#kirk.

he drops onto the stone bench beside her, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his thighs and clasp his hands together. ‘ there’s still time for us to get out of this. even if we can’t do anything from here, you really think the enterprise is leaving without us? ’ because for all of his belief in himself, he believes in them an infinite amount more.

‘ with your brains, and my... everything else, we'll be just fine. ’

.

... dumbass.

Chanyeol’s rudely awakened in the middle of the night with a slap to his face. He sputters, body automatically switches into the offensive as he blindly swipes at the empty space in front of him. It’s futile, of course, because his assaulter isn’t an intruder hellbent on retrieving Chanyeol’s work, but the man who’s supposed to be asleep next to him.It takes him a moment to orient himself (Jongin’s bedroom, 3:34am, it’s raining outside, the kind that leaves everything in a calm, fuzzy state), and when he finally does, he realises that Jongin’s muttering in his sleep. Operating under that layer of apathy one gets when they’re forced into consciousness, Chanyeol’s tempted to slap Jongin awake. An eye for an eye, and they both can be sleepless tonight. But his feelings of self-righteous anger (“What the fuck is wrong with you. We’re never ever sleeping in the same bed again.”) drains completely when Jongin stops thrashing and curls into himself, his inane murmurings tapering off into small whimpers. As with all things to do with Jongin, Chanyeol has no fucking clue what to do. So he does what he knows best—he sidles up right next to Jongin, curling on arm around his shoulders to cage him in against his chest. That earns him a weak smack—the bruise that Chanyeol’s sure is blooming on his face throbs—and an even weaker threat. "I’ll kill you. I know how poison works and I—," Jongin mumbles frantically, his words are interspersed with soft sobs. Chanyeol has no idea what he’s dreaming about, if he’s even dreaming at all. Then again, Chanyeol’s never sure about anything, even the simplest of affairs, when it comes to Jongin. "I’ll carve your eyes out with a spoon. It’s easy. I just need to take some rubbing alcohol and my lighter and you’d be… you’d be…""Apollo," Chanyeol interrupts before he can finish that line of thought. Jongin’s eyes flash open and for a brief moment, there’s actual fear in his eyes, like Chanyeol’s a creature of his nightmares come to life. "Jongin. Hey, you okay—?" It’s an age old question, one Chanyeol’s never expecting to receive a positive answer to. He doesn’t even know why he keeps asking. To keep him sane, he supposes, to let him know that there’s something wrong that he can still vaguely attempt to fix, even if all of Jongin’s troubles are so far away from him. Because he's curious and wants to know. Because not talking about it would be far worse. In response, Jongin merely twists his fingers in the hem of Chanyeol’s shirt, tugging and worrying and Chanyeol can just feel the thoughts whirring in his mind, the words lodged in his throat. Still, he doesn’t let anything slip, just presses his cheek to Chanyeol's chest and mumbles, “I fuckin’ hate the dark.”