Chanyeol was Jongdae’s light.

Chanyeol was Jongdae’s knight in shining armor, the colors to his black and white. Chanyeol was soft and gentle yet strong, independent and always in control; unlike Jongade who was broken, fragile and always in need for someone to lean on. They were the perfect match yet Jongdae’s masochist side drove him right back to Seoul where his abusive lover awaited him. He gave up on his bright warm sun for the sake of his twisted urges. Chanyeol begged him, over and over again to stay with him promising to give him the world, to never let the smile fall off his face. He promised with nothing but sincerity to devote himself to Jongdae, to live for him and breathe nothing but his scent. Park Chanyeol was perfect, one of a kind. His sense of humor, his beautiful face, his sculpted body, his witty mouth that spoke nothing but of arts and philosophy, his everything was perfect and Jongdae should’ve stayed. Should’ve thanked his god for Chanyeol and stayed in Paris with him, where he can write his novels that spoke of romance as he observed his lover bring his paintings to life. A wise person would’ve done exactly that, but Jongdae wasn’t wise. Jongdae left all of those pink dreams behind him when he decided that pink wasn’t his color, that he wasn’t worth that life. His low self-esteem drove him back to the hellhole from where he first came, to a person that couldn’t bother remembering his name while roughly doing him from behind. He wasn’t worth it, he didn’t deserve someone as perfect as Park Chanyeol. Why would he anyway? What does he have that made Chanyeol fall for him? A question that bothered him day and night back at Paris. What could he possibly give? Nothing. He had nothing to give therefore he wasn’t worth it. He was a nobody, a worthless scum that Chanyeol was better off without. He wasn’t good enough for him, Chanyeol may not have voiced that fact out loud but Jongdae was well aware of it. Why would anyone as perfect as Park Chanyeol settle for someone as insignificant and mentally ill as Kim Jongdae? Why would anyone even bother with him? Chanyeol said he loved him countless of times, but did he really mean it? When he first got with his lover he used to get a lot of compliments and I-love-yous, but everything went downhill the day they moved in together—

Jongin instantly jumped awake at the sound of the apartment door getting pushed open, he stifled a yawn with his unoccupied hand and glanced down at Brodie’s peacefully sleeping figure against his chest. It took him a moment to realize that he fell asleep reading the book Yixing gave him with the little child securely hugged to his chest. Another yawn and a few blinks of eye later Jongin’s mind finally cleared up enough for him to realize that someone just got into the apartment, and that it was probably Yixing and that smug friend of his. The tanned male bit back a smirk before carefully standing up with the child still soundly asleep between his arms. He walked silently towards the hushed voices until he came face to face with a flushed Yixing pinned to his own apartment door, a broad back separating him from noticing Jongin’s presence. The Chinese male’s swollen lips were seductively moving, forming words Jongin couldn’t even dream of understanding. The other guy however did understand, if his throaty groan was any indication, moving gently down to recapture Yixing’s plush pink lips between his. Jongin wasn’t really into voyeurism—and especially since the guy who was getting humped against the door was someone he cared deeply about—therefore he decided that clearing his throat was what was best for both his and Yixing’s child’s sakes. The sudden action made Yixing jump in alarm and push his companion as roughly as possible away from him. Eyes wide and mouth gaping, the Chinese male stared at Jongin until his ‘friend’ broke the silence with a frustrated growl.

“Oh for god’s sake, what’s wrong with you kid? You nearly gave us a heartattack!” Yixing took a deep shuddery breath in, pink tainted cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

“Jongin, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to watch over Brodie in your house…” Yixing trailed and his companion glared.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” It was partly true after all, never mind the fact that he wasn’t planning on leaving even if he didn’t fall asleep in the first place. Cheney gave Jongin a one last mean glare before shifting his gaze towards Yixing, rapid Chinese coming out of his mouth and making Jongin feel like utter for not being able to understand it. The man sounded desperate and if it was in any other situation Jongin would’ve felt sorry for the guy but now that it was his Yixing hyung being projected to those gut-wrenching whines he felt nausea, and a dire urge to forcefully kick the annoying guy’s flat out of his innocent elder’s apartment.

Yixing glanced from Cheney’s pleading eyes to his own sleeping son, adorably unaware of what was happening around him as he clutched into Jongin’s shirt with those tiny hands of his. Yixing smiled at the sight, ignoring his companion’s rant. His smile soon vanished though when his gaze locked with Jongin’s one, the latter gulped nervously at that. Yixing sighed before softly interrupting Cheney with his voice—and by the look of it, he obviously asked him to leave—droopy unfocused eyes turning into crescent ones as he tiptoed and pecked the taller man on the mouth before opening the door for him to leave. It took all the tan-skinned male’s willpower not to jump in victory with a scandalous shout of ‘You lost, I won loser!’. After all, the look Yixing gave him right after Cheney left meant he wasn’t off the hook yet.

“Would you like to hold Brodie?” Jongin offered, like it was his child he was holding.

“I’m drunk.” Yixing confessed before leaning down to take off his shoes. “I’ll take a shower and then we’ll talk about this little stunt you just pulled.”

“I—“ Jongin stuttered and was about to explain himself when Yixing held a slender hand for him to save it for later. “I’ll put Brodie to bed and make you some coffee, hyung.”

“Thank you, Jongin.” Yixing smiled softly at his child before making a beeline for his bathroom. Jongin stared after him for a few minutes until the Chinese male’s figure disappeared behind the door. The tanned teen glanced down at the little kid between his arms, to check if he was still asleep, before smoothly making his way towards Yixing’s room.

Half an hour later Jongin found himself buried under fluffy violet blankets with Yixing’s velvety voice lulling him to sleep and ‘Finding Nemo’ playing in the background. Aft