Chanyeol’s life is a swirl of colours against an endless stretch of dreamcatchers.

And by that, he means the too-vivid dreams, which have merged with his reality in an effortless curve of unquestionable.

Flawlessness carves itself into the spaces between his fingers, and the cheery voice of innocence etches deep into the hollow of his bones.

Chanyeol’s life is perfect—

~~~

—until a letter arrives at his doorstep, the defined features of South Korea’s military crest imprinted on the seal of the envelope:

"1950: All men, from the age of 18, will be required to attend Basic Military Training and serve as a soldier in the proceeding war."

(It’s amazing, really, how Chanyeol's carefully-constructed dreamcatchers can fade in a split second; his dreams morph into nightmares; hope slips away from his grasp is easily as it came.)

The desperate pitter-patter of raindrops doesn’t seem to calm—a deep scar that damages the scrawny boy with thick glasses and hazelnut eyes.

Chanyeol wraps himself around the warmth of his mother, burying his face under the crook of her neck for solace.

And, for the first time, he notices how his limbs no longer fit in her embrace; his arms no longer hold onto the hope of childhood.

~~~