The sun is starting to set into the ocean as they walk down the hill towards the youth hostel. The sky blazes orange and gold and the clouds are laced in pink, but beside Jongdae, Chanyeol is tense, almost fearful, his shoulders set as if bracing against a nonexistent wind. He's not seeing the beauty ahead of them. He's somewhere dark and alone, and even though he can be seen and heard and touched now, Jongdae still can't reach him.

It’s all Jongdae’s fault, this tension. This grief, this despair Chanyeol carries within him. He knew that already, but what Chanyeol told him at the bookshop pulled it out of Jongdae’s head and turned it into cold, hard facts, cemented in place beyond any shadow of a doubt. Jongdae caused this suffering, and he has to fix it.

Two days was only enough to prove to him that it wasn’t enough. A couple of conversations with a near-stranger was never going to be enough. He needs longer. He needs to be sure that Chanyeol is going to be okay before he can think of leaving. He can’t give Junmyeon’s pendant back until he's sure.

He can hardly bear to think about what will happen when he does give the pendant back. He already knows it’s going to hurt him immensely to leave Chanyeol. The feeling he gets when Chanyeol looks into his eyes, seeing him, is more powerful than he ever imagined. The tide in his chest has found its shore, and he has never felt so complete.

Giving this up—this almost-body, this pretense of life, this glimpse of a happiness beyond anything he’s ever known—feels utterly impossible. But he knows it will end whether he wants it or not. Either he’ll give the pendant back willingly, or if he can’t or won’t, it will be taken from him by force. No matter how long he manages to draw out this brief respite from death, he’s always been on stolen time.

He’d told Chanyeol earlier that everyone deserves to be happy. That Chanyeol wasn’t an exception to that. But it seems like the exception might be Jongdae.

As they turn onto the street that runs alongside the beach, Chanyeol’s step falters for a second before resuming pace. “Ah, I forgot to tell my mom I’ll be home late.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to tap the screen rapidly with his thumbs.

“She doesn’t mind you staying out?” Jongdae asks.

Chanyeol shrugs. “She’s pretty lenient these days. I think she’s just happy that I’m out doing something and not hiding in my room. She’s fine as long as she knows where I am.”

“What about your dad?”

Chanyeol’s shoulders hunch a little more. “Dad...he’s never really paid much attention. He’s a writer and he only thinks about his books.” He seems to notice how tense he is, and Jongdae watches him let out a long breath, visibly forcing his shoulders to relax. “What about you? What do your parents think about you wandering around the country on your own?”

Jongdae looks down. Chanyeol keeps asking about him, and he wants to answer. He wants to repay the trust Chanyeol placed in him earlier with trust of his own. He can’t expect Chanyeol to continue opening up to him if Jongdae gives him nothing in return. But he cannot tell Chanyeol the truth about what he’s doing here. As for his parents, does he really want to tell Chanyeol that the last time he saw his father he was on the wrong side of a prison visiting booth, slamming his fist against the glass divider? That the last time he saw his mother she was lying on the bathroom floor with her face blue and her sightless eyes filmed over, and he was spinning around to grab Jongin and cover his eyes before he saw—

He drags his mind away. It’s pointless anyway. If there was a chance of a happy future for them together, then maybe Jongdae could tell him, because there’d be time for him to prove that his pain was in the past and didn’t hurt him anymore. But as it stands, his pain is only too present, and the happy future is nothing more than an impossible dream.

Eventually he just says, “They know I can take care of myself.”

The music from the hostel is already audible from a block away. Someone is joyfully screaming along to an old DBSK hit. Chanyeol gives an amused groan at the sound and mutters something about Lu Han getting hold of the karaoke mic again. When they enter, Chanyeol is instantly seized by several girls Jongdae recognizes from the skate bowl last night. After they’ve also flung their arms around Jongdae like they’ve known him for years, he slips away to his room to change into the yellow polo shirt with LIFEGUARD stamped across the back Yixing gave him earlier, then heads out to do his job.

In the central courtyard, a group of teenagers are in the pool, playing with a variety of floating toys. The doors are open to the big recreation room that runs along one side of the courtyard, and inside a karaoke machine has been set up on a small stage. It’s an alcohol-free party, which Jongdae is happy about, because lifeguarding drunk people is way, way more challenging. Though teenagers seem to be able to get crazy enough just on soda and excitement.

He finds Yixing sitting in a plastic chair beside the pool and lets him know that he’s here to take over. Yixing relinquishes the chair to him with a look of gratitude and heads over to check on the drinks tables. It’s pretty loud with the music from the karaoke machine, people cheering on their friends as they sing, and the shouts and shrieks of the people in the pool, but Jongdae revels in the noise and energy, letting it all pulse through him. There’s so much life here.

He catches a few glimpses of Chanyeol over the next couple of hours, but he’s always far from the pool. When Yixing turns up again to give Jongdae a break, he pushes his way through the crowd in search of Chanyeol. He finds him huddled into the corner of an ancient couch right at the back of the recreation room. About twelve people are playing ‘around the world’ ping-pong nearby, with great hilarity. Chanyeol appears to be watching the fun, but his eyes look glazed. The paper cup of cola in his hand seems untouched.

Jongdae sits down beside him. “Hey,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher to be heard above the noise.

“Oh, there you are,” Chanyeol says, visibly returning to the present. He doesn’t smile, but his face seems to lighten a bit. Jongdae laughs.

“Surely you knew where I was?” He points out to the lifeguarding chair. “You could have visited me. Watching the pool doesn’t mean I can’t talk.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says. “I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

“It’s okay, I’m just kidding,” Jongdae says quickly, because Chanyeol looks kind of upset, though he’s not sure if it’s because he’s sorry for ditching Jongdae or something else. “You good?”

Chanyeol nods. “You said you were a lifeguard last summer too, right?” he asks. “In Busan?”

“Yeah, that was my summer job,” Jongdae says. “I was saving up for a good surfboard. I only had an ex-rental board before. They were going to throw it out before I scavenged it, so it really wasn’t good for much.”

“Have you gotten a chance to surf here yet? Lu Han is pretty good. He’d be happy to show you the best breaks.” He sits up a little, looking around as if to find Lu Han, and Jongdae puts his hand on his arm to stop him.

“I have. I surfed the point break,” he says. It was six months ago, but he doesn’t have to say that. “It’s a great wave.”

“It’s interesting to me how much people love surfing,” Chanyeol says. “It almost feels like it’s spiritual for some people.”

“I think you’re right,” Jongdae says. “It’s possible to find a sense of peace out there. A balance in the elements. There’s so much power around you, and yet it can also be incredibly gentle. It kind of diminishes the problems you might have in the world on the shore and gives you a sense of freedom, and I think that’s what many people are looking for in spirituality.”

“It sounds incredible,” Chanyeol says, a little wistfully. “I wish I could experience it.”

“You don’t surf, then?”

“I’ve always been more of a skateboarder,” Chanyeol says. “I’m not a strong swimmer. I can keep my head up in a pool, but I’m not confident in the ocean.” He hangs his head like that’s something to be ashamed of.

“I could teach you to surf,” Jongdae says. “If you want.”

Chanyeol’s head goes up again. He stares at Jongdae with wide eyes.

“I mean,” Jongdae continues, warming up to the idea, “you mentioned before that you wanted to be a marine biologist, but you were having trouble with the ocean lately. It’s not hard for me to put together that it might be something to do with what happened six months ago. And if that’s true, well...I’m just really sorry you can’t follow your dreams because of that. If you want to try and learn to love the ocean again, I’d like to help.”

Chanyeol’s hands are shaking. Jongdae watches as they creep towards his upper arms, and catches them before they can get there, rubbing his thumbs slowly over the backs of Chanyeol’s hands. “Just think about it,” he says. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. His voice is barely audible above the noise of the party. “If it’s you teaching me...I think maybe I could try.”

Jongdae can’t help the smile that breaks over his face. If he can get Chanyeol over his fear of the ocean, his future will open up for him again. Jongdae can’t stay to help him, so he needs to get Chanyeol into a place where he can help himself.

Baekhyun and Lu Han come over and fall onto the couch with them, Baekhyun flopping right down in Chanyeol’s lap and nearly sending his soda flying, and Lu Han squeezing in on the other side of Jongdae.

“Sing, Yeollie,” Baekhyun says. “Han and I have done heaps of songs. You haven’t even sung once.”

“I know,” Chanyeol mumbles. “Not really feeling like it.”

“What about you?” Lu Han asks Jongdae. “You haven’t had a turn yet either.”

“Oh yes, we have to hear Jongdae sing!” Baekhyun cries, jumping up again and grabbing both Jongdae’s wrists to haul him up. Jongdae laughs uncertainly as he’s dragged towards the stage, wondering if he should protest that he’s working and go back to relieve Yixing, but when he glances back and sees Chanyeol watching him, interested, he gives in. Music is the thing he misses most about living, and the lack of it in Still Waters is the thing he hates most about the place.

He’s pulled up to the stage, but when he sees a guitar propped in the corner of the room, he points to it. “Can I play that instead of using the machine? I want to sing one of my own songs.”

The kid at the karaoke machine looks at it and nods. “Pretty sure that belongs to the hostel. I’ll set the mic stand up so you can play.”

Jongdae grabs the guitar and then, because it has no strap, finds a chair and drags it over to the stage. He sits on it and bends his ear to tune the guitar. It’s a fairly good instrument, better than he’d expect from a hostel, where it surely gets passed around the people who come and go. He runs his fingers over the strings, feeling their texture. It’s something he hasn’t felt in so long.

And suddenly Jongdae is remembering Junmyeon. Junmyeon alive. Junmyeon as he had been when Jongdae first met him, when he was fifteen and Junmyeon was sixteen. When Jongdae had been moved from the orphanage in Siheung to the one in Busan, because he’d caused so much trouble and nobody knew what to do with him.

Junmyeon had been ill long before Jongdae knew him. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, cheekbones too prominent, eyes saucer-huge beneath the purple beanie he always wore. He was a year older than Jongdae, but with his childlike fragility, he reminded Jongdae of the little brother he had spent his whole life taking care of, until he had been torn away from him. And so Junmyeon, with his gentle smile and the kindness in his tired eyes, slipped his quiet way through all Jongdae’s protective barriers and into his heart.

Jongdae remembers sitting on the end of Junmyeon’s bed, playing to him for hours and hours, until his fingertips were sore from pressing on the strings, when Junmyeon was in too much pain to sleep. He remembers how seeing Junmyeon fight his illness so bravely and yet so gently, never complaining, never hurting anyone else in his pain, had taught him that maybe, being angry and raging against the world wasn’t a necessary part of fighting for those he loved.

He remembers Junmyeon dying. Jongdae had known he was going to die. Everyone had known. It wasn't a surprise. But even so, he hadn't been prepared for the grief. For how much he had missed Junmyeon, and how constantly. For how lost he had felt.

Without Junmyeon, the orphanage had become unbearable. Empty. Soulless. Without Junmyeon to sing to and protect and love, and to listen to him like nobody else would; to always have time for him, to smile at him and love him back, he had nothing left. Nobody left.

He tried, because he knew it was what Junmyeon wanted, to do the right thing. For two months, he went to school, studied hard, worked at the pool part-time and saved the money for college. Instead of screaming and punching the wall until either it broke or his arm did, he played and sang his grief alone to the empty bed across the room.

But it never got any better. So he had left. And then—

He shakes his head. He’s getting lost. He’s not here to relive all that. He’s not here for himself. He’s here for Chanyeol. He’s here to reach out to him, and with this guitar in his arms and Chanyeol watching him from across the room, he has another chance. Another way.

He tunes the guitar by ear and tests the echoing karaoke mic that has been set up in front of him while he was spacing out. He closes his eyes briefly, calling up the melody that goes with the emotions that have been growing inside him for the past months as he’s watched Chanyeol. He connects with the feelings that have only been clarified in the past few days of being with him. When it has all come to him, he starts to play.

~~~

A quiet settles over the rec room as all eyes turn to Jongdae. He’s plucking out a beautiful chord progression, wistful and minor. It's melancholic, and yet there's a thread of hope through it. Chanyeol watches the way he holds the neck of the guitar, the way he plucks the strings. He's almost certain Jongdae is self-taught. He seems to have developed a style of his own that's distinctive and compelling, striking unusual modulations among the basic chord patterns.

Chanyeol glances around the room to see people turning to watch, some heads already moving in time with the music even though it’s not an upbeat party song like most people have been singing. When Jongdae starts to sing, the room goes completely quiet. His voice is strong and powerful and sweet and melting all at the same time. The edges of the sound are sharp and clear, and yet contain within them a mellowness so tender that Chanyeol closes his eyes for a moment, feeling something like yearning well up inside him as the song seems to gently lift him up and carry him along with it.

Jongdae is singing about loving someone so much he wants to protect them from everything. So much that he’d do anything for them. The words reach deep inside Chanyeol like soft fingers, wrapping around the core of his soul. Jongdae’s eyes are closed, his eyebrows tilted up with the strength of his feeling, as though he’s living every word that comes through him with all his heart. Chanyeol wonders who could have inspired such strength, such depth of emotion.

Then Jongdae opens his eyes and looks straight at Chanyeol, and his gaze is so open that it startles him. But he can’t pull his eyes away from Jongdae’s, and Jongdae doesn't look away. And the way he’s meeting Chanyeol’s eyes so directly, the yearning in his voice, the longing in his eyes, makes Chanyeol feel like every word is intended for him.

But Jongdae can’t really be singing to him. Chanyeol is being ridiculous. This song is for someone he cares about deeply, not for some guy he met yesterday.

People are glancing at Chanyeol, following Jongdae’s gaze, like they, too, think he’s singing to Chanyeol. But why would he be? It makes no sense. Chanyeol meets Jongdae’s eyes again and finds them still gazing at him with raw, uncloaked tenderness, and despite how crazy it is, he feels something flicker inside him. A recognition of truth. Of sincerity.

The last chords fade out, and for a couple of heartbeats, silence fills the room. Then it erupts in cheers and applause. When Jongdae stands, he’s swarmed by people. But Chanyeol just sits blankly on the couch, trying to keep the tears that have filled his eyes from falling.

He wants to wait until Jongdae makes his way back to him, but his phone vibrates against his leg and he pulls it out to check the screen. It’s his mom. He stands up and hurries out of the side door to get out of the noise, finding himself on a narrow gravel path between the hostel and the fence. After the stuffy heat of the rec room, the cool night air is like a blow to the face.

“Your father is having an episode.” His mother's voice is steady but urgent. “I need you to help us get him sedated, your sister and I are not strong enough. We’ll have to call the emergency services if you don’t come soon.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, everything else flying out of his mind as he turns out of the alley and starts to run. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

~~~

He’s in the ocean, hanging onto a surfboard. The ocean rages around him, but he’s not alone. A boy clings to the opposite side of the surfboard. The boy who just pulled Chanyeol above water by the hair.

The boy reaches down, shoulder dipping below the water, and comes up with the surfboard leash that must have been strapped around his ankle. He grabs Chanyeol’s wrist and straps the leash around it. “If you lose hold of the board, pull on the leash and bring it back to you,” he shouts over the roaring waves.

Chanyeol is shaking, but not just because he’s cold. For the first time in his life, he’s truly afraid. The boy must see the fear in his eyes, because he reaches across the surfboard and captures Chanyeol’s hand. They’ve got their thumbs interlocked like they’re arm wrestling, but Chanyeol’s hand is bigger. He wants to see the boy’s face, but there’s so much water dumping over them that he can barely keep his eyes open, and his hair is everywhere. He can feel the rip dragging them so fast towards the rocks that it’s like they’re being torn down a fast river, the waves breaking over their heads all the time.

~~~

Chanyeol’s eyes open to a dark room, and the feeling of the boy’s hand branded into his skin. His heart is racing, and his hand is clutching the blanket like he’s still trying to hold on. He tries to calm his breaths and force his fingers to unfurl.

Light pours into his room from the hallway as his door opens, and soon he feels the give of his bed. He turns to see his sister sitting on the edge. “Bad dream?” she whispers.

It’s then Chanyeol realises he’s crying, and although he wasn’t making much sound, it was somehow enough to alert her tonight. Maybe because they’re all still on edge from getting the diazepam into his father and waiting until it knocked him out. Maybe she was still awake. It takes Chanyeol a minute to find his voice, and when he does, it's shaking so much that he can barely understand his own words. “I shouldn’t have let him wrap the leash around my wrist.”

“Yeollie—”

“No—he might not have died if he hadn’t done that. I wasn’t thinking. Not about anything but myself. I could have followed the leash to him, pulled him up—”

“Stop it.” His sister’s voice is gentle, but there’s enough authority in it to quiet him. “What you’re doing right now isn’t good for you. It won’t change anything. All you’re doing is punishing yourself.”

When someone causes the death of another human being, they’re punished. They go to jail. Sometimes they’re even executed. Why shouldn’t Chanyeol be punished too? He doesn’t say this to Yoora. He just lies there quietly for a few heartbeats, grappling for the remains of his memory of the boy. But he might as well be trying to hold on to wisps of smoke. Another tear escapes from the corner of his eye. “I need to find out who he was.”

“You’ve already tried everything you can. You’re going to drive yourself mad looking for something you’ll never find.”

“No—there has to be something I’m missing. Some little detail I’m forgetting that will help me figure out who he was.”

Yoora is quiet for a long moment, then says, “Look, I know mom has talked about this before, but—”

“I’m not going to see a therapist.”

Yoora sighs. “They could help you.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “The only thing that will help me is remembering what that boy looked like. Figuring out who he is. Letting his family know what happened to him. A therapist can’t help me with that.”

“Maybe they can. You don’t know until you try. And...it seems like you have a lot of emotions to work through. I wish you’d talk to someone about what you’re feeling.”

“Well, a complete stranger is the last person I want to talk to about my feelings.”

“Sometimes a stranger is the best person. There’s no risk. No judgement.”

Chanyeol slowly sits up, but he can't meet his sister's eyes. “I’m too scared,” he whispers.

Yoora knows exactly what he means. “If you see a therapist, it doesn’t mean you’re going to end up like dad. It doesn’t mean you have schizophrenia or any other mental illness. Just because you have some things tangled up in your head that you can’t quite untangle on your own doesn’t mean you’re sick. Loads and loads of people see therapists.” She smooths out a wrinkle in his blanket. “But you know, even if you did get sick like dad...you wouldn’t have to be like he is now. He gets bad because he doesn’t take his meds.”

Chanyeol shakes his head, tears dripping down his face again. “I don’t want that. Not any of it.”

“I know. And it’s not going to happen. You’ll be eighteen in a few months. You know the first episode of psychosis usually shows earlier than this.”

Chanyeol thinks of how he gets trapped in his memory of that day when he looks at the ocean and feels sick. It’s not psychosis, he knows that because he’s seen his father’s episodes enough to know what that looks like, but it’s still not normal.

Yoora takes his hand. “I love you. You know I’d do anything to help you, right?”

Chanyeol nods. “I love you too, noona.” He gives her hand a little squeeze, and Yoora squeezes back. The small gesture connects them, and the comfort it gives Chanyeol calms him enough that he falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, instead of thinking of the boy who drowned, he finds himself thinking of Jongdae. How he listens to Chanyeol’s words and doesn’t shy away from the terrors that lie beneath them. How he seems like he knows things, in a way nobody else Chanyeol has ever met. How he played last night, how he sang haunting lyrics in an incredible voice that still echoes in his ears and makes him want to hear more of it.

His eyes go to his own guitar, standing dusty and neglected in the corner of his bedroom, and he wonders what it would be like to play with Jongdae. What their voices would sound like if they sang together.

Jongdae is probably working right now, and Chanyeol has work today too. But he finds himself desperate to see Jongdae again. He wants to apologize for vanishing last night and to tell him how much he loved his song. He hopes Jongdae doesn’t think he bolted because of the way he sang that song to him. But he thinks that Jongdae will understand when he explains. Jongdae has understood everything else about Chanyeol in a way he can’t even comprehend, considering how little Chanyeol has given him to work with.

He has to be at the bookshop in an hour, but waiting till the end of the day to see Jongdae feels impossible. So he gets up and showers as fast as he can, throws on the first t-shirt and shorts that come to hand and shoves his feet into his flip-flops, and then he heads down the hill towards the youth hostel.

~~~

The sky is clear and blue, and bright morning sunlight is making the surface of the empty pool sparkle, but Jongdae’s heart feels heavy as he makes his way around the courtyard, sweeping up the last of the debris from the party last night. He feels more guilty about stealing from Junmyeon with every moment that passes. The pendant is a heavy weight against his chest, and he can’t forget that without it, the touch of the wind and the scent of the waves will soon be barred from him again. But mostly, he’s troubled because of Chanyeol.

Jongdae is dead. He should be the one doing the haunting. Instead, Chanyeol haunts him. He can’t get the way Chanyeol looked at him last night out of his mind. Like Jongdae was something incredible. Something that made his lips part and his eyes grow wide with wonder. And there was a softness to it, too. A tenderness. Like Chanyeol was not only listening to the words, but getting right to the heart that lay beneath. Seeing a depth Jongdae had not intended him to see. He’s afraid of the emotion he saw in Chanyeol’s eyes.

Making Chanyeol care for Jongdae was not part of the plan. Not when he’s going to have to leave.

He props the broom against the wall and crouches to tie a knot in the trash bag, ready to haul it out into the side alley with the rest of the trash. When he stands up, Yixing is standing in front of him, his fluffy hair in a halo of curls around his head.

“Good job,” he says, gazing around the restored courtyard. “It’s been great having you around. You’re a good worker.”

“Why don’t you hire someone permanently?” Jongdae asks. “You get a lot of people staying here. You could afford it, couldn’t you?”

Yixing shrugs. He stares over Jongdae’s head, his eyes distant. “I don’t know, really. I could never find the right person.”

“You wouldn’t be betraying your brother’s memory,” Jongdae says softly. “It wouldn’t be like replacing him. Zitao would understand. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t want to see his brother struggle. He’d want you to be happy.”

Yixing’s eyes fill up with tears, but he blinks them away. “I wish you could stay here and work with me. You’re different. You understand.”

Jongdae’s heart aches. “I wish I could too.”

Yixing turns to go back to reception, and Jongdae hauls the trash bag over his shoulder and lugs it through the rec room and out into the side alley, dumping it in the shade of the building. As he straightens up, he feels a presence behind him, and he knows who it is even before he turns around.

“Jongdae.” Junmyeon’s voice behind him is gentle, but it feels to Jongdae like a stab straight to the heart.

This is it. Junmyeon has found out. Chanyeol will never see him again. Jongdae can only hope he’s done enough to help him. He doesn’t turn around, but instead walks slowly towards the mouth of the alley, where it opens up onto the road. Where he can see the skate park and the ocean beyond it, and feel the sun and the salty wind on his face one last time.

“What are you doing, Jongdae?” He can hear the sorrow in Junmyeon’s voice, and it plunges through Jongdae like a lead weight, all the guilt and regret and pain that he’s hurt Junmyeon. If there’d been any other way of doing this, he would have taken it. But there wasn’t, and although he regrets hurting Junmyeon, he doesn’t regret the time he has spent with Chanyeol. Because he’s seen the start of life in Chanyeol’s eyes, a tiny spark of hope that could, with protection and gentle care, be kindled into flame.

He turns. Junmyeon is in his white spirit robes, dark hair long, and he glows, because it’s his soul Jongdae is seeing, uncovered by flesh and bone. His eyes are as kind as ever, his face filled with sadness. He steps up to Jongdae and lays a hand on his shoulder, gazing into his face. “Why would you do this?”

Jongdae lowers his eyes. “I’m sorry. I needed to help Chanyeol. It just...it hurt too much to see him like that. It was all because of me. I had to do something.”

Junmyeon drops his hand and looks around, as if he’s only now noticing where they are. “What are you doing at a youth hostel?”

Jongdae tells him how he needed a place to stay, and about Yixing’s ability. Then he asks, “What’s going to happen now?”

“If you give me back the pendant and come straight back with me now, nothing will happen. No one on the other side has to know.”

Jongdae finds his fingers curling into a fist by his side. Junmyeon is saying he’ll protect him. He’s willing to not report what Jongdae has done. But Jongdae doesn’t want to leave yet, if there’s any possibility at all that he could stay. Chanyeol still needs his help. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Jongdae, please. You’ve taken away my ability to do certain assignments, and you know how it works, I can’t receive a new one until the last one is completed. And now that I know you have the pendant, I’m breaking a rule by allowing you to keep using it. I’ll be in trouble too if anyone finds out.”

Jongdae bites his lip. He should take off the pendant right now and hand it back to Junmyeon. He’s making Junmyeon risk his own job too, not just Jongdae’s. But he can’t stop thinking of Chanyeol, of the torment on his face when he opened up to him in the bookshop, and he knows there’s more to heal. “I just need a little more time.”

“I know you mean well, Jongdae. But this is dangerous. If Chanyeol finds out who you are—”

“He won’t,” Jongdae says quickly. “I’ve been careful. Hyung, isn’t it my job to heal people? How can I leave him like this?”

“It’s your job to heal physical injuries and illnesses people couldn’t heal from on their own, when the Balance allows,” Junmyeon says. “You can’t fix Chanyeol like you can a broken bone, Jongdae. Emotional healing isn’t that simple. It takes time, willingness and work on the part of the person being healed, and a greater power than the jade ring possesses.”

Jongdae looks down. He knows Junmyeon is right. Even now, six months after his own death, there are still emotional wounds he hasn’t healed from.

“You could cause more harm than good. If he finds out who you are and that you’re a spirit, not only will you lose your healing power and be banned from Earth, but it may also deepen Chanyeol’s wounds.”

“That won’t happen,” Jongdae says. “I’m not here to hurt him. I’m here to help him. I’ve already seen a difference. I just need a little more time.”

Junmyeon’s face turns firm. He holds out his hand. “Jongdae, I’m not giving you a choice. There’s too much at risk for too many people. Give back the pendant and come with me now.” He stares at Jongdae for a long moment, waiting. Then his eyes shift to something over his shoulder, his face registering surprise. Jongdae twists around, and Chanyeol is standing at the corner, the sunlight shafting across his face and making his hair glow.

He’s far enough away that Jongdae doesn’t think he could have heard him talking apparently to thin air, but he’s not sure. Time seems to slow down as Chanyeol walks towards him. When he’s at arm’s length, he stops and greets Jongdae with a smile.

“Hey,” Jongdae says dumbly, and then remembers Junmyeon and twists around. But he’s gone. And yet, Jongdae has the feeling he’s still watching.

“I’m sorry I disappeared last night,” Chanyeol says. “There was a family emergency. I didn’t mean to ditch you.”

“What happened?” Jongdae asks. Once his lifeguarding shift was over, he’d followed the pull in his chest until he knew Chanyeol was safe at home, but he hadn’t been able to enter. Not anymore.

“Just something with my dad. It’s fine, though. He’s okay now.” The line between his forehead deepens. “I’d rather talk about you. That song you sang last night...it was so beautiful. Did you write it?”

It takes a minute for Jongdae to get past the image of Chanyeol’s father having one of his psychotic attacks before he can answer. “Yeah. That was the first time I played it, actually. I mean, I've been sort of composing it in my head for a few months, but last night was the first time I had the chance to sing it.”

Chanyeol gapes at him. “What the hell are you doing working at a youth hostel in Sanha? Why aren't you in Seoul being fought over by the top agencies? Wait, didn't you say you were going to be a paramedic? Don't you want to do music?”

Jongdae scuffs the toe of his flip-flop along the ground, feeling rather overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. “I used to.”

“Used to? What happened?”

“Life.” Or the loss of it, more accurately.

Chanyeol is looking at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say more. But there’s nothing more Jongdae can say. “There’s this thing called communication,” Chanyeol says. “Do you want me to explain how it works?”

Jongdae feels a smile tug at his lips. “You don’t seem like such an expert on that subject yourself.”

Chanyeol whacks him in the arm. “At least I’m trying.”

Jongdae laughs. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drag you down. It’s all behind me now anyway.”

Chanyeol’s smile fades. “You listened to all my crap. Won’t you let me do the same for you?”

Jongdae feels a pang inside his chest. It grows into an aching coldness that spreads inside him, hollow, until he’s nothing but a chasm of despair. It feels like longing, and like loneliness, and the glimpse of a door to a happier place that had been cracked open for the past couple of days slamming in his face.

Their gazes lock and hold. Jongdae finds himself searching Chanyeol’s face, trying to memorize every line and curve, every shade, every tiny freckle. The way his eyes look when he’s looking straight at Jongdae, when he’s seeing him. Chanyeol looks back at him, almost wonderingly. Almost like he’s doing the same to Jongdae. There’s a feeling of something electric in the space between them; something magnetic, like the tide within Jongdae’s chest has turned polar and is tugging him so strongly towards Chanyeol that even the half-metre between them hurts.

But it can’t happen. Because he has to leave. Because he loves Chanyeol so much, and he can tell that Chanyeol could, quite easily, love him back. He’s teetering on the cliff edge. Perhaps he’s already falling. Jongdae wants to let Chanyeol love him. He wants it desperately. He can see how they could fit together, how right they could be.

“Chanyeol,” he says softly. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to say the words that are going to break his heart into two. But he has no choice. “I’m not going to be able to stay here for much longer. Definitely not the whole summer. I—I’m going to have to leave pretty soon.”

Chanyeol blinks. “You’re leaving?” he echoes. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly. But soon.” He takes a small step backward, creating distance between them, and it hurts, the ache in his heart spreading along his ribs and up his throat and prickling at the back of his eyes. He watches as Chanyeol absorbs his words, and sees the new light dying in his face like a cloud going over the sun.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says. His voice sounds a little croaky. “I wish I could stay—it’s just that—there are reasons, and I can’t…”

“It’s okay, Jongdae. You don’t have to explain.” Chanyeol bites his lip, his hands twitching a little at his sides, fingers curling in and out like he wants to grab his arms but is stopping himself. “Well—it’s been great hanging with you while you were here. Really.” He looks so gutted, and he’s starting to shuffle his feet, like he feels awkward and wants to get away. “I guess you have a lot to do, and I have to get to work, so…” He takes a step back, the distance between them increasing again, and Jongdae wants to cry.

“Wait.” This can’t be the way they leave each other, with Chanyeol hurt and trying to hide it. What if Junmyeon reappears the moment Chanyeol leaves and forces Jongdae to come back with him? He has to make sure he leaves Chanyeol with the message he’s been trying to pass on this whole time. He steps closer again and looks up into Chanyeol’s face. “Listen, Chanyeol. Moving on from something terrible doesn’t mean you’re being disrespectful or forgetting. Life is so precious, and no matter what has happened to you, you are worthy of happiness. You still have a chance to move forward and make a difference in this world. Don’t let the pain drag you where nobody should ever have to go.”

Jongdae watches the emotion play across Chanyeol’s face. It’s confusion, denial, despair, and Jongdae feels as helpless as he had when he could only watch Chanyeol cry. Even though Chanyeol can hear him now, Jongdae doesn’t know the right things to say. Doesn’t know how to make Chanyeol see.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you, then?” Chanyeol asks. He’s obviously aiming for a casual tone, but it falls short of the mark.

“I don’t know. Things are really unpredictable right now. If I can, I’ll come to the bookshop later.”

“Okay.” His voice is small. Too small for his height, for the strength and brightness and goodness Jongdae can’t make him see that he has. “I’ll maybe see you later, then.”

He gives a wave and a half-hearted smile, then turns and walks away. Jongdae takes a couple of steps after him, not wanting to let him go. But he has no choice. No matter how much he tries to delay the inevitable, he cannot undo the fact he is dead. Not even Junmyeon’s magical pendant can change that.

~~~

All day long, Chanyeol tries to talk himself out of his unhappiness. He’s being ridiculous, he tells himself, feeling so miserable at the thought of Jongdae leaving. They’ve only known each other for a couple of days. No matter how well they get along, no matter how nice a person Jongdae is, he shouldn’t be this upset. But his emotions won’t listen to his logic. His heart cries for something that might have been.

He wishes Jongdae had trusted him enough to share his own past with him. It’s clear that something very painful lies in Jongdae’s past, but now he’ll never get to know if he could have helped