Sungyeol’s struggling to regain his breath. He runs, runs like he’s never run before in his life, every muscle screaming in protest even as knees give way and he finds himself on the ground—then he gets up and starts running again. He’s running without a thought, throwing aside caution and fear and every little everything that’s been building up in him. Nothing matters.

Woohyun is right next to him, and Sungyeol knows he’s keeping pace with him, could run even faster if he wanted. He’s long conditioned himself to the sound of Woohyun’s breathing, and he knows without even thinking now that Woohyun’s exerting himself, but not fully. But he doesn’t care. Nothing matters—nothing makes a difference anymore.

Sungyeol only stops running when he’s scant seconds away from the cliff edge, collapsing onto the ground carelessly. Woohyun crashes—literally—to a stop next to him as well, and Sungyeol can feel the vibrations from the force of his impact on the ground running through his body. They’ve done this before, more times than Sungyeol can count. No matter where they go, how far they wander—eventually, they always come back here.

The cliff. The sea. The world.

Sungyeol stares up at the dark sky above him, shot through with red from the earliest hints of sunrise. Far below, he can hear the waves beating against the cliff side. He lets the tension drain out of his body, falling limply onto the ground. Woohyun is next to him, lying spread-eagled, but he’s not looking at the sky—he’s looking at Sungyeol. Their eyes meet when Sungyeol looks over, and it’s simultaneously relieving and painful.

“Still here,” Woohyun whispers breathlessly, and Sungyeol laughs weakly.

“Me too,” he answers, and reaches over instinctively, seeking out Woohyun’s hand. Woohyun laces their fingers together, gripping tightly. I’m still here.

They lie there in silence for long, endless minutes, only interrupted by the sound of their gradually slowing breaths. Sungyeol stares at Woohyun’s profile, (re)memorising every detail he already knows by heart: the sharp lines of his chin and nose, the swell of his bottom lip, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sungyeol doesn’t look away for a second; neither does Woohyun.

It’s Woohyun who eventually breaks the stalemate, slowly reaching over with his free hand to caress Sungyeol’s face lightly. “New cut,” he whispers, running his thumb over Sungyeol’s left cheekbone. Sungyeol feels a tiny flare of pain there, barely perceptible. Woohyun brushes spidery touches across Sungyeol’s skin, across his cheek, tracing his lips, sliding up the bridge of his nose. Just as Sungyeol never stops staring at Woohyun, Woohyun never stops touching him.

There’s a streak of two-day-old dirt on Woohyun’s cheek, healing scrapes and bruises littering his skin. Woohyun is sweeping his fingers across Sungyeol’s eyebrows, brushing his hair out of the way at the same time. His hair’s too long, as usual—it always grows too fast, and it’s never easy to cut it. Woohyun never seems to mind, though. His next course of action is always to sink his hand in Sungyeol’s hair, carding his fingers through the strands gently. Sungyeol lets Woohyun touch him to his heart’s content, staying perfectly still. Woohyun’s always needed the touch more than him. Touch was always what best reminded Woohyun of reality—he always reached out when he felt lost, clinging onto Sungyeol’s warmth, reminding himself of today and now and here.

It’s probably better than Sungyeol, because only the pain of pushing himself to the limit can remind him of that.

The sun’s starting to come up, slowly. Sungyeol’s facing the eastern sky, and he can see the velvet purple of night giving way to red and pink, gold slowly filtering through. Woohyun’s moving a little closer, lifting his head—Sungyeol expects the kiss, though he barely moves to return it. Woohyun knows, though, and is perfectly content with taking charge. Sungyeol listens obediently, opening his mouth at Woohyun’s request, breathing out a moan when Woohyun slides his tongue in. He presses their clasped hands to his heart, feeling the beat of it against his chest, strong and steady.

Today. Now. Here.

“I’m here,” Woohyun breathes into the kiss, and Sungyeol closes his eyes, letting himself feel for a long moment.

“I’m here,” he echoes, voice barely audible, but he’s saying it for himself. Woohyun hears it anyway, deepening the kiss further.

I’m here.

“Just us,” Sungyeol murmurs when they part, and Woohyun nods, the movement slight and jerky.

It’s Sungyeol who leans in this time, just enough for their lips to brush, and Woohyun understands. The next kiss is desperate, rough and long, Woohyun gasping half-formed growls into mouth and digging his nails into Sungyeol’s scalp. He follows it up with another, and another, until eventually they’re both completely tangled up in each other.

The sun has risen far enough on the horizon that Sungyeol can no longer look at it. The world looks perfect this morning—blue and gold and white, the bright sun in the sky and the one in the water. Sungyeol has never seen the world look less than perfect in a long time, and that just makes it hurt more. It’s almost unrealistic, the beauty of every day that passes.

Woohyun curls his fingers around Sungyeol’s hand, pressing fingertips against his heart. Here.

“I’m alive,” Woohyun whispers. He presses his forehead to Sungyeol’s, closing his eyes.

They don’t bother moving from the spot for what seems like another forever. There’s nothing but them, in this moment. The world in all its perfection is at their fingertips, ready for them to take control of it.

Today. Now. Here.

“I’m still here.” He’s just saying the words, but Woohyun sounds choked up when he answers.

“You’re still here.” We’re still here.

Sungyeol closes his eyes. He’s forgetting something. “Today,” he says quietly.

Woohyun is silent for a long moment, but eventually, Sungyeol feels him shift slightly. “Now,” he continues.

Sungyeol leans in to kiss Woohyun again, long and slow. “Here,” he finishes.

There’s still something missing.

Woohyun’s down his back now, firm and gentle. Sungyeol tries to relax into it, breathing in, breathing out. He’s almost there when Woohyun shifts, sliding his hand away.

Sungyeol opens his eyes, but hasn’t even started his protest when Woohyun’s pressing something into his hand. The sudden coolness makes him jerk back, but not nearly as much as the word that Woohyun whispers, voice torn.

“Reality.”

Sungyeol looks down, and stares at the bright metal of the ring in his palm. It’s threaded on a thin chain, silver against the circle of gold.

When he looks up, he sees the gleam of gold on Woohyun’s neck (that he never noticed before, never wanted to see, never wanted to know about—a reminder of the reality he’s hidden for so long he doesn’t want to remember). He reaches over, barely breathing, and pulls it out.

Gold against silver.

“Sungyeol.” Woohyun’s voice sounds so fragile, and Sungyeol can’t help thinking hazily, he knew. He’s known for a long time. He’s been waiting to tell me. Woohyun’s staring at him, begging silently, and Sungyeol draws in a shaky breath. The silent question is more than obvious.

Do you remember?

Woohyun closes Sungyeol’s palm around the ring, fingers trembling. “Today,” he whispers.

For the first time, Sungyeol’s heart is racing too fast for him to think of how Woohyun’s breathing sounds, how he feels. “Now.” His voice sounds unfamiliar to himself, a little raw, a little painful.

But Woohyun’s voice is faint, yet hopeful, so hopeful, when he replies, “Here.”

Sungyeol realises he’d closed his eyes, and he opens them again. Woohyun is staring straight at him, not saying a word, and Sungyeol knows he’s waiting.

The ring is a strangely familiar weight in his fist. He thinks it will be even more familiar around his neck, so he sits up just enough to slide it past his head, down, until it settles against his chest. Woohyun’s ring is right next to it, gold against silver against silver against gold.

Suddenly, everything falls into place.

Woohyun is barely breathing, but he hasn’t looked away at all, gaze wide-eyed and a little wet. Sungyeol’s voice shakes, cracking a little as he breathes, “Reality.”

Woohyun seems to go through a dozen expressions at once at the word—happiness and pain and fear and relief and worry and desperation. Sungyeol laughs, unsteadily, as he sits up. “Woohyun.” For the first time in forever, Sungyeol thinks he can hear his confidence in his voice.

“I think I’m ready to wake up.”

Woohyun sits up as well, and Sungyeol’s gaze is drawn to the bright flash of metal against his chest (close to his heart). His voice is remarkably calm when he answers, steadily, “Me too.”

They walk to the cliff side together, tiny, unsure steps until they’re at the very edge. The sea is rough beneath, waves crashing against the cliff so far below Sungyeol can only hear echoes of it. For the last time, he glances at Woohyun for confirmation.

Woohyun squeezes his hand slightly, looking at him steadily as he says, again, “Today.”

Sungyeol finds himself smiling, taking another step forward. “Now.”

Woohyun takes the next step, so that they’re just barely balanced at the tip. “Here,” he adds, and he’s looking at Sungyeol. Waiting.

This time, Sungyeol’s voice doesn’t waver. “Reality.”

It’s time to wake up.

He takes the last step, and together, they fall towards waking.