Things slowed down after that, both Lay and Sehun pretending that rainy night never happened, and it was peaceful, almost boring. There were no more dramatic outbursts and confrontations, and no more sudden vanishings. Lay wasn't sure if those two had a causal or correlational relationship, and if it was casual, it was impossible to determine which one was the cause and which one the effect. It was probably a positive feedback look, as it was, which meant it was anything but positive. But, as Lay had to remind himself many times, it was too much to think about and he should just stop.

The remaining inhabitants of the strange building had all changed slightly in these past days. After the fiasco with Baekhyun, Chanyeol never attempted at merry-making again. Instead, he faded into the background and transitioned into the role of a wallflower that took up too much space. Chen closed up into himself after his friend and partner-in-crime disappeared, but each word he did say was snarkier than the last.

Kris was still too tall, sticking out like a sore thumb, but he didn't say much. Lay was sure he knew (remembered) more than he let on, but he never opened up and no one pressed. He seemed to have softened though, and even his hair seemed fluffier. 

If he were to describe himself, Lay would say he had a lukewarm personality -- occasionally funny, occasionally relevant, but mostly just existing. And in his opinion, Suho was just the same. But the man was so insistent in his boring existence. He was as bland as oatmeal, but glaring like the sour smell of oatmeal gone bad. It was the way he held himself, Lay decided, as if he wanted everyone to think he was memorable, even though everyone knew he was just forgettable.

Not a day went by without Lay being victim to Tao's death glares. The latter never explained himself, as if he hoped one day his glares would be enough to jog Lay's memories. And he seemed to be friendly with everyone except Lay. He was Luhan's cute little brother and Sehun always gushed about his everything. But Lay could only take their word for it and hope that one day he could remember why Tao hated him.

The glares had increased in intensity too, since Lay became closer to Sehun. The boy was oblivious to the tension surrounding him and Lay chose to keep getting closer anyway. He thought that maybe being with Sehun could help him piece together his fragmented past and he had to admit that it was satisfying to piss Tao off. It helped that Sehun was pleasant company too, with his dry humor and boyish innocence.

Xiumin was quiet too (it seemed that all the talkative ones had gone, and Lay was secretly relieved), but he had a hidden sense of humor and quick wit that lightened Lay's mood and caused him to snicker at inappropriate times. He had caught the attention of Luhan too, who had all but moved into Lay's room.

“Why are you here?” Lay groaned when he walked into his room and switched on the light to see the other man sprawled across his bed.

Luhan waved at him, but didn’t get up. “I’ve been here every night for the past week. When will you stop being surprised? Or is my presence really that amazing?”

Rolling his eyes, Lay ordered, “Move.”

“So impolite,” Luhan said with mock hurt as he complied. “Learning from Sehun?”

Lay snorted but he could feel himself reddening. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Luhan laughed in his face without mercy but thankfully, as they lay in the cramped bed, he changed the topic. “So . . . Xiumin,” he began.

“What about him?” Lay asked with a sigh, although he already knew the answer.

“How is he the only smart and mature one in this entire building? Other than me, of course. It’s . . . he’s just so damn attractive,” Luhan gushed. Lay closed his eyes and hummed in response. “I need him to like me. Do you think he likes me? Or . . . what if he thinks I’m annoying?”

“You should stop clinging to him,” Lay mumbled, feeling sleep take over.

“Yes! I should play hard-to-get,” Luhan exclaimed. “That could work and maybe we can go back to how we were.”

“Wait, what?“ Lay asked, suddenly alert.

“Huh?”

Lay turned towards the other, who blinked back at him. “Go back to how we were?” Lay supplied.

“Oh . . . we used to be good friends but then something happened,” Luhan said. He closed his eyes while Lay kept staring, as if the roles had been reversed and Luhan had changed completely. “Or maybe I made that up in my dreams . . .”

“Wait, Luhan, Luhan . . . ?” Lay called, but the man in question was adamantly pretending to be asleep already.

Giving up, Lay rolled back into a more comfortable position and returned to filling his mind with mundane thoughts.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He’s running.

The grass is purple, the sky is green.

He runs past the purple grass, runs under the green sky, under the gray sun and red clouds. He runs and it is raining tears of blood, streaking down his face and mixing with the charcoal and ash.

He’s running, runs and runs, and the satchel of bullets knocks against his thigh.

The skeleton of a mansion rises up in front of him. The hungry fire is sated by the torrent of blood and he takes a deep breath. The metallic petrichor enters him, fills up his lungs and heart, and he falls to his knees with a heavy thud.

The gray sun is an awning hole in the green sky and the purple grass is tinged with dark, dark red. The chrome is heavy in his hand, searing into his palm. Smoke envelopes him, his eyelashes are singed and the wind lashes across his face. His eyes burn and he weeps but the tears evaporate like souls leaving dying men.

Under the bleeding clouds, he cries. The haze clears and a body appears, hanging, swinging. There is a slim, pale neck, unmarred if one can ignore the band of angry red. The breeze ruffles the soft hair, golden locks matted with copper. It has a beautiful face, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, but half of it is gone – caved in, blown apart, carried by the wind.

No! he cries, watching as the body sways. No, this can’t be true! No!

I- I'm so sorry, no please, why, please I’m sorry.

He purges, vomit joining the red rain and watering the purple grass.

Shixun.

Sehun.

The grass is purple, the sky is green. The sun is gray, the clouds are red.

The boy weeps, the body swings.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lay woke up in Luhan’s arms, the other’s hands running through his hair.

“What are you doing?” he yelped, scrambling away.

Pouting with a look of mock hurt, Luhan said, “You were crying and kicking me so I was trying to comfort you. Because I’m nice.” Lay stared, still disoriented. “Or I can just sit and laugh the next time you have a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Lay swallowed with some effort. “Thanks.”

Luhan smiled and pulled the other into his arms again. “What did you dream about?” he asked.

“ . . . Sehun.”

“Huh?”

Lay blinked and the gory image of Sehun’s face destroyed by a bullet flashes past his eyes. He shudders and leans heavily onto Luhan. “He died,” Lay mumbled. “I killed him, or- or he died because of me. I don’t know, but he died. And oh- ”

He broke off and Luhan made a sympathetic noise in reply.

“It’s just a dream,” Luhan murmured soothingly. “Just a dream.”

have i mentioned how much i love writing nightmares？ because they never have to make any sense lol

also, bout to go down in the next chap