"are you insane like me?

been in pain like me?"

- Halsey, Gasoline

a/n: Hey guys! I wrote this a while ago but I wasn't sure I wanted to post it until now. I am still working on half past five and for the lonely ones! Those updates should be out soon, but in the meantime, here's some chenxing angst.

The first time another human being appears in Yixing’s nightmares, it's a man about his age, and it makes Yixing’s vision go white with panic. If it’s just him suffering, he can take it. But protecting someone else?

“Get out!” He screams desperately, running towards the man. “They’ll get you too!”

Yixing doesn’t realize it, but he’s crying, tears leaving salty tracks down his cheeks as his throat is scraped raw. 

The shadows haven’t made him cry since he was eight.

The man-who really looks more like a boy-doesn’t seem to hear him, though, the wind snatching away Yixing's anxious cries as the darkness finally reaches both of them, rooting them to the spot. Yixing watches, helpless, as the shadows tear at the other boy’s arms, spinning around his slender legs. His hair blows wildly in the wind, and Yixing can make out the shape of his mouth as it twists in pain. To his credit, he doesn’t scream, even as unseen claws leave bloody tracks all over his bare arms. 

“Please.” 

Yixing is almost surprised to find that the word had spilled from his own mouth.

“Please make it stop.”

Strangely, he isn’t asking the shadows that have already entangled themselves in his own limbs, infusing his veins with their own freezing poison. He’s barely even noticed them. No, he’s begging for the other boy, for the darkness around him to dissipate so no one else would suffer on his own account. 

He’s still pleading with the shadows to leave the other stranger alone when the darkness envelopes him entirely.

***

Gasping, Yixing wakes up with a start.

The sheets are tangled around him, and his shirt looks like it’s nearly been torn off his shoulders. He breaks out into a cold sweat, rubbing his eyes frantically as he realizes he’s knocked over the bedside lamp yet again. He brings a hand to his still wet cheeks.

Another person. In his dreams. In his nightmares. 

Yixing shakes his head, raising his arm to the dim light coming in from the open window, staring at the white scratches. It wasn’t too serious this time, but there had been nights where the shadows left marks that looked like light knife wounds, or once, they were deep cuts that left his sheets stained with red, enough blood pooling around him for his parents to think he had died. His therapists had chalked it up to sleepwalking, saying that he’d hurt himself, possibly with a razor or a kitchen knife, but he just didn’t remember. He didn’t really buy it. After all, how was it possible that they’d never actually found whatever he’d used to make the cuts on his arm? Or that those cuts were in the exact same places he remembered the shadows had attacked him in his nightmares?

The first time he’d asked his parents about it, they looked at each other, then at him, and said very seriously, “Honey, we don’t know.”

His mom had looked like she was on the verge of crying, so he decided not to bring it up again. Besides, all his cuts had always healed a while after he woke up on their own.

***

Yixing grabs his windbreaker from his closet, deciding to make a very early trip to his favourite coffee joint around the block. He hasn’t quite realized it, but since he moved in a few weeks ago, he tends to make these trips often, sitting in the window, curling up like a child against the cozy pillows. In fact, he’s become a regular early customer, and the barista, surprisingly, had already made his order the moment he’d arrived. Yixing, surprised at this unexpected kindness, flashes a bright smile and thanks him graciously.

The barista grins back, and Yixing is struck by how absurdly wide it is. It’s the kind of smile that inspires paralyzed men to walk again, or the dead to come back to life, he thinks. He suddenly feels self-conscious and ducks his head a little, nodding his thanks again. 

He goes to sit in his usual corner, sipping his hot coffee. His thoughts drift back to his nightmare, the face he couldn’t see through the darkness. He wonders what it means, if someone else is being forced to suffer with him now, or if he’s making someone suffer. Or if he’s about to make someone suffer. 

“Okay,” he says to himself, “you’re just being paranoid now.” He takes another sip of coffee, staring out the window at the sky shot through with streaks of orange and red. Biting his lip pensively, his thoughts drift to the first time he’d ever had a nightmare.

He was just 10 years old, but the shadows were merciless. He remembered screaming until his throat seemed to bleed with the sound, but no one heard it. All that made up his world was the heavy weight of unimaginable darkness, pain like crackling flames, and his own crashing heartbeat. 

It felt like he’d taken forever to wake up, but when he did, he couldn’t figure out how to stop screaming.

After that, it was therapist after therapist, and treatment after treatment. There was even an attempt at yoga, but Yixing simply didn’t have the patience for it. Eventually he learned to keep his mouth shut about his nightmares, sleeping with something in his mouth when there were other people in the room so he’d choke on that instead of screaming. His parents thought he was getting better until the shadows started leaving their marks, and that one night he’d bled all over the sheets when he’d turned 16, they were so terrified that genuinely had no idea what to do anymore. 

He had eventually managed to gain some kind of control over his dreams, learning that the best way to keep the shadows content was to stop fighting them. By then, he’d already become somewhat of an insomniac, working late at his part-time job and getting up early to study. After graduating with his business degree, he eventually convinced his parents to let him move out, since he hadn’t had a serious nightmare episode in years. Now he was simply focused on his career, refusing to let his disruptive sleep schedule control his life.

Yixing gets up, dumping his empty cup of coffee in the garbage. Shrugging his windbreaker back on, he walks towards the door, until he feels a light tap on his shoulder. 

“For the road. You look like you need it.”

It’s the barista from earlier, who is still sporting that ridiculous grin as he holds out another cup of coffee. Yixing can’t help himself; he feels his own surprised smile uncurl in response.

“Oh! Um, wow. Thanks! Hold on, let me just get some change…”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. Have a great day!” He waves a hand carelessly, turning back to the counter.

“Wait!” Yixing calls after him. “What’s your name?”

Now the barista is the one who looks a little nervous, or even shy. “Jongdae the Barista, at your service. What’s yours?”

Yixing grins. “Yixing, but most people call me Lay.” 

“Why?”

“Yixing’s a little harder to pronounce, I guess. Lay's an old nickname."

Jongdae grins. “Hm. I like Yixing better, if you don't mind." Surprisingly, he nails the pronounciation. "I’ll see you around.”

Yixing feels his lips curl into an answering grin. He can't help it.

“Looking forward to it, Jongdae the Barista.”

part two

Over the next few weeks, Yixing barely sleeps at all, working all night and making way too many coffee runs. He learns that Jongdae’s shifts are in the early morning, and in the late afternoon. Jongdae learns that Yixing’s been coming to the coffee shop all too often and manages to get his orders ready for him beforehand. 

Jongdae also learns that he loves Yixing’s smile. A lot. Especially those dimples.

Sighing, Jongdae puts on his apron for his night shift. Running a hand through his hair, he tries not to trip over his own feet as he goes behind the counter at the coffee shop.

“Man, you look tired.”

Jongdae nods, grinning wryly at Baekhyun, a good friend who often worked late shifts with him. Over the years, they’d worked out a system together that kept things running smoothly. Their manager loved them, and gave them bonuses and pay raises often. After all, they did tend to draw customers with what Baekhyun called “natural charisma and irresistible charm”, but Jongdae thinks that it’s mostly Baekhyun’s cheery demeanor and Jongdae’s flawless memory when it came to the way customers liked their coffee. They make a good pair either way, though, and Jongdae doesn’t think he would keep his job at the coffee shop if Baekhyun wasn’t there with him.

“Yeah, I am. It’s been a long day.”

Baekhyun nods understandingly. “You want me to finish the shift? It’s late, and there shouldn’t be too many people...”

“Thanks, but that’s ok. I can’t let you do all the work all the time.”

“Oh come on, it’s not a big deal. You’re kind of useless anyway.”

Jongdae smacks his arm half-heartedly. “I’m staying, Baekhyun, stop trying to get rid of me."

To be honest, Jongdae isn’t really having a bad day. It’s more like a bad week. He doesn’t understand why, but recently he’d started to get the strangest nightmares, ones that were filled with shadows and darkness and claws. They were painful, but not exactly terrifying, since his dream-self seemed to be capable of fighting off the shadows himself. It wasn’t really the shadows that haunted him either-it was the muffled cries in the distance that sounded like someone in serious pain, cries that also reminded him of something else. Something he hadn’t thought about in a while...

“Jongdae? How’s that hot chocolate coming?”

He looks down, shocked to find that the milk had overflowed from the cup onto the counter, spilling onto his own shoes.

Baekhyun glanced back and forth between him and the mess, pursing his lips.

“Okay. You’re not staying here,” he says firmly.

“What-no, Baek. I’m perfectly fine, it was just an accident…”

“Kim Jongdae. I’ve been your friend for 4 years. You can’t fool me by pretending to be fine, .”

“Baekhyun, please, don’t push this.” Jongdae leans heavily against the counter. 

The shorter boy gives him a fond, exasperated look. “I wasn’t going to. I know you, remember? When you need to talk about something, you’ll tell me.”

Jongdae gives him a slow, fond smile. “Thanks, Baek.”

Baekhyun grins, and a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Listen, you know that Chinese guy who always comes in during the morning? What’s his name again?” he asks.

He doesn’t miss the way Jongdae’s head jerks up. 

“Um, I think it was Yixing?” Jongdae says casually. “Why?"

Baekhyun smiles knowingly. “Right. So, he wanted to get his coffee delivered today.”

Jongdae raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and since we’re the only people working this shift, and you’re acting like a dead zombie that's incapable of pouring milk into a cup, you should probably make yourself useful.” He shoves a paper with an address scribbled on it towards him, along with a tray holding two full cups of steaming coffee. “And,” he adds threateningly, “don’t even think about coming back afterwards, Jongdae, or I’ll kick your .”

Jongdae can’t help the small smile that appears on his face. “Thanks, Baekhyun,” he says sincerely.

“Thank me later. Now go.” Baekhyun shoos him out the door.

***

Jongdae rings the doorbell of Yixing’s apartment apprehensively, unsure what to expect.

“…Who is it?” 

The voice coming through the speaker sounds kind, as usual, but tired. Jongdae’s beginning to wonder how many nights Yixing’s been depending on caffeine for.

“Coffee delivery for Zhang Yixing!” He announces.

“…That's strange, you sound like someone I know from the coffee shop. His name's Kim Jongdae, maybe you’ve heard of him…"

“It is me, you idiot.”

Yixing laughs, buzzing him in. 

Jongdae wasn’t sure what he expected to see when Yixing opens the door, but the tastefully decorated living room catches him off-guard a little. It looks modern, the bright paintings accentuating the clean, sharp lines of the furniture. The bookshelf against the wall is neatly organized and the understated chandelier hanging from the high ceiling washes everything with a warm yellow glow. 

“Nice place,” he says admiringly.

Yixing grins wryly. “I don’t use the living room, so it tends to stay pretty neat.” He gingerly takes a cup of coffee from the tray, letting out a sigh of relief as he takes the first sip. Jongdae looks at him carefully, at the prominent bags under his eyes, his dishevelled hair, and the way he slouches tiredly against the table.

Jongdae also notes that the lack of sleep does not take its toll on Yixing’s good looks in the slightest.  

“You’re staring,” Yixing laughs. “Do I really look that terrible?”

Jongdae moves closer. “Yixing. How many nights has it been since you’ve slept?” 

“…Six or seven, I think,” he mumbles.

Jongdae’s eyes widen in shock. “What the hell, Yixing, you’re working yourself into the ground. Why would they give you this much to do?”

Yixing sighs. “They didn’t, I just asked for more.”

“Why would you do that?”

Yixing throws himself carelessly onto the couch before replying lightly, “I’m a workaholic, unfortunately.”

Jongdae isn’t fooled. “Come on, that doesn’t mean you put your health at risk."

Yixing shrugs noncommittally. “It’s pretty bad, I agree. I’m physically tired, but mentally, I’m still running." 

Jongdae sighs, realizing that pushing the subject wouldn’t get him anywhere. “You should take better care of yourself. What have you been working on all this time anyway?"

“Some projects for the company. They asked me to do the organizing aspects, it’s not a big deal,” he says vaguely. 

“Really.” Jongdae doesn’t sound like he believes him one bit. 

“Okay, you got me. It’s hard. But I don’t mind. I like what I do.”

Jongdae smiles. “I can’t imagine you putting this much effort into something you disliked doing, anyway.”

Yixing smiles back, dimpling adorably. “Me neither.”

They spend the next hour just talking. Jongdae tells him about Baekhyun, and his weird way of being aggressively kind. Yixing talks about his little cousin who comes to visit sometimes. 

“He’s only 9, but he’s really, really smart. His parents think he’s anti-social because he never talks about his friends, but he’ll talk about them to me sometimes. And he gets his sister to highlight his hair without his parents’ permission,” Yixing laughs. “Sometimes it’s blue, or red, or pink-"

Yixing is interrupted by the sound of his own stomach grumbling, and he blushes furiously.

Jongdae finds it adorable.

“How long has it been since you had a full meal?”

Yixing only grins sheepishly.

Shaking his head, Jongdae walks into the kitchen and rummages through the fridge.

"Instant noodles? That’s what you’ve been living off of for the past week?” He sounds almost scandalized. 

“I just haven’t had time to make anything else…”

“Sit. Watch and learn.”

A while later, Jongdae’s pulled off a miracle and made an entire three-course dinner. Remembering the way Baekhyun took care of him when he was sick, he says sternly, “Eat. You’re going to finish that, and then get some sleep, nightmares or not."

“But-“

“Nope.” Jongdae’s tone is final.

Yixing’s mouth is watering anyway. He does as he’s told.

That night, the shadows leave him alone, and he dreams of nothing at all.