I’m evil to the core
What I shouldn't do I will
They say I’m emotional
What I want to save I’ll kill

— Twenty One Pilots : Fairly Local

Chanyeol walked upon the railings of the bridge, the wind sweeping his jacket towards the sea. If he were to slip the other way, he’d surely fall off and die to the oncoming traffic below the bridge—which is exactly what he was aiming for: to look for the reaper to come and take his life away from him.

It’s funny how some people can know when they actually die. Chanyeol, on top of all the bricks that had crushed his shoulders for the past years, had one special privilege: he gets to know when he dies. Most people don’t—they either just embrace it or fear it, whenever it’s going to come. They pass on their deathdays without knowing, throughout their lives—then suddenly—poof! That person’s dead. But Chanyeol wasn’t like those people—he gets to choose when he dies.

Aha—yes. It does take a while for it to click to you, doesn’t it?

It was a rather chilly November night, and the winds were swooping in. The cold stung and it made Chanyeol’s face pale. Finally, he stopped walking along and he dared to look down—and the height between where he was standing and below made his head dizzy.

He breathed in and out. Was this really what he wanted? Was his life too young to even be wasted away? Yes, of course. There was nothing to look forward anymore—he was ready to let go and become one with the… the… well, the people who’d gone beyond. He was tired of being bruised yet again and again, with nobody to actually help him. And—and the only way to completely run away from it is just… this.

Chanyeol sat down on the railings, his knuckles white from gripping it. Closing his eyes, he felt his muscles tighten and savoured the feeling of the wind blowing on his face, before his hand let go—

“Nice weather today for a November, eh?”

Chanyeol’s eyes shot open in alert, screaming whilst his hand enclosed once more onto the railings again, his legs weighing down in the air, his brain shrieking “What the hell?!” loudly inside his head that he decided to say it out loud himself. Having lost the whole mood itself, he picked himself back up and sat back on the railings again, glaring rather angrily to look at a—well, someone.

The man looked about his age, more or less. Of course, he was more average-sized, as Chanyeol was a big tall giant. But he didn’t even wear a jacket. He wore a black sweater with seemingly nothing underneath it, and simple sport shorts that barely covered his things. His black sneakers were either not tied up or just messily knotted. His ghostly face looked at Chanyeol, and the taller expected a cold glare—but instead met with a warm gaze with his big brown eyes, the unknown man his pale lips before he looked straight ahead.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin the moment.” He said rather apologetically. Held in his fingers were what looked like a—a joint? And he brought it in between his thin lips, in a great deep breath and let his eyes close, before the white plumes of smoke flowing out from his mouth like a gentle breeze on a curtain.

The boy looked at him again.

“Well?” he said again. “Ain’t you gonna jump?”

Is this kid serious?

“I lost the moment.” Chanyeol growled, a hiss whistling in his teeth, running through his already ruined hair. Although he was rather pissed off about it—he was secretly glad that he had interrupted, somewhere at the bottom of his heart; but of course, he didn’t want to admit this.

“Well, feel free to try again, I guess. Just pretend I’m not here, I’m not going to stop you.” He spoke again with his soft, monotonous voice, the white smoke billowing out of his mouth as he said the words. He in the joint again, inhaling the poison, before he puckered his lips and blew all the smoke out like a boiling kettle, seemingly amused.

Chanyeol glowered and looked back down again, trying to focus. But he seemed to have just lost it all, really. Half-annoyed, he stood up on the railings again and scooted closer next to the boy—but opted a few steps away because whatever the guy was smoking made him gag.

“Not gonna?” he looked at him. Chanyeol let out a grunt and shook his head.

“Oh, well. Congratulations on the overcome, I guess.” He smiled. It wasn’t a smirk, or a sly smile. It was an honest, genuine smile—but it was a rather sympathetic smile, like it was out of pity. He held up the joint and held it out to Chanyeol.

“Want some?” he offered. Chanyeol crinkled his nose at the smell and shook his head.
“No, but thank you for offering.”
“Oh, well. All the more for me.” He shrugged with his bony shoulders, taking another drag. He seemed rather peaceful as he inhaled it, his eyes soft and molten as he re-opened them once again—Chanyeol unsure whether he was really feeling peaceful or that he was just under the influence of the drug. The boy took one look at Chanyeol with moony eyes before he looked forward into the horizon again.

“I don’t mean—I don’t mean to be rude.” Chanyeol nudged him. “But—but why didn’t you stop me? Most people would’ve—you know, grabbed me or something.”

The boy was silent for a few seconds, looking straight forward, his brow creasing for a few seconds before it relaxed.

“I know what it’s like to be in your shoes.” He said slowly, as if he was thinking over the words. “It happened before. Except that I saved myself, that day.”

He closed his eyes again. “I’ve watched countless jumps off from here, in this very spot. In the first days, I did try to stop them—try and convince them, tell them that it’s not worth it…. No effect! Tumble they go down the bridge, off to somewhere nicer from this world…”

At this point, his soft voice became gooey like honey, sweetly rolling out the bitter pain. He rolled his head back, took another puff and slowly blew it out, his eyes lazily watching the smoke float upwards, blinking as his face drowned in the smoke before it cleared away again. He scratched his leg with his sneaker and stood upright on the railing again.

“Why’re you here for, anyways?” Chanyeol leaned back towards one of the pillars, crossing his arms. The presence of the shorter male seemed to distract him from his original intentions of coming to the bridge, chatting to him pleasantly.

“Hmm?” he looked at him. “I come here for fresh air. It has a nicer breeze near the bridge, and the sky is lovely.”

“Fresh air—but you’re smoking anyways?”

The boy snorted in the middle of his drag and he laughed, smoke ploughing out of his mouth as he grinned. He pointed his joint towards Chanyeol and smiled at him, nudging him gently by a bony elbow.

“Touché! I like you.” He doubled up in laughter, but it sounded mellow and pleasant, soft and friendly. His laughter was rather infectious and he had a bright twinkle in his eyes when he smiled, and pretty soon Chanyeol found himself grinning. Their laughter slowly dissolved into a fleecy silence as the wind billowed past them, the shorter male slowly smoking his joint.

“Didn’t catch your name. What’s the tag?” the boy’s voice popped up again.
“Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol.”
“Byun Baekhyun. Baekgu to my friends, Baekkie to my five-year-old self.” He looked at his joint through the filter, and brought it between his lips again. “Whatever reason you chucked yourself out here, if you mind me asking?”

There was some sort of ease in his tone that made Chanyeol loosen up his throat and made it easy for him to talk, like some sort of pleasant alcohol—except that it was just his soft, monotonous voice. For a moment, the question struck Chanyeol like a bullet and he reconsidered letting go of the railings again—but he tightened his grip and closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip.

“Pa chucked me out.” Chanyeol gulped. “I-I was tired of him. Of it.”

“Reasonable.” Baekhyun said sympathetically, carefully eyeing the bruises that had bloomed rather colourfully on Chanyeol’s skin just mere hours ago, although he was tactful not to point it out. He cocked his head sideways. “Whatever he chucked you out for? You don’t look half-baloney.”

“I…” Chanyeol stopped for a moment, before he spat it out.

“I-I—I came out as gay to him.” He almost spat. “Socked me over the head, saying I was a good son, born into a good family, brought up to be a good man—yeah, good job done on bringing me up, I was black and blue half of the time…”

He rubbed his neck uncomfortably, having being shocked as the words slipped out of his tongue. He readied himself for this Baekhyun boy to look at him incredulously and scoot away from him and leave him there to reflect on his life decisions and his sanity.

But Baekhyun didn’t even give him a weird look. He didn’t even give him a glance, or scoot away from him. He didn’t even shoot him a look of uncertainty. Instead, he quirked both of his eyebrows and adjusted his feet position so that he stood more comfortably on the railings. Chanyeol opted to carry on with the story.

“My friends found out about me after that.” Chanyeol said sadly. “Started to blackmail me. Even my good best friend started to look at me with a cocked head. My employer chucked me out of my job. I got tired of it, you know. And… well, yeah. Here I am.”

Baekhyun looked at him sympathetically, slowly nodding. He gave him a reassuring nudge with his elbow.

“What about you?” Chanyeol straightened up. “No offense—but you look… well, like you belong nowhere.”

“Me!” he choked on his joint and laughed. “You’re smarter than you look.”

He shook his head sadly, his chocolate hair shaking from side to side as he shuddered. “I like it this way. I don’t belong to anyone—makes me more… free. But it has its downsides too, you know. Twenty, and I’m supposed to be out there and making it or something. Then one day I made the wrong choice.”

“What do you mean, ‘wrong choice’?” Chanyeol tilted his head.

At this, Baekhyun barked up with soft laughter, rolling up his sweater sleeve to scratch his upper arm. But Chanyeol knew that he wasn’t just simply scratching his arm—it was a gesture. The boy’s skinny, pale arm was dotted with scars—and they weren’t any old freckles.

They were scars from needles.

Chanyeol’s eyes travelled down. Flecks of the same scars also marred his legs, and clusters of them were gathered more in the fleshy part of his thighs.

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