Socrates in Love

Final Word count: 7981

From human’s eyes, humans are humans. All different, but in their depths, all the same.

However, everything is a question of perspective.

Let’s take an example. There’s this abstract figure created on some rocks by time’s erosion added to the pouring rain. That figure has no precise nor definite shape. Put two persons together in front of it and ask them what the figure reminds them of. There’s a lot of probability that they wouldn’t give you the same answer.

That’s perspective.

And perspective always had a huge impact on Chanyeol.

People always defined the latter as a particular individual. And for good reasons. Chanyeol’s pattern of mind was definitely… particular.

Well at least it was differing from his entourage’s ones. And everything outside the norm was considered particular.

‘What is the norm?’ could be an interesting question, but now let’s go back to the Chanyeol case.

Call it disproportionate imagination or uncommon optimism, but the latter had his very own vision of his surroundings in a general term.

Here’s another example. For him, people were similar to ants.

Indeed, from up close, they seemed like average beings, all looking different from the others, with different tastes, different lives, different opinions, different occupations. Well, different everythings.

But if you looked from afar, what would you see?

Dots.

Billions of identical dots all merging, fussing, meddling, blending and busying around in an indescribably non-coordinated choreography. But when you studied it a bit more thoroughly, you would see that all of this hustle and bustle was the most logical and coordinated flow imaginable. Everything had a cause and a purpose, and everything happened for a reason. Everything was coordinated perfectly.

Like an ant colony.

So for Chanyeol, people were ants, and for people, Chanyeol was that particular guy most of them referred to as a bookworm.

Because Chanyeol definitely was a bookworm.

Every book his fingers had brushed against, he had read.

From Shakespeare to Camus, from Orwell to Dostoievki, from John Green to Molière, and even from J. K. Rowlings to Dr Sauss, Chanyeol had read them all.

You could choose any book from his town’s small library, you would definitely see his name on the check-out card.

Chanyeol loved reading.

More than his source of joy, books were his references. Because books were based on peoples thoughts, experiences and opinions. So there was always something you could wring out from them.

So now, getting back to the story, our Chanyeol was currently sitting on his train seat with another book glued between his slender fingers, leaving the big city which consisted in his habitat during the week days when university was a mandatory duty for college students like him. He was going back to his small hometown where his grandma was waiting for him with cinnamon rolls and a new poetry book for him to read to her, as every week end.

The young man closed his book before rubbing off the sleepiness weighing on his eyelids. The train had stopped, the monotonous feminine voice announcing the name of the stop where they were. Chanyeol never gave attention to his surroundings when he was travelling like that every Friday evening.

But today was different.

He doesn’t know what made him change his routine, but an unidentified force pulled him out of the habitual chrysalid that his books consisted in and let his eyes travel to the outside world, exploring his surroundings.

But at the moment, his pupils were focused on the car's doors that had slid open, letting a horde of people surging out of the wagon. But what caught his eyes was the tiny bright yellow figure squeezing through the human wave and the dull thud that ensued. Then something came in contact with the tip of his shoe.

A book.

Torn and tattered.

On the cover were a woman’s porcelain white shoulder and a chin topped off by plump beige tinted lips and framed by wet jet black hair cascading down the previously described shoulder. The overall of it gave off a peaceful feeling, radiating with the brilliance of the pale and white shades. Pureness and sadness.

Reflexively, he bent down, grabbing the said novel before rushing to help the boy who was already up and busying himself with brushing off the dirt on his knees, regrettable result from his previous fall.

Chanyeol, who had for some seconds been distracted by the bright yellow hoodie the man was wearing, was about to ask after his condition when his words were muffled by the metallic screeching of the train's wheels and the stranger suddenly collided against him, gripping him by the shoulders not to fall again.

Their bodies were close.

Very close.

So close Chanyeol could feel the boy’s heart pumping against his chest.

Or was it his own heart?

No idea.

He had a perfect view of the man’s features. Small oval face, thin ballet slipper pink lips, tiny round nose, slightly drooped cheeks, flawless white skin and puppy-like shining black orbs slightly hidden by some light brown strands of hair which pierced Chanyeol’s soul without even meaning to.

Every of his imperfection somewhat looked perfect to Chanyeol in that moment.

However, heaven was shattered when that particular stranger stepped back, bowing clumsily at Chanyeol before his eyes fell on the book between the giant’s hands.

His own book.

That was what brought our protagonist out of his mooning as he stuttered a timid “I picked that up on the floor” while handing the book to its owner, not really daring locking gaze with the latter. The nameless man simply bowed his head thank you, taking the book back, and walked away.

As simple as that.

Chanyeol’s eyes trailed behind him, following his direction. He saw the puppy-face boy walking toward an empty seat near the window and the door. As he sat back in his own seat, he was secretly glad to notice that it gave him a perfect vision on the petite frame.

Not wanting to look like a stalker, Chanyeol took back his own book, trying hard to focus on the last sentence he had read. But his eyes didn’t seem to follow his commands, probably guided by his unconscious desires, and always landed on that small frame leaning his head against the bumping window. He had a frown pasted between his eyebrows, eyes boring holes into the book that had engendered their little . Minutes flew by but he didn’t seem to switch pages, always reading the same one again and again. His index would slide on the paper repeatedly, as if he was struggling to understand one precise sentence. From time to time, he would close the book and start drumming with his fingers on the cover, his thumb occasionally tracing along the represented woman’s lips. He would then open the book once again at what seemed to be a random page and bring his focus back to the story.

It was when he finally stood up after the monotonous feminine voice announced their arrival at a new town that Chanyeol noticed that all along, his gaze hadn’t left the stranger.

Quickly, he brought his attention back to his own book, just in time so the man wouldn’t spot him peering at him.

And the latter exited the train.

As simple as it was.

But this encounter had somehow struck Chanyeol more than a mere encounter should.

And he was settled on reading that apparently intriguing book.

So when he arrived at his grand-mother’s house, he only took the time to kiss her on the forehead, not bothering sitting on the armchair facing her to seep at his ginger tea, nor taste his favorite cinnamon rolls. Promising he would come back later on time for dinner and poetry reading, he dashed outside of the cozy homestead and toward the town’s library.

“The Ballad of the Impossible.”

That was the title that had been engraved in bold sanguine letters on the cover of the stranger’s book. And it was also the title of the book Chanyeol was so desperately looking for amidst thousands of other books all cramped on the rickety shelves of the library.

But to no avail.

However, the book –and its owner- didn’t left Chanyeol’s mind.

That night, cuddled in his warm woolen blanket, Chanyeol dreamt of yellow hoodies, droopy cheeks, puppy eyes and bare porcelain white shoulder’s, cooing peacefully in his sleep.

It took him to return to the main city and wander along the huge library he so often preferred to avoid to find that particular book that had been weighing on his mind since Friday.

So his spare time during this new week consisted of reading the same sentences, the same words and wondering about the same things that the stranger had probably read and wondered about too. When he finally closed the book, most of his questions had been answered, but one still lingered.

Why was the stranger so caught up in this book?

Not that it wasn’t good, far from that. It was actually one of the best book Chanyeol had read in a long time. But he wondered. What particular reasons made that boy read this book with so much attention?

Because for Chanyeol, most of the time when people read a book, there was a purpose behind it, be it conscious or not. People often read books to find more about themselves, to escape from their reality, to search for answers, or simply to dream.

So Chanyeol wondered.

What was this boy’s reason to read this book?

The answer he would be later given was something he would have never imagined.

The next Friday, Chanyeol was settled at the same seat as always, eyes drowned into a new book. The other one was deeply buried into his travelling bag. As always also, he didn’t pay attention to all the living commotion around him, beautiful words his soul and numbing his mind. The only thing that happened to extract him from his trance was the monotonous feminine voice announcing his stop. Peering up from his book, his eyes met him. The same stranger was boarding on the train. Same yellow hoodie, same unreadable expression, same spot beside the window.

And surprisingly, the same book.

It was Chanyeol’s turn to frown. Was he reading it over?

He had found it quite interesting, a bit sad, but really inspiring. However, he had moved on to over books. While the stranger was still stuck on the same pages, finger sliding along the same lines, the same frown wrinkling his forehead.

It made him wonder even more. What was this book meaning for this stranger?

And the same scenery kept repeating itself. Every Friday evening, in the same train, they would meet, without really acknowledging each other. Chanyeol would keep his eyes glued on the stranger. The stranger would keep his own on the same torn and tattered book.

One week turned into two weeks and weeks turned into months.

Two months.

It took two months before their small routine took a drastic turn of change.

That Friday, rain was pouring hard, droplets of water crashing violently in a dripping sound on the train’s structure, the sky’s tears flowing down the windows glass.

Today, Chanyeol wasn’t reading.

His forehead was pressed against the cold transparent surface, his breath forming a small circle of mist on it as his finger was busy tracing down along the path drawn by the raindrops.

He was wondering if the petite stranger had found a shelter from the rain, if he had an umbrella, if he wasn’t cold, nor drenched.

The only thing that stirred him out of his daydreaming was the same feminine monotonous voice announcing his stop.

Peering up from the heads altering his vision, he craned his neck, struggling to discreetly look for the usual yellow shadow.

So he looked. And looked. And looked.

The sound from the droplets breaking onto the metallic structure gradually heaved on his mind as his patience was growing thinner every passing second. Fear suddenly swelled his lungs.

What if the stranger wasn’t coming today? What if he never came ever again? What if something actually happened to him?

He should have talked to him when he had the chance.

But his worries were erased in an instant as a yellow form bolted into the car right before the door closed themselves in a banging noise. As if a shooting star had landed amongst them.

Chanyeol gulped when his gaze locked with his. The boy was walking toward him, water dripping from his soaked bangs, designing emotionless tears on his droopy cheeks. He stopped right in front of Chanyeol’s seat, not uttering a word, but eyes clearly talking. Realization soon washed upon the taller one as he started stuttering, taking his bag that he had settled on the seat next to his since there was no place in the baggage holder. The seat next to him was the only one available, the car more crowed than usual because of the rain:

“S-sorry.” He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “I guess you want to seat.”

There was a little cough from the other that had him look up to the latter. He seemed a bit flustered, even if his eyes were empty:

“In fact, I wanted to ask if I could have the window seat.” He started playing with the hem of his hoodie. “I’m a bit claustrophobic.” He explained, voice turning quitter. Chanyeol practically jolted out of his seat, almost banging his head against the baggage holder above him:

“Um- no…. Well, yes! I mean…” He stopped for a second, catching back his breath. It was no time to make a klutz out of himself. “You can take the window seat, of course.” He got up, letting the smaller man make his way to said-place. He simply nodded thank you, not really looking at Chanyeol, bringing his focus back to his book.

Always the same book.

But rain had its effect on him as the corner of the pages were all dog-eared, the paper already starting to warp. The ink from the words was probably running now, too.

The other man probably felt his gaze on him since he started talking in what Chanyeol would describe as a smoky voice. But he was probably simply biased.

“I don’t even understand why I bothered protecting myself with this book. It’s my most precious belonging. My life is not important compared to it.”

Neither did he understand why he was saying that to a complete stranger. But the elf-eared man seemed apt to listen to his rambles.

Sliding his index up and down the book’s spine in a robotic movement, he nonetheless wasn’t expecting an answer.

“It’s all a matter of human instinct.” Chanyeol muttered, not believing himself that that he was about to blurt out his philosophy classes to his two-months-long crush. But somehow, he felt a bit bold. “We call it amour de soi. Love of self, literally. It is a philosophical concept invented by Rousseau.” He hummed, a half-dreamy smile stretching his lips. He liked philosophy. “To sum up, humans, as brute animals, have this instinct of self-preservation.” But he bit back his smile almost immediately. What was he doing?! Now his star-like boy would probably label him as a nerdy-weirdo. Mentally having a breakdown, he visualized himself jumping out of the train with a girly shriek. He had been given a chance and here he was talking about Rousseau. Really?! He was about to face palm, but the other’s voice surprised him, making him sleep out of his self-derision.

---

“Baek, we are together in this, right? Don’t ever forget.” He leaned his forehead against the said-one’s, biting back his tears. It hurt. It hurt so much.

“I won’t Jongin, I never will.” The other promised, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a soft kiss. “I love you, Nini.”

---

“They say love is the best medicine.” He choked, lower lip still bleeding whilst his cheeks were stained. Tear stained.

“Jong-“

“Baek.” His voice broke, repressed sobs gushing him. “They say love is the best medicine.” A sad crooked smile stretched his bruised lip, letting some more crimson pearls of blood escape from the torn flesh? “So why does it hurt so much.”

“Jongin…”

“It hurts, Baek.” New tears cascaded his face as he curled against the later. “So, so much.”

“I know, but don’t forget. We are in this together.”

---

“You won’t leave me, right Baek?” He hardly breathed through hurting lungs.

“Of course I won’t, Nini. I love you.” He placed an umpteenth peck on his temple before washing away the sweat from him with the blood stained tissue he had.

“I love you too.” The other whispered, closing his eyes as the pain was too much to bear.

“But will you stay with me forever too?” Baekhyun had his worries too. Jongin was drained, exhausted. Maybe he would finally give up. On him. On them. Maybe he planned in leaving him.

“Baek…” The other groaned, mostly from the pain. But Baekhyun wanted an answer:

“Jongin, will you?”

“Of course Baek.” He didn’t look at him. “I’ll never leave you either.” He didn’t want to see the hope in Baekhyun’s eyes.

He was tired.

Tired people close their eyes.

Tied people sleep their tiredness away.

But Jongin was too, too tired.

---

“So then why do some people kill themselves?” The other almost sarcastically scoffed, a dark shadow hovering above his eyes. Chanyeol didn’t miss it, but he also didn’t ask about it. Instead, he tried to keep focused on his thoughts, even if curiosity was eating him up:

 “For the same reason.” He nodded to himself. “Because they like themselves too much. They think they don’t deserve all the pain they’re bearing. So they end it. It’s another form of preservation.”

---

The first time he noticed something was wrong was when Jongin entered their room limping. In fact, it wasn’t the first time, is suspicions had started growing some time ago, but he only blamed it on his unfounded worries. But this time, something was clearly wrong.

“Nini! Are you okay?!” He reached toward his boyfriend, embracing him as he seemed to have troubles walking any farther.

“I’m okay, Baek. I slipped in the stairs.” He sighed.

It was lie.

Baekhyun knew it. He knew Jongin too well.

But Jongin had never lied to him before.

However, with the weeks passing, this scenario seemed to become more and more of a custom.

And he couldn’t take it anymore.

But what could he do when Jongin wouldn’t tell him what was happening?

---

“What would you know about the things going through the mind of a person about to kill himself?”

---

“Jongin, tell me what is happening.” He pleaded, tears threatening to fall.” Said boy was curled on his bed clearly suffering. Leaning down, Baekhyun put his fingers on his boyfriend’s arm in attempt to ease him, but the latter winced at the touch, making the other even more alert. “Nini, what’s wrong?! Tell me, please tell me?!”

But the other only groaned, shifting side cautiously, as if his body would crumble at the gesture.

“Am I that unimportant to you so you wouldn’t tell me?” Baekhyun finally cried.

“I’m not telling you because you matter too much to me.” The other finally whispered.

But Baekhyun never heard it.

---

He clenched his fist around the book, resulting in some water being squeezed out of the wet paper, his knuckles actually turning white from the force of the hold.

And this made Chanyeol waver. The ferocity that the boy was clearly holding back. The hate. The rage.

He could feel it emanating from his l