KYUNGSOO FLICKS HIS booger away and watches as it forms an perfect parabolic projectile towards Jongin's impeccably sculpted arm. The taller of the two gets a vial and collects the hardened mucus "for safekeeping".

"Why do you always do that, Jongin?" The owl-eyed devil asks.

"Uh, well, uhh, the aliens have come again and told me that - uhhh - they need - um -samples! Right, samples, for their - uhh - study. Yes. That. They need more DNA samples from earthling boogers for their extraterrestrial study. And I thought I already told you to call me oppa." Jongin maladroitly reasons out but he knows Kyungsoo; the poor idiot believes anything you tell him.

Kyungsoo yet again tries to pass off understanding with a simple nod and a smile, eyes all closed in his vain attempts at comprehension. For the average person, Jongin thinks, being semi-permanently in the dark would be rather frustrating. But not Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo was innocent and trusting and undeniably adorable.

"Who was that boy, Jongin?" Kyungsoo blurts out, hoping not to talk about aliens anymore.

Jongin tenses up in alarm. Kyungsoo can't even recall his own classmates sometimes: why the actual flying would he remember a boy? Who was this boy? Which one? Was it the tall one that just walked past, walking around like his being six foot two was something to be proud of? Or was it the one that looked vaguely Chinese? YES MAYBE THAT WAS IT! He even smiled when he noticed Kyungsoo staring at his blonde hair, exposing the greatest dimple to ever exist. But Kyungsoo didn-

"Jong-iiiiiiiiiin? JONGIN! Hello? Are you dead Jongin?" Jongin starts, his train of thought falling off its tracks.

"Uh, yeah. Of course I am," Jongin says, flashing a concerned Kyungsoo a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Uuuuuuuuuh," Kyungsoo looks down, twiddling his fingers. "I was just wondering about this boy, and I think maybe you know him?"

Jongin purses his lips. God, its Kyungsoo's denseness is really cute sometimes but it can really hurt a poor Romeo's feelings. "Yeah, I know all of the dancers," he finally says. "Which one are you curious about?"

Kyungsoo's eyes light up, and it was such a pretty sight to see that it almost made up for the future heartbreak he would do to Jongin.

Almost.

"We-ell, he was very tall. . ."

Uh-huuuuuh, Kai thinks."

"And I think he was the one singing Arirang* inside the shower room. ."

Wait. Arirang? Kai's fear builds up inside him. It couldn't possibly be.

"And his voice was really deep too. Too deep for his face. . ."

Please, God. Don't let it be. . .

"And his ears stuck out from his face."

NO.

NO NO NO.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Jongin's world crumbles. It breaks, it falls apart. Why, God, why? What could he possibly have done to deserve such a punishment?

Kyungsoo smiles at Jongin, yet again unaware of what was happening. "Do you know him, Jongin?"

Yes, I do, Jongin thinks. He is the spawn of Furies, a man who resides in the smelly armpits of Hell. He is Mister Hot Guy, who charmed all those of the weak of heart. He is a ing life ruiner, a demon hiding inside the body of a skinny-assed, baby faced from the vampire district whose ears rivaled that even of ing Legloas. He was an an air-headed piece of whose talent relied on his ability to seduce women into thinking he was all that. He was nothing (nothing!) as a dancer, except maybe eye candy, except candy was supposed to be sweet and attractive. This was not sweet at all: he was mean, annnoyingly loud, and quite possibly fake. How could he NOT be fake? No one reacts to everything so damned explosively jesus christ. He was an epidemic, a virus, spreading itself all over Jongin's life, taking everything for itself and not feeling even a tiny bit sorry about it.

The silence gets awkward, making Kyungsoo squirm just a bit.

And Jongin feels afraid. Chanyeol was taking everything important from him, there was no doubt about it now. His passion, his position, and now his Kyungsoo. Jongin wouldn't be surprised if Chanyeol walked through that door right this second, dressed in his clothes, sporting his haircut, and ran off with Kyungsoo.

Would he? Jongin wondered. Could he?

Kyungsoo looks at him, pretty eyes sparkling. And Jongin found the solution to his problem in those black pearls: prevention is better than cure. Enlightenment descends upon him, freeing him from the fears that clamped his heart so tightly just minutes ago.

"Nope," Jongin finally replies, his grin reaching both of his ears.

x x x

"HIS EARS ALWAYS were his asset."

The heartbroken Baekhyun has managed to pick up enough pieces of himself to crawl back to the dormitory.

And that is not the only limit Baek pushed. As of now, he is sifting through the memories of him and Chanyeol, in the hopes of adding more. There were hundreds - no, maybe thousands - of memorabilia of ChanBaek surrounding him, all like shards of multicolored glass, puncturing his hands with longing when he holds them. Each photo like a trigger, sending Baekhyun near hysterics when he sees a happier-looking Chanyeol, his nose streaked with rocky road. He giggles sadly, recalling how their playful wrestling match ended up on the other side of the park, with Baekhyun's ice cream cone lying dejectedly somewhere in the grass and Chanyeol's shades looking more like a high tech eyepatch rather than a too-expensive Raybans.

"Haaaaaaiii. . .Chanyeoooooollll. . .my ice creeaaaam!!" Baekhyun wimpers childishly, stomping his feet and pointing to the puddle of chocolate and nuts on the ground.

Chanyeol laughs, and ruffles his hair. "Don't worry. I'll get you another one."

"Tomorrow?" Baekhyun smiles.

"Some other time. We have so many tomorrows to look forward to, right?" Chanyeol says.

Wrong.

And so begins again the spiral of confusion. He looks at the photographs, trying to find whatever he lost. Trying to find the part of Baekhyun that made Chanyeol love him. But no matter how hard he stared, no matter how many photographs pass through his hands, he could not find it.

If there was anybody who changed, it was Chanyeol. He just realized that he didn't use to have that (adorable) wrinkle in between his eyebrows. And his eyes: they were so much more caring before.

"I think you must be confused," Baekhyun says solemnly. "If anyone's changed, it's you."

Baekhyun continues to stare at that particular photo, at that sunny day at the park, and the stupid 'Park' jokes he made.

"Chanyeol, hey, hey, Chanyeol," he nagged Chanyeol, poking his arm with a finger. Chanyeol, knowing what was coming, sighed.

"What." Yes, a period, because it seemed more like a sentence than a question; he knew what he was in for.

Baekhyun already starting snorting at his on joke, trying to stall as much as he can.

"GOD DAMNIT, BAEK." Chanyeol laughed, enjoying the Baek Show. Oh, how he used to enjoy the Baek Show. "Can you get on with it already?"

"Ho-how does it feel to be the mayor's property?" Baekhyun said, forcing down the laughter.

Chanyeol, obviously perplexed, had wondered for a few horrible seconds that Baekhyun sold him to the government as a slave. So he was actually 50% relieved and 50% done when Baek gave him the punchline.

Practically bent over, Baekhyun pointed to the sign nailed to the tree. In nice bold letters were the words 'THIS PARK IS PROPERTY OF THE MAYOR'.

Feigning annoyance, Chanyeol started walking away, much to the horror of Baekhyun. His eyes popped open, the color in his cheeks fading. Chanyeol's back was turned to him, moving away farther and farther.

"Chanyeol!" he yelled, running after him. "Chanyeol! Park Chanyeol!"

Chanyeol turned around, smirking smugly. "What? I must return to my master, Baekhyun."

Baekhyun pouted, and punched Chanyeol. ". I thought you were supposed to be mine."

"I am," Chanyeol said, ruffling Baek's hair. "As long as you run after me."

"THAT'S IT!" Baekhyun awoke with a start. The room was dark now, the little golden streams of light coming from the window were replaced by thin slants of silver.

He had fallen asleep, and awoke with the greatest epiphany.

Taking back Chanyeol did not need a long time apart; no, all he had to do was run after him. Just like that day in the park.

Baek stretches his neck to the left, then to the right. He stands up, and begins basic warm ups. First his arms, then his elbows, then his legs.

He cracks his knuckles and smiles. "I'm all set for the marathon, Park. I hope you're waiting at the finish line with my ice cream."