if chanyeol was here, kyungsoo would know what to say.

chanyeol would say something like, holy , junmyeon-hyung, i’m glad you made it out of hell or junmyeon-hyung, i’m speechless over your perseverance to survive in that hole you call your office in his obnoxiously loud voice, and kyungsoo would shake his wooden spoon and say, you shut your mouth, park chanyeol, or i will make you do the dishes for the next three weeks, and they would all laugh about it, kyungsoo staring at the lovely crescents that have become junmyeon’s eyes.

if chanyeol was here, kyungsoo would know what to do with his hands, trembling underneath his legs as he waits and waits for hours by the door.

chanyeol would probably play a song or two (or three) until kyungsoo would inevitably hum along and belt out the most random of lyrics that speak of love and loss and perhaps even waiting to the sound of rain. but they would make use of the time they have remembering moments of the past until chanyeol has to leave in the early evening for his nightly gig at sehun’s bar.

if chanyeol was here, kyungsoo would be crying less over a man who hasn’t been home for a days because of something he’d said.

chanyeol would probably humor him with a stop crying, kyungsoo, you will look like mike tyson punched the life out of you in the morning or you will look like a dehydrated penguin come breakfast! and kyungsoo would laugh his tears out because chanyeol would most probably be the only one who will understand the humor behind his god-awful jokes.

you are a mistake, junmyeon, kyungsoo had screamed, voice shattering like glass, and so are we.

junmyeon was furious, hurt, eyes swollen with tears that obscured his vision as he staggered to the door in broken pieces. kyungsoo didn't mean a single word.

but chanyeol isn’t here.

in the early morning of an august monday two summers ago, a speeding truck lost its brakes, colliding with chanyeol’s car over the bridge that overlooked the han river. he’d been driving home from kyungsoo’s place, all toothy grins and loud guffaws when he’d bid kyungsoo goodbye, a burst of color and light when he’d told kyungsoo over and over again that he loved him―always have, always will.

kyungsoo somehow knew with every pluck of chanyeol’s guitar, with every stare that lasted a moment too long. kyungsoo knew what every touch meant, what every smile spoke, a secret hidden in the creases of his lips.

but the warmth, although familiar and comforting, was different from when junmyeon’s fingers would card through his hair until he fell asleep to quiet humming, or when junmyeon would place plasters on his cuts from preparing a decent meal. it was different from how junmyeon would trail his lips from kyungsoo’s neck up to his jaw, hands hot on the expanse of his chest, on the small curve of his waist; completely unlike the way junmyeon would say i love you, and all of you, as if kyungsoo was the only thing he was most certain of despite having everything.

the weight of every word chanyeol’s music carried is still heavy on his chest, when kyungsoo chooses to remember, but it had always, always been junmyeon, even if chanyeol had taken a piece of kyungsoo with him.

but perhaps it is that part of kyungsoo that junmyeon misses most—the way his eyes lit up at the mention of chanyeol’s name or the way kyungsoo’s lips curved into syllables as he sang to chanyeol’s songs, heart swelling with pride. junmyeon was witness to kyungsoo’s brokenness, and he’d been there when kyungsoo was at his lowest, when the nights have become colder and more unbearable for him.

junmyeon was there, ever so patient and strong, because kyungsoo is his forever, as he’d first confessed to him on their twelfth date—he couldn’t possibly forget how the tips of kyungsoo’s ears burned as he’d been shoved right into the vending machine, startled but laughing.

kyungsoo is important, kyungsoo is all that matters, his thoughts scream, and his feet take him to where he ought to be as he runs through the empty streets of seoul—right back home.

home is seeing kyungsoo curled on the sofa, shivering with his arms wrapped protectively around himself in the cold darkness, bones jutting out of his sweater in exhaustion. home is wiping kyungsoo’s tears away from his face with gentle caresses, kissing his forehead softly to let him know that i’m where i’m supposed to be. home is looking into kyungsoo’s eyes, when they finally open to the whispered call of his name, and telling him i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, and hearing him say with utmost certainty that i love you, just you.

home is kyungsoo waking up, finally, in junmyeon’s arms, with the sunlight bright on the hollows of his cheeks, on the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. home is kyungsoo lying completely still, basking in the warmth that is junmyeon, so solid and so very real against him in the first few hours of a new day. home is watching junmyeon sleep as the morning sun creeps in, him stirring, frowning slightly before his eyes fall open, and seeing kyungsoo for what feels like the first time.

home is, kyungsoo ponders as he claims the very lips that steal his breath away, wherever junmyeon is.