walking home from class, just an hour before Chanyeol got out of his own. He had been walking at the crosswalk, he had been tired and weary, and he hadn’t been looking for the walk signal. From what Chanyeol was told, at least it had been fast and relatively painless, but he’d gotten there in time to see the blood and he’d never been so terrified in his life.
He’s honestly amazed how Baekhyun is even alive. He landed headfirst onto the asphalt, and he woke up after surgery without any use of his left arm. He had, miraculously, still been able to talk. Kris told him that Chanyeol had been the first person he asked for.
The thing was, when Chanyeol had bent over Baekhyun’s bedside, sick with worry and sleep deprivation, Baekhyun frowned and said,
“You’re not Chanyeol.”
That had only been the beginning.
“Yo, bitch.”
Six years of being addressed thus leaves Chanyeol in no confusion as to exactly who is speaking to him, but he takes his sweet time to look up. The boy is dropping into the chair across the library table. “Goddamn, you smell like Mexican food across the campus, the hell did you eat for lunch?”
“Hi Jongin,” Chanyeol says. “Fancy seeing you study for once.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Jongin says. “Kris told me you were here.”
“I’m far more curious as to why you were looking for me to begi
đang được dịch, vui lòng đợi..
Chanyeol có một giấc mơ kỳ. Cơn ác mộng. Nó không phải là đáng sợ. Nó rất đơn giản. Anh đi một mình, trên kính. Bộ làm êm * bộ làm êm * bộ làm êm *, các mảnh vỡ xuyên qua da của mình. Baekhyun là luôn luôn đi bộ một cách nhỏ ở phía trước của anh ta, luôn luôn chỉ ra tầm - Chanyeol đã học được rằng không có vấn đề bao lâu là cánh tay của mình, anh sẽ không bao giờ có thể đặt tay trên nhỏ, vai ấm áp của Baekhyun. Mỗi bước Chanyeol mất, Baekhyun dường như mất ba. Trong cuộc sống thực, Baekhyun đã luôn luôn phải mất hai cho mỗi một bước nửa Chanyeol mất. Không có vấn đề bao nhiêu ông gọi, Baekhyun chưa bao giờ nghe anh. Ông ra đi để lại một dấu vết của dấu chân đẫm máu trong kính màu xanh-màu xanh-mà Chanyeol dấu vết mà không gặp khó khăn, nhưng ông dường như không cảm thấy đau đớn cùng Chanyeol không. Đi, không bao giờ dừng lại. Nhưng Chanyeol luôn rơi - ông luôn chuyến đi trên một vật cản vô hình, bàn tay la hét phản đối khi họ ném mình ra để phá vỡ mùa thu của mình. Baekhyun luôn quay lại ngay sau đó tựa như tiếng thét đau đớn của Chanyeol là điều duy nhất anh có thể nghe thấy. Đôi mắt anh luôn lạnh lùng, vô cảm, khi họ đi lang thang unrecognizing trên khuôn mặt của Chanyeol cho vài giây, anh dừng lại. Và anh luôn luôn tiếp tục bước đi, cho đến khi điều duy nhất còn lại là dấu chân của mình. Chanyeol đã ngừng thiết lập một báo động. Baekhyun đã thực hiện để đánh thức anh dậy vào đúng 7:00, và anh ta không cần một đối tượng vô tri vô giác hét lên với anh là tốt. Sáng nay là không có khác nhau; nó được hẹn giờ hoàn hảo với những cơn ác mộng. Có một keening cao là bắt đầu như một tiếng rên rỉ nhỏ và đạt cường độ xấp xỉ và cao độ của một ấm đun nước sôi cho đến khi Chanyeol xóc tỉnh táo để cảm thấy mình bị đẩy ra khỏi giường, chăn mền và tất cả. Vết nứt đầu của mình khó khăn hơn so với sàn hơn bình thường ngày nay. Ông nhăn mặt và cho phép phần còn lại má mình vào má sàn gỗ mát mẻ, untangling các tua cuối cùng của giấc mơ từ ý thức của mình, xem thỏ bụi nhảy theo nhạc của hơi thở phập phồng của mình. "Bạn không phải là Chanyeol," Baekhyun nói, cuộn vào tờ của ông về khía cạnh riêng của ông về giường. "Anh đang làm gì trên giường của tôi?" "Chào buổi sáng, Baekhyun," Chanyeol nói, ngồi dậy và xoa trán. "Anh muốn gì cho bữa sáng?" "Tôi không muốn bất cứ điều gì," Baekhyun nói, nheo mắt của mình vào anh ta và rít. "Tôi muốn ... Chanyeol. Không phải bạn. " "Tôi sẽ đi tìm anh ta," Chanyeol nói rỡ. "Có điều gì bạn muốn tôi nói với anh ta?" Baekhyun kéo gối lên ngực, cong cánh tay và chân của mình xung quanh nó. Ông đảo mắt lên và thổi một vài lọn tóc màu nâu sữa ra khỏi mắt, và trái tim của Chanyeol siết nhẹ. Đây là Baekhyun anh nhớ lại. "Hãy cho anh ấy dừng lại rời khỏi nhà vào giữa đêm," Baekhyun nói, đung đưa qua lại và nghỉ ngơi cằm vào gối mềm. Ông chọn tại hem xù. "Hãy cho anh ấy để có được trở lại sớm hơn nếu anh ấy làm. Nói với anh ấy rằng tôi xin lỗi vì tất cả những điều này ... Tôi hy vọng rằng anh ấy không lừa dối tôi, vì tôi không lừa dối anh. Mặc dù có một người lạ trông giống hệt như anh đang ngủ trên giường của tôi. " "Chỉ cần cùng tuổi, sau đó?" Chanyeol hỏi. "Mmm," Baekhyun thì thầm, ép miệng ông vào gối. "Hãy cho anh ấy tôi nhớ anh ấy." "... không sao," Chanyeol nói. "Tôi sẽ nói với cậu ấy." Baekhyun là không điên. Đó là những gì anh ta nói với tất cả mọi người. Đó là những gì anh ta nói với Baekhyun. Đó là những gì anh nói với chính mình, nhưng anh không chắc chắn nếu ông tin rằng nó. Chanyeol nói với chính mình rằng Baekhyun là không điên, nhưng ông vẫn là một trong đó có thấy lạnh, mắt untrusting Baekhyun của ông biến ở khắp mọi nơi. Trong buổi sáng, khi anh thức dậy và Baekhyun đang xô đẩy anh ra khỏi giường và la hét. Vào buổi tối, khi ông được nhà sau giờ học, và Baekhyun đang quay xung quanh hy vọng nó là Chanyeol anh đang tìm kiếm. Vào ban đêm, khi Baekhyun sẽ cuộn tròn vào chính mình và nói như thế nào, ông đã bỏ qua một mà đến vào buổi sáng. Chanyeol bước khó nhọc đường đến căn hộ của Kris ba tầng trên, nơi mà một nửa quần áo của mình chỉ là để anh có thể thay đổi vào chúng vào buổi sáng và lừa Baekhyun vào tin tưởng rằng ông là đúng Chanyeol. Mưa đang đổ không ngừng bên ngoài, và Chanyeol dừng lại bởi một cửa sổ mở ra chỉ để xem nó tấm da lên kính cáu bẩn. Phản ánh xám của mình nhìn lại ông ta, bốc lửa gầy tóc màu đỏ xung quanh má. còi Kris là rất lớn mà Chanyeol có thể nghe thấy nó ở phía bên kia cánh cửa, và có một chút công bằng của đập và nhào lộn xung quanh trước khi nó mở ra. Kris bước trở lại, và Chanyeol bước trong tế nhị, nhướn mày dò hỏi tại lộn xộn trên sàn của phòng khách. Quần áo được rải rác ở khắp mọi nơi, và anh cúi xuống và nhặt một cặp võ sĩ với panda in. "Nice," ông nói, và Kris splutters, giật nó ra khỏi ngón tay Chanyeol của. "Đi thay đổi, asshole," anh ta lẩm bẩm, và Chanyeol . Snickers, bóc vỏ áo ra "Không biết bạn muốn được ngủ với bất cứ ai về một đêm trường," Chanyeol gọi, giọng nói vang vọng qua các hành lang. "Tôi -? im đi, được không" Kris nói, màu đỏ trong khuôn mặt. Chanyeol cảm thấy một cái gì đó mềm kết nối với sự trở lại của người đứng đầu của mình, và một màu xanh đậm lắng hơn tầm nhìn của mình. "Tôi quên. Tôi đã ném công cụ của bạn với rửa của tôi. Bạn đang chào đón. " "Oh, cảm ơn bạn," Chanyeol nói. "Vâng, là ông có giá trị một đêm trường?" "Nếu bạn không ngừng nói chuyện," Kris nói, "Tôi sẽ gắn bó toothbrush-- này" "Được rồi, được rồi, Chúa Kitô," Chanyeol nói, trượt các cardigan màu xanh trên . Nó chỉ là một chút nhỏ về ông, và ông nhận ra rằng đó là Jongin's -. Một ông mượn một tháng trở lại khi tất cả điều này đã xảy ra Kris làm mềm nhẹ. "Bất kỳ sự cải thiện sáng nay không?" "Không," Chanyeol nói, với việc giả vờ kêu bất thường bình tĩnh. "Xô đẩy tôi ra khỏi giường như thường lệ, nói với tôi để chuyển tiếp thứ cho bản thân mình, tôi lại ngồi đây. Không có gì mới. "Ông bóp kem đánh răng lên bàn chải đánh răng của mình từ từ, cố ý, xem nó giải quyết vào các lông bàn chải trước khi anh cười humorlessly. "Tôi thức dậy với một chàng trai trong sáng và sẵn sàng với người khác. Không ai trong số họ có được tức giận lúc này, đó là tốt nhất tôi một yêu cầu ngay bây giờ. " Kris làm như có lỗi một khuôn mặt như ông có thể quản lý xung quanh một miệng đầy bọt. "Bạn có muốn nói về nó?", Ông hỏi một cách nhẹ nhàng. "Điều đó để nói về?" Chanyeol nói, kẹt giấy bàn chải đánh răng của mình vào miệng của mình như là nếu điều này kín quan điểm của mình. Ông unscrews một chai thuốc nhỏ mắt, nhỏ giọt một số tiền tự do vào mỗi mắt. Chanyeol ngủ với đôi mắt mở, một vấn đề nhỏ Baekhyun sửa chữa bằng cách trượt mí mắt đóng cửa bất cứ khi nào anh ta tỉnh dậy vào ban đêm. Được sử dụng để, ít nhất. "Bạn là người bạn của tôi," Kris nói đơn giản. "Bạn và Baekhyun cả. Tôi không muốn nhìn thấy bạn làm tổn thương ... hoặc là bạn. " "Chúng tôi đang trong quá khứ điểm của tổn thương," Chanyeol nói, nhổ nước bọt vào bồn rửa chén. "Không có nói bao lâu này sẽ kéo dài. Không ai biết. Đó là khác nhau trong mọi trường hợp. Chúng tôi chỉ phải học cách sống chung với nó và- "Chanyeol thở dài. "Hy vọng cho là tốt nhất." Kris giữ điện thoại của Chanyeol ra với anh ta, lúc bảy giờ ba mươi trên chấm. Chanyeol mất nó từ anh, grunting đánh giá của ông, và traipses vào bếp. Đó là yên tĩnh nhất đó vào buổi sáng, và Chanyeol lắng vào ghế không gián đoạn chỉ. Với một hơi thật sâu, anh quay điện thoại di động của Baekhyun. Ông chọn lên trên những vòng đầu tiên. "Chanyeol?", Ông nói hy vọng. "Hey, Baekhyun." "Chanyeol, sao anh không bao giờ nhà" Baekhyun hỏi?. "Bạn sẽ không bao giờ về nhà. Nó được một tháng? - Ở đâu " "Tôi đang bận, Byun Baek," Chanyeol nói. "Tôi phải làm một cái gì đó và tôi không thể cho bạn biết nó là gì ... Tôi xin lỗi." "Bạn sẽ không lừa dối tôi, phải không?" Baekhyun hỏi. "Bởi vì tôi biết nếu bạn có". "Tất nhiên là không," Chanyeol nói. "Tôi chỉ ... Tôi xin lỗi." "Chanyeol, có một người lạ sống trong ngôi nhà, không có lo không?" Baekhyun hỏi tinh nghịch. "Anh ấy trông giống hệt như bạn. Anh ấy là bản sao carbon của bạn! " "Tôi không lo lắng," Chanyeol nói. "Bạn thậm chí không giống như hôn tôi ở nơi công cộng, những gì làm cho bạn nghĩ rằng tôi muốn được lo lắng về bạn ngủ với một người lạ?" "Wow, Touche," Baekhyun nói trầm ngâm. "Mặc dù bạn có thể không bao giờ là quá chắc chắn. Nếu tôi say? Bạn biết làm thế nào xấu tôi khi tôi say. " "Chúng ta không nói về nó," Chanyeol nói, và Baekhyun cackles. Nước mắt gần như đi tới mắt nhìn bao nhiêu anh bỏ lỡ nghe cười thật Baekhyun của, những người không trong tiếng rít điện của điện thoại. "Chanyeol, khi bạn có thể trở về nhà?" Baekhyun hỏi bằng một giọng nhỏ xíu. "Chẳng bao lâu." "Làm thế nào sớm ? " "Không đủ sớm," Chanyeol nói, và Baekhyun làm cho một tiếng ồn chút buồn của thỏa thuận. "Nhưng tôi phải đi bây giờ." "Được rồi. Chanyeol "? "Yeah?" "Anh yêu em." tim Chanyeol của làm một chút gì đó buồn cười. "Em cũng yêu anh." Một tháng trước đây, Baekhyun đã đi bộ về nhà từ lớp, chỉ một giờ trước khi Chanyeol bước ra khỏi chính mình . Ông đã đi vào lối đi dành cho, ông đã mệt mỏi và kiệt sức, và ông đã không được tìm kiếm các tín hiệu đi bộ. Từ những gì Chanyeol đã nói, ít nhất nó đã được nhanh chóng và tương đối không đau, nhưng anh nhận được ở đó trong thời gian để nhìn thấy máu và anh chưa bao giờ quá khiếp sợ trong cuộc sống của mình. Anh ấy thật ngạc nhiên như thế nào Baekhyun thậm chí còn sống. Ông đáp xuống đập đầu vào nhựa đường, và ông tỉnh dậy sau khi phẫu thuật mà không có bất kỳ sử dụng cánh tay trái của mình. Ông đã, kỳ diệu thay, vẫn có thể nói chuyện được. Kris nói với ông rằng Chanyeol đã là người đầu tiên anh yêu cầu. Có điều là, khi Chanyeol đã cúi xuống cạnh giường ngủ của Baekhyun, ốm vì lo lắng và mất ngủ, Baekhyun cau mày nói, "Bạn không phải là Chanyeol." Đó chỉ mới được đầu. "Yo, chó cái." Sáu năm được giải quyết như vậy, lá Chanyeol không có sự nhầm lẫn về chính xác ai đang nói chuyện với anh, nhưng anh cần có thời gian ngọt ngào của mình để tìm kiếm. Cậu bé được thả vào cái ghế trên bảng thư viện. "Chết tiệt, bạn ngửi thấy mùi giống như thực phẩm Mexico trên khuôn viên trường, các địa ngục đã làm bạn ăn cho bữa trưa?" "Hi Jongin," Chanyeol nói. "Fancy thấy bạn nghiên cứu một lần." "Thực ra, tôi không," Jongin nói. "Kris nói với em anh đã đến đây." "Tôi rất tò mò là tại sao bạn đang tìm kiếm tôi để begi
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