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๋࣭ ⭑Part Ⅲ: limbo | z.cl

✧*:.｡.what if the world ended, and you're all that's left?.｡.:*✧

✧synopsis: nothing seems to be going right for you. you've fallen out with your sister, you don't have any friends, and you're stuck in a 9-5 that you loathe with colleagues who are determined to make your life a living hell. and just when you're convinced that things can't get any worse, you wake up on a beach in busan with no idea how you got there, and worse still, every other person having disappeared. that is, save for chenle, an irritatingly smug and exasperatingly attractive chaebol who's willing to throw anyone under the bus to save himself, and a murderous figure clad in black, hellbent on slaying the both of you.

✧pairing: chenle x reader

✧genres: mystery, slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers, action, drama, comedy/crack, angst

✧warnings: profanities, innuendos, sexual harassment, mentions of depression/ suicidal ideation, suggestive content, smut , violence

✧wordcount part Ⅲ: 27k

✧author's note: can't believe this story is finally coming to its end. i hope you like it as much as i enjoyed working on it 🖤

✧taglist: @qtpiezhong @bunnychuic @sungiesworld27 @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @ihrtantn @niinjo @renjuns-foolscover@soomhae @moqahae @galacticnct

if you'd like to be added to the taglist just let me know!🖤

✧ limbo masterpost

People die of loneliness. Literally. You once read about this in a study that you learned about when you were doing research for an ad proposal for Sertraline, an antidepressant. It said something about socially isolated people statistically being more likely to develop all sorts of life-threatening diseases from heart problems to cancer. You remember thinking how stupid it all sounded. As if your brain could poison your body. Poor suckers, you’d thought, how can one become so lonely that one’s body turns against them.

Though you guess you’d prefer the cancer-option over him putting a bullet in your head. You wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And, you suppose, you wouldn’t notice the cancer right away. It would give you a few more blissfully oblivious months before it would start. Fatigue, you guess, headaches, coughing up blood. After that . . .?

Frowning, you shake your head, focusing your eyes back on the street. You really shouldn't let your thoughts drift off like this while you’re driving. If you total your car by driving recklessly, you’ll be stranded in this endless wasteland. For days, you’ve been driving through this dead, barren wasteland. The area looks devoid of life, a graveyard of hope.

Dry bushes and dead shrubs litter the sides of the highway, and the air is so deprived of humidity you have a permanent itching in your throat. Four days ago was the last time you passed a town. You still have enough supplies to last you a week or so, but seeing as you’re clueless as to how much longer you’ll be stranded in this place, it’s getting harder to ignore the little monster of anxiety gnawing at you insides.

You didn’t think it would feel like this, traveling by yourself. Before you woke up on that beach, you’d made your peace with going through your life on your own. Sure, sometimes the sight of friends going out after work or couples out on the streets would give you this hollow feeling, like you had a gaping, black hole in your chest. But with work taking up most of your days you told yourself you lacked the energy for much of a social life anyway. You were glad to get home as quickly and to climb into bed, tuning out the world and wishing you’d wake up in a different life.

Ever since your sister betrayed you so cruelly last year you’ve cut contact with her, thus alienating yourself from the last person you depended on, socially. That’s why you’ve grown accustomed to solitude. Waking up in an empty apartment, commuting to work surrounded by drowning in seas of strangers, working with colleagues you only shallowly know, coming back to your empty apartment. Eating alone. Drinking alone. Sleeping alone. You’re used to it. You’ve been doing it forever.

So why are things so much harder this time around?

You’ve been back on the road for almost a week now. Every day, you drive until you physically can’t anymore, until your whole body aches all over and your eyes won’t stay open anymore. One time, you almost crash the car into a tree because you nod off for a couple of seconds. From then on you force yourself to take more regular breaks and not to drive too long into the night.

The nights are the worst. When you can’t distract yourself by driving anymore, when the silence becomes so deafening it makes you want to scream. Chenle’s constant chattering had annoyed you at times before, but only now that you’re all by yourself with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company, you find yourself feeling astoundingly hollow in its absence. The two of you used to talk about anything and everything, banter, bicker and even scream at each other. You wish you could just hate him. That would be easier. Though you hated his guts at times, pathetically, all you can do now is miss him in the silence. You’ve tried to drown out the feeling by turning on the CD-player, but the only CD you have is still the one from Henry Moodie and the one time you try listening to Drunk Text it immediately makes you burst into sobs so you’ve decided that, yeah, silence it is.

It’s been a little over a week now since you left. The roads leading to Seoul still stretch on unnaturally and the vegetation reminds you more of the Australian outback than South Korea, but according to the map you’re still on course, so dismal as it may be, you’re making progress. You have a hard time feeling grateful though, because for the first time in what feels like ages, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Now the question remains, is it lights you’re going to find in Seoul?

No, you can’t afford to think like this. Not, when you have everything riding on this. Not, when you left him behind to get to Seoul. You shake your head as you pick at your canned ravioli.

You finish your dinner, more or less forcing down the food around the lump in your throat. Fuck, you miss Chenle’s cooking. Selfish bastard as he was, at least he knew how to make due with little ingredients and turn them into something delicious. After your excuse of a dinner, you prepare the trunk to go to sleep, sighing. The nights are the worst, indeed.

Laying on the lumpy mattress, you’re painfully reminded of how spacious the car is. With Chenle, it always felt a little cramped, but now that you’re lying on the trunk on your own, you can’t help but feel like it’s too much space. You feel like you’re floating in the middle of the ocean. No shore in sight. No help coming to get you.

You shake the feeling off. Get it together. You managed to sleep on your own at Haechan and Ningning’s place. This is not much different!

But then a leaf rushles here, and the car makes a strange sound there, and you startle and sit up, frozen in fear that the black walker is out there somewhere, lurking in the dark.

Sleep doesn’t find you easily these days. You lay awake for hours, hyper aware of your surroundings and unable to run away from your thoughts at last. Unable to stop thinking about him. Unable to stop reliving that day you first met him on the train, your escape out of Busan, your constant fights, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs that unapologetic laugh of his. . .

“Then say that you love me.”

“What?”

“I need to hear you say it. Say it or let me move on.”

It’s probably Ningning now, who makes him laugh, much more easily, probably, too. You lose yourself in images of the two of them together, talking, laughing, and not talking at all anymore . . . Needless to say, sleep doesn’t find you easily that night.

You wake up clutching your chest, frantically looking around, waiting for the black walker to be in the backseat of your car, viciously waiting for you to gain consciousness before he slits your throat or puts a bullet in your brain.

Worse than that, though, is that your hand still reaches for Chenle when you wake up in the mornings. You still catch yourself looking around for him before remembering that oh, right, you’re on your own now.

You’re on your own.

Two days later, you finally make it out of the wasteland. According to the pace in which you’ve been making progress, you should reach Seoul in two or three days. Early in the morning, you stop by a gas station, filling up the tank and stocking up on food and water.

That day you seem to be making progress like no other day before. You pass villages, then towns, then even cities. It’s like the closer you get to Seoul the closer to normal the region’s layout becomes. It’s like someone wants you to reach Seoul.

At some point in the afternoon, you decide to take a small break before you drive for a few more hours. You pull over on the side of a country road, a wide plane of cabbage fields to either side. You walk around a bit, stretch some, feel the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, you halt.

A rabbit.

Its white fur makes it look like a ball of wool among the lettuce, and it hops towards you, curious rather than scared. This is the first animal you’ve seen ever since you woke up in Busan. Maybe all animals haven’t disappeared after all? You bow down, reaching out to the rabbit, which keens up to sniff at your hand—

You curse under your breath, pulling back as you inspect your bleeding finger.

“What the hell was that for?!” you ask the rabbit, but it turns around and jumps away, as if having done its part and now heading back home.

You swear to god, if you’ve come all this way just to go out by rabies, you’re going to become a vengeful ghost and track down that little fucker, haunting it for ever and ever—

At first, you think you hear thunder. Then, a shock goes through you as you realize what’s happening.

“No.” You whirl around in horror. Nonononono.

You scramble to your feet and hurry back in the car. You slam your foot down on the gas and sprint away, rushing down the country road. But the motorcycle gains on you steadily, death on two wheels. You curse underneath your breath as you watch him steadily gain on you, creeüing closer and closer and closer—

“Oh, screw this!”

You rapidly turn the steering wheel, driving the car right onto the field. You land harshly, the car’s suspension weak, and pain erupts in your neck as you get launched from side to side due to the impact. But the Terracan is a cross country vehicle and the soil is dry from the summer’s heat, so you get away quickly.

In your rear mirror, you see the black walker come to a stop on the road, making you hiss out a victorious exclamation. The motorcycle is unfit to drive on the uneven soil!

He reaches behind him, pulling out his rifle. You swerve to the side, making him miss one shot, then you continue zigzagging across the field. You just have to get out of his range—

A cry leaves you as one of the tires blows, making the car swerve off to the right. Frantically, you slam your foot down on the brake, pulling the steering wheel to the left—

The world spins and suddenly you’re hitting the ground hard. You’re upside down, your body shackled to the seat with the seatbelt as you hang in the air, a shrill ringing in your left ear. Blood drips down on the front shield. You must be bleeding. Did your head hit the steering wheel?

The airbags, you find yourself thinking dumbly. They didn’t deploy.

Your vision is blurred as you watch the dark form approach you. Your gun, you have to get the gun Haechan gave you. Scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt, your hands shake as they struggle to find the belt buckle. Once you manage to undo the seatbelt, you fall against the front shield, the steering wheel colliding with your ribs.

Wheezing, you lift your head, desperately looking for the gun. It was somewhere in the back— there! You push yourself up, straining for the weapon—

A scream tears itself from your throat as his gloved hand wraps around your ankle and yanks harshly, pulling you out of the car.

“No no no no! Please!” you beg. “You don’t have to do this, please!”

You try to cling onto the car door, but he’s stronger. Dirt digs into your skin as your nails scratch across the floor as he drags you along. Your leg hits the ground with a thud as he lets you go. The barrel of his gun stares you in the face like death itself.

“Your time has come,” the man says in a voice that sounds so low and distorted it rings almost supernaturally.

“Why are you doing this?” you sob.

The black figure says nothing as his finger wraps around the trigger. You press your eyes shut and hold your breath. One moment, two, three—

A metallic thud sounds, followed by another, duller one.

“Oh my god, a-are you okay?” You open your eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. His hands are trembling as he cups your cheeks, eyes wide as they dart over your features.

You slump against him, sobbing in relief. “Chenle.”

Numbly, it’s all you can bring yourself to say. You look from him to the black walker. The dark figure lays unmoving on the ground, blood seeping through his hood into the dry soil, tinting it a dark shade of red.

“I . . . I d-don’t understand.” You hold onto his arms, blinking. He’s here. His skin is warm under your hands. He’s real. He’s really here.

“I am so sorry,” he says, his pupils shaking. “I regretted not going with you the moment I let you go. I made a mistake.”

“You . . . just saved my life,” you say slowly, eyes attached to the limp form before you.

He shakes his head. “This is all my fault. I never should’ve let you go. I should’ve come with you. I am so sorry, Y/n. I-i was holding onto my old life like a coward and it almost cost you your life!”

“Chenle—”

“I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat as the world spins. He holds up a hand as you open your mouth. “Please, just hear me out. I was too scared to admit it, even to myself, for a long time. But I realized it the moment I watched you drive off. I will never make that mistake again. I will never leave you again. I promise, Y/n.” Regret shines in his eyes. “But I did abandon you, I know that. And I’d understand it if you can never fully forgive me for that—”

“Chenle.”

“But I’ll never leave you again, okay?”

“Chenle, I—”

“Even if you hate me. Even if I’ve proven myself to be the selfish bastard you always knew I was. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I’ve done to you—”

You sink your hand into the collar of his shirt, pulling him close and crashing your lips into his. Chenle freezes for a moment, then closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. He pulls you close by your waist, and cups your cheek.

You always thought people exaggerated when they talked about epic kisses they had. That such experiences are only told to romanticize mediocrity, that such life changing, earth-shattering, bone-shaking kisses only existed in books and movies.

But as Zhong Chenle’s lips meet yours it’s like the world explodes. Like a collision of stars— a glimmering sea of galactic dust. It’s like falling and levitating. Like time stops and the world around you disappeares.

You’re both breathing heavily when you finally part.

“One shot,” you say. “That’s all you get. Mess up again, talk to me the way you did one more time and I swear to—”

“I won’t,” he says. “I swear, I will make you happy. I’ll gain back your trust, prove myself to you. I’ll be good,” he promises. “I’ll take care of you, princess.”

No matter how hard you may try, you can’t seem to keep the corners of your mouth from tugging up. Chenle’s lips twist into a gentle smile of his own before his eyes fixate on the blood on your forehead. He helps you up, inspecting the cut on your forehead. “You may have a concussion, let’s get out of here so we can get you patched up.”

You hiss as your fingers probe at the cut. It must’ve happened when the car crashed. “It hurts like a bitch but I think I’ll be fine.”

Chenle picks up the shotgun he must’ve been carrying. It’s a strange sight, seeing him with a gun. He juts his chin towards the unconscious figure. “I only knocked him out. He’ll wake up soon.”

You nod, a ball of dread weighing down your stomach as you regard the man who almost became your killer. “Then we should get going before he does. The car’s pretty much totaled, though. How did you . . .” You look around until you spot a red motorcycle next to the black one, making you smirk. “Looks like you got your fancy ride, after all. Good, let’s take that.”

“Wait.” Chenle holds you back, making you look at him questioningly. “He’ll just find us again,” he says, looking down at the dark form grimly.

“So? What do you propose we do?” you ask hesitantly, dreading his answer because you know exactly what he’s thinking by the graveness of his expression.

Conflict awakens a storm in his eyes. “Give me a better solution,” he says, almost pleadingly.

This man tried to kill you. You should be furious with rage, wanting revenge. But all you feel when you look at him is utter, debilitating horror.

Your hands shake at your sides. “I-i— we can’t—”

“WATCH OUT!”

Everything happens so quickly. Chenle pushes you to the side just as you see the black walker scramble to his feet, gun pointed at you—

You don’t even have time to scream. The shot sounds so loud it makes you cringe and duck, holding your hands over your head. You whirl around, something between a wheeze and a whimper leaving you as your eyes search Chenle’s frantically.

The masked figure falls to his knees, a hole through his mask. It’s not centered, not a calculated shot but rather a frantically fired bullet. No aim, no intent. Just pure survival instinct/reflex taking over. The bullet hit somewhere between his left eye and cheekbone. The gun slips out of his grasp, then his knees give in beneath him and he finally falls face first onto the ground.

Gone. He’s gone.

You can’t bring yourself to look at the body too closely, only see flashes of red in your peripheral vision.

Chenle staggers back a few steps, the shotgun falling out of his grasp. His eyes are wide in horror as he brings a hand up to his forehead, wiping red from his skin. There are specks of blood all over him. You were standing so closely that his blood sprayed all over you.

You say his name, but he doesn’t quite seem to hear you. Only when you touch his arm, does he startle back into the present.

“We should salvage whichever supplies we can from the car,” he says tonelessly, making you frown.

“Chenle—”

“I’m fine!” he says a little too loudly, then clears his throat, repeating the words in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. We should get going before it gets dark.”

He just shot a man. He just killed someone and he’s acting like nothing happened. A deep crease forms between your brows as you watch him sort through your supplies. Eventually, you join him in salvaging whichever supplies you can take on the motorcycle. Chenle’s steps are determined as he approaches his bike, eager to leave this horrid scene behind. You can’t blame him.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

He nods. “I told you, I’m fine. Come on.”

He hands you a second helmet he must’ve brought with him and helps you onto the motorcycle behind him, which is not so easy considering the fact that you’re carrying a fully packed backpack and the bike is already loaded with his supplies.

You find yourself looking back at the distant figure laying on the ground. A part of you screams at you to go back and take off its mask, unveiling whichever monster it is that has been making your life a living hell these past weeks. But then your eyes drift to Chenle’s hands which shake as he turns the motorcycle’s keys in the ignition, and you find you don’t have it in you to make him stay in this place any longer. Besides, you’re not sure you could lift that mask. Not sure you’re ready to see what hides behind it.

Maybe it’s best you never do.

“Just hold onto me,” Chenle says a little stiffly. “I won’t go too fast.”

He is not acting like someone who just shot someone. Shock. He must be in shock, you find yourself thinking numbly. So you say what you think will make him feel normal. “So, you’ve also got a motorcycle license, huh? What can’t you do?”

He chuckles but it sounds more like a wheeze. “Rich people hobbies, remember?”

You wrap your arms around his middle, tightly holding onto him as he starts driving. It should be the furthest thing from your mind, you know that, but as you hold onto him, cheek pressed against his back, you can’t help but relish in the physical contact. Chenle’s warmth spreads through your chest and chases the chill from your bones a little. After the days you spent apart from him, thinking you would never see him again, getting to hold onto him makes your heart swell. Chenle seems to feel similarly, because he relaxes a little into your touch, the tension gradually leaving his shoulders as you drive and drive until the sun is setting and you make it to Bucheon, one of the suburbs of Seoul. Give it a few more hours and you might just finally make it to capital.

But it’s late and you’re both exhausted, and honestly? You don’t like the thought of Chenle driving any longer than he’s already had to with everything that went down earlier, so you’re glad when he agrees to call it a day. You chose a modern, expensive-looking house to stay the night in until you continue on your journey in the morning. Usually, you would object to staying anywhere this fancy but you find that you just don’t care anymore. Whether you sleep in a little shed or a villa doesn’t matter because the owners aren’t going to come back home either way, you're tired of pretending otherwise. And besides, Chenle chose the house and you don’t have it in you to argue with him when his shoulders hang as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on them.

Chenle watches you struggle with the heavy backpack for one second before he wordlessly snatches it from you, leaving you with the lighter of your bearings to bring into the house.

Breaking and entering is your shared specialty by now, you think grimly. These days, you don’t even feel an ounce of shame about it anymore. People who aren’t there won’t care that you’re eating their food and sleeping in their beds.

You watch Chenle as he puts down your supplies in the modern kitchen. Out of all the houses you’ve been in so far, this one surely is the nicest one. Marble countertops, high ceilings, chandeliers. Though you have a hard time appreciating the house's noble interior when Chenle’s eyes look so so empty.

You speak up hesitantly. “Hey, so we should really talk about—“

“Let me have a look at that,” Chenle says, nodding towards your forehead. “I’ll get a med kit.”

You sigh but let it go. Maybe this is what he needs right now, to distract himself. You grab a water from the kitchen, then sit down on one of the bar stools by the kitchen aisle, waiting. One minute passes, two . . .

“Chenle?” you call. “Everything okay?” You cringe at your choice of words. He shot someone, for fuck’s sake! Of course, he’s not okay.

You wait a few more moments, anxiety looming in your chest like a storm. The sound of running water lures you towards what can only be a bathroom. The door is slightly ajar and you hesitantly push through it, heart beating in your throat.

“Is everything al—” You break off mid-sentence.

The med kit lays forgotten on the floor amidst little puddles of water. You find Chenle frantically washing his hands, water splashing everywhere. The black walker’s blood is smeared on his face and neck, as if he tried to wash the specks off but got so overwhelmed with the task that he abandoned his face and instead focussed on his hands. But they are long clean, the skin red and irritated by how furiously he’s been scrubbing at it.

You place a hand on his arm, gently forcing him to stop.

“You did what you had to do,” you whisper. “You are not a murderer, Chenle.”

Your words seem to be the last straw. He sinks to his knees, pulling you down with him. Tears slip out of his wide eyes but he’s not crying.

“I can’t get it off,” he whispers, staring at his clean hands. “I-it’s everywhere, fuck, it’s everywhere!”

“Shh, shh.” You pull him into your chest, stroking his hair. “I’ll get it off. Lift your arms for me, mhm?”

You help him slip out of his blood-speckled shirt, then wet a cloth and gently drag it over the skin of his arms, neck and face, wiping away the redness along with his tears. Your eyes catch on the blue-studded ring around his neck. He’s still wearing it.

He looks down onto the floor. “I killed him, Y/n.”

“Hey, look at me.” You cup his cheeks in your hands, making him look up. “He would’ve killed us. You had no other choice.” Numbly he nods, holding onto your arms like a lifeline. "Say it."

“He would’ve killed us,” Chenle says weakly. “I had no other choice. He would’ve killed us. I had no other choice . . .”

You hold him as he says the words over and over. Until they become the truth.

Watching you pathetically try to put together dinner is what seems to finally bring Chenle out of his daze.

“How in the world did you survive off of your own cooking in the past?” he asks, half astounded, half exasperated as he relieves you of your duty of chopping vegetables.

You shrug. “I mostly just ordered food.”

“That’s not good for your health,” he chides, making you roll your eyes. Still you can’t help but smile a little. Him nagging you is good, it’s a good distraction. You’d rather have him do that than see that darkness take over his eyes once more.

“Well, good thing I have you now,” you say teasingly, making him smirk slightly.

You have dinner together, filling each other in on what’s happened during the time you spent apart. He ends up telling you that he left in the middle of the night of the day you left.

“I was so uneasy all day, I felt like I was going crazy. I regretted it immediately, not coming with you,” he says earnestly. He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep all night, and at some point I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what anymore?”

His eyes find yours, gaze so intense it makes you a little dizzy. “Pretend I hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of my life, letting you go like that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you busy yourself by taking another bite of your food, which makes Chenle smirk. After you’ve cleaned the dishes you make yourself two cups of tea with the traditional Chinese tea set you happened to find in one of the cupboards of the kitchen, and settle on the sofa in the living room.

“Your time has come.” The words make your whole body fill with dread as you recite them. “The black walker. He spoke to me,” you explain to Chenle who looks at you questioningly. “It only occurred to me when we were driving away that I’d never heard him talk before that.” You rub your arms, trying to fight off the chill that goes through your limbs. “His voice sounded . . . unnatural. Like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

You regret having mentioned him as soon as you see Chenle’s features harden, but he shakes his head smiling weakly as if to allay you. “Well, obviously he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

You nod slightly, trying to banish the image of him holding that gun to your head. He must still be laying on that field, face down, cold and limp.

The two of you drink your tea in silence, each dealing with the events of today on your own. Usually, you find it hard and uncomfortable to spend time with people one on one, struggling to find things to talk about and then dying inside whenever awkward silences occur. But with Chenle things are different. Always have been, now that you think about it. You always have things to talk about, from the most trivial thoughts to revealing your deepest, darkest fears like you did that night in the apartment when he kissed you for the first time.

Being on the run together didn’t leave much room for awkwardness, you guess, and even without that you fought so much that you guess it soon felt like there was nothing you two couldn’t talk about because you never held back with your words to begin with. And even if there is nothing to say, and silence spreads between you as you eat together or sit next to each other and lay awake next to each other in bed, it’s never uncomfortable. It’s like his presence calms you down, putting you at ease.

“So how did you end up finding me, anyway?” you ask now, breaking one of those silences as you watch the fire you lit in the fancy electric fireplace. Someone pretty well-off must've lived here before. And honestly? You enjoy it. After the day you’ve had you honestly can’t say you mind pampering yourself a little. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness sure as hell didn’t have a house like this.

Chenle shrugs and puts down his tea cup. “I just kept following the route to Seoul. I kept thinking it was in vain, that the roads were strange again and that maybe they led us down different paths but I guess they didn’t. I don’t know,” he says, smiling faintly. “It’s like I was just meant to find you.”

You’re sitting closely together on the sofa, your shoulders touching. The touch feels so electrifying, so intense that it puzzles you. After all the time you’ve spent trying to convince yourself you didn’t like it whenever your hands accidentally brushed or your knees touched as you were eating dinner. It feels strange because you can’t believe you ever managed to convince yourself of something other than the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with this man.

“And thank god I found you when I did,” he says, worry etched into his features. “Had I come a few minutes later . . .”

You cup his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay, thanks to you.”

Chenle closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. When he opens them again they’re filled with a sea of emotions. “The whole time we’ve been here the moment I felt most afraid was the moment I saw him standing over you with that gun. Nothing could ever be worse than that.

Your foreheads touch. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again,” you whisper.

“I promise,” he says. “From now on you’re stuck with me. Whether you like it or not.”

“Good.” You press a kiss to his lips.

When you make to pull away, he cups the back of your neck, gently pulling you back in once more as he kisses you back, prolonging the moment.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that for,” he breathes against your lips.

You pull away, smiling shyly, and he laughs at seeing you so flustered, pulling you into a hug. Sighing, you let yourself fall into his warmth, relishing in the feeling of his arms around you. You missed him. You missed him so much.

“So,” you drawl as you finally part. “How did Ningning take it when you told her you were going to leave?”

“Not too well.” Chenle kisses the back of his teeth, tilting his head. “She threw a fucking toaster at me.”

Your jaw drops and he shrugs, smiling, which makes you burst out into laughter as well. “Damn. Talk about anger management.”

“Yeah, she’s a psycho.”

“That you’ve been with,” you grumble. You don’t think you mean it in an accusing way. It’s just that he used to be with girls like her and Aeri and now he’s saying he loves you, even though you have practically nothing in common.

“Y/n—”

You can’t help the spark of agitation that ignites in your chest. “I’m sorry, alright! It’s just that you left me for her once before and let’s face it, I’m not exactly your usual type.”

He grasps your hands in his. “That’s a good thing, trust me. I didn’t like who I was when I was with her or with Aeri for that matter. You saw that when we stayed at the base. When I’m with you, I want to do better. Be better.” He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “And I didn’t go with you not because I didn’t want to leave Ningning. It wasn’t about her or Haechan or any of them, really. I realized that during my days on the road alone. It was about what they represented: my old life. My escape from all the shitty things that happened in my past. Aeri’s betrayal, my being forced to give up on my dreams, betraying my family. Parting from these people was scary because, well, because it would mean that I had to stop running from my past. I was scared, Y/n.”

“Yeah, I get that. Still, you broke my heart, Chenle. The things you said to me . . .” You look away, the words still ringing in your ears painfully.

“Maybe the only reason you hate people like us so damn much is because we have what you never will: confidence. And your raging inferiority complex can’t handle it. Well, guess what, princess, it’s not my fault your sense of self worth is so low.”

He nods, true regret pulling his face into a pained grimace. “I know, and I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. I think I was just saying these things to get you to drop the whole Seoul-topic, but still, it was cruel.” He runs a hand over his face. “I meant what I said, I will do everything I can to regain your trust. To earn your forgiveness.”

His eyes widen suddenly as if he just remembered something, and he pulls something out of his jeans pocket. “Will you please take this back?”

You can’t help but smile as you regard the red-studded ring around the silver necklace. He kept it. Nodding, you turn around so he can put it on for you.

“And don’t ever give it back to me again, okay?” he says quietly. “I won’t be able to bear it.”

You hold onto the ring until he’s successfully closed the clasp. “I love you, too, Chenle.”

You can feel him freeze behind you, and when you look back at him over your shoulder his mouth is slightly agape, making you chuckle. He, too, slowly starts to smile, but it slowly fades as his eyes drop down to your lips and an expression of hunger seeps into them that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Even when I really didn’t want to, even when I hated you, I loved you,” you say, frowning a little. “I think I always will.”

“Say that again,” he pleades. “Please.”

Hearing him beg makes your breath hitch, and your voice is an airy whisper when you speak once more. “I love you.”

“Again,” he says, almost hoarsely.

“I love y—” His hand sinks into the back of your hair and he pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours.

You lose yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours and it knocks the air out of you, leaving you feeling dizzy. You throw your arms around his neck, hold onto his shoulders to pull him close, close and closer still— a desperate attempt at making up for all the time you've wasted.

All these weeks you spent torturing yourself like an idiot, telling yourself this wasn’t what you wanted, lying to yourself and avoiding him when you could have had this. His lips on mouth, your cheek, your jaw, and oh god, your neck—

You pull away. “Chenle, you’re still in shock. Are you sure . . .”

“Ever since coming here I haven’t been sure about anything,” Chenle says. “but the one thing I’m sure about is this. You.”

In a way, this kiss is just like the first one you shared. An explosion of emotions, the disorienting dizziness caused by his lips against yours. His lips that feel like an extension of your body, a piece of you that you've had to live without for too long. Your other half, that you've been apart from for so long, that you're now finally reunited with again.

Chenle’s hands dig into your hair and lower back, pulling you so close that you forget where you end and he begins. And he kisses you feverishly, so intensely that you fear you might lose your mind. But if your sanity is the cost for this then it’s a price you’d gladly pay over and over. You sink your hands into the fabric of his clothes, wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Anything to touch him, to feel him.

But something about this kiss is different, too. It's deeper than the first one. Rawer. Maybe it’s because of the fact that you thought you would never see him again. That you'd lost him entirely. Irrecoverably. Maybe it's because of that that your eyes are teary once more once you part, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, soul to soul.

“I want you,” he says, almost desperately, as if it’s taking him great efforts to restrain himself. “But I know that this is new for you. So if you want to wait, we’ll wait. If you want to take it slow, we’ll take it slow. Whatever you want, princess. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

And you can tell that he really does want this. His breathing is ragged, and you see the way his pants have tightened around his crotch and there is that spark in his eyes that tells you that yes, there is nothing this man wants more than to have your right here, right now. But you also know he means it when he says that you can take this slow. If you were to tell him that all you want to do is be held right now, he would. If all you wanted to do was kiss, he’d gladly take your kisses. If you told him to make you feel good with his mouth he would eat you like a man who’d been starved for years—

“You. I want you. Now.”

This time it’s you who initiates the kiss as you climb into Chenle’s lap and sink your fingers into the roots of his hair. A groan rumbles in the back of his throat as you grind clothed core against his member, and his hips buck up, making you gasp. He uses the opening to slip his tongue in your mouth and you let your hands travel under his shirt, feeling his muscles contract beneath your touch as he moans into your mouth, making you grin.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he says, smirking under you.

“Well . . .” You squeal as Chenle turns you around, now hovering above you. His hand dives under your shirt, grazing your ribs as he leans down, trailing kisses down your neck.

“Please,” he breathes. “Can I take this off? I want to see you.”

Heat rises to your face but you sit up and reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it above your head. Before you can overthink it too much you reach behind yourself, undoing the clasps of your bra as well and throwing it off somewhere to the side. Chenle’s lips part as he takes in your naked torso.

“My god,” he says airily, pulling you in by your waist until your naked chest touches his clothed torso. “I must’ve led an army to victory in my past life to deserve someone like you.”

You laugh airily, hitting his chest and hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t. I swear to god.”

He laughs as he runs his hands down your sides before they still at the waistband of your jeans. “I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

Your breath hitches at his words but you nod, making quick work of pulling the fabric over your legs while he also steps out of his pants, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.

“Lay back for me, m’kay?”

You sink back against the upholstery of the sofa, while he wedges himself between your legs, making you shiver as you feel his breath against your inner thigh. Chenle’s hands soon find hold around your thighs, gently grazing the sensitive skin on both sides.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

The request catches you off-guard, and it sends another wave of heat right to your cheeks— and down between your legs. “I-i . . .”

He smirks up at you, drawing teasing circles against your skin. “You’re gonna have to tell me what you want me to do, princess. I wanna hear you say it.”

You throw your head back, groaning. The little shit. Of course, he’s going to make you work for it.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. You’re too cute when you get flustered like this.”

You press your eyes shut. “Touch me. I want you to touch me.”

“Like this?” His hand glides over your clothed folds, the touch like electricity, amplified by the fabric covering your throbbing core. But it’s not enough.

“Your mouth,” you say breathlessly. “I want your mouth on me, please.”

“Gladly,” he groans. You lift your hips, helping him slide off your panties that cling stickily to your folds.

Chenle has done a good job of holding back, but his restraint is limited. Beyond riled up, he swipes his tongue through your folds, relishing in the way you suck in a breath, your legs threatening to clamp shut around him. His hands tighten around your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he resumes his sweet torture.

“So sensitive,” he smirks, looking up at you in a way that is so cocky that it makes you hate and love him even more, throwing your head back as he dives back in, flicking his tongue against your clit and enjoying the sounds he manages to tickle out of you.

Soon, he slips one finger into you. He pumps it in and out a couple of times before adding another and resuming his motions on your sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re writhing and calling out his name. His other hand snakes up your torso, cupping your left breast, then flicking his thumb over the sensitive bud. Whining, you cover his hand with yours.

“I’m gonna— gonna.” You can’t even form a coherent sentence anymore as an all–consuming fire ignites deep in your belly.

Chenle entwines his fingers with yours. “Cum for me, baby. Cum.”

The pet name is the last straw. Your back arches as the fire erupts and your high washes over you, leaving you breathless. Chenle doesn’t relent, working his mouth and fingers on you until the waves of pleasure subside and you’re weakly pushing at his head, spent. He’s back by your side in an instant, smiling as he cups your face, placing sweet kisses on your cheeks and lips.

“How was that?” he asks cockily.

You smirk. “Oh, you know. Fine, I guess.”

He scoffs in mock disbelief, but there is no time for him to be angry as you sit up and climb in his lap.

“Take these off for me, will you?” you ask, snapping the waistband of his boxers against his skin.

Chenle’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? I meant what I said. We can take it slow—”

His head falls back against the sofa as you slip your hand beneath the fabric and wrap it around his member, stroking him, the action making him release something between a grunt and a moan. Shit, he’s big. And hard. So hard for you.

“Screw taking it slow,” you say, running your thumb over the slit of his base which makes him wrap a hand around your wrist, stopping you.

“If you’re going to keep this up I won’t last,” he warns.

“Then fuck me already,” you whisper against his earshell.

Your words ignite a spark in his eyes. Chenle pushes you off him gently but urgently, fishing his jeans from the floor and pulling a silver wrapper out of his back pocket.

You scoff. “How long have you been carrying that around with you?”

His ears are a little red as he shrugs. “Uh, you know. Since we uhm . . . visited that mall in Busan.”

Your mouth falls open. “You horny fuck.”

“What? I like to be prepared.” Chenle says unapologetically, making you snort.

He rips open the packet with his teeth, a gesture so ridiculously attractive that it makes your core throb with a fresh wave of heat. Chenle pulls you close until you’re back in his lap, his cock against your tummy. Fuck, you can feel it throb against you.

“Do you wanna be on top? Might be easier for you to take me that way,” he says before he places a kiss on your cheek, the sweet gesture such a contrast to the way his hand cups your breast, making you gasp as he runs his thumb over your nipple.

“You don’t think I can?” you ask breathlessly, hand grazing through his raven hair, making it all messy.

He sighs softly, his eyes fluttering momentarily shut, quite obviously enjoying the gesture. “Oh, Don’t worry. We’ll make it fit.”

One of his hands finds a hold on your hip while the other wraps around his length, brushing it through your folds for a second before he draws it up to your clit that is still so sensitive the action makes your hips jerk.

He presses a kiss to your lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes,” you say impatiently.

His gaze holds yours as he helps you lower yourself onto him, the stretch immediate and a little dizzying as you slowly take inch after delicious inch of him.

His lips part, and his chin lifts a little as he hold your gaze. “Just, fuck, like that . . . so good, princess. Can you move?”

You nod and he wraps his arms around you, helping you slowly lift yourself up and down his length.

“You okay there?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you gasp. “Jus’ so . . . full.”

“I know, but you’re doing so well for me princess.”

The more your body gets used to his size, you find yourself increasing your pace, eagerly taking him faster, harder. Soon you're shaking with pleasure and exhaustion, thighs aching and legs trembling and Chenle notices, flipping you over so he’s above you. He takes in your body like it’s a piece of art.

Chnele’s hand ghosts above your cheek, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real. It’s shaking a little.

“Chenle,” you breathe, nestling your cheek in his palm.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a little shakily. “I just— This is— You just mean . . . so much to me. I love you, Y/n. I love you so much.”

He kisses you, then, this kiss holding more emotion than any of your other ones. His thrusts are now slow and deep, grinding his hips into you until you feel him everywhere. Until you’re not sure where you end and he starts. It’s different, then. You cling to each other, chest to chest, skin to skin, soul to soul. His head is nestled in your neck as you cling to him until that tension starts to build in your belly again and you grow more desperate, breathily whispering his name.

“Fuck, princess.”

His thrusts grow more erratic and shallow, as Chenle, too, is close to his release. He slips his hand between your bodies, finding your bundle of nerves and drawing rapid circles on it that have you crying out and suddenly you’re falling and crashing as that invisible band snaps. You clench around him so much that it sends him right over the edge too and he delivers a few more erratic thrust before his hips buck and he burrows them to the hilt inside you where he stills, breathing heavily as he plasters wet kisses against your neck.

“I already have,” you say, breathing heavily. “Forgiven you, I mean.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you, hair sticking to his forehead sweatily. “You’re not just saying that to appease me though, right? I wouldn’t want you to say something like that if you’re not there yet.”

“I am,” you say, cupping his cheek. You place a short kiss on his lips.

“You know,” you say a little while later as you trace circles on his chest, remembering his earlier words. “If we find a way to make things go back to normal in Seoul, and we go back to our old lives, you could still become an idol. Your voice is beautiful.”

His chest vibrates beneath you as he laughs, but there is an edge to his voice. “At 22? I don’t know about that. You do know that they let kids half my age debut these days, right? According to industry standards I’m a fossil.”

“Don’t say that,” you chide, gently hitting his chest. “Besides, then fuck industry standards. Do your own thing. Don’t become an idol. Found a band. Go solo. You’re resourceful, Chenle, find a way.”

“No one has ever believed in me the way you do.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

You lay there in silence for a little longer, basking in each other’s presence. Though unspoken words lay between you, making your chest heavy.

Of course, all of this would only matter if you found a way to get back to your old lives.

Later that night you awake to screams. Next to you, Chenle is breathing heavily as he clutches his chest. He must’ve cried out in his sleep.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost. “I saw him,” he says frantically, chest heaving. “I shot him again. There was blood everywhere.”

You pull him close, stroking his hair. “Shh, it was just a nightmare. It’s alright. You’re alright”

You lay awake, stroking his air until his breathing slows and his eyelids slowly become too heavy to fight sleep any longer.

“You know, it’s a good thing you’re back. It was pretty exhausting having to drive all the time,” you say teasingly as you make your way to Seoul in a Ferrari that you found in the garage of the house you stayed at. People with bougie-ass houses need bougie-ass car’s, apparently.

Seeing Chenle drive the Ferrari is like watching someone wear a hand-tailored suit. It just fits. The way he drives with one hand, the sunglasses he’s wearing, how relaxed he looks. This car looks like it was made specifically for him. You’d wanted to protest at first, to suggest you go look for a different car from one of the neighbors but then you’d thought, what the hell? You’re almost in Seoul anyway, so there’s really no need to be transporting that much equipment anymore, and besides, Chenle looked at the car like it was the love of his life, which you had found offensive and adorable in equal parts, so you’d given in.

“Are you implying that you missed me just because you wanted a chauffeur? Wow, I’m touched, babe, really.”

The nickname catches you off-guard, making your cheeks heat. You’ve gotten used to hearing him call you princess but this? This is different.

“What? You don’t like it?” he asks teasingly, having noticed your reaction.

You shake your head, smiling sheepishly. “I’m just not used to it yet.”

He reaches over, pinching your cheek, making you swat at him. “You are so cute, you know that?”

“Chenle,” you whine, desperately trying to force the blush from your cheeks.

“You know, you could call me babe or baby, too. I’d really like that.” he says, smirking.

“It’s cheesy,” you complain, cringing.

He actually looks offended. “No it’s not! Do you think it’s cringy when I call you that?”

“No, it’s just—”

“I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, only half playfully. He mutters, “Calls me cheesy. That’s just absurd.”

“Oh my god,” you say, exasperated. “Do you know why I like calling you by your name? Because it’s your name, Chenle. I like saying it because it’s you.”

A moment of silence passes between you, almost making you fear that you’ve actually upset him.

“Well, shit.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

“You just made my heart flutter.”

The moment you cross Seoul's town sign, your heart rate starts picking up.

“Doesn’t exactly look like the center of the apocalypse, if you ask me,” Chenle says from behind the steering wheel. “It looks just like every other place we’ve been to.”

He’s right. Seoul, with its skyscrapers and empty streets littered with abandoned cars looks like every other ghost town you’ve visited these past weeks. No strange anomalies, none of the mysterious lights you read about in the newspaper, nothing.

This can’t be it. You’ve not spent weeks trying to get here just for this place to be a dead end!

“Keep driving,” you say, picking at your cuticles. “There has got to be something here.”

Chenle pulls your hands apart, intertwining one with his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We’ll find something.”

You drive and drive, Chenle taking you through every part of the deserted metropole until the sun is setting and you have nowhere left to go. Chenle sighs, hesitantly looking over to you. You haven’t said a word in forever, quietly taking in the city around you.

“Let’s call it a night, mhm?” he suggests carefully. “We’ll resume tomorrow.”

You have to force yourself to take your eyes off the streets. You nod, feeling strangely hollow. You wonder where Chenle is taking you, but lack the energy to ask. Eventually, he pulls into an underground garage that he accesses with a passcode at the entrance. He stops the car and gets out while you stay seated, feeling like you’ve sunken into your body. He walks over to your side, opening the door for you. Chenle holds out his hand for you to take and you regard it for a few long seconds before you take it, your arm feeling horribly heavy as you lift it.

He leads you to an elevator and purposefully presses the button for the top floor. The elevator takes you up swiftly and opens in front of only one door. Chenle walks towards it determinately, not breaking open the door like you usually do but instead sliding open the keypad and typing a code into it which makes a sound ring and the door open with a click.

“It’s 0825,” he says as he leads you into the penthouse apartment.

“This is your apartment,” you realize as you step inside.

“I thought it would be nice to sleep in our own bed for once. Or, well, mine. But what’s mine is yours, so make yourself at home,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You scoff softly to yourself as you take in the place. “Jesus, babe, you really do live like a king, huh?”

The apartment must be flooded with light during the day, it has full glass fronts that reach all the way up to the high ceilings. The interior looks sharp and modern, black and white pieces of furniture gracing the living room that you’re standing in.

He pulls you close by your waist, making your breath hitch. “And if given the choice between you and this apartment I would choose you within a heartbeat.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “So why 0825?”

His features harden ever so slightly. “It was the date I was supposed to debut.”

Your lips part. No wonder he reacted like this.

“We could go to your place tomorrow, you know,” he says, leaning his head on your shoulder as he hugs your middle.

Your place? Your austere, shabby apartment that you spent months rotting away in?

You shake your head, forcing a light tone into your voice. “I’ll just pick up some of my clothes if that’s alright with you?”

A smile that makes his eyes crinkle takes over his face. “Are you kidding me? Of course! I’ll make space in my dressing room for you!”

His smile is infectious, making you shyly return it. Giddily, he presses a kiss to your cheek before he turns on his heel, presumably to do just that. His words only fully register a moment later.

“Dressing room?” you whisper to yourself. Of course, he has a dressing room. Why wouldn’t he?

You walk around, trying to imagine yourself living in this apartment. Over the past few weeks, you’ve lived in so many different places but could call none of them home, this for the first time, feels different. Intimate, somehow, because it’s a part of Chenle. A place where he feels safe. A refuge. You wonder if soon this place will feel like that for you, too. Like home.

Your old apartment has never felt like home. From the moment you moved into it when you started your job, until the last time you were there. Partially, it was your own fault for never putting any effort into making it feel more homely but also it was hard to feel at ease generally, anywhere with the way life had been going for you. It felt draining and chaotic, and your place reflected the darkness that was growing inside of you. If anything, you were happy to have gotten away from it.

But now you’re back in Seoul and you’re . . . moving in with Chenle? In a way, it’s just like it’s been these past few weeks, where you stayed at places together because you were traveling together. But now your journey has ended. And sure, you’re in a relationship now, but that’s still so fresh and fragile. Maybe it’s a mistake, moving your stuff into his place?

But it doesn’t feel like a mistake. Actually, the thought of being apart from him again, even if only for the night, you don’t like it. You don’t like it one bit.

By the time Chenle comes back you’re inspecting a piano in the living room. He hugs you from behind, placing his head on your shoulder. You never thought he’d be the clingy type. You never thought you’d like him being clingy with you.

“You play?” you ask, putting your hands over his that are crossed over your tummy.

“Haven’t in a long time,” he says thoughtfully. “I used to really love playing.”

“Can you play something?”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m a little rusty, but . . .”

Chenle takes a seat, pressing the keys a few times before he starts playing a melody. He gets it wrong and pauses, smiling sheepishly before he starts again. This time, he makes no mistake as he plays a song you vaguely recognize.

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

“It’s that song I sang back at the base. It’s not perfect yet, but maybe I’ll finish it one day.”

You can’t stop looking at him. Seeing Chenle in his apartment, wearing his clothes, cooking in his kitchen. It all looks homely in such an intimate way that it gives you butterflies. And how gladly he gives you his clothes to wear, that smell just like him, the way he lets you taste his stew as he’s making it, it all makes you feel like you’re a part of this place he calls his home. Like you’re his home, now.

The thought of sleeping together in his bed makes you nervous as well. Well, not nervous exactly. Giddy, maybe. Maybe it’s because this is his bed, with the silk pillows he chose specifically to match the heavy curtains on the windows. His bed, that he’s inviting you into. Before, sleeping together was something you did out of necessity. Now, it’s a choice.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, as you rest your head on his chest, his hand tracing circles on your back.

“That this is . . . nice,” you say truthfully. “Despite everything else that’s happening, right now, here with you, I feel content. Happy. I don’t remember the last time I felt like this.”

He nods, running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. “I know what you mean.”

“Before, it felt like I just kind of existed, you know? Getting through each day, living on autopilot. I didn’t feel passionately about anything, didn’t care about anything. I was just so . . . sad and angry.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “When I caught my ex cheating on me with my sister it was like my world collapsed. Not because of him cheating, necessarily, but because of my sister’s betrayal. Even if I struggled to make friends, I knew I always had her to lean on. We grieved for our father together, took care of our mother together . . . Her doing that to me felt like someone stabbed a knife in my heart and cursed me to keep on living with it.”

A lone tear escapes from the corner of your eye and soakes Chenle’s shirt. You sit up, wiping at the fabric. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls you into his chest. “If you’re sad, cry.”

So you let yourself give in to the pain. “I was so sad for so long I guess I just decided that it was easier to be angry. So I was. I stopped talking to her completely. Broke off all contact. But then I was all alone,” you say, as more and more tears stream down your cheeks. “And I missed her so much but I hated her more— I still do. But now that I might never see her again . . . I don’t know.” You let him cup your cheeks, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I miss her more than ever, even though I know it’s pathetic I—I just can’t help it.”

“Shh, of course, you do. You grew up together. I’m sure you share many happy memories from before she hurt you. Of course, you miss her. That’s only natural.”

“Can I admit something else to you?” you whisper.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I know it’s stupid and not fair at all, but this whole situation is also why I was kind of a bitch to you when we first met. I just couldn’t help but think that if I had your kind of money and opportunities I could just buy whatever I wanted and drink and party until I forgot all my problems and just became numb.”

“Trust me,” Chenle says, eyes dark. “You don’t want to live the way I did. If you can even call that living. I only started truly feeling alive once I was running for my life. With you.”

You smile weakly, sniffling. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you spent that night finding comfort in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings to each other as you cling together.

A troublesome night. Masses of people streaming out of clubs, littering the streets. You sway in your steps. Suddenly, flashes of blinding light, a scream—

You awake with a gasp, shooting up in the bed. Gentle rays of sun warm your face, as you look around Chenle’s bedroom, momentarily finding yourself disoriented. What a strange dream. The images are ever-fading until the only thing you can recall is the blinding lights. Panic sits heavily on your chest. Lights. Did you dream about the lights that appeared in Seoul? The lights that started all of this? But how? You never even saw them. You must be so desperate your subconscious made them up.

Shaking your head, you decide to focus on the rising sun outside. A tired, weak smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you watch the sunrise in awe. The view from the penthouse truly is breathtaking. The way you get to watch the city slowly be embraced by the sun, the cloudless sky, the view of Han river in the distance. You can imagine yourself waking up to a view like this everyday.

You remember how you dreamed about living in an apartment like this, wondering what it would feel like. How invincible you thought it would make you feel.

If only that were true.

Next to you, Chenle stirs awake and slowly pries open his eyes, blinking against the sun. Unable to help yourself, you press a kiss to his lips, making him smile sleepily. Gladly, you settle back down to him.

“What was that for?” he asks, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

You shake your head slightly. “I just love waking up next to you, is all.”

You drive around Seoul all morning but still fail to find anything out of the ordinary. By the time you take a lunch break, a lump has formed in your throat rendering you unable to enjoy even one bite of the sandwiches Chenle prepared for you. Eventually, you give up, numbly staring off into the distance stoically.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Chenle asks you eventually, breaking the silence that, for the first time, is weighed down by a cloud of tension.

You nod. Again. “I’ll be fine,” you repeat the words you’ve told him multiple times now. “The black walker’s gone.”

“The black walker is not what I’m worried about,” he says, watching you skeptically.

You know that he’s only worried about you, but his insinuation ignites little, dangerous sparks of fury in your chest. “What, then? That I’ll throw myself off a building?” You say, failing to banish the emotions from your voice. “Don’t worry, I don’t fuck with heights like that,” you add more quietly in an attempt to soften your harsh words.

“Y/n.” The moment his palm covers your balled fist your eyes start to burn.

“Sorry, I— I just . . .” You groan, pressing your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the headrest of the car. “This can’t be it, okay? It just can’t.”

You can practically feel the look on his face, his eyes furrowed with pity. “But what if—”

“I’ll be back at your place before dinner,” you say, getting out of his car before he can stop you.

It feels strange coming back to your old place of work. You don’t know why you insisted on coming here, really.

You park the car you stole off the street in Sakura’s parking space, solely out of spite and because it gives you the tiniest bit of serotonin. And as far as that goes, you’ll take every bit you can. God knows you need it.

You don’t know what you expected to find here, if you thought something about this place might be different from every other place you’ve been to these past few months, but of course, just like any other place, the building is wholly vacant. Marketing proposals and progress reports lay abandoned on desks, as if the people vanished just as they were working on them.

Walking through the rows of empty desks, you remember each of your co-workers in their designated spots, busily working away. You see yourself sitting at your desk, stressed, with dark bags under your eyes, but perfectly put together. You always did make sure not to let the chaos inside of you bleed into your life.

You were miserable back then, you know you were. So why does a part of you . . . miss it?

Exhaling shakily, you shake your head and make your way into your bosses office. Where is it? Where is it? Ha!

Smirking victoriously, you get out the bottle of whiskey you know your boss had stashed away in his bottom drawer. He wasn’t habitually drunk at work, but every once in a while, he’d take a swig to . . . take the edge off, you guess. Whatever, you don’t much care. God, he’d kill you, would he catch you taking careless gulps of his premium bourbon. The thought makes you snort, which in turn makes you cough as you barely manage to swallow the liquor. What’s he gonna do, huh? Fire you? You let yourself fall in his chair and spin around, looking through his documents.

“Old fuck,” you whisper bitterly, harshly swiping your arm over the desk.

Everything from his documents to stationary to his desktop clatter to the floor noisily, and a dizzying storm of bitter excitement rouses in your stomach. You take another gulp from the bottle before it explodes against the wall, shambles and liquor raining on the floor. Your shoulder is burning from the sudden movement.

Now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. You snap laptops on your knees, hurl documents in the air, throw in windows, as you laugh and laugh and sob and finally crumble to the floor.

How is this fair? How did you make it all the way here only to find nothing?! This is it? You’re never going to work here again? You’re never going to see your sister again? You’re never going to get the chance to make something of yourself?!

You sit on the floor, broken like the shards of glass around you, until your tears eventually run dry and you’ve sobered up. Defeated, you get back in the car you stole and drive to your old place.

You don’t linger. You’re in and out quickly, only grabbing the essentials. Besides, it’s not like there are any sentimental belongings you would have to pack, courtesy of your austere lifestyle. You only stop in your tracks when you see an old picture of your family back from when you were young. Things were so different back then. He was still alive, your mother still recognized your face, you and your sister still talked to each other . . . And now you will never see any of them ever again.

You snatch it from your dresser, and then leave your apartment without looking back.

A faint, melancholic tune greets you when you step back into the apartment. Frowning slightly, you drop your bags of clothes and belongings to the ground, before you slowly walk into the apartment.

“Chenle?” you ask uncertainly, but receive no answer.

Carefully, you follow the music, dread pooling in your stomach. It’s a piece of classical music that you don’t know, but it sounds sad and heavy and not at all like something Chenle would listen to. It leads you to the bathroom door which lays left ajar in front of you forebodingly. Your heart beats rapidly in your throat.

“Chenle? Are you in there?” Your voice wavers.

No answer. You have to force yourself to peek inside the room.

The music is coming out of a speaker he placed on the marble vanity while Chenle sits, utterly motionless and fully clothed in the bathtub. His hair drenched, pearls of water drip down from his chin into the water and his white shirt is completely soaked through, the contours of his body shining through the fabric. A bottle of wine lays knocked over on the floor, and a glass of wine still sits on the edge of the tub.

“I was worried about you,” you say, guilt tugging at your heart.

How could you have been so selfish? You were so caught up in your own disappointment and self pity that you didn’t stop to think that Chenle must be feeling the exact same way. But he was hiding it, pulling himself together for your sake. What an egotistical idiot you’ve been!

You kneel in front of the bathtub, cupping his cheek so so gently. His skin is cold against your palm, his lips a purple-leaning blue. “Talk to me, Chenle. What happened?”

It’s like he’s only just noticing your presence. His eyes clear up, as if he’s waking from some nebulous daydream and then they flutter shut as he leans into your touch, chasing your warmth as if it forces away the freezing cold that’s taken over his limbs.

He’s been strong for you ever since you got to Seoul, now it’s time you’re there for him.

Almost desperately, Chenle reaches for your wrist, then tugs. Water splashes everywhere and you shriek as you tumble into the tub, crashing into him. You push yourself up from his wet chest, gasping at the coldness of the water. How long has he been sitting in here for?

Chenle clings onto you like you’re his lifeline. “I visited my father’s company today,” he says tonelessly, his teeth chattering. “I don’t know why, really. It’s not like I was going to take it over anyway” He scoffs softly, but the gesture looks like it hurts. Bitterness has killed the light in his eyes. “I just wanted to prove him wrong, you know? Show him that I could still make something of myself and that I was not the massive disappointment he always thought I was.” You nod, hating having to see him in pain. “And now, I never will.”

You understand the pain he feels because you, too, felt it when you visited your old company today. The damning knowledge that there really is no going back to your old lives, no redemption, no second chances.

“What can I do?” you whisper, eyes burning with his pain.

Chenle shakes his head, smiling bitterly. He presses a kiss to your lips and pulls you closer, aching for your warmth.

“Just let me hold you for a little longer.”

So you do.

Days turn into weeks that turn into months that the two of you spend alone in the deserted Seoul. In the beginning, it’s rough. Coming to terms with the fact that this is your life now is not easy. Both of you struggle with this reality, but you’re there for each other, whoever is doing better on the particular day helps the other, and so you make it out of the slump eventually. Together.

You keep having these strange dreams. They started when you first came to Seoul, and they’re always the same. Masses of people, a dark night, and these lights . . .

“You spent all this time working towards getting here in hopes of finding these lights,” Chenle tells you when you bring it up to him. “You probably keep dreaming of them because you never got closure.”

“Mhm, maybe,” you murmur, unable to shake the feeling that there is something else behind your restless nights. Chenle, at least, sleeps better these days. He only wakes up from nightmares from time to time, shaking as he tells you about the gruesome images of blood and gunshots and masked men. Every time it happens you hug him close, telling him stories from your past life and brushing your fingers through his hair until his eyelids grow heavy and sleep overtakes him once more.

You take up running in the mornings because it’s good for releasing all the anxious pent-up energy in your body and Chenle tries to teach you how to play basketball which ends in a sprained ankle for you, so you settle for watching him play from the sidelines, which is way more enjoyable for both of you.

Sometimes, when you’re both feeling down and hopeless you find yourself fighting about trivial matters. You scream at each other, until one of you storms off. When you’ve cooled off again you apologize, knowing that it’s your situation you’re upset about, not each other.

And you have sex. Lots of sex. After such fights, in the mornings, under the stars, in the shower. Sometimes it’s rough, and you call each other filthy things and sometimes it’s loving and gentle and whispers in your ears of how much he loves you until it’s all you hear and all you are and you feel so loved and so happy that you can’t fathom why there is any sadness in your heart at the fact that it’s only the two of you in this city forever and ever.

“Do you not want to go back to your friends? I’d understand if you wanted to,” you ask him one night, as you lay bare in each other’s arms.

There is no uncertainty in his eyes as he looks at you with nothing but love. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to go back to these people. You’re all I need.”

“Oh, yeah?” You kiss him then, and he groans against your lips before he flips you over and nestles between your legs once more, smirking cheekily.

“Don’t believe me? Let me prove it to you, then.”

And that he does. Over and over.

Another day, you find him in a room of the apartment you hadn’t paid much attention to previously. A recording studio. You find Chenle in it, humming a melody into a microphone.

“I didn’t know you started working on music again,” you say, smiling. It’s good to see him in his element again. There is a certain spark in his eyes that you’ve only ever seen before when you saw him sing that song back at Haechan’s and Ningning’s place.

He sighs warmly, gratefully accepting the hand you place on his shoulder and cupping it with his own. “I had some sort of creative block for a long time. I think it’s because I put so much pressure on myself, “ he says. “If I was going to work on something again and it sucked it would’ve been like a confirmation. ‘See? You really aren’t good enough anymore’. But now, since there’s nothing left to prove, I guess it just made it easier for me to start from a place of genuine enjoyment.”

“Well, I’m glad.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “So, what’re you working on?”

He shrugs. “It’s not much of anything yet. But I already have a title in mind.”

“Oh, yeah? What is it?”

“Unknown.”

Another day, you’re laying on a picnic blanket at Han river, enjoying food your brought and basking in the sun. Your head rests on Chenle’s belly as you read a book while he has dozed off, sleeping peacefully.

Had anyone told you a couple of months ago that you’d be spending your days in the vacant capital with Chenle you would have laughed in their face. Even more so if they dared to suggest that you would like living like this. Sure, you still get hit by waves of sorrow every now and then. Days on which you just can’t stop asking yourself the big ‘whys’ and ‘what ifs’. But Chenle is there for you throughout it all. On the good days and even the worst ones where you feel hopeless and lonely and like you’re going to lose your mind, he takes you by the hand and holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until your racing heart calms and the storm in your chest settles.

Your chest swells as you regard him. His features are completely relaxed and you reach out, gently tracing the lines of his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw— he stirs, squinting against the sun before he remembers where you are and a smile softens his features.

“Sorry for waking you,” you say.

He shakes his head, placing a peck on your lips. “Don’t be. I’d much rather spend time with you than sleep, anyway.”

You walk along the river later that evening, hands entwined as the sun sets behind you. It paints his features in warm hues, making his skin look like liquid gold. He notices you stare at him and smiles.

Chenle looks down, as if a little shy, which is so uncharacteristic for him. “What?” you ask.

“I just,” he shakes his head, his ears a little red. “That night we slept under that tree. After the first car we jacked totalled and it was raining like crazy.” You look at him questioningly, and he smiles shyly, ruffling his hair. “That’s when I started having feelings for you.”

Your lips part, and you let out a short laugh of disbelief. That was not even twenty four hours after you met! “Really?”

He shakes his head, smiling softly as he looks down. “It’s just the way you talked to me. No one had ever talked back to me like that. And sleeping next to you, holding you . . .” He looks away, cheeks tinted pink. “Anyway, that’s when it started for me.”

Seeing him this shy makes your heart swell and your hands itch with the overwhelming urge to hold him down and kiss him until you run out of breath.

“I love you, Chenle. So much” You smile, enjoying the way his features quiver for a second as your words throw him off guard. His ears have turned an even brighter shade of red by the time he reruns your smile.

“I love—”

It’s strange. How you can spend days and weeks and months in one and the same place and live the same routine over and over, without it ever changing significantly. Time and change don’t go hand in hand. Sometimes, nothing changes for weeks at a time and sometimes, it only takes a split second to change the trajectory of someone’s life; the blink of an eye to change everything.

One second, Chenle is smiling at you, the next he stumbles back a few steps. As if in confusion, he frowns, looking down at his hand. It comes back red.

You never even heard the shot.

Suddenly, you’re on the floor, clutching him to you as blood seeps from his body and gathers in a sea around you. Someone’s screaming. No, that’s you. You’re screaming, you think. You can’t be sure, because all you hear is this all-consuming ringing in your ears and Chenle’s lips move but you don’t hear what he’s saying and you catch yourself wondering if you’ve lost your hearing but then blood starts to seep from the corner of his mouth, dripping down down down to his chin like spilled wine, and maybe that means that there is no actual sound passing over his lips. He lifts his arm, deathly pale, and you follow the direction of his pointed finger—

“No.”

Impossible. Chenle shot him. You saw his body hit the ground! You washed his blood off of Chenle’s skin!

But here he is, shifting the barrel of his gun from Chenle to you.

With the last of his strength his hand tightens around yours, and you share a look. An understanding. All the words you want to say to each other but will never get the chance to say. So many words ring in your head but loudest of all three little ones which you cling to and repeat over and over.

I love you. I love you. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou—

I will always love you.

You see them in Chenle’s eyes too, as he struggles to keep the life from draining out of them, clinging onto you.

But who are you to defy death?

Chenle smiles weakly, lips moving in words you can’t make out, and this time you hear the shot, close your eyes against the bullet and you tell yourself you’re not afraid because at least you’ll be together—

Then, suddenly, pictures.

A dark night illuminated by city lights. Hazy images of shops and people.

A voice.

“WATCH OUT!”

Bright lights, then, suddenly, nothing.

Waking up feels like breaching through the surface of an icy lake. There’s people. So many people. Too many people. You struggle against them, alit with alarm, but they push you down mercilessly, saying words that don’t register in your mind. White. They’re wearing white.

“Chen . . . le. Chen . . . le.” It’s the only thing you can say. Over and over.

Suddenly, through the sea of white, a familiar face.

Tears are streaming down her face. She never cries. Someone tries to send her away but she pushes through and then she’s by your side, cradling your face.

“You’ve been in a car accident, Y/n,” she says. “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”

And still, through the chaos that erupts in your mind, only one word materializes on your lips.

“Chenle.”

And then you’re gone again.

24.04.07

Chenle wakes up the way he does way too often: in a bed that is not his with a raging hangover.

Vaguely, he remembers last night’s events. He went clubbing with Haechan and Jeno, drank way too much, went home with some girl who’s name he never bothered to ask for. The usual. Chenle groans, holding his head and he makes to sit up but there is something hindering him. Or rather, someone.

Jesus, did he have to hook up with someone so clingy? He pries the woman’s arm from his body, careful not to wake her. Else, she might want him to stay over for breakfast or worse, ask him to stay in touch.

Chenle collects his clothes from the floor, quickly slipping into them before he starts towards the door— no, that’s the bathroom. Jesus, he doesn’t even remember how he got here, much less what happened after. Of course, he knows. He showed what’s-her-name a good time, that much he’s sure of, even if his memory is spotty. Hell, he probably gave her the best fuck of her life. That, and the ability to boast about it. She slept with the Zhong Chenle. If anything she should be grateful. So what, if he doesn’t know her name? So what, if he leaves without saying goodbye?

So fucking what?

His Tesla is parked straight across the little space in the yard, not in either of the two available parking spaces. Whatever. Chenle gets in the car, reversing painfully out of the small back yard, his brain throbbing behind his brows. How he managed to drive here yesterday with how drunk he was is beyond him.

Haechan is blowing up his phone with messages as Chenle drives down the streets of Seoul, squinting against the sun. Fuck, has he lost another pair of sun glasses? Who the fuck loses sunglasses? He scrolls through the pictures, when a message from Jeno pops up on his screen.

Yo, just warning you, Ning is fucking pissed that you went off with that chick.

Chenle scoffs to himself. Isn’t she always?

The sound of a horn blaring startles him back into paying attention to the road but it’s already too late. Chenle jolts forward in his seat until the seatbelt roughly catches him, the airbag of his steering wheel popping out. He lifts his head and sighs. Great. This is fucking great.

He’s already calling Inseok, his father’s assistant, by the time the man whose car he drove into walks up to. Chenle explains the situation briefly, and the man on the other side does what he does best: cleaning up his messes.

“What the hell, man?! Do you not have fucking eyes?!”

He holds up a hand, massaging his temple with the other. “Chill, dude. You’re giving me a headache.”

The man squares up to him, grabbing him out of the car by the collar of his shirt. “What did you just say?”

Chenle smirks as he takes off his watch and presses it roughly against the man’s chest. What’s he even driving? He looks over the guys shoulder, almost laughing in his face. A fucking Hyundai Galloper. The guy should be glad he drove into him. It gives him an excuse to buy a less pathetic car.

“Let’s call it even, huh?” Chenle smirks, tapping his watch against the man’s collar bone.

Ah, Chenle loves this part. The obvious rage of the man fighting an internal battle with his greed as he inspects the watch with greedy eyes. The fucking thing was probably more expensive than that excuse of a car. He looks at Chenle, as if in doubt about the authenticity of the watch, then sees his designer clothes and the Tesla. Finally, he steps away, greed winning. It always does.

Inseok texts him, telling him that he’s going to take care of the car but that the Zhong’s driver is otherwise occupied at the moment. Fine, Chenle thinks, he’ll just get a cab. But it’s rush hour and the streets are jammed. He’s not going to get anywhere.

The sign to the subway catches his attention then. When was the last time he took the subway? God, he can’t even remember. Rightfully so. That disgusting, crammed tin box is not a place he ever wants to visit but he’s tired and his head hurts and he’s kind of nauseous so he decides, fine. Just this once, he’ll take the subway. How bad can it be?

Really damn bad. Ten minutes later, Chenle is sure he’s made the worst decision of his life. He leans against the door, trying not to hurl on the old lady next to him. How the hell is he hungover and still drunk at the same time? He’s already nauseous, and someone is standing too close to him, breathing against his neck disgustingly, and there is no place to sit and, oh, fucking hell, it’s six more stops before this torture ends . . .

His eyes fall on a man who’s standing closer to a woman than all the other people around them. Sure, the subway is crammed but is it really necessary to stand that close together? Do they know each other? Are they one of those disgusting couples that is oblivious to everyone’s disgust at their over exaggerated PDA? But then the man moves forward, colliding with the woman’s back as if he stumbled, even though there really was no reason for him to lose his footing. He lifts his hand, placing it on the woman’s lower back and Chenle’s sees her freeze in place, as if holding her breath, as his land drags lower and lower and lower—

“You piece of shit!”

He doesn’t decide to punch the guy in the face, it just happens. The bastard tumbles back a few steps, holding his jaw once he regains his composure. He doesn’t even look mad that Chenle punched him, just shocked that he got caught. Fucking pervert.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Chenle draws his arm back, swaying a little with the residue alcohol in his system but that’s not going to deter him. Hell, he’s been looking for a way to blow off steam ever since his fender bender earlier. But two men hold him back.

His eyes meet the woman’s. She looks distraught, not scared per se, just in shock. And she’s beautiful.

Grudgingly, he lets off. The men let go of him but not without sending him a withering glare. Actually, everyone seems to be looking at him like he committed a crime. What the hell do they know, huh? Let them look. Chenle doesn’t care. He looks at the woman one more time before he turns around, leaning against the door, looking out the window. God, he’s going to be sick, the world is spinning like a damn carousel.

The next stop comes up and Chenle is forced to move as a lot of people exit and enter the subway. He finds himself looking towards the woman once more but finds the spot she was in vacant. Just as the subway starts moving again, he spies a glance of her hair flowing in the wind before she disappears in the masses of people.

What might her life be like, Chenle wonders. Will she be haunted by what happened here today? Or will she just brush it off and move on, pretending it never happened?

Chenle shakes his head. Whatever. That’s none of his concern.

Chenle’s father’s face get’s red whenever he’s screaming at him like this, and that vein on his forehead protrudes so much Chenle feares it might burst at any moment. Though that would probably get him off the hook, at least.

“—no job, no ambition, certainly no sense of responsibility or even an ounce of shame!” Droplets of spit hit his face, making him grimace.

His father sighs agitatedly, running a hand over his face. “You’ve lost your way, son. You used to be so passionate about your music until you decided to quit being a trainee because it ‘wasn’t what you wanted anymore’. What am I going to do with you? Do you know the kind of sorrow you cause your poor mother?”

He looks something between sad and disappointed. Chenle resists the urge to roll his eyes. What does his father know about being sad? About being disappointed? He knows nothing.

“Was that all?” Chenle asks, a bored expression plastered onto his features.

His father sighs, motioning for him to get up, so he does, not wasting a moment before he darts out of the office. Outside, he runs into his older brother.

“I heard about your accident,” the older one says, voice filled with so much concern that it makes Chenle sick. He wishes his brother wouldn’t worry about him. That would make it easier to despise him. But no, all-good angel that he is, his brother never lets off, no matter how much Chenle messes up. “You good?”

“Fine.” Who does he think he is, huh? As if his brother isn’t utterly aware that he carries his family's legacy on his shoulders while Chenle is just . . . Chenle. Failed musician, successful disappointment.

“C’mon man, I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” his perfect brother says.

“Don’t,” Chenle says sharply. “I don’t need the golden boy’s pity.”

He storms off, while his brother calls after him but no, Chenle will not look back. Not with the way his eyes are burning pathetically.

Because he had his shot. He could’ve been the creative, artistic one. The one who made it outside of the cut throat world of businessmen where everything is about money and beating the competition. He could’ve had that, but he messed it up. There is no place in his family for a failure like him. Pretending otherwise would just add to his shame.

So, fuck this, Chenle decides. Fuck them all.

Ningning is the clingiest, most suffocating woman Chenle’s ever met. She sticks to his side like glue, wraps herself around his arm like a snake. But what is he supposed to do about it? They’ve known each other since childhood, their parents not just business partners but also close friends.

So he’s made a habit of tolerating her. Well, Ningning, apart from her possessiveness of him, is sort of entertaining. Sure, her laugh is grating and she gets intolerable whenever she’s drunk— which she is most of the time— but at least she’s not stuck up. And she’s determined to get what she wants, which most of the time is him. And, as the object of her desires, Chenle doesn’t exactly suffer. She’s just so . . . much, all the time. It’s draining.

Right now, she’s too drunk to even stand anymore, though, which is good because it means he can shake her off. Chenle hands her over to Haechan who protests but Chenle is gone before he can give her back to him. Feeling like he’s finally able to breathe freely again, he goes to find Jeno in the crowd of the club.

Chenle ends up finding him in a corner of the VIP area, hunched over a table. Once he steps closer he recognizes the white powder lined up on the table, which Jeno has been preparing with his black card. Stupid fuck to use his father’s card for doing lines. Judging by the white powder around his nose, this is clearly not the first line he’s been snorting, either. Jeno’s red-rimmed eyes don’t quite focus on him when he looks at Chenle.

“My friend!” He throws an arm over Chenle’s shoulder, nearly making them topple over with the way he staggering. “You came just at the right time. Wanna do one with me?”

Chenle shakes his head. “Nah, man.”

Chenle drinks a lot, he’s aware of that. But hard drugs? He doesn’t fuck with hard drugs.

“Oh, c’mon.” Jeno pushes him down towards the table, some of the white powder flies through the air as Chenle grunts. Damn, how is he this strong even when he’s coked up?

“Stop it, man,” Chenle grits out, but the other keeps pushing. “Stop!”

Jeno staggers back a few steps, arms held up in surrender. “Chill, Jus’ tryna have a good time.”

Chenle readjusts his shirt, anger simmering in his chest. “Whatever man. Screw this, I’m out.”

He storms out of the club, ignoring calls from Haechan who asks him to come back to the table. When he breaches through the front door of the club he’s breathing heavily, a tornado of emotions wreaking havoc in his chest.

So he starts walking.

Chenle doesn’t remember how he got there when he reaches downtown Seoul where countless people litter the streets even at this late hour. How late is it anyway? 3:42. Jesus, where did the time go?

Someone runs into him. He’s about to bark a curse at the person when his words die on his tongue as he recognizes her.

“Aeri?”

She still looks the way she did when she sunk her hand into his chest and ripped out his heart. “Chenle.” She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I—”

“I-i have to go,” he says.

He feels dizzy as he navigates the crowds of people, his heart hammering in chest. God, he’s going to be sick. Chenle walks until the masses of people thin out and he reaches a crosswalk. He grasps the traffic light to stabilize himself and checks his phone.

3:52 a.m.

5 unread messages by Lee Jeno

3 unread messages by Haechaniiiiie the Great

12 missed messages by Ning

4 missed calls by Ning

Chenle sighs, tugging away his phone. He freezes mid-action though, as he sees someone stagger onto the street. All around him, people look on as the woman walks out into open traffic, swaying in her steps as her unfocused eyes dart around. She looks totally out of— the woman from the subway! That’s the woman from the subway! The traffic light is still red and a car blares it’s horn but she doesn’t seem to hear, she just looks at the approaching car, stopping like a deer caught in the headlights—

“WATCH OUT!”

Suddenly, he’s right there, by her side. She looks up at him in shock. The lights are so close they blind him and from somewhere a scream sounds—

Then, darkness.

The present

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s. All. Your. Fault.

You can think of nothing else as you slowly regain consciousness. Nothing else but that one all-consuming thought. Your fault.

You remember it now. That night. How hopeless you’d felt at the end of that shitty day. How you didn’t even care that you were walking into ongoing traffic. A part of you wanted that car to hit you. To make it all stop, once and for all.

But you lived. Thanks to Chenle.

Chenle.

She is right there as you pry open your heavy lids. Your eyes feel like they’ve been glued shut, each lash sticking painfully together.

“What . . . are you . . . doing here?” Your throat hurts with every sound you make, voice hoarse from disuse. Two weeks of not talking will do that to a person, you suppose.

She seems surprised that those are the first words you say to her. Like she expected you to smile at her and thank her for being by your side, having forgotten everything that’s gone down between you two these last few months.

She clears her throat. “You still had me saved as your emergency contact. And since mom can’t come . . .”

Right. With how progressed her dementia is, your mother probably wouldn’t even recognize you, anyway. Last time you visited her, she kept referring to you as your aunt who’s been deceased for three years now.

“Y/n—”

“I need you to . . . find someone for me,” you interrupt, each word like a shard of glass in your throat. “A patient. Zhong Chenle. He—”

“Got hit as well,” She frowns. “How do you know his name?”

Your heart skips a beat. “He’s here? Have you seen him?”

She shakes her head, thankfully letting you get away with not answering her question. “He’s here, yes, but they’ve put him in the VIP wing. Apparently, his father is quite well off. Anyway, without clearance you can’t even get in the wing—”

“Oh, you’re going to get in there,” you say, voice hard. “You have to. I need to know how he is.”

“Y/n, you don’t even know him. I know, you must feel guilty—”

“You know nothing!” you cut in, fire exploding in your throat. “Besides, you owe me.”

Your gaze falls to her hand, but the monstrosity of an engagement ring you’d seen her show off on her social media is gone.

“I found out what he did to you that night of your accident,” she says quietly. “We’re over.”

You scoff. “Glad to know it only took him assaulting me for you to realize what a dick he was.”

“Y/n—”

“Just figure out how Chenle is!” Your voice comes out even sharper than you’d intended it to. “Please,” you add, as if that might close the divide that’s grown between you and your sister over the last year.

You have a concussion, multiple cracked ribs and contusions all over your body. Apparently, you had to get surgery as one of your ribs broke at an odd angle, threatening to puncture your lung. Every movement sends sparks of pain through you. You can’t imagine what pain you would’ve been in had you awoken immediately after your surgery.

You are told that it’ll be at least another two weeks until you can get discharged and to take it easy, since your body isn’t as used to being strained anymore. It’s frustrating when your fingers tingle with the need to act. When all you want to do is get out of this hospital room and find Chenle so you can make sure he’s okay. And maybe, he’ll be able to help you make sense of all of this.

Because try as you might to understand it all, without him, all you can do is speculate. Was it all a strange coma-induced dream? But that can’t be! It all felt too real for that to be the case . . . and you checked. Zhong Chenle, 22, millionaire’s son. Although the last part isn’t explicitly stated in his Instagram bio, his feed filled with parties, luxurious cars, designer clothes and grandiose trips makes it quite obvious. If these past few months, or, well the last two weeks, were a mere fragment of your imagination, you couldn’t possibly know his name. Or that he’s a great cook, loves to play basketball, and that he has the most beautiful voice—

You blink away the film that glazes over your eyes as your sister comes into the room. No, that was no dream. It was real. It has to have been.

Because if it wasn’t . . .

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “And?”

Your sister looks over her shoulder as if she fears being overheard. Right, when did she get so concerned with the morality of her actions?

“He’s . . .” she hesitates, biting her lip. “He sustained a lot of fractures from the initial accident and was in and out of critical condition these past two weeks but yesterday . . .”

“What?” you urge. “Spit it out.”

“He had a seizure,” she says quietly. “They . . . they don’t know if he’ll make it.”

The air leaves your lungs. It’s like you were tossed into a lake of icy-cold water. The black walker shoots him, he has a seizure.

“Y/n?” Your sister places a hand on your shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in but he’s a stranger. This isn’t your—”

“Get out.” She looks at you like you're a dog baring its fangs at her. “GET OUT!”

She flinches, and you think you see actual hurt flash through her eyes. “I’ll come back later,” she says quietly, before she leaves your room.

You shouldn’t be out of bed, and you sure as hell shouldn’t be walking the hallways of the hospital but you don’t care about any of that as you drag yourself forward. Every step burns like fire in your veins but your legs carry you determinately forward.

The VIP wing is not guarded but there is a separate front desk. You entertain the thought of just walking right through, pretending to be a patient, but the nurse at the desk notices you immediately, so you have no choice but to walk up to her.

“I . . .” I’m looking for the guy that I met in my coma dream. Yeah, the only thing that’s going to achieve is to get you transferred into the psych ward.

“I’m looking for Zhong Chenle,” you say, knowing that the effort is futile.

The woman looks you up and down, then types something into her computer. “What’s your name, Miss?”

You sigh. “I’m not on his visitation list. Please, just—” Your bottom lip quivers and you bite down on it so hard you taste blood. “We, uhm, we were in an accident together. He s-saved my life. Please, just—”

“You.”

That voice. You know it better than you’d like.

Someone grabs you by the shoulder and turns you around roughly, almost making you cry out in pain. Your whole body burns and you have to blink against the black spots taking over your vision.

“You!” Ningning seethes. “This is all your fault!”

She looks just like she did back in that deserted world where she carried riffles and threw knives at people. Does she know you? Was that really her, somehow?

“Ning, maybe don’t assault the poor thing when she’s only just barely escaped death, mhm?” Contrary to his words, Haechan’s words don’t carry an ounce of worry for you in them, if anything, he sounds amused. He carries himself the way you’re used to. Posture slightly slouched, but with an overwhelming aura of superiority.

When you look at him a little more closely it becomes obvious to you. Neither of them know who you are. Whatever those versions of them in that dream where and however your brain managed to conjure up people you’d never even met before, the two people standing in front of you right now are strangers.

You realize it by the way Haechan looks at you. Back when you first met, you felt like he saw you as a pastime, maybe even a challenge. Due to lack of options or your dire situation, you don’t know. But now, he barely even spares you a glance. No, in this world, where he has his money and status and plenty of well-off women chasing after him you’re not even worth his mockery. You are simply invisible.

A small part of you wonders if Chenle will think the same way if he wakes up. When. When he wakes up.

Ningning swats his hand off her shoulder and steps threateningly close to you. “Look, you low-life bitch. I don’t know what kind of connection you think you have to Chenle just because he so stupidly ran in front of that car for you, but make no mistake, you have no business asking to see him. Not, when he’s been fighting death for the past two—”

“What is going on here?” The male voice booms with authority. Even Ningning takes a startled step back, not daring to look the man in his eyes. Next to him, a woman you presume to be his wife looks Ningning up and down disapprovingly. Only now do you notice the short black dress and high-heels she’s wearing. As if she’s headed straight to the club after this.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Zhong,” Ningning says quietly, none of that confidence she held her head up with a minute ago left. “It’s just that she—” Chenle’s father lifts a hand, making her quiet down immediately.

Chenle’s father.

“Leave,” he says, nodding to the three of you. Haechan does so without hesitation, seemingly glad to be dismissed. He pulls Ningning along with him, who makes sure to send you one last withering glare before they disappear. You, too, make to leave, head hung low in defeat.

“Not you.” You stop in your tracks, slowly turning around.

“You’re the one my boy got in the accident with,” Mr. Zhong states, and you don’t know what to make of his tone. Is he accusing you? Blaming you?

“I—” your voice breaks, suddenly laced with emotion. You swallow but your eyes fill steadily with a tidal wave of emotion. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I-i swear. And you have every right to hate me. Of course, you do. I mean I, fuck—shit, sorry. I-i almost got your son killed.” You can’t stop the tears as they run down your cheeks. “Just please let me see him. Even if it’s just once, I-i want to, I need to see him.”

Unexpectedly, the man’s sharp features soften. Only for a fraction of a moment, but they do. His wife smiles sadly, placing a hand on his shoulder. They exchange a look, communicating without words, before he turns around and leaves.

Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been together for long enough. One look is enough to communicate, there is simply no need for words anymore. You wonder if Chenle and you would’ve gotten to that stage if you’d only had a little more time.

Chenle’s mother regards you with an expression you can’t quite place. She must hate you. Of course, she does. You're the reason her child got hurt!

That’s why it surprises you to your core when her voice sounds gently in the silence between you. “Follow me.”

You stagger in place. “You’ll let me see him?”

She doesn’t answer, instead nodding to the nurse as she leads you down the VIP wing. You follow her as best as you can, but every strenuous slow step increases the distance between you. Biting your lip and swallowing your pain, you pick up the pace.

She stops in front of a door. “He stopped talking to his friends a few years ago and instead replaced them with those nefarious spoiled brats. I always wondered what happened between them but my son has always been good at hiding his pain. He wouldn’t tell me anything. Those two only ever visit when it suits them, and all they do is talk about themselves.” She sighs, tiredly rubbing her temples as if she can feel a headache coming on.

“I know you didn’t ask for any of this, child. That’s why it’s not right for me to ask anything of you, but, selfishly, I will do so anyway, because I love my son and because you seem to care more about him than any of his so-called ‘friends’. Please, be there for him. I know, he’s but a stranger to you but something about you made him think that you were worth saving that day, so you must be special. So please sit by his side, talk about your day, ask him questions he won’t answer—” Her voice breaks and she shakes her head, as if the action is shameful and must be hidden.

You watch your hand reach out and squeeze hers. You nod. Chenle’s mother smiles, for only a second, then sniffles. “I’ll have them add you to his visitation list.”

She walks away, leaving you alone to face what you are so afraid of. Your hand lifts so so slowly and wraps around the cold, round door knob where it lingers and lingers until you force yourself to push down, opening the door.

The VIP room couldn’t look more different from your hospital room. It’s spacious with high ceilings and decorations painted in warm colors as opposed to the cold, sterile whiteness of your room. The only thing you share is the hospital bed, wires running from multiple machines to his form.

One two three four five steps, harder than any you’ve ever had to take, and you’re by his side, eyes filling with tears immediately. You reach for the necklace around your— right. In this world, he never gave you that necklace. You never slept next to each other in the trunk of that car or drove all those miles listening to Henry Moody’s songs over and over . . .

None of that ever happened. Not if he doesn’t remember it. Not if you were alone in that world, making him and all those pieces of him up—

You swallow your tears and take a seat next to the bed. None of this matters. Not if he doesn’t wake up.

The black walker. How did he survive? You saw Chenle shoot him. You saw his lifeless body hit the ground, for fuck’s sake!

You wonder if he’s still after him. If all it took was the blink of an eye and Chenle found himself suddenly all alone in that deserted place.

You abandoned him.

Just why did you have to wake up?

Chenle looks ghostly pale. Blotches of blue, purple, green and yellow litter his skin, and cuts litter his face.

“I’m so sorry.” You feel stupid, saying these words. As if four little words can make up for what you did. As if they’ll make his pain go away.

You grab his hand, squeezing it. “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know if all those months were real or if I lost it and made them up in my head and you’ll wake up and won’t know who I am and why I know that you used to want to become an idol and that you love basketball and that you’re a great cook.” You wipe away the tears dripping from your chin, sniffling. “Or that you can be exasperatingly stubborn, and that you can talk about anything but your feelings and how you can never shut up about how you’re good at everything. I . . . If you have to forget me to wake up, then forget me, okay? Do you hear me? Forget me! Just wake up, god damnit! Wake up. Wake up. Wake up . . .”

You whisper those words to him over and over and over until the sun goes down and a nurse comes in, asking you to leave because the visitation hours are over. Only when you make it back to your room do you realize how your hospital gown is sticking sweatily to your skin. When you retract it from your waist, your hand comes back red.

How stupid. Even stitches remind you of him.

“Are you crazy?! You’re not even supposed to be out of bed yet and you’re telling me you’ve been visiting that guy every day?”

Gee, your sister has started to look just like your mother used to whenever she got really mad at you.

“Well, technically, it was the nurse who told you . . .” you drawl before you take another spoonful of your jello. Hospital food sucks but jello never disappoints. You’ve gotten one of the older nurses to bring you a few extra ones. Granted, it took you having to listen to her stories about her son who is oh so talented that he had to skip fourth grade, but it was so worth it.

“You think this is funny?” your sister almost screeches. “You almost died, Y/n!”

“Yeah, I know. I was there.”

Her gaze sharpens. “What did that rich kid even save you for if you’re just going to kill yourself anyway?”

You freeze, your spoon halting in midair. Slowly, you lower your hand, your voice icy. “Listen to me, just because you’re here everyday, playing good big sister nowadays, doesn’t change the fact that you’re a two-faced, backstabbing bitch. So if you’re just going to argue with me then leave.”

Shame and anger paint your sister’s face red. “You know what? Fine. I’m done!”

“Good!” Your voice doesn’t quite come out as harshly as you intended.

She gets up, stalking away but once she’s at the door, she hesitates. Sighs. “Look, I know what I did was terrible. And there is no excuse.” You can’t believe it. She actually looks sad. “I thought he was the love of my life, alright? I thought if I let you have him it would mean giving up my one shot at true love.”

“Well, that turned out great, didn’t it?” You deadpan.

Your sister glares at you but then suddenly she’s scoffing, then smirking, and chuckling. Seeing her like this, you smile to yourself, despite yourself.

“You know he started going bald at 23, right?” you say. “Your one true shot at love— a bald 23 year old.”

She shrugs, chest shaking with restrained laughter. “He got a hair transplant a couple of months ago, actually.”

“Really?” you scoff. “Didn’t look like it.” It really didn’t. You still vividly remember seeing your reflection in his big, greasy forehead from that night you last saw him.

Your sister bursts out laughing. A sharp, and curt snort. “It didn’t take.”

Now, you can’t hold it in anymore, either. Your whole body starts to shake as a laugh builds in your tummy but the action makes your bruises hurt, making you wince. Still you smile.

“Nine million won and it didn’t take,” your sister brings out between wheezes.

The two of you laugh until your laughs turn into chuckles that die down eventually as well. Your sister sighs, face becoming serious again.

“I am so sorry,” she says earnestly. “I understand it if you can’t forgive me but at least let me be here for you, okay?”

You hesitate a moment, then hold up another cup of jello. “Red or green?”

Days come and pass in a big, sterile, blur. You spend most of your time sleeping and visiting Chenle. Once, you have lunch with his mother because she insists upon hearing that you skipped yours to be with him.

You don’t talk much as you eat, but the silence also doesn’t feel tense. Her calm and collected presence seems to rub off on you.

“Did you ever hear people’s voices, when they talked to you?” she asks at some point, looking over at her son hopefully. She must be referring to your time in a coma.

“Sometimes,” you lie, unable to take her hope away.

“Were you scared?”

Scared? Definitely. But also angry, happy and so hopelessly in love.

You shake your head, unable to meet her eyes. “I wasn’t aware to that extent.”

She nods wordlessly, pushing her half full plate of food away. You want to say something that will comfort her, but your mind is empty. The two of you sit in silence until she politely excuses herself and leaves the room.

A couple of hours later, the door opens once more and you turn around, expecting to see her return when a stranger walks into the room. She’s pretty the way people who spend a lot of time and money on their appearance are. The type who goes to the dermatologist twice a month and gets their hair and lash extensions done regularly.

“Oh,” she says, when she sees you, as if disappointed by your presence.

Her eyes soon fall to your hand which lays entwined with Chenle’s on the bed, and you pull it away before you can stop yourself. Chenle and you are nothing to each other in this world. Of course, people are going to find it weird if they see you holding his hand.

“Who are you?” the woman asks in a tone that instantly makes you regret having let go of his hand.

“Someone who’s never once seen you visit him before,” you retort. “Who are you?”

She says her name like it’s a royal title. “Aeri.”

Of fucking course.

“Oh,” you feign recognition. “So you’re the cheating bitch who made him give up his dream. Got it. Well, since you’ve seen him you can leave now.”

Aeri scoffs. “Who do you think you are to tell me what to do? I know you’re not his girlfriend. Actually, Ning told me that you’re the very reason he’s in here.” She walks up to you, heels clattering on the floor until she stops threateningly close to you. “So I suggest you leave. I’ve got it from here.”

How does she dare to come here, pretending to care about Chenle again when she’s the one who cruelly ripped out his heart?

You lift your chin defiantly. “Look, I don’t know how you got in here, Aeri, but what I do know is that his mother will never let you see him again once I tell her that you’re the reason her son got depressed and gave up on his dreams.” Vicious satisfaction swells in your chest as you watch doubt creep into her features. “So I appreciate your offer but I’ve got it from here.”

Her jaw twitches in an uncontrolled burst of anger. “He still loves me! If he were to wake up right now he’d choose me over you in a heartbeat.”

You bark out a laugh but before you can retort something one of the devices Chenle’s been hooked up to starts sounding some sort of alarm, and a moment later he starts to seize. The spasms tear violently at his limbs, making both of you whirl around.

“What’s going on?!” Aeri screeches shrilly as doctors and nurses flood into the room and usher the two of you out. A moment later you’re standing there, frozen, in front of shut doors.

It seems the better you get the worse Chenle gets. A few days after his seizure you’re being discharged while he is in critical condition. They’ve transferred him to the intensive care unit where no visitors are allowed due to his elevated risk of infection. The closest you can get to him nowadays is to watch him from the other side of a glass wall.

It doesn’t feel right to leave this place. Somehow, it feels like you’re abandoning him all over again, and you can’t help but feel guilty. How hard must it be for him in that other world, hunted, hurt and alone? How many days must’ve passed for him since you left? Or did he forget you the moment you vanished? The mere idea makes your chest constrict.

Your sister insists you stay with her at her place so she can take care of you, which you try to tell her is not necessary but she won’t take no for an answer. A part of you, though you’re not happy to admit it to yourself, doesn’t actually mind. You’d honestly rather sleep in a ditch than go back to your place that’s tainted with depressing memories and hopelessness, and though you hate to admit it, a part of you is really glad to be able to spend time with your sister again.

You don’t know if your relationship will ever reach the point it had been at before her betrayal again but during those months where you thought you’d never see her again you regretted not having gotten closure. In a way, this feels like your second chance with your sister. Maybe even a second chance for a lot of things.

On her lawyer’s salary, your sister’s apartment is way bigger than yours but it’s not only that. Out of the two of you, she’s always been better at decorating. Whereas your apartment never looked very welcoming, your sister has managed to make this place feel warm and cozy.

She helps you settle in and you spend some time together, eating dinner and watching shows on TV. You’re surprised by how full your chest feels as you look over at her as she laughs about some scene in a drama that you’re watching, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. You never let yourself admit how much you missed spending time with her like this and you’re glad you get to, now.

As you try to fall asleep in her guest bedroom that night, sleep just won’t find you. It feels wrong, sleeping alone. At the hospital you told yourself that it was different. You were on bedrest and your situation was so different that you never even considered the thought. But as you lay alone, you can’t help but feel cold and hollow without Chenle’s body pressed to yours, warming you.

You don’t sleep much that night.

You visit the hospital every day. It takes about a week for Chenle’s condition to stabilize but even when it does it’s hard to feel hopeful. His mother tells you what the doctors told her: That, though his physical condition is slowly improving, he’s still weak and the coma is his body’s way of saving his strength. It’s unclear when he might wake up. It could be days, weeks or months, maybe even years. When Mrs. Zhong tells you this, you suddenly find yourself staggering in place, the world spinning more with every sharp, shallow breath you take.

The two weeks you spent in a coma were several months in that other world. What must multiple years translate to? God, you don’t even want to think about that possibility.

Ultimately, you’re told it’s up to Chenle, when he might wake up. For you, though you didn’t realize it at the time, you woke up as soon as you remembered your accident and that the world you were in wasn’t real. Maybe all he needs to do is remember as well.

So, desperately, you tell him over and over and over, “We were in an accident. Don’t you remember? You tried to push me out of the car’s way!”

But no matter how many times you say it, or how tightly you squeeze his hand, Chenle remains asleep.

On a gloomy day, when raindrops trickle against the windows of the hospital room and you’re sitting by his side as you always do, the door opens. You know it can’t be his mother because she told you about an appointment she had, and his father only visits in the evenings after work along with Chenle’s brother, so the visitor catches you off guard.

You fix your hair as you face the man. You rested your head on the mattress of Chenle’s bed, as you sleepily traced circles on the back of his hand. The afternoon tiredness must’ve taken you. Now, you’re wide awake again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man says, looking a little nervous. “If you’d prefer it, I could come back later.”

As you look at him, he starts to look somewhat familiar to you. Not that you can recognize much, given his get up. He’s wearing a face mask, and a cap from under which small strands of black and bleached hair peek out. He’s even storing away a pair of sunglasses, as if he only just pulled them off. Jesus, who does this guy think he is, an idol—

“I know you,” you say, perplexed.

A mild smile is revealed as he pulls off his mask, then his cap, and runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it? Hard to be incognito with that.”

“You’re an idol, right?” You ask. That’s why he seemed familiar. You’ve seen him on TV.

Now that you know, it’s so obvious that he’s an idol. His features are sharp and handsome, the way models are. He’s not wearing make-up, yet his skin is free of blemishes and he’s stylishly clad in designers clothes.

He nods, suddenly seeming shy. “I’m Renjun. It’s nice to meet you.”

He bows politely, and you follow suit. “Y/n,” you introduce yourself. “Are you friends with Chenle?”

At the mention of the other his smile fades and he looks towards the figure on the bed. He steps closer, features pulling more and more taut as he fully sees the other. Though a lot of his injuries have started to heal, Chenle still looks undeniably, devastatingly sick.

“We trained together,” Renjun says, eventually. “But then he suddenly quit the program without a word to any of us, saying that it ‘just wasn’t what he wanted’ anymore. It never made any sense to me, but when I tried to reach out to him he pushed me away, so I stopped trying eventually. I think I just thought I was part of a chapter of his life that he had closed.”

“I pushed away the friends I made during my traineeship, completely isolated myself from that part of my life.”

“He—” You stop yourself. You shouldn’t know that Chenle only pushed him away because he was ashamed, and that he regretted it bitterly. “I’m sure he didn’t do it to hurt you,” you say finally.

The eyes looks towards Chenle, his eyes clouded over, distant. “I was angry at him for a long time, thinking what a dick he was to just bail on me like that. But I should’ve known better. He must’ve been struggling back then, otherwise he wouldn’t have acted so out of character. I should’ve persisted more. Been there for him.” Renjun pinches the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes shut.

You find yourself patting his shoulder. “Hey, you’re here now.”

He scoffs bitterly. “Yeah, after weeks. I only came back from tour yesterday because my management wouldn’t let me come here earlier. I should’ve come as soon as I heard—”

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He smiles sadly at you. “So, you’re his girlfriend?”

“I . . . Uh . . . It’s complicated.” Yes, how do you explain the complexity of your relationship to Chenle?

Later that evening you fetch a taxi for yourself, meaning to head back to your sister’s. Instead, you find yourself in front of an all too familiar skyscraper. The code to the garage is still the same one Chenle used when you used to live here, and the same goes for his apartment.

This is wrong, you know that. You have no business being here. What if his mother comes by or what if a housekeeper still swings by daily? How would you even begin to explain yourself? But you just can’t help it. This place feels more like home to you than yours or your sister’s apartment ever could. The kitchen in which Chenle’s futilely tried to teach you how to cook. The sofa on which you curled up every night, reading books or listening to music or just enjoying each other’s presence. His recording room, where you loved nothing more than to just sit with him while he worked, listening to him sing and him bouncing lyrics off of you.

Your feet drag you to the bedroom. The room that is his in this world but that was yours in that other place. Where you would fall asleep, holding each other tightly and would awake still a tangle of limbs, still. Your eyes fall on one of his hoodies that lays, as if forgotten, on his bed. You remember how many times you wore it in the mornings, and how Chenle would comment how much he loved seeing you in his clothes.

A sob wrenches itself out of your throat as you press the fabric to your chest and collapse onto the bed, curling in on yourself. It still smells like him. You hold the fabric close, crying until your head hurts and your brain feels foggy. When you finally manage to pick yourself up, you tug it into your bag. You hold the hoodie that night as you try to fall asleep in your sister’s guest bedroom, but at the end of the day it’s just a piece of clothing and not him.

You fall asleep feeling lonelier than ever.

You don’t visit your mother enough. You know it, and so would she, if she weren’t severely demented.

It’s just that coming to the nursing home brings up so many emotions. Guilt for having put her in here, even though you know you and your sister couldn’t have taken care of her on your own. Sadness, because it’s impossible not to feel pained when the person who raised you doesn’t recognize your face anymore. And even anger, because how is it, that you’re the one taking care of your mother, when the roles should be reversed? You know it’s not fair to think that way, and you’re ashamed that a part of you does, but how can you help it?

“Jiyeon, don’t tell me you’re still with that no-good husband of yours,” your mother says in that tone that you recognize from all the times she scolded you and your sister.

Jiyeon is your aunt’s name. Your aunt who passed away several years ago.

“I left him,” you tell her. You know by now that playing along is the best thing you can do. Whenever you tried to convince her who you were she would get confused, distressed and upset, leading to outbursts. Letting her believe that you’re her sister is what’s best for her, even if it means you have to put on a smile and swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Good, good,” your mother grumbles. “I never did like that useless man. All he ever did was sit on his ass and let you serve him like some maid. Are you seeing someone new?”

You begin to shake your head but then hesitate. “Yes,” you say, quietly.

“That’s good.”

“It’s not all good.”

“He treat you wrong?” she asks, cocking a brow at you,

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just . . .” Oh, fuck it. It’s not like your mother is going to remember anything you say to her. And besides, if you don’t tell her, you might never get to tell anyone. “He’s hurt. Badly. And it’s my fault. I’m worried he might never wake up again.”

Your mother grabs your hand then and your bottom lip starts to quiver. How long has it been since your mother held your hand?

“Are you by his side a lot?”

You swallow. “Every day.”

Your mother surprises you by taking your hand. “Then that’s all you can do, love.”

You shake your head. “That’s not all, though. I know it’s selfish but I-i just can’t stop worrying that he won’t remember me if he does wake up. That all that time we spent together—” A choked sob. “What if it wasn’t real for him? What if none of it was real?”

She puts her hand on your chest, just above your heart. “If you felt it in here then that means it was real.”

You want to believe her, you really do. If only it were that easy.

It’s been almost a month since you awoke, though it feels longer than that. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve visited Chenle these past weeks. It’s started to get to a point where the hospital feels too familiar. You know his nurses by name, you’ve started to befriend his former friend Renjun, and you regularly have meals with his mother.

She talks a lot about Chenle’s childhood. How he was always artistically inclined and discovered his passion for singing at a young age. How happy she was for him when he told her he wanted to become an idol. How hardworking he was even when times got tough, and then how confused she was when he threw it all away and shut her out almost over night. You find yourself wanting to console her but there is nothing you can say without sounding like a crazy person. You’re not supposed to know him. You don’t even know if you know him.

Sitting by his side is starting to feel torturous. You thought it would get easier as time went on but even though his injuries are slowly healing and bruises are slowly fading you feel nothing but unrest as you look at him. Why is it taking him so long to wake up? Why did you have to wake up so much earlier?

“Chenle.” You sniffle as you caress his cheek. “I really need you to wake up, you hear me? Remember what I told you? I can’t do this without you. I need you. So please, wake up, mhm? I know you can do it.”

But nothing happens. You don’t know why you thought today would be any different. He can’t hear you. No matter how many times you tell him the same things.

Your chin starts to tremble. “Please, remember! You ran in front of the car to push me away. That world you’re in isn’t real!” A sob chokes itself out of you. “I didn’t abandon you, Chenle. I’m right here! You hear me? I’m right here!”

But he doesn’t hear you.

You stagger away from him, shoulders sagging along with your head. You can’t do this anymore. You turn on your heel, and walk away. You walk past the many flowers placed around him, some wilted, some fresh, you walk past the picture of his family his mother set up on his—

“Y/n?”

No.

Your ears are playing tricks on you. You’re finally losing your mind. It can’t be—

“Y/n?”

You gasp, whirling around. “Chenle?”

You’re by his side in an instant, hugging him, cupping his face in your hands as you regard him to make sure that this is real, that this is really him and that he’s awake.

He smiles so wearily. “I missed you.”

Your head is spinning. You can’t feel your face. “You remember me?”

His hand lifts so slowly, as if the action costs him all his strength. He brushes your cheek in a feathery light touch, as if he, too, can’t believe you’re real.

"I remember everything."

6 months later

It’s hard to believe that this office is yours. Granted, it’s a rather small place with one room that functions as your office, workplace, and meeting room simultaneously, but it’s yours.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would ever be excited to go to work everyday, you’d have laughed in their face. Now, as you stare at the shining letters above the door you can’t help but smile.

L/n marketing and performance management

Seulgi is already seated at her desk next to yours, intently working on something.

“You know you don’t have to come in before nine, right?” you ask, smiling.

Seulgi returns your smile shyly. “I woke up with an idea for the proposal for Kwang Electronics. I just had to get it out of my system.”

“Really? That’s great! You can tell me about it later.”

She nods. “Oh, by the way, these came for you.”

“Mhm?”

On your desk, a bouquet of flowers lies. You furrow your brows, smiling as you inspect them. An attached note reads:

Congratulations on wrapping your first client. Pick you up tonight to celebrate. I’ve got a surprise for you.

-C

You shake your head, chuckling quietly.

“Let’s go out for lunch today, mhm?”

Seulgi nods, smiling shyly. “Sure. But what’s the occasion?”

You ponder for a moment. “Do we need one? I just want to buy you a meal for coming to work with me. I truly am grateful to have you, Seulgi.”

She shakes her head. “Are you kidding me? Thank you for poaching me! I couldn’t wait to get away from that horrible place, especially after Sakura became my boss. That woman was outright sadistic. Trust me, you saved me. If anything, I should be buying you a meal.”

“I’ll buy this one, you the next, deal?”

She nods determinately, making you laugh. She’s older than you but bears so much natural cuteness. God, you’re glad to have her.

“So, about that idea you had . . .”

Chenle picks you up in his Tesla. He told you his father had gotten it repaired for him while he was sick, his own way of expressing his concern and affection for his son. From your past interactions with him you’ve gathered that the man is not the best at expressing his emotions but nonetheless it’s clear that he cares deeply about Chenle.

“So, where are you taking me?” you ask as you cover your entwined hands with yours.

He looks over at you briefly, smiling teasingly. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“Really? So you’re not going to tell me anything?”

“Nope, you’re going to have to be patient, babe. So, how was work?”

“Good.” You nod. “Seulgi and I are working on a pitch for a Soju commercial. They want us to cast an idol but other than that they’re giving us free reign, so that’s cool.”

“So I take it business is going well.”

You nod, smiling. “Very.”

“Good, then I made the right decision investing in you,” Chenle says teasingly.

You punch his shoulder playfully, making him laugh. When he first proposed investing in your agency, you’d adamantly declined. You didn’t want charity from your rich boyfriend. But after he’d told you that he’d be a silent investor of the company and would be earning from it as well, you’d changed your mind. And you’re glad you did. Getting away from your old company was exactly what you needed. If you’d gone back to that horrible job you would’ve been depressed and burnt out all over again. Now, being your own boss and working with Seulgi, you’re happier than ever. Sure, it’s still a small business and profits aren’t that big yet, but you’re slowly establishing a client base and you’re confident you’ll be successful.

“Yeah, I’m going to make us very rich someday,” you joke. “So, how was practice? You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

“It’s tough but it’s also fun. It feels good to sing and dance again. Though I’m nervous about my debut. Suddenly, it’s all happening so quickly,” he says.

“Yeah, I get that. But also, you’re brilliant, Chenle. You’ll do great.”

He exhales shakily. “I’m ready, I know I am. I’m just . . . nervous.”

You squeeze his hand. “That’s alright, I think anyone would be. But it’s okay. It’s not like you’re debuting tonight.”

He laughs, but it sounds a little curt and sharp. “Yeah, about that . . .”

“I can’t believe he’s performing his song for the first time tonight and he didn’t even tell me!” you complain to Renjun, though you only half mean it. After all, how can you be upset with Chenle when he’s so close to achieving his dream? You’re way too excited for him!

“C’mon, it’s a pretty dope surprise. I mean, you can only surprise your girlfriend with your pre-debut stage once, am I right?” Renjun chuckles next to you, but it’s muffled through his mask. Though the two of you are standing on an upper level, away from the crowd, he’s still understandably concerned with not getting recognized. The last thing he wants is to draw attention away from his friend on his big day.

Next to you, the person in charge of lighting calibrates one of the projectors that’s going to be projecting images onto the stage in a short while.

You bite your lip. “God, I think I’m more nervous than him. What if his voice cracks? What if he forgets the lyrics?”

Renjun pats your shoulder. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. Even as a trainee, he never forgot his lyrics and come on, you’ve heard him sing.”

You’re at a theater that is frequently used by idols to hold fansigns or small concerts. Chenle told you that Renjun recommended it to him when he told him about his plans to perform his debut song before its actual release.

When Chenle had told you he wanted to give his idol career a second shot a couple of months ago, you were over the moon. Watching him rediscover his passion for music and dance, the things he loves most, made your chest swell with pride. But when he started auditioning, no major entertainment company accepted him because of his age, as if he was a fucking senior citizen or something. And the companies that did offer him trainee-contracts were small ones with little budgets who likely wouldn’t have had the means to support him properly.

“Maybe it just isn’t meant to be,” he told you one rainy afternoon, as you laid wrapped up in a blanket on his sofa.

“Don’t say that, you’re going to figure it out, babe.” You dragged your fingers through his hair, making him sigh blissfully as he rested his cheek on your tummy.

“I don’t know” he spoke quietly. “I knew my age was going to be a problem. Maybe I’ve just missed my window.”

You cupped his cheek, making look at you. “Zhong Chenle, you are not giving up, you hear me? I won’t let you. You didn’t let me give up when I was hesitating about starting my own business, so I won’t let up, either.”

That made his features lighten up a little, and he placed a kiss on your lips, then your neck until he reached the shell of your ear. “Why? Is it ‘cause you want an idol boyfriend to brag about?”

You turned around, straddling him as you intertwined your hands next to his head. “Maybe . . .” But your teasing smile turned serious quickly. “You can’t give up on your dream, Chenle. So what, if those stupid agencies don’t want you because you’re not a damn child anymore? Fuck them. You don’t need them.”

You leaned down, kissing his jaw, then his neck and collarbones, loving the way a groan rumbled in his chest whenever you reached an area that he was particularly sensitive in.

“That’s it!”

He’d pushed you up, almost offending you with the action but the moment you saw the spark in his eyes you knew this wasn’t about you.

You smiled anticipatorily. “What?”

“You, baby, are a genius, you know that?”

“So far, duh.”

“You said it yourself: I don’t need any of those stupid companies. I’ll just establish my own label. Manage myself.”

“Chenle, that’s brilliant!”

He shot up, laughing giddily and peppering your face with kisses until you were both laughing.

So that’s what he did. Chenle bought a building, got a few businessmen to invest in his label and started working on his debut independently. He even asked you to become his PR rep but you both came to the conclusion that you were better off working separately, though you can proudly say part of the reason why this theater is so packed for an artist who hasn’t even debuted yet, is you.

You came up with the idea four months ago, when you’d visited him at his company. Chenle, being unable to rely on the fame of a big entertainment company, had to get people to notice him somehow. So you proposed the idea of him creating a social media account even before his debut where he would post about his daily life as a trainee, singer, dancer and producer, teasing snippets of his music and general work. What made the account even more special, though, was that you had him hide his face, creating a mysterious persona for him. He’d dance wearing masks, sing without showing his face, post pictures that left you wondering just who this mysterious upcoming artist may be.

The account has steadily been gaining popularity, reaching one million followers just last week. When he posted the ticket information about this predebut event they were gone within an hour, leaving both of you staring at your computer in shock, then break out into joyous hysteria. Of course, back then, he didn’t tell you that it would happen today.

Now, as Chenle walks onto the stage the crowd breaks out into equal hysterics. After all, this is the first time they get to see the face behind that beautiful voice he’s been teasing for the past few months.

“Fucking handsome!”

“Ahhhh, I’m gonna sell my siblings to see your debut stage!”

“Marry me!”

Chenle’s eyes meet yours for a split second and you both snort quietly at the fan’s comments. You can’t help but feel a little smug. Yes, your boyfriend is very handsome, and, yes, they’ll never get to be with him. Because he’s yours.

Chenle clears his throat before he speaks into the microphone. “Uhm, hi, everyone! Thank you so much for coming tonight. I’m a little nervous, so please bear with me here.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and Chenle smiles shyly, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Next to you, Renjun hoots, making a few people look up at you and he freezes, making you laugh.

“Way to stay undercover,” you snort.

He rubs his neck. “Yeah, I just realized as much.”

“As you may know, my official debut isn’t until next month, but I just couldn’t wait to see you guys. I can count on you to support me, right?”

He holds the mic in the direction of the crowd, which promptly erupts into a unanimous roar of ‘Yes!’.

Chenle laughs giddily, making some girls in the front row coo at how cute he is. Gee, they don’t have to overreact . . .

Renjun laughs at your reaction. “Chill, Y/n. Trust me, the more they adore him the better his album will sell. They’re probably going to buy dozens of it to win fancalls with him.”

You snort, amused with yourself. “You’re right. They may talk on the phone with him for five minutes, but at the end of the day he’ll always come home to me.”

“Don’t you mean you’ll come home to him?” Renjun laughs. “It’s his apartment!”

“Our apartment!” You hit his arm playfully. “Come on man, you’ve been over so many times!”

“Just kidding, just kidding!” Renjun laughs, avoiding your punches.

You both quiet down as Chenle begins to talk once more, introducing one of the songs on his debut album.

“—been working on for a long time. It’s called Marine Turtle, and I didn’t think it would ever see the light of day, to be honest. That’s why I want to dedicate this song to the person who helped me believe in myself again, the person whom I wouldn’t be here without tonight.” he looks up at you briefly, so quickly that you’re sure no one but you catches it. You smile, blushing. Funny, after all these months, he still has the same effect on you. “You know who you are. This one’s for you.”

You hold your breath as the band behind him begins to play the instrumental, but quickly start to smile as Chenle begins to sing. Of course, he sounds wonderful. You were worried for nothing. By the time the last chorus comes around the crowd is swaying from side to side with the melody, quietly marveling at Chenle’s beautiful voice.

Eventually swim away

Parting with the worries I’ve been echoing

With the waves

I'll find a way, find a way, yeah

To a brand new place

To a place where it leads me, I'm swimming

Breaking free from the enveloping fears

Beyond the horizon

I found a way, found a way yeah

The awaited moment, I see my sea

The crowd erupts into cheers, and you with it.

“You were amazing out there, babe!”

Chenle hangs his head low, smiling. “You already said that. Multiple times. Please, you’re making me flustered.”

“Oh, deal with it! How do you expect to shut up after tonight? It’s impossible!”

It’s late in the evening and you’re taking a walk around the neighborhood on your way back to your apartment. Though it may have seemed pretty rushed to outsiders, when Chenle finally woke up and the two of you were reunited again, you didn’t want to be separated ever again.

The day Chenle got released from the hospital he asked you to not only come home with him, but move in. You were surprised at first, but at the same time the idea felt right. Natural. You’d been living together for months before anyway, and you didn’t want to live with your sister forever, much less move back into your old place. Of course, to everyone around you, this decision seemed rash but somehow you managed to sell your love-at-first-sight this-is-our-destiny story to them.

What surprised you, though, was how on board Chenle’s mother was with the whole thing. Maybe it was because you spent so much time with her in the weeks during which Chenle was unconscious, that she recognized how deeply you cared about him, that you had some sort of connection that, while she may not have been able to understand it, just somehow made sense. Either way, you were glad to have her approval. The way she takes care of you like your mother used to when she was still healthy makes your chest swell with joy and sorrow in equal parts. It’s bittersweet.

“I realized something when I woke up.” Chenle says quietly. “I never told you because I didn’t want to relive the memories . . .”

It’s true. You haven’t talked much about what happened after you disappeared and Chenle was left to his own devices in that deserted place, running from the black walker. He’s told you that he kept running from him, that he got wounded and was hurting a lot, and you can still see the hopelessness and fear in his eyes now as he is forced to reminisce those dark times. That’s why you never pushed him to talk about it.

“L.O.D.Y.C, Lodyc. You remember how you said you thought it was some sort of acronym?” You nod, remembering the words the black walker’s vest adorned. “I figured it out just before I woke up. Life or death, your choice.”

You gasp. “I think you’re right. But why are you telling me this now? Today?”

Chenle regards you, a storm of emotions in his eyes. “Because I—”

“Lele!”

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge that grating, shrill voice.

“Ningning.” Chenle sounds about as annoyed as you feel.

She hits his chest, albeit lightly, but it still makes you step forward, putting yourself between her and Chenle. Chenle shakes his head not unkindly, but still pulls you back behind him before he faces Ningning.

“I can’t believe you held a concert and didn’t tell me about it!” she complains.

“Ningning, we talked about this. We were never actual friends, there’s no need for you to start pretending now just because you got greedy for a bit of fame,” he says coldly.

It’s true, shortly after he regained consciousness, Chenle told his so-called friends to stop contacting him. Jeno and Haechan had taken his request with scoffs and nonchalance but Ningning didn’t take it so well.

She scoffs. “I can’t believe this. I know, you got my father to invest in your shitty little company. What do you think he’ll do if I tell him how badly you’re treating me?”

“Careful.” Chenle’s voice is dangerously sharp. A warning. “Your father didn’t just invest in that company, he invested in me. Because he knew it was a wise decision to make because I’m talented. Not because his bratty spoiled daughter told him to.”

Ningning is turning red with rage. “Chenle!”

He takes your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“He’ll toss you aside in no time! He and I are the same!” Ningning screams after you.

Chenle stops in his tracks, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

“Chenle—” Your words die on your tongue as he connects his lips with yours, kissing you fervently. When he pulls away he smirks at the way you blush.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I will marry this woman one day and you will die alone. We are not the same.”

Before she can say anything else, Chenle pulls you along, and you jog away, laughing in disbelief at his actions. You’re out of breath by the time you stop. You lean against the facade of a house, still smiling feverishly.

“I can’t believe you said that,” you breathe.

He props his hand next to your head, kissing you once more. This kiss is different, more gentle and passionate. He’s not doing it to prove a point this time, but to convey his feelings. When you part you rest your forehead against each other, relishing in the closeness. When he finally pulls away, he pulls something out of his jacket.

“This is what I wanted to give you before we got interrupted so rudely.”

He gives you the red satin box, and you look at him in confusion for a moment before you open it. When you see what’s inside your mouth falls open, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Chenle.”

You pull out the silver necklace with the red-studded ring he’d given you once before what feels like a lifetime ago. You still catch yourself absentmindedly touching your neck, looking for it sometimes, only to find that it’s not there anymore. Having it again . . . you can’t think of a better gift he could’ve made you.

“Here, let me.”

He helps you put it on before he pulls its blue-studded twin from under his shirt to show you.

“I thought you said they were ‘cheap’ and that you’d never buy them in real life,” you tease, jabbing at his arm teasingly. Your fingers twist the ring between them like you used to do. You didn’t feel complete without the necklace, but you never even thought of rebuying it.

He catches your hand in his, intertwining his finger with yours.

“Don’t worry,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “The ring I get you one day will be worth far more than these.”

You blink at him, blushing as a smile creeps onto your lips.

“What?” he says. “I meant what I said, Y/n. You’re stuck with me.”

You press a kiss to his lips. “I think I can live with that. It’s not like we’re the only two people on earth.”

THE END