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He's tall, lean, and brunette. Undeniably pretty. He's exactly Chanyeol’s type.
He laughs unabashed at something Chanyeol says, touching his arm coquettishly. Chanyeol’s smile is a grimace but this pretty little thing hanging off his arm is unaware and keeps on laughing, the sound grates on Chanyeol's ear, it isn't right, it's too soft, too demure, his eyes don't crinkle on the corners or shine mischievously.
And his lips, Chanyeol stares at them as he forms another word, pink tongue swiping over the top lip. His lips are thinner than what Chanyeol hoped for, there's no irresistible fullness to them. He doesn't smirk. He doesn't challenge him.
Chanyeol kisses him anyway. He presses his hand to his hips, pulls him against him with the desperation of a man on the brink of losing himself, his heart is open, bleeding. His desperation is closer to survival, than to lust.
“You don't wanna know my name?” he asks, breathily, thin lips twisting into a delighted simper.
“We don't need names,” Chanyeol replies. He takes the bottle of vodka in one hand and this guy's palm in another, leading him to the bar’s restroom. Classy.
He doesn't seem to mind, because he accepts Chanyeol’s vodka flavored kisses, his big hand roaming his body, maneuvering him around the small space to the grimy wall. An ancient poster of Chronos Camp on the shores of Pluto—another outer colony targeted by tourist guides and loaded space travelers, dressed as a relaxation spot—hangs behind his conquest.
Five moons on a dark sky above glassy ice plains.
Chanyeol chugs down another mouthful of alcohol, a long time ago he went on an expedition to the planet and around the Kuiper Belt. He was happy back then.
He presses a kiss to the guy’s throat, sucking on the pale skin until it's red. Chanyeol closes his eyes, thinks of bronze skin, tan, secret moles no other person in this universe knew better than him, he could find them blind with his mouth, needy with his fingers.
The bottle tips over, it falls, and the alcohol runs like a river under their feet. He moans and it sounds wrong, Chanyeol can't stand it.
He puts one hand on his shoulder, fingers digging beneath bone, the other on his hip for leverage. Chanyeol turns him around, swift and brutish.
“Rough,” he laughs, turned on. Accepting Chanyeol’s less than sweet treatment of him. He lays his forehead on the wall, pushes his ass out.
Chanyeol attacks the back of his neck, half-hard. He pulls at his shirt, sucking the skin of his shoulder, biting lightly. Chanyeol traps him on that spot, letting his larger body cover his back and pushing his groin against his ass, rutting, making him feel it. His mind is full of flashes of several encounters, full lips, tight body, laughter, deeper, higher. His heart was on fire.
He takes his cock out, stripping it furiously. Heat gathers deep in his stomach. His partner moans when he bites him. Chanyeol wasn't a biter, it's an acquired habit. The ghost of someone else.
With the guy's help they get his pants down his thighs, in the dingy light, Chanyeol imagines his skin is darker, his hair is the right shade of brown, his waist is tiny enough to maintain the fantasy. Chanyeol grips himself at the base, pressing the tip of his dick against the furled skin of his opening.
“Oh, fuck, you're big,” he gasps, breaking into a moan as Chanyeol bottoms out.
“Yeah? You like that?”
He nods. Hangs his head, his back arches.
Chanyeol pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, makes him moan louder. Jongin. He drives his cock time and time again inside him, going deep and hard, holding him up with strong arms.
“You— you feel good—” Chanyeol stutters, mind dizzy.
“Right back at ya. Fuck.”
They fuck hard, sharp thrust, heavy pants, kissing messily when they find the others' mouth. Awkward angles and too much spit, and in every kiss Chanyeol closes his eyes. He just wants to feel.
Jongin. Jongin. Jongin. He bites his lips, pressing his mouth to the back of this illusion, fucking into him. Jongin. He can't say his name out loud so he thinks it, loves it in silence. His eyes are stinging, his throat closing off.
Jongin.
Someone knocks on the door but they keep at it. The wall rattles, the sound of their bodies crashing fills the room. Chanyeol thinks everyone in the bar can hear them.
He changes the angle, goes balls deep in him.
He comes inside another man, shaking, bruising him, using him. Begging to wake up.
The sun is bright on his face.
Chanyeol grimaces, covering his eyes from the sickening flare. He's queasy. His throat stings. He's hurting, everywhere.
“Hard night?”
He battles to open his eyes, they water, and his tongue is so dry it's sandpaper.
“Take this.”
Locating the voice, Chanyeol directs his half-open eyes to the man standing above him. He's short but Chanyeol wants to cower and dissolve into the couch.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, grabbing the pills and water from him. When he manages to sit up, he goes sideways. He lost control of his body last night and he's yet to regain it.
He lost his mind too.
“You were out all night again,” Kyungsoo says, his bushy, dark eyebrows set in judgment.
“Had something to do?”
“Like what? Work? Why didn't you go home?”
Too many questions, the world is spinning.
“I can't go home,” he mumbles under his breath, but Kyungsoo catches it.
Of course he does. They've known each other for half their lives. They work together too. Kyungsoo knows almost everything about Chanyeol, except the darkest parts of his heart. The ones he's kept zealously hidden.
Kyungsoo sits down, his lab coat rustling with the movement. His hand lands on Chanyeol’s knee. Before Chanyeol would've thrived under such open displays of affection, but his friend’s love can't warm him like it used to.
“Chanyeol, if you want to talk, you know I'm here, right?”
He nods. His head pounds. “I know.” His mouth tastes like shit. “I couldn't go home,” he says.
“That's okay,” Kyungsoo says, trying a smile. Heart-shaped. Nice. Friendly. “The lab is always a good place to crash. I don't mind.”
The sun doesn't dim and he can't go home.
In his home there is no sun. It's not even a home anymore. It's a collection of rooms, trinkets, darkness… It's an empty bed and cold sheets.
It's Chanyeol flayed, cut open, beating heart bleeding on the carpet he picked out with the man he loved. Loves.
It's him loving alone.
He turns to Kyungsoo, forces his lips to lift at the corners and smiles. “Breakfast?” He asks.
11062178. +East, 0 - 360.
Transcript. FILE 0002. Dr. J. Park.
“Uh, I don't know what to say, I feel stupid talking to the camera…are you listening? You better be.”
A pause. The camera shakes. Something falls off frame and he laughs. Ridiculously loud, happy.
“I'm so clumsy.” He pouts, his professional facade slipping. “Hey, do you miss me? I miss you. Please say you miss me even more, that you can't live without me.”
“I miss you,” Chanyeol says, reaching out for the lovely face on the screen, fingertips grazing cold static. A phantom. He can feel his chest rupturing, caving in. “I miss you, baby. I can’t live without you anymore.”
Tonight's delusion looks a couple of years younger than the man Chanyeol wants him to impersonate. He reminds him of the college student, the challenger, the dreamer.
He’s impressed when Chanyeol tells him his field of work is bioengineering. Brown eyes shine with interest.
"You specialize in bionics, huh? Does that mean you build robots?"
"Something like that," Chanyeol says with an air of mystery. His youthful face is too open, honest, he wants him and Chanyeol won't stop him.
Chanyeol buys him a drink and fucks him on the back of his car. Hard and dirty. He kisses him once, wishing he'd taste like love.
He crashes on the lab again, but he doesn’t make it to the couch. He vomits all over the linoleum floor, the acid contents of his stomach paint a grotesque picture of the night. He finds his regret, pain slipping under his ribs, scraping his throat.
“I miss you,” he whispers to no one. The air is still, ghosts linger in every corner.
Chanyeol falls asleep in front of the monitors, in the background FILE 0009 is playing like a homemade movie.
His work table is a mess of papers and fine use tools. Chanyeol is hunched over it, glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose.
“You work too much,” Kyungsoo says, stopping to look at the tiny pieces Chanyeol is assembling together. “What is it? What are you working on that can’t be left for more than a couple of minutes?”
“It’s a secret,” Chanyeol answers.
He made a recent breakthrough in a months old project, he saw the light and hasn’t been able to stop. He’s so close to his goal, Chanyeol can almost reach for it with his hands.
“A secret? I thought we were partners,” Kyungsoo says. He picks up a notebook bound in leather. Chanyeol takes it from his hands, startling Kyungsoo.
“This was Jongin’s,” he says, holding it against his chest. “It— it isn’t part of our research. I just like…having him around.”
Kyungsoo pats his shoulder warmly, smiling at him, his gaze lands on the chain Chanyeol wears around his neck, two twin wedding bands hang from it, shiny gold, glinting on the light. Jongin is alway present, they both know it, there hasn’t been a single day since he left where his memory wasn’t here. He’s the ghost sitting in the corner, the voice in Chanyeol’s head, whispering in his ear, “You can do it. I trust you. I’m waiting for you.”
“Speaking of research,” Kyungsoo says, changing the subject abruptly, he’s the one friend constantly there, leading Chanyeol’s thoughts back to sunny shores, a step away from a ledge. “Doctor Kim called, we have a meeting on Thursday.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. My work is all I have left,” Chanyeol says unprompted. Jongin and his work were entwined, they shared the same ideals, the same goals. He fell in love with him and his mind. Doing this is keeping him alive. In many ways.
“You have me,” Kyungsoo says, “And Junmyeon too.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He smiles, a perfected, fake gesture he’s rehearsed far too many times. His cheeks hurt afterwards. Kyungsoo is none the wiser, even the smallest display of cheeriness is a crisis averted to him.
Kyungsoo goes to work at his own desk, he doesn’t ask Chanyeol about his secret project anymore, but he does manage to pull him away from it long enough to grab a bite outside.
The sky is a tender blue that afternoon, blinding white clouds criss-cross it and hide the sunlight. Beyond it there’s another world, more possibilities. Thousands of ships leave Earth daily, one of these days Chanyeol will take the first one out of this city.
He always did like traveling.
12022178. +East, 0 - 360.
Transcript. FILE 0028. Dr. J. Park.
“I can’t remember what day it is today. Last time we spoke I said I was coming home…when was that?”
His face closes off. His eyes are sunken, lips dry.
He starts coughing violently, blood drips from his nose.
The video cuts off.
The screen goes black.
11102178. +East, 0 - 360.
Transcript. FILE 0006. Dr. J. Park.
“Oh my god, Chanyeol, I wish you were here with me and you could see how beautiful it is. We were right. If this project is successful we could help these species thrive, our own planet!”
Jongin’s eyebrows dart up and he laughs. Excited, vibrating with the force of a million stars. “We were right, baby. It was worth it.”
It wasn’t worth it. Chanyeol lost him.
Forty-nine files documenting Jongin’s classified mission remain. His thoughts, his dreams, the discoveries he made. Chanyeol has kept them all.
He has his personal diaries, every message, every recording, every audio of him complaining they don't have his favorite drink at home and Chanyeol must get it for him. Pictures of the two of them, on a trip to the moon, in their backyard lying on the grass. Pictures of their wedding and honeymoon. Pictures of him. His Jongin. In various states of undress, bronze skin flushed, lips bitten.
Memories that live on.
Chanyeol has put all of his knowledge together and gathered every bit of Jongin he has left. He's ready for the next step.
He stares at the inner skeleton of the machine, his fingers tremble as he ensembles the last parts needed for primary programming. The beginnings of an artificial brain he has to imbue with data lies open on the table. To reach the level of consciousness required Chanyeol has to be careful.
“We're almost there,” he says, wiping the sweat on his face with his forearm.
Kyungsoo returns to the lab by the afternoon, he's excited to start on their new project, Junmyeon is on board with it too. Doctor Kim agreed to cough up the money for the research. Chanyeol has erased the evidence of his project. Keeping it secret from him. It's better this way.
Chanyeol for the first time in days, laughs genuinely. “What was that you said? That we could improve—”
“The quality of life,” Kyungsoo says, rolling his eyes. “With technology we can make great strides towards a better future.”
Chanyeol grins, Kyungsoo's affected voice tickles a soft spot in him. He does believe what he’s saying despite the annoyed twist of his mouth.
Jongin also believed they could change the world, it was naive albeit worthy of admiration.
It is for him that Chanyeol is embarking on another righteous crusade.
He goes alone to a bar to celebrate their success with Doctor Kim and his personal progress. He combs the room with his eyes, picking out every pretty boy with dark brown hair and soulful eyes from the crowd, but this time he doesn't go after any of them.
They all pale in comparison.
He's not drunk enough, hopeless enough to lie to himself.
And he has a reason to wake up tomorrow. Sober. Not a single trace of another man on him.
Tomorrow he starts anew.
Kiss me.
Want me.
Touch me.
Flesh. Quivering. Soft to the touch. Real.
A blank canvas to pour memories and feelings onto. Metal and light plastics, gears, wires, sensors, live organs, a precious beating, bloody heart. Muscle tissue twisted around reprogrammed cells, all wrapped in luscious synthetic skin.
Chanyeol stands back, watching him breathe into life.
“Welcome back,” Chanyeol says, a violent thump beneath his ribcage dizzies him.
He blinks his pretty brown eyes, full lips tremble as he forms his first words, tongue rolling, tasting the knowledge his cognition has awarded him.
He takes a step and stumbles, knees wobbly, feet bending. Chanyeol catches him, holding him by the waist. His hands trap him. He's warm. Soft. He's real, he's alive.
He's breathing and back in his arms.
“Jongin,” he says in a soft breath.
Jongin looks up at him, blinking, blinking, blinking, searching for old memories, recognizing and categorizing. “Chanyeol?”
Kiss me. He wants to say.
Want me. He wants to beg.
Touch me. He wants to ask.
Chanyeol holds him the tighter, hugging him close to his chest. Unwilling to stop touching him.
Jongin laughs, loud, high-pitched. Chanyeol has missed this sound.
“You're crushing me,” he says, pulling at the back of Chanyeol's white coat.
“I missed you, I missed you so much.”
He srunches his nose and purses his lips. “But, I'm here, what do you mean?”
“Yes, you're here. You're with me.”
Jongin makes a face, it means he thinks Chanyeol has lost his mind. It's possible he has. He laughs, laughs until there's tears in his eyes and he hugs Jongin close despite his protests.
Jongin is here.
He's here, Chanyeol made it.
He calls Kyungsoo early in the morning.
He's sitting on the edges of the bed and Jongin is still sleeping and he can't look away, the rise and fall of his chest is mesmerizing. Chanyeol feels rested, months of sleepless nights have evaporated in the span of seven hours.
Last night they talked, the last thing Jongin remembers was the birthday party they had for Chanyeol a month earlier. He’d wanted to celebrate before he left for Nix. Chanyeol filled in the gaps, he weaved feelings, words, slipping them between the memories this Jongin has of a past life he didn't live, but knows like the grooves in his hands.
He kissed him too, touched him a million times to feed the hungry void inside him.
“I don't think I can make it to the lab today,” he whispers into the phone. He reaches out, stroking Jongin's ankle with his the tips of his fingers.
Jongin is a heavy sleeper, he puffs, gets tangled between the sheets. The top of his head is all you can see.
“No, I'm fine. Really don't worry,” he says, he's perfect. He's on top of the world. “I think I came down with the flu. I'm gonna stay home and sleep it off— Yeah, yeah. I'm home— No, no, don't bother. Seriously, Soo. Stay there and work, one of us has to.” He laughs because there's nothing else he can do, happiness is at his fingertips. “Yes, I'm not lying. I am home.”
He hangs up, finally having convinced his friend everything is fine and he'll come to work tomorrow.
Chanyeol leans down, kisses Jongin's calf, his knee, his beautiful tan skin is sleep-warm. He moves higher and higher, Jongin’s body yields.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he sing-songs, high on love.
Jongin whines, his fingers tangle on Chanyeol's hair. He pulls lightly, enough to hear him gasp. “If you're waking me up, make it worthwhile.”
Chanyeol closes his eyes, this is like any other morning of the thousands they lived before. He looks like Jongin, feels like Jongin, sounds like Jongin.
He is Jongin.
“You bet I will,” he challenges, lifting a brow. Jongin giggles, lying flat on the bed, splaying his legs open for him.
Chanyeol’s cock is aching, rock hard. He has never wanted anyone like this. He pulls Jongin’s pajama bottoms down, his hot breath hits the skin of his inner thighs, unnaturally unblemished, but so warm, so familiar. He takes him inside his mouth, the head of Jongin's cock hits the back of his throat and he chokes, but he loves it.
Spurred by Jongin's moans, he sucks eagerly, wanting his bitter taste on his tongue.
“I love you, I love you,” Chanyeol says, panting against Jongin's collarbones.
Jongin bites his ears, moaning loudly, moving his hips against his, helping drive Chanyeol’s cock deeper inside him.
“What— What is love?” Jongin gasps.
“This,” Chanyeol says, sucks a bruise on his skin. “This is love. You're my love.”
“This…” Breath is punched out of his lungs, his whines accompany the wet sound of his hole being fucked raw. “I feel it. Inside me. Love. There—” Another moan, his skin heats up mor and more. “Chanyeol I feel it in my chest too.”
Someone is knocking on his door, he ignored the doorbell the first twenty times it rang, but the person still won't go away.
He pecks Jongin's lips, drying off his hands. “I need to get that.”
“Don't think you can run away from this.” Jongin points a soapy finger at him, sprinkling water on his face.
“I swear I'll be back.”
“You better.”
His smiles slips off upon opening the door. Changing his access code was a good idea after all.
“Kyungsoo,” he says, running a nervous hand through his hair.
His friend looks furious, his eyes are dark, his mouth is set in a thin, angry line.
“I was worried, I haven't seen you in week and you're not replying to my texts,” Kyungsoo accuses, brushing past him. He doesn't wait for an invitation and Chanyeol cannot stop him. “Doctor Kim wants to move forward but you're not around. What happened? You said you were okay.”
“I am okay.”
“Is this about work?” He asks. “I can drop by in the morning. Right now is not a good time—”
“Baby, who is it?”
His blood runs cold. Jongin has appeared behind him, curiously peering at their visitor. He's processing, Kyungsoo's face is familiar to him yet unknown. The stored data won't take long to be accessed and unlocked. His organs, his flesh, the taste of his sex might be close to human, but he isn't, the stark reality is indisputable with the way Kyungsoo is looking at him.
He's organic matter and technology entangled.
“What have you done?” Kyungsoo asks, his voice shakes and he looks like he wants to throw up.
Chanyeol stands in front of him, blocking his view. He lowers his voice. “Can we not do this in front of him?”
Kyungsoo lifts up his arms in surrender.
“Kyungsoo, you're Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, sweetly proud. “We're friends.”
Kyungsoo is stricken. “We are,” he says. “Jongin and I, we are friends.”
“I'm Jongin,” he says.
The silence is heavy. It's crushing them but Jongin is smiling like everything is right with the universe.
Chanyeol presses a quick kiss to his temple. “Wait for me in the room. Kyungsoo and I have something to discuss.”
“Okay.” Jongin's eyes fleet from him to Kyungsoo. When he smiles his eyes crinkle on the corner. He is Jongin. He is, he is. “It was nice to see you, Soo.”
The nickname takes Kyungsoo by surprise. He recoils. “You too,” he whispers.
With Jongin gone, his demeanor changes. Chanyeol avoids his eyes. He can't stand the disappointment, the disgust he sees in them.
“This is what you’ve been working on?”
It's not a question, it's an accusation.
“Come with me.”
Chanyeol takes Kyungsoo to his makeshift lab. He's the only person with access to it. Back when Jongin was still alive he started working on it. Jongin allowed him to keep the room to himself, if they also designated space for his teddy bear collection.
He turns on his computer, opening a single carpet apptly named PROJECT K∆1.
Kyungsoo stays there for a long time, reading every entry, going over Chanyeol’s demented plans. The total convergence of the biological and state of the art tech. Regenerative technology. Organs, skin, blood vessels built in a laboratory, a mechanical brain, a machine inside brand new tissue. A heart, pumping blood, learning to decode information humans calls feelings. Faux emotions.
Memories brought to life again after being stored and kept for posterity. Downloading Jongin's consciousness, building his personality and giving it to this being Chanyeol created out of vanity and pain was the hardest part.
When they started working as a team they wanted to help others, reconstructing, finding a permanent cure, giving people a new chance at life.
Chanyeol took it a step further. He built life. From the ground up. He gave Jongin a new body, a place for him to worship and kneel.
“Why?” Is all Kyungsoo asks.
“I love him,” Chanyeol answers.
“It's not him, Chanyeol. That— Person in there is not Jongin. He isn't the man we loved,” Kyungsoo spits harshly. Chanyeol shakes his head. He refuses to hear it. “That's not my friend. It's a poor imitation. Who do you think you are to play with life like this?”
“I'm not God,” Chanyeol says, serenely. “God isn't real. What God would let someone like Jongin to suffer? He died alone and scared. I couldn't go to him.”
“Chanyeol… It wasn't your fault,” Kyungsoo says. He's heard it before. He heard it the day Jongin returned to him in ashes. Heard it when his husband got sick on another planet, a strange organism attacking his system without a cure to be found.
Jongin had only wanted to help a growing species to survive and he didn't make it out alive.
“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. What I do know is this is a new chance for us,” Chanyeol says. “I got him back.”
Kyungsoo goes for the door, leaving all the files open. “Call me when you go back to your senses,” he says.
It's too silent when he's gone.
On the ceiling the sun paints shadows. It slips through the blinds and reaches across the room. Their bed is lighted under a fiery orange beam.
Chanyeol drags his mouth across Jongin’s shoulder blades. “You're quiet,” he says.
“Do you want me?” Jongin wonders out loud, lifting his head from the pillow to look at him, right in the eye. Chanyeol feels something inside him dislodge.
“I do. Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking.”
“Do you love me?” Jongin asks.
“I do,” Chanyeol says, “I love you, more than anything.” He kisses Jongin’s lips.
“Okay,” Jongin murmurs, he curls himself into a ball against him, hiding his face on Chanyeol's chest. “I love you too.”
He wakes up in the middle of the night. The spot next to him is empty. Cold.
“Jongin?” He calls out, maintaining a calm exterior. Inside he's panicking, scared he imagined the past few days.
No one answers. He could hear a pin drip in this grave silence.
Chanyeol leaves the bed, walking out of their room into the darkness of a house that once was a home.
The kitchen is empty, so is the living room.
He thinks of going outside, looking for Jongin on the streets, on whatever place he finds on the way, but a sliver of light at the end of the hallway catches his eyes.
His stomach curls painfully.
Wreckage. Debris.
The remains of a well kept secret wait for him in his refuge.
The laboratory where he was born is a prison.
Jongin’s journals are on the floor. Pages torn. Pictures of them, their wedding, their trips, love letters and little notes spread throughout the room. The life he borrowed is lying at his feet.
Jongin. His Jongin is a ghost. This Jongin, is a shaking, scared mess. Two times Chanyeol has failed him.
“I'm not—” Jongin looks down at his hands. “I'm not him. I heard Kyungsoo yesterday. He said— He was right. I'm a copycat. I'm not Jongin.”
“Baby, don't say that, please.”
His throath is closing off, he can't lose him again.
“These memories— these feelings. They aren't mine. What have you done? What have you done to me? Who am I?”
Chanyeol frames his face between his hands. “You're Jongin. My love.”
Jongin’s gaze is cold, empty.
“Do you want me?” Jongin asks him, “Do you love me? Me, not him. Not your husband. Not the one who died, but me. Me. A prototype. A machine. Kai.”
“Jongin…Kai…” Chanyeol can't answer him with certainty. He loves his husband, has loved him for years, foolishly, wholeheartedly. Has loved him in life and death, and beyond. He doesn't know what he feels for this version of him.
“If you don't, kill me. Shut me down. What do I do in a world alone and without a purpose? You were my purpose but—" His hands shake, his voice cracks. He's so human, so real, and yet, he's a mere doppelgänger. "Why am I alive? Tell me!"
Chanyeol feels sick. He's losing him again.
“I can't do that, I'm not God,” Chanyeol mutters. “I cannot take life.”
“But you can give it?”
Jongin moves closer to him. Dangerously so. “Kiss me.”
Chanyeol does, he lifts a hand to the back of his head and reels him in. Crashing their mouths together.
“Touch me,” Jongin demands. Chanyeol slides his palm under his shirt, tracks the moles on his stomach with a finger. He slips his tongue inside his mouth.
He looks like Jongin and talks like Jongin. But he's more demanding, stronger, he scares Chanyeol in a way the man he married never did.
They have the same face and they both kiss Chanyeol like he's the only man they could ever want.
“Want me,” he says in his ear. “Want me, Chanyeol. Want me or let me go.”
His fingers dig into Chanyeol's back, blunt nails piercing his skin through his shirt. It hurts, yet he doesn't stop him. A sick part of him thinks he deserves this. The pain. Jongin’s revenge. His demands.
He can't kill him, but does he love him?
“Do you want me?”
“I—”
Chanyeol closes his eyes.
Kiss me.
Want me.
Touch me.
The universe is noiseless. Dark and full of stars.
The day he met Jongin he found the meaning of it.
“Kai…” he breathes.
The first step towards rebirth is to lose it...all.