1:17 am.

Rain. The continuous patter on the asphalt clashed with his own rushed steps and harsh pants as he cut through the darkness that bled between the trees like an ominous mist, swallowing everything in sight, consumed by the night. There was nothing but the darkness, aside from the barely visible grey breaths of air escaping his lips and the streets covered with rain sparkling like a sea of glitter, or the occasional flicker of a street lamp lining the trail.

Shards of broken glass from the lamps lay scattered across the cracking, crumbling path, darkened from the droplets of rain that painted fallen autumn leaves to the ground in red and orange harmony, singing their last dying spurts of color before they surrendered to the wind and the cold and returned to the dust. They squished and tore under Chanyeol’s feet as he ran, paying no mind to the nature, no mind to the sounds as he sank further into the night, each of his senses drowned out by the dark, by the wind and the cold, by his heartbeat and his thoughts. A name.

Another shatter. Another shower of hot glass rained down on him, a few shards grazing his cheek. More darkness, less light. It didn’t phase him. The blood streaming down his face, diluted by the rain soaking through his hair didn’t phase him. Keep running.

He ran, with the burn of fear and exhaustion in his throat and the excruciating squeeze of his chest that came along with each deep pant, he ran.  Rain seeped into his clothes, his hair, his skin, his soul, tempting to freeze his body down to the core, but the flame burning within him only intensified. He’d overheat if he wasn’t careful. Pools of excess fire gathered in the footsteps he left behind, anger and rage flooded his body, and only the single name in his mind propelled him forward.

Baekhyun. Baekhyun.

He was alone in the darkness, alone with his mind and all the possibilities and what-ifs, and not even the booming thunder and flashes of lightning could interrupt his thoughts. The others had run off in different directions to search for their lost friend, and although Chanyeol was alone, it was only in the silence and the darkness that he could truly come alive. He took a deep breath of the cool night air that smelled of rain and sulfur and looked forward, eyes focused and determined. If he could find any source of this pure light, he’d know Baekhyun was near.

He had no time to waste.

It was then that he saw a streak of light, like an arrow from a familiar bow, in the distance. Hints of shapes moving in the background prompted Chanyeol to shout his name, the cry strangled in his throat by exhaustion and desperation, though he was still much too far for anyone to hear. There was another arrow, and then another, yet Chanyeol could do nothing as worry crept up his throat. He kept his mind focused on the shattering lights. This shouldn't still be happening; something was wrong.

He watched the silhouettes as if they were dancing in the night to a tune too soft to hear, one that flowed like the adrenaline through their veins. And they danced, dodging each tiny knife of rain from heaven and the lightning crackling through the clouds like the intricate webs of a spider's nest, as if Baekhyun was their prey, and sometimes the light would reach down to earth in an attempt to catch him and pull him back up between the lips of the clouds and into the mouth of heaven with a quick, poisonous kiss. As he was, Baekhyun was dancing with Death.

Chanyeol’s anger and determination burned like gasoline, the fire behind him spreading to the trees of the forest despite the heavy rain, but all he could do now was run. He didn't spare a single glance over his shoulder for Jongin, nor did he call to tell them that he had found him, although anything would be faster than this, but Chanyeol was always rather narrow-minded, and Baekhyun was the only thing currently occupying that space. He wished to be a barrier between Baekhyun and his enemies, slipping into the space between them and stealing his hands from his bow, sliding the small, slender fingers into his own as they step in tune to the beat of their own music, rather than this deadly routine much too fast for Baekhyun to keep up with. Stop this. Dance with me instead.

The quick flashes of light arrows from Baekhyun’s bow drove him forward. The fire behind him propelled him forward like unstable rockets from his feet, helping him cut through the foliage faster, making it harder to choke out the name. Baekhyun. Baekhyun, please.

He burst through the trees on the other side of the forest where a small fairground had been built. The night was lit with the colorful lights of Ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds in the distance. In the center stood an outdoor amphitheater, stage lights focused at the center, and just beyond the blinding lights, he could barely make out three shadows fighting in the midst of them.

This was a show, and Baekhyun was the main event.

He ran, begging the gods, if any existed, to make it in time; he ran, despite the fire catching in his lungs and the smoke smothering him; he ran, yet he was still too far, his body too fatigued to even scream as the shortest figure dashed forward and sunk a knife into whom he presumed was Baekhyun’s abdomen. The stadium lights of the auditorium burst. A loud boom of thunder shook the air as showers of hot glass rained upon them. Baekhyun fell to his knees, clutching his side as he gasped in pain, much to Kyungsoo’s delight as the silhouette of a long sword appeared by his side, and he placed the tip of it underneath the bleeding man’s chin.

Chanyeol's steps faltered as he let out a weak, distressed cry, but he couldn't stop, no, faster, faster, please let me make it in time to help you. He was close, but not close enough; close enough to reach into the fading light pulling away from him faster each second, but not close enough to grasp it. Close enough to scream if he could, but not close enough for it to be of any comfort or help. Close enough to see the malevolent twist of Jongdae’s figure no longer in shadow, stalking forward like a cat toward his wounded prey, but not close enough to stop him. Chanyeol stumbled over his feet, nearly falling to the ground, but he quickly composed himself and continued running, his throat burning as he attempted to shout Baekhyun’s name, but the word was caught in his throat, unable to escape his lips. No, no stop it, please–

His sight was blurred by water, the heavy rain between them making it much more difficult to see clearly. He could barely make out the hazy silhouette of Jongdae pushing Kyungsoo away, and then his gloved hand closed around Baekhyun’s throat, holding up his body which glowed brightly in anger, or perhaps fear, his last attempt to make himself seem capable of escape, though the glow faltered, weakened by his wounds, his little feet kicking in the air as he struggled in the tightening grasp, small hands desperately clawing at Jongdae’s own. Chanyeol’s body bristled at the implications that he was just like those dying leaves, giving off one last final burst of energy before crumbling in on himself, and he couldn’t help but want to scream. Don't do it, please not when I'm so close, don't do it. Yet it was sickening to see Baekhyun so helpless, Jongdae so powerful, with that smirk on his face as though he already knew he had won.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of lightning that directly struck Baekhyun, light engulfing his body, throwing Chanyeol to the floor as Baekhyun’s scream was swallowed by the thunder. As the rumble shook the ground beneath Chanyeol’s feet, he turned his head away to shield his eyes from the light, squeezing them closed, and he hated himself, he hated that he was looking away, and he hated that he couldn’t save him, and he hated that he was just meters away, and if he was faster he could’ve reached him–

The burst of electricity dissipated, leaving Baekhyun’s light burned out, his body no longer shining with that indignant glow of his; rather, smoke rose to the clouds from where he was held, like a sacrifice to the heavens.

Jongdae released his grasp on his throat, and Baekhyun fell gracelessly to the floor, crumbled in a lifeless, smoking heap of burned limbs and scorched hair. Kyungsoo joined his partner’s side and they stood above him triumphantly, another flash of lightning illuminating their faces along with the echoing sound of thunder in the distance as the remaining electricity buzzing through Baekhyun’s system faded out into silence.

Kyungsoo stepped forward and gave a kick to the boy's side, but he rolled over like a rag doll at their dispense. He didn't get up and kick them back – he didn't even give a groan of pain. He simply remained unmoving on the floor. The thunder melded together with their voices in a loud celebratory laugh.

There was a broken screech that tore through the night.

“Baekhyun!”

The two menaces looked up. At the sight of Chanyeol, they hurriedly stumbled back, as though deciding whether taking down Baekhyun was an accomplishment that inflated their ego enough to where they were confident to tag team Chanyeol as well, although Chanyeol would have rushed head first into the danger and probably lit the world on fire so no one would escape his wrath. But the two backed away, knowing if Chanyeol was here, others would be coming soon, so they ran into the shadows, leaving Baekhyun on the floor as they escaped from the scene.

However, the only thing in Chanyeol’s mind was Baekhyun. He coughed and stumbled over his steps as he approached the stage, unable to control his power as everything behind him surrendered to the flames, but Chanyeol paid it no mind, screaming as much as his throat would allow, cracking through the wood of the auditorium steps as he made his way up to the stage where his partner lay motionless on the floor. The flame in his soul automatically extinguished at the sight.

Everything seemed to pause – the rain, the thunder, the crackling of the fires, the urgency – as his eyes rest upon Baekhyun, lying like the fallen prey of a heartless hunter. He wanted to run, yet he managed no more than a drunken stagger as he hobbled toward him, his legs wobbling in protest, in disbelief, but no dammit, this couldn’t be… he couldn’t be... He fell to his knees as his heart shattered like the glass shards of the lights that lay in fragments across the floor. The air was forced out of his lungs like something foreign was twisting in his chest, winding his breath around its fingers like a long silk scarf, then choking him with it. He couldn’t breathe. He was burning, he was freezing, he was crying, and screaming, and losing control, and it was all tearing him apart because he wasn't there when his best friend needed him. His partner needed him. His husband needed him.

He didn’t take a glance back from his husband on the floor to the shady figures escaping into the clouds of darkness in the distance, though a small corner of his mind was fighting between his priorities. Kyungsoo and Jongdae, but Baekhyun – they’re escaping, he has to stop them, but Baekhyun...

Panting, he quickly crawled forward to Baekhyun’s side, vision hazy and blurred by tears, and he wished he could pretend these were the fuzzy edges of a dream cloud, like this was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He pulled the small man’s body toward him, turning him onto his back. In his haste, he quickly tugged the knife from his side with a cry and threw it behind him, staring down at his bleeding husband in silent distress. He hadn't brought anything to help heal the wound. He didn't know he'd need anything. He didn't know Baekhyun would be...

“Ch… yeol…” The soft voice of Sehun finally approaching with Jongin was no relief to his ears. Chanyeol’s eyes remained fixed on the deep wound in his husband’s side, and he continued to scan over the extent of the physical scratches and bruises raking across his skin, yet he was comforted, if anything, by the pained scrunch of Baekhyun’s face and the shallow breaths escaping his barely parted lips. He wanted silence. He wanted to be alone.

“Jongin, Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol shouted, waving his hand hysterically in the direction the two fiends ran off in, and Jongin took one last quick look to the couple before disappearing, leaving behind only a few wisps of black smoke.

Chanyeol sank further into the night, drawn out only by Sehun’s hand on his shoulder. “Yixing is on his way,” he whispered, and Chanyeol gave no response aside from a slow nod. Sehun softly squeezed his shoulder, unable to offer any more comfort, before letting go and taking a few steps back to give them privacy.

Chanyeol couldn’t tell how long it had been – how long he’d been sitting here with Baekhyun, so close yet so far away, how long he’d been cursing at himself, how long he’d been silently staring at his wounds, how long he’d been holding back tears. “What did they do to you?” Chanyeol whispered, running his fingers down his husband’s pale, cold skin, hard under his fingertips. He dragged his thumb slowly across Baekhyun’s bottom lip, barely parted to take in short breaths of air, and he watched the smallest movement of his chest, each breath more difficult to take in than the last.

Baekhyun’s eyes barely cracked open into little scrunched slits.

“Yeol…?”

The crack of his voice was like the faint haze of a rainbow after a night of heavy rain. He slipped his hand into Baekhyun’s and gave it a comforting squeeze. He nearly bit his tongue as he stumbled over his words, like he had an important speech and only a second to deliver it. “Yes Baekhyun, I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here.”

He held on tighter to Baekhyun’s pale hand as the pained wrinkles in Baekhyun’s forehead deepened, and Chanyeol took a single hand away from his face to smooth them out. Baekhyun was hanging on to him like Chanyeol was holding on to him, and neither of them could let go, lest they lose the other forever. Chanyeol’s hand tightened around Baekhyun’s small fingers. He won’t. He won’t let him go.

“It's okay, Baekhyun, it's going to be okay.” But the stress in his trembling fingers didn't say that, the fear in his eyes didn't say that, and he knew neither of their hearts believed that, not even Baekhyun’s with its slow, difficult beats, determined to pound on.

He watched Baekhyun's eyes slowly close.

“They're gone, Chanyeol,” Jongin reported back, but Chanyeol didn’t respond, too lost in his own world holding onto Baekhyun’s small hands, rubbing his thumb across his thin fingers as he stared down at his husband’s face. He slowly closed his eyes and bowed his head down to Baekhyun’s chest before he let out a heavy, shaky breath. Chanyeol had never been the type to show weakness in front of anyone, yet as his shoulders began to shake with his silent sobs, everyone else seemed to vanish in the night.

Sehun couldn't stand to watch. Chanyeol heard him pull Jongin away and the faintest sounds of them arguing in the background amidst the echoing thunder.

“Go look for them.” “I already did; they’re nowhere near the area.” “Well look harder.” “I’d have found them by now if I ing could, okay?”

The sounds of sirens blaring in the distance cut into their argument, yet Chanyeol still couldn't look up. An ambulance followed by a few fire trucks made its way in front of the stage. The backdoors opened, a team of people rushed out with a gurney, and suddenly Chanyeol couldn't hear himself think anymore as everything was lost in hasty shouts of commands and orders, until he heard the familiar, calm tone of Yixing’s voice. “Bring me Baekhyun.”

Chanyeol finally glanced up to the men surrounding his husband, and he looked absolutely miserable – the rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and his eyes were red and puffy, eyebrows drawn together in distress.

“Tell me he’s okay; tell me he’ll be okay,” he pleaded as they tried to pry Chanyeol away from his husband.

“Sir, you have to let go.”

“No, please,” Chanyeol cried, only holding onto Baekhyun’s small hand tighter as the medical team lifted him onto the gurney. Sehun pulled him up from his knees and tried to hold him back from hindering the medical team from doing their job. “Please don’t take him from me, don’t,” he begged, trying to pull himself away from Sehun as the men in those baggy uniforms began rushing the gurney back toward the van. “Let me go with you – I don’t want to let go, no, don’t!” he screamed as Baekhyun’s hand slipped out from between his fingers and hung lifelessly by his side. “Baekhyun!”

Yixing stood against the back of the white ambulance van, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold with a lifeless look in his eyes as Chanyeol struggled against his friend.

“Stop it, stop!” Chanyeol shouted, thrashing like a child in Sehun’s arms, and the younger was barely able to hold him back before he tried to burn down the ambulance van in frustration. But the flame in Chanyeol’s body had reignited as he screamed, and fire escaped his lips in pillars of orange flame as he wailed his sorrows into the night, his body arching in Sehun’s arms as he screamed fire up to the heavens and tears of agony streamed down his face, met back only by the boom of thunder and solemn shower of rain.

Yixing could barely tear his eyes away to halt the medical team with a raise of his hand. He hopped down from the back of the van and approached Baekhyun, placing his fingers carefully over different spots of his body as if searching for a pulse or any flicker of light left in his soul, looking for wounds to heal and finding too many, looking for the soft, labored rise and fall of his chest that gave the illusion of him still having a chance, no matter how thin, how small, how weak.

“No – No! Let go of me!” Chanyeol shouted in the background, his injured throat making his voice deeper and raspier, like a roar from a lion who had lost his queen. He tugged an arm away from Sehun as Yixing stepped away from Baekhyun and glanced over his shoulder at Chanyeol, still struggling to see his husband once more before the medical team piled into the back of the van. “Let me go, Sehun, let go! Let me see him, Yixing, let me in! Don’t take him away from me, stop!”

Yixing closed his eyes with a heavy sigh before climbing up the back of the van. Chanyeol’s resistant flame slowly died out, giving a final weak scream of his husband's name as he struggled in Sehun’s arms, trying to get one last good look into the ambulance as the doors closed. And then they were left alone once again as the sirens of the ambulance and the firetrucks disappeared into the night.

“Baek…” The name escaped on a cool wisp of air as Chanyeol sagged in Sehun’s grasp, the noise and pandemonium fading back to the eerie silence of the rainy night, where even the light from the moon couldn’t shine through the thick clouds outlined with death and despair. Shrouded in the darkness, Chanyeol stood frozen in Sehun’s arms, in the silence, except for the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the ground and the soft pants of warm air escaping Chanyeol’s lips like ghosts in the night making their slow ascent up to heaven.

It rained again on the day of the funeral.

Standing outside under his own little black umbrella, Chanyeol stood frozen like a scene in a black and white sketch, charcoal smudged across the entire picture by the artist’s palm. It was all a blur, a haze, as he stared straight ahead through the sheets of rain, thinking about nothing, feeling nothing, from the rain droplets splashing on his black, Italian shoes, to the cold wind beating against his Armani suit. His umbrella remained loose in his grip as they all stood in silence, the world stood in silence, mourning. Everything around him seemed to stand still with time and faded into the grey of the background like a sheet draped over the world.

His eyes slowly rose to the sky, echoing the rest of the world with an eerie, gloomy grey that swallowed up the sunlight and the green of the trees as the clouds gathered in dense patches of cotton as though they were mocking him – mocking him because his light was gone. Baekhyun was his everything, the cleanest breaths of air in his lungs, the melody to his harmony, the brightest spark to his eternal flame, but what was a flame without a spark? What was a song without half of its notes? How was he supposed to survive when he was incomplete with half of his heart missing?

Chanyeol took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

The biting silence nipped at his ears until the sound of the rain pattering against his umbrella slowly returned in unfulfilling white noise and the cold chill of the autumn wind slithered down his spine. No one truly liked funerals, but Chanyeol especially hated them. He hated the way all the dull colors combined into dark, ugly blobs of greys, browns, and blacks, and he was in the center of it all, about to burst into flame. He hated that all of the people wearing bright, festive colors on their wedding, screaming blessings and applause were now standing around him, their faces pale and solemn, holding back tears or wailing into their loved ones’ chests. They were wearing black. They were all wearing black.

Even Baekhyun, who had looked so beautiful in his white tuxedo on their wedding day, glowing brighter than ever in excitement and rare embarrassment, his bashful side slowly taking over as he hid against Chanyeol’s side, was now wearing black. Silent. Dimmed. There wasn’t a smile on his soft, pink lips, nor was there a sparkle in his eternally closed eyes.

It was terrifying. This wasn’t Baekhyun. It was everything that his light wasn’t.

His body looked just as frail as it had been days ago, when Chanyeol was sitting by his bedside in the hospital, holding his small hand once again as if it could give him any comfort. His own hands trembled around Baekhyun’s fragile fingers as cold as porcelain, as the fear of losing him buzzed through his veins, and he was so worried that if he let them go, perhaps they would fall to the floor and shatter, and Chanyeol’s heart would do the same.

Yixing had stood by his side for minutes in that stark white doctor’s outfit with his hand placed on his shoulder. Neither of them said anything; just the silent ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything’ hung in the air between them before Chanyeol softly asked to be alone. And as the door closed behind Yixing, Chanyeol slowly curled over Baekhyun’s body, silently sobbing into the white hospital sheets, before falling asleep at his husband’s side one last time.

Now he was here again, standing over his coffin, wishing to be alone.

When we promised ‘til death do us part,’ I thought it implied we’d be together forever. Not that Death would sweep you off your feet before I even had a chance to love each and every part of you fully.

Perhaps if he had known there would be a last time so soon, he would have spent every moment awake with him, fawning over him, loving him, and every moment asleep next to him, holding him, dreaming about him. As he stared into the open coffin, Chanyeol’s eyes were distracted by the curling petals of red roses framing Baekhyun’s small face, only accentuating how pale his own skin was against the white linen. Baekhyun never truly liked roses, so instead, Chanyeol brushed them away before lying down four white lilies on top of his chest to immortalize their beauty along with Baekhyun’s before they were lowered into the ground.

Chanyeol hated this. He hated how this cold, hard frown looked so out of place on Baekhyun's face, how sickening the lack of a pink blush across his cheeks was, the way his eyelashes solemnly fanned across the apples of his cheeks, and Chanyeol had to clench his jaw and his fists, his blunt nails digging into his palm, to ground himself and choke back emotions crawling their way up his throat.

As his eyes graced over the sleeping figure once more, he focused on each of Baekhyun’s flawless features that he knew as well as the back of his hand or the promises they had scrawled across their hearts, from each strand of his blonde hair and the brown peeking through at his roots, to the mole above his lip that he had kissed more times than he could count. As he stood in the rain, he recalled memories that he had associated with each of them, like the kiss he pressed to Baekhyun’s little button nose on their wedding day as they danced under the stars, and the way he got so lost in Baekhyun’s eyes and how they sparkled when he slipped his wedding ring onto his thin finger. He recalled the way Baekhyun stood on the tips of his toes, nearly jumping into Chanyeol’s arms as they shared their first kiss as husbands. He recalled how soft his lips felt against his own and how lucky he was to have a man like this to love and to hold in his arms forever... Or at least until death do us part. Now, through his misty eyes, all he could see was his entire world, his life, his love, lying in a coffin, and once again it was hard to breathe, as though when Baekhyun’s heart stopped beating, Chanyeol’s did too. He almost reached out, wanting to draw his finger down his soft, serene face and remind his skin what it was like to be warm, to take his small hand into his and hold it close to his heart as though his flame would ignite the spark that had gone out in Baekhyun’s chest, as though he could breathe life into this empty shell of who his husband once was.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Days. Days passed. Days of half-empty beds, of glass shards in the streets. Of cold microwaved food, of bubbles of fading light. Of sleepless nights, of waking up sweaty and screaming from nightmares. Of heavy downpours of rain thudding against his window, of lonely evenings spent staring at television static, listening to the news as his work piled up on his desk.

Armed robbery of the bank at the cross street of 47^th and Willow. Attempted murder in the alleyway behind Minseok’s old grocery.

Absolutely no news of the bastards that had killed his husband. There never was.

Sometimes he dreamt. Most of the time, it was just darkness, but the unending darkness was its own nightmare, like sheets smothering him with the night, blankets of endless galaxies with burned out stars, black holes where there should be twinkling lights, enough darkness that his own flame couldn’t burn through. He’d wake up.

However, Chanyeol would prefer the darkness to the nightmares. Nightmares were always about Baekhyun, and he’d wake up panting with the sound of his husband’s shriek ringing in his ears. Or the most common of them all, Chanyeol would find himself in a scene he had seen too many times, and it was the recurring ones that scarred him, like bruises on his heart that remained even after he woke up. His wrists were tied behind his back, his body stuck to a chair, and no amount of struggling would help break him free. He had tried many times before. He’d always stop his struggling when blinding lights illuminated the surrounding area and the stage in front of him. The point of focus was in the center, right in front of Chanyeol – the horrified face of Baekhyun. He was trapped in a cage of electricity, and Jongdae would slowly step forward out of the darkness, whips like lightning crackling in his hands. He’d turn to Chanyeol. “Welcome, and enjoy the show.” It started with Kyungsoo throwing knives into the cage like darts, and both Chanyeol and Baekhyun winced every time he barely missed, chuckling with those smirking red lips of his as he calculated the next strike, like he was playing with him – keeping him alive to torture him. Sometimes a knife would graze a clean cut across his cheek, or nick his ear, slash at his sleeves or whiz by his neck. But it wasn’t Kyungsoo and Jongdae that made this a nightmare, nor was it the danger: it was the scared look on Baekhyun’s face – the fear in his eyes, the inescapable trap and awaiting death, the inability to scream Chanyeol’s name.

“And now, for the main event….” Jongdae would chuckle, drunkenly staggering toward Baekhyun with a demented smirk twisting on his lips, and Baekhyun shuffled back from Jongdae, who teasingly snapped the whips against the floor, sending electric sparks skittering across the bottom of the cage until Baekhyun would accidentally brush against the pillars of crackling lightning, and the electricity would make him scream. It was terrifying to watch, yet Chanyeol couldn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t save him.

He’d wake up.

There were days that Chanyeol didn’t sleep. He preferred the complete shutdown of his body and his mind over the pain of waking up alone with Baekhyun’s scream echoing in his ears, and allowing himself to give in and be tormented by these phantasms and ghosts was worse than allowing his mind to corrupt itself until everything faded out to madness. When he was awake, he felt nothing. Feeling nothing was better than this excruciating pain in his chest. Physical pain was sweeter than its unseen counterpart, but he spent most of his time wasting away on his couch and staring blankly at the television as it relayed the news, waiting for anything to draw him out of the rut he had fallen into, but if he was ever honest with himself, he never truly thought anything would.

“Chanyeol.”

He wouldn’t look up.

“You’ve been in here for too goddamned long. Sehun and I aren’t enough to take this alone.”

Chanyeol didn’t move. His eyelids remained half closed as the images on the television flashed by in blurred white streaks. The dull numbness of his limbs that had spread through his system and froze him down to his core buzzed in his temples as he closed his eyes with a lazy blink.

“Get up,” Jongin groaned, giving a kick to the couch as his senior ignored him. He put his hands into his pockets and leaned back with a roll of his eyes and a bored sigh. “Since Baekhyun died, you’ve done nothing but–”

Chanyeol moved faster than he had in days to grab a fistful of Jongin’s shirt, pulling him down to his face. “Don’t.”

Jongin disappeared from his grip, leaving nothing but black smoke between his clenched fingers. “Don’t ing ‘don’t’ me, Chanyeol,” he said, appearing across the room. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Now now, come on guys, we’re not here to fight,” Sehun said as he closed the door behind him and walked into the room. “We’re here to talk.”

Chanyeol glanced over to his friend and sank back into his seat, closing his eyes. “Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You being fine isn't the issue here,” Jongin cut in with a snarl. “Life is still going on around you whether you realize it or not. Kyungsoo and Jongdae have been planning this raid for who knows how long; what do you think is going to stop them from coming back? Nothing! They could come back this week, today even, and you wouldn’t be prepared, just sitting on your couch like a potato. We need all the help we can get, Chanyeol, especially now that one of our members is…”

Chanyeol gave a slow glare like flaming daggers up to Jongin, and the teleporter cleared his throat and glanced away. “I’m not saying I’m glad he’s gone… but we all ought to be grateful he took the call and stopped them before anything worse happened to the town.”

Chanyeol looked away, sinking back into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “He didn’t even try to call me; he just went alone.”

“Perhaps he didn’t want to bother you,” Sehun added with a frown. “You had been quite busy at the time.”

Jongin rolled his eyes, leaning back against a wall. “It’s not like he hadn’t been trying to get your attention recently; you were the one blowing him off. Maybe he didn’t try because he knew you wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s not true,” Chanyeol cut in, staring at the floor and clenching his fists.

“Is it not?” Jongin asked with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow.

“It’s not,” he repeated, slowly rising from the couch, his legs tingling in protest after having not moved in so long, and he took a step toward Jongin.

“That’s interesting,” Jongin responded with a laugh. “Last time I checked, your relationship was crumbling as you walked all over him, and he was so in love that he let you.”

Sehun cut in with a nervous laugh. “We have better business to talk about, perhaps we should–”

“Oh?” Chanyeol placed his hand on Sehun’s chest, weakly pushing him away. “And when’s the last time you checked?” Chanyeol asked, tone condescending. “You’d think the person who slept next to him every night would have the most updated version of the story.”

Jongin took a slow step toward Chanyeol. “But the person that slept next to him every night wasn't the person who saw him faking smiles and isolating himself because he missed you so much.”

The entire room stood in silence as Chanyeol’s mouth dried. “He what?”

Jongin let out an annoyed scoff. “You didn’t even know? How little did you pay attention to him? Did you pay any attention to him? Did you listen to him sigh like a lovesick pup? Had he gone to you recently asking for comfort? No, it was me taking care of your husband when you wouldn’t. While you could be off who knows what, Baekhyun would be waiting for you patiently at home, starving himself until he could eat at least one dinner with you again. That’s all he wanted.” He laughed. “No, he wanted more than that. He wanted the city to be safe. He wanted to spend time with you; all he ever wanted was the best for you, and you gladly trampled over him to get it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” Jongin snarled back. “Baekhyun loved you so much, Chanyeol, and now you’re not even doing anything to make up for the ways you’ve hurt him. You’re premising this rut of yours all on ‘how much you miss Baekhyun’ but do you really miss him, or did you only start missing him once you saw him dying? Do you actually regret leaving him alone, or do you only regret it now? Are you actually just being selfish, using this as an excuse to cover up for your own failures? Are you going to sit on this couch for the rest of your life, or will you just get over your past mistakes already and fight with us for a cause that Baekhyun died for?”

Chanyeol blinked, allowing his eyesight to fall to the floor as his voice softened. “Baekhyun wouldn’t want–”

“Baekhyun isn’t here anymore, Chanyeol!” Jongin replied, his voice overpowering Chanyeol’s as he jabbed his chest with his finger. “How long is it going to take you to realize that? How long are you going to leave the city unprotected just because you couldn’t protect your husband?”

“Jongin,” Sehun interrupted, tugging him back from Chanyeol, but Jongin slapped his hand away.

“We are a ing team, Chanyeol. Team members don’t leave each other behind. Maybe if you had learned that before, Baekhyun would still be here.” He scoffed. “Maybe if you hadn’t been treating him so poorly and ignoring him for the past few weeks, he wouldn’t have run off and gotten himself killed trying to prove himself to you.”

An angry twitch of Chanyeol’s left eye was like a single, unsuccessful click of a cigarette lighter. “Don’t lecture me about a story you don’t know both sides to.”

“Maybe I don’t know both sides, but I do know that Baekhyun is dead, and that’s something that you can’t change, no matter how good your side of the story is. So go ahead and cry, waste your life on this couch while you're reflecting on the sad story of a man who neglected his husband until he wasn't there to neglect anymore.”

A warning “Jongin,” was barely able to escape Sehun’s lips before Chanyeol’s eyes flashed a bright red, the way they did whenever he was this furious, and his weak flame ignited like a flamethrower in a forest. He leapt forward with a shout, swinging his fist toward the cocky teleporter, who merely disappeared from the line of fire. The wall crumbled around Chanyeol’s fist where he struck, blackened by his flame, and Chanyeol pulled his hand from the wall and sharply turned around, burning eyes immediately locking onto the wisps of smoke that indicated the teleporter’s presence. A swing, a shout. His fist striking Jongin’s jaw, Jongin’s fist sinking into his stomach, more black smoke. Chanyeol was in hysterics as he lashed out at Jongin, screaming fire, anger, agony, until Sehun managed to grab his wrists and hold them behind him to make him calm down.

“I loved him!” Chanyeol screamed, struggling in Sehun’s arms. “Shut the hell up, I ing loved him!”

“Scream and shoot fireballs at me all you want, Park,” Jongin shouted from across the room. “That’s not going to change the fact that your husband is dead, and you’re still doing a pretty ty job of protecting the citizens in this city.”

“Let me kill him,” Chanyeol growled at Sehun, his body too hot to keep his anger contained, breaths of fire escaping his lips with every word, but Sehun couldn’t let go, lest Chanyeol burn down his house and his friend in rage.

“Not yet,” Sehun replied hastily. He looked up to Jongin instead. “He was his husband, Jongin, have a little respect.”

“I know that, but Baekhyun was my friend too! I’m ing angry he’s gone; I’m ing angry it’s Chanyeol’s fault he’s gone!” Jongin’s words turned into a low growl. “And he won’t even take the responsibility for it.”

Chanyeol struggled furiously in Sehun’s grasp like a guard dog at the end of his chain, and Sehun was just about ready to burst in frustration, his hands burning as he held Chanyeol back. “That is enough, Kim Jongin!” Sehun let out with a scream, wind throwing the windows and doors to the house open, slamming against the walls in a loud clash to startle the commotion in the room into silence. “Can everyone just calm down?! It is not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

Jongin clenched his jaw before letting out a deep sigh. “Whatever,” he grumbled, shaking his dark hair in front of his eyes, “I’m not here to make you feel more regret; I’m here to convince you to get over yourself. You’re not the only one suffering. Surely what Baekhyun meant to you was different than what he meant to me, and I understand that, but it has been weeks. Crime won’t pause because you're mourning, and the citizens expect us to protect them despite that. A loss shouldn’t stop you from finishing your duties. We don't get a break, Chanyeol, this is a 24/7 responsibility.”

Sehun’s voice still rose in anger. “Telling someone to just get over it isn't the best way to console someone after their spouse's death.”

Jongin’s eyes narrowed as they focused on Chanyeol, and his voice calmed and deepened. “Well then, because you're sitting here cooped up in your room, other people are going to die too, and their families will go through exactly what you're feeling right now.” He paused as if contemplating the next sentence. “Would Baekhyun have wanted that?”

Chanyeol slowly stopped struggling in Sehun’s arms, angry breaths of fire turning into rough pants of hot air.

Jongin his heels as he walked off toward the door. “Some people need a cold, hard slap to wake the up already. Baekhyun’s not coming back, Yeol.” He gave a single glance over his shoulder before he turned back away. “It’s not just a nightmare anymore,” he finished before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.

Sehun let go of Chanyeol as soon as the teleporter was gone, blowing at his hands and hissing. Chanyeol stared at the doorway with a scowl, growling as he ran a hand through his hair, attempting to calm himself down.

“I will never understand why Baek ever thought it would be a good idea to add a brat like him to the team.”

Sehun frowned. “He’s concerned.”

“He’s an .”

“When is he not?” Sehun responded with a laugh, dying out with a cringe, and then he was back to blowing softly on his hands.

Chanyeol looked over his shoulder as the anger and heat slowly faded from his system. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. But are you?”

Chanyeol didn’t respond. Sehun knew the answer to the question, asking just to get Chanyeol to think about it. Responding with yes would be a lie. Responding with no would be a burden. Chanyeol stared at Sehun for a few seconds before slowly turning away.

“Don’t mind him,” Sehun mumbled, glaring toward the door. “Sometimes he really doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I wasn’t neglecting him,” Chanyeol said quickly. His eyebrows furrowed as he clarified. “Baekhyun…”

Sehun turned back to him and let a small smile grace his lips. “I know.”

Chanyeol looked away.

Sehun thought he looked like a defeated puppy sitting on the sidewalk in the rain, and he wanted nothing else than to hold him tight and tell him that everything would be okay. Instead he stepped forward and clapped him on the back. “Go for a walk, Yeol; get some fresh air. Just please do something other than sit around. We're all worried for you.”

With a loud sigh, Chanyeol sat back onto his couch, sinking into the soft beige cushions as the ache in each of his muscles returned. “I don’t want to go for a walk. This is my way of coping.” And through his misery, he could see all the empty spaces that Baekhyun used to fill. His usual spot at the table across from Chanyeol’s, set neatly with silverware waiting to be used, sitting next to a mug of tea Chanyeol had prepared in the morning, as he did every morning, that had gone cold with no one to drink it. The depression in the couch next to where he sat, a common space where Baekhyun would lie, curled against Chanyeol’s side, falling asleep as they watched a movie. The dent in the wall, the scorched tiles on the ceiling, and all the burned out lightbulbs from their last argument a few weeks ago that hadn’t started this mess but may have indirectly contributed to the misconceptions. Everywhere he looked, he saw Baekhyun. Happy memories. Sad memories. But that’s all they were. Memories.

“Chanyeol...” Sehun whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Chanyeol quickly brushed it away, looking up to Sehun’s soft eyes with annoyance, irritation kindling in his voice.

“Don’t you dare pity me.”

Sehun’s voice was soft and sympathetic anyways. “I’m not.”

Chanyeol leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn’t like how everyone had been putting their hands on his shoulder recently. Was it supposed to comfort him? Was it supposed to tell him that he wasn’t alone? He felt alone. The entire population could put their hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders, and he would still feel alone, albeit with the added burden on the weight of the world on his shoulders, when as he was, he couldn’t even carry his own burdens alone.

“Chanyeol,” Sehun cut into his thoughts, “I’m sorry.”

With a soft sigh feigning patience, Chanyeol squeezed his eyes closed and opened them slowly. “Sehun, I told you–”

“No, Yeol, I’m sorry for something else.” Carefully, he pulled out a small, withering lily from his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry we weren’t fast enough.”

Chanyeol stared up to the lily, and the words dissolved on the tip of his tongue as he pulled them back into his mouth. He hesitantly reached out and took the flower from Sehun’s hands. He twirled it slowly between his fingers, admiring each dying petal of the beautiful flower, and his chest tightened at the thought of something so gorgeous having such a short lifespan, something so loved wilting despite any attempts he could to keep it alive, but he couldn’t help but think that if he had kept it in water, if he had paid more attention to it, if he had loved it more, maybe...

“Hyung. It’s not your fault.”

Chanyeol still wasn’t sure.

---------------

A walk was a walk: nothing more than silent steps in the rain, grey shadows trailing behind him as rain seeped into his hair, covering his eyes. Rain drenched his clothes and filled his pockets and his shoes, tugging down on him like chains deeply rooted in the core of the Earth, keeping him attached to this wretched world while Baekhyun floated freely above him, looking down to his prison with empathy, yet unable to return. He curled his fingers, blinking the rain out of his eyes as he shook the thought from his head.

He cursed heaven. He cursed hell. He cursed himself. As he walked, he dreamt. He dreamt of Baekhyun’s eyes, of his nose, of his lips, of his voice. He dreamt of saving him; he dreamt of dying with him. He dreamt of lilies. He dreamt of every single one of them going up in flames from his own fingertips.

He dreamt of that day he had been planning with Sehun all week to make up for being so busy, although he had been working hard just for this day, planning to surprise Baekhyun with dinner reservations at one of his favorite restaurants and then with plane tickets to Venice, where Baekhyun had been longing to go for years. He would explain that he had been working so hard trying to make this happen and that he was sorry for everything he’d missed throughout the week, but he loved him so much and was glad Baekhyun loved him too. And they would have spent a peaceful night together like they used to, where they’d lie around in comfortable silence or laughter, sharing kisses and love. He dreamt of that day not ruined by coming home to a silent house or the panicked call that his husband had disappeared and no one could find him; a day that hadn’t ended and taken Baekhyun’s life along with it.

He dreamt of the day they reached their next anniversary, and then the next, and the next. He dreamt of the way they danced on their wedding day, and of Baekhyun’s beautiful glowing smile as they floated barely above the ground, the soft lights beneath them dancing along.

Chanyeol’s heart felt crushed under the weight of it all. His thumb occasionally rubbed at a wrinkled petal of the lily in his pocket while he was lost in his thoughts, attempting to collect them, rearrange them, put them in a folder and file them away, hoping to never recover them. He’d rather send them through a shredder if he could. But they were all memories of things he didn’t want to forget, memories of Baekhyun, and he didn’t want to forget, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the rain streaming down his face and blurring his eyes was much too warm to be rain.

Chanyeol’s steps slowed as he stopped his walk, his body shuddering in the cold, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he tried to regain his breath, but it was hard to breathe, like the fire in his soul was consuming all of his oxygen, struggling to remain lit in a world too harsh to let it burn. Yet he was burning at a realization that wasn’t even shocking, because it was his fault, wasn’t it? It was all his fault. It had always been his fault. He couldn’t remember the last time he told him “I love you” and he couldn’t remember the last time Baekhyun had come to him for comfort, because what was comfort from a husband who unintentionally treated him like dirt instead of the beautiful flower he was? He couldn’t remember the last time they had gone on a date or slow danced in the kitchen or even ate at the same table together and happily talked about their day, and the thought of all of these being the last times he’d have to do anything with him made him wish his flame had gone out before it had ever had the chance to hurt anybody.

And he wondered if Baekhyun was thinking the same thing from up in the clouds as he watched him struggle down here alone.

Chanyeol took in a deep breath. Of course he’s not. He held it for a few seconds. Baekhyun loves him. He let it out. Always has. Always will. He continued his walk.

As he walked, he didn’t let his mind wander, focused on simple, mundane things like work or just putting one foot in front of the other, yet somehow it always seemed to come back to Baekhyun, because he loved Baekhyun more than he had loved anything, more than he had ever loved himself, and he never stopped loving Baekhyun, and perhaps it truly was his fault for allowing Baekhyun to think that he had.

Chanyeol let the thoughts go, finding it much easier to breathe when his chest wasn't flooding with Baekhyun, and he stopped his walk at the tips of the shoes of someone in front of him that refused to move.

“Park Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol slowly raised his head to the familiar voice of the block in the road, with a smile too sad to be heartwarming. “Yixing.”

The smile on his old friend’s face brightened at the sound of Chanyeol’s voice. “What brings you here today?”

Chanyeol let out a long sigh, his patience thinning like the lily’s petal he was wearing down with his thumb. “I’m on a walk.” A fairly foul one, at that. “And you’re in my way, so if you’d kindly move.”

But Yixing didn’t budge, and his smile never faltered. “But you’re the one that approached me.”

Chanyeol let an annoyed smile span across his lips as he shoved past all the rude remarks in his mind, looking for anything pleasant to say, but Yixing saved him the trouble by stepping into his personal space, his face twisted with worry.

“Are you eating well?” Concern dripped from his lips, thick like honey as he poked Chanyeol’s side. “You can’t be; you look so much thinner than you used to. Have you been hurting yourself?” Yixing asked, taking Chanyeol’s hands into his, inspecting his bruised knuckles, the recent scratches on his skin, the cut on his lip. “Did you get into a fight? With who? Who do I have to hurt?”

“Xing–”

“Has there been anything else wrong with you recently? Chanyeol, you're hurt,” he whined, fingers glowing as they trailed across the forming bruises and the dark scars, which slowly began to fade under Yixing’s influence. “I told you to come to me if you were having any issues–”

“Yixing,” Chanyeol sighed, brushing the healing hands of his overprotective friend away. “I’m fine; I don't need anything.”

Yixing paused to glance up to Chanyeol’s face, placing a hand on his cheek and slowly wiping a droplet of water away from under his eyes. “Your flame is weak, and it’s troubling me.” Chanyeol looked away.

The healer gave a sigh, his hands dropping to his side as the glow faded. His cat-like grin, however, quickly returned, along with his resolve. “If anything, can I offer you an umbrella?”

They both knew an umbrella was pointless when he was already wet, but the sparkle in his eye hinted that he was looking to give him something considerably less useless.

Chanyeol begrudgingly played along. “You know I don’t need an umbrella.”

“No, but you do want something.” Chanyeol leaned back in preparation to roll his eyes, when Yixing stepped forward. “Your feet wouldn’t have brought you here if your mind didn’t tell them that you needed to be here.”

“Yixing,” Chanyeol let out in a heavy sigh, “I’m very tired, and I’d love to just get home. If I didn’t have to be out here in this godforsaken rain, I wouldn’t be.”

“I had offered you an umbrella,” Yixing responded simply, and his tone slowly deepened, a darker, more serious and sinister side of his friend showing itself. “But perhaps, you’d like something else…?”

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed. Yixing played in the dark arts more than he would like to admit, and the thought of Chanyeol somehow getting caught up in all of it was less than appealing. Noticing the way Chanyeol hesitated, Yixing’s smile widened, his dimple appearing in his cheek. “I can give you what you desire the most.” His voice softened. “And I know you desire something. Your heart is begging for it.”

Chanyeol wouldn’t let himself get swept away in anything his heart was begging for, longing for, his emotions swaying his mind between logical reasoning and the impossible desires of his soul, but he came to a simple conclusion when he thought about it hard enough. This was not something Yixing could simply recreate. This wasn’t something Yixing could do without destroying something that shouldn’t be tampered with and somehow ruining his life along with it.

The only thing I want from you is something you’ve already allowed to be taken away.

Chanyeol clenched his fist, accidentally crushing the small lily in his hands, and then quickly grounded himself only to find himself less intrigued than annoyed. At the sight of the tension in Chanyeol’s features, Yixing’s expression dropped. “Chanyeol, you know I did everything I could; if I could have done something more, I would have, but I–”

Chanyeol cut him off with a wave, but he glanced back to him with a sigh as if to humor himself, his eyes still narrowed as he asked softly, “What would you plan to give me?”

Yixing stared at him for a second in silence before he held out his hand, nodding toward the hand in Chanyeol’s jacket pocket, silently asking for him to remove the contents. Chanyeol withdrew the browning lily from his pockets and placed it in his friend’s hand. Yixing smiled, his fingers glowing around the stem, and with a soft brush against the dying petals, a vibrant white glow began to shine around the flower. As it dissipated, the flower was restored to its original glory.

Chanyeol’s breath caught in his throat, the sound of the rain fading into the background as he slowly understood. His chest tightened. He couldn’t. But he could.

A soft dimple formed in Yixing’s cheek as he handed back the lily, and a smile appeared on his thin, chapped lips. “A week.”

He shouldn’t.

But he would.

A week to do it over again.

---------------

“Sage root? Did I ever need sage root? Aren’t I allergic to sage?”

Chanyeol coughed in the air full of spices and light smoke, brushing the royal purple curtains out the way as he followed the healer into the back of his house and down a steep, hidden staircase, watching Yixing’s back closely as his guide mumbled something to himself. Yixing had recently turned thirty, and as the oldest of their group, he took good care of them all, yet although he would refuse their help, everyone pitched in to take care of him too. He often felt like younger brother more than he did their physician, but it still surprised Chanyeol to think that there were parts of him that neither he nor Baekhyun had been well acquainted with, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to be. Despite knowing him for so many years, Chanyeol had never even come this far into Yixing’s house, where medicines and remedies were made, and where Yixing did whatever else he did back here, but if he was honest, it was incredibly creepy, and the inability to see anything in this space made it worse.

“You’re allergic to everything, Xing,” Chanyeol said back nonchalantly, and Yixing jumped, almost as though he had forgotten that Chanyeol was following him.

The healer let out a bright, airy laugh as he pulled a glass jar full of leaves from a wooden cabinet. “Isn’t it funny that everyone expects me to heal them when I’m the one with an immune system that wants to kill me?”

Chanyeol just shrugged as he glanced up to the ceiling. “It seems to be a recurring issue for all of us. I’m the one with a flame continuously burning me from the inside out. Everyone expects me to burn them because I can’t stop burning myself.”

“Ah,” he sighed, setting up some candles around the perimeter of the table and waving at Chanyeol, silently asking him to light them, “but it’s difficult, trying to be something that you’re not and hoping people who trust you won’t figure out just how powerless you truly are and how miraculous that you aren’t.”

“And why is that? Aren’t you supposed to be our miracle worker?” Chanyeol asked with a teasing smile as he finished lighting the candles. “That’s why you were the first to be so accepted; no one fears you here. But you’re not powerless, Xing. Don’t underestimate yourself like that.”

Yixing frowned over his shoulder. “I’m not a miracle worker; my hands are for healing, not reviving. I can’t steal the beat of a song and put it into a heart, just as I can't steal the twinkle of a star and put it into Baekhyun.”

Yixing turned back to rummage through his cabinets again. “It hurts me more every time I have to turn someone’s request down.” He stopped his work to glance up to Chanyeol. “Especially yours.”

Every time he looked at him like that, it was so hard to meet his eyes. Instead, Chanyeol rubbed at his shoulder, focusing his sight on the ground. “Then why is it that you tricked me into coming to your house today?”

“Tricked you?” Yixing asked with a soft laugh, pulling something else indistinguishable from its place. “I wouldn’t say I tricked you. More like slightly influenced you.”

Chanyeol didn’t look up, his voice getting quieter as he toed the wooden panels of the floor. “I don’t see why none of you are allowing me to mourn in peace.”

“We already have,” Yixing responded before pausing. His voice softened. “Mourning is one thing, but you haven't left your house in three weeks, Yeol, nor have you let anyone in.”

Chanyeol ceased his movement.

“Anyways.” Yixing pulled out a chair at the small, circular wooden table, motioning for Chanyeol to sit down. “I must mention before we begin that there are some rules to this process,” he continued, twirling in his magnificent robe of velvets of dark blues and black woven together, and he placed the hood over his eyes as he sat down in a chair across from Chanyeol. “This is much more than any normal healing I can perform alone, and I want you to know what you're getting into.”

Chanyeol adjusted in his seat. “You’re giving me my Baekhyun back?”

Yixing’s jaw clenched. “Not exactly.” The flames of the candles seemed to dim. “If you’ll let me explain, I’m not giving you Baekhyun – I’m giving you a week, which will in turn, let you be with Baekhyun, and I’ll let you decide whether that itself is a blessing or a burden.”

“And you think this will work?”

“I wouldn't have offered if I didn't think you could handle it.” Yixing’s eyebrows furrowed. “But please listen to me. It may not be a healing for Baekhyun, but it is for you.” He tilted his head, golden blonde strands of hair peeking out from under his hood to fall in front of his eyes, casting darker shadows across his face. “This is my attempt to soothe your aching heart.”

Chanyeol gave a soft nod, watching intently as Yixing took a deep breath.

“This can only be done once,” Yixing whispered. “You can’t come back to me asking to do it again, so if you mess up, it’s final.”

“I won’t need to do it again,” Chanyeol responded quickly. The flames of the candles grew stronger. The shadows across the walls darkened, pulsing with every flicker of the flames. Yixing glanced away. “Or are you saying this for you? As someone who couldn’t–”

“He was beyond a simple healing, Chanyeol,” Yixing interrupted, “I’ve told you this, please. I’m trying to make it better, but nothing I could have done then would have helped.”

Chanyeol stayed silent for a few seconds and then turned away. “How are we going to do this?” he asked quietly. “How are you going to give him back to me then take him away? Can’t I just hold on for longer?”

Yixing’s eyes closed. “That’s the second thing. I told you a week.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I… I’m not bringing him back to life, Chanyeol, you know I can’t do that. I’m not reviving him for a week; I’m letting you relive the last week of his life as though he never d–”

“Say no more,” Chanyeol interrupted, eyes dark as he pieced the puzzle together in his mind. “It’s the same week. As in the week that Kyungsoo and Jongdae...”

“Yes,” Yixing finished with a sigh. “You’ll see I’m merely borrowing back his soul. It has to be returned. Which means there’s a set time limit. A week.”

“And that’s it?”

“There’s no way for me to extend it any further. He’s already dead, and–”

Chanyeol squeezed his eyes closed. “Stop.”

There was a short pause. “Chanyeol, you have to understand–”

Chanyeol’s voice rose. “Stop saying useless things.”

“I’m saying,” Yixing asserted, his voice unusually loud and commanding for his thin figure, “that you can’t change how the week ends.”

Chanyeol’s eyes slowly opened, but his lips remained silent.

Yixing’s voice was softer, more sympathetic. “As in he’ll die again at the end of these seven days, whether you want him to or not.”

Chanyeol’s heart sank. He should have known getting Baekhyun back wouldn’t be that simple. “Then it’s temporary? No matter what I do.”

Yixing’s frown deepened. “I can restore for you a lily, Chanyeol, but that doesn’t mean it will live forever.”

Chanyeol leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the table and holding his head in his hands, pushing back his black hair away from his forehead as he took a few breaths to take it all in. He looked up to Yixing once again, eyebrows furrowed in distress. “Can I at least try to make it last longer?”

Yixing’s lips thinned as though he was holding back an exasperated sigh. “The most I can give you is a week, and I doubt the spirit world will let you negotiate with that. Just because you try doesn’t mean it will work.”

Chanyeol stood and leaned over the table to clasp his hands over one of the healer’s. “Give me the chance, Yixing, and we’ll see where we get from there.”

Yixing gave him an unwavering stare back as the shadows covering his face darkened. “The most I am able to give you is a week.” He placed his other hand on top of Chanyeol’s. “But if I could, old friend, I’d give you eternity.”

Chanyeol slowly sat back in his seat with a sigh. “A week.” A week to see him again. A week to touch him, to hold him, but not to save him. A week.

“You don’t have to do it,” Yixing said quietly. “I just thought it was unfair to see you suffering from all the what if’s and the if only’s when I can help you make at least some of those a reality. This is me asking you for forgiveness. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Baekhyun back to you.”

Chanyeol looked up to Yixing’s eyes twinkling in apologetic sincerity. If he could do anything, anything to have a chance at a better week with Baekhyun, or even just to spend any more time with him, he’d do it, and Yixing knew that.

Chanyeol gave Yixing’s hand a light squeeze. Thank you.

Yixing let out a soft breath of air as the candles along the table settled, the flames giving off a soft orange glow that sent the shadows along the walls into as frenzy of spirals, spinning faster as Yixing spoke. “Commitment is not a crime, but it cannot be undone.” His voice lowered. “Do you accept the terms and consequences of making this pact?”

Chanyeol didn’t like this. The butterflies in his stomach and this butterfly effect – any extra mistakes couldn’t be undone. But he’d get to see Baekhyun again. Just… one last time.

Yixing’s voice softened, the angry shadows still swirling behind him, but his eyes remained focused solely on Chanyeol’s. “Are you sure you want to do this, Yeol?”

Chanyeol looked up to Yixing, a determined flame burning behind his eyes. “I accept.”

Yixing’s smile spread back across his face, sinister dimple deepening in his cheek as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Your wish is being granted.”

It was like electricity, Yixing’s power and intent surging through his veins – from his fingertips, up his arms, and blossoming throughout his chest. It felt like an arrow of light straight through his heart, and as Chanyeol gasped, the flames of the candles surged out of control until a dark wind swept them away, blowing out all of the flames like dominoes, consuming them in the shadows. Chanyeol’s head throbbed, his body felt weak, and he out against the table.

“Do it right this time, Park Chanyeol.”

---------------

Opening his eyes was a struggle, like waking up on a Monday and peering out at all the responsibilities he’d have to fulfill throughout the coming week. As they opened, he found it difficult to focus on anything but the vast dark expanse of the room and the slight outlines of a few objects. He let out a tired groan as he rolled onto his back and rubbed at his eyes before letting his eyesight focus on the slight yellow glow of the ceiling, illuminated by the light peeking in through a crack in the door. He turned his head to the side, and slowly took it all in. From the faint outline of his nightstand, to the wrinkled suit carelessly thrown on the floor beside it. To the wrinkles of the sheets beside him, still warm as though someone had been lying next to him not too long ago. To the small calendar on his nightstand, the date flipped back to a few weeks ago.

Chanyeol sat up quickly, hitting his head against the headboard with a curse. He rubbed the back of his head as he slipped out of bed, not bothering to shuffle into his slippers or to check his hair in the mirror before he was looking out of the bedroom door and following the trail of light out of the room.

His sight was blurred by sleep as he peeked out from behind walls, squinting into the light. He slowly stepped out from behind the wall, letting his mind wander from the pile of dishes in the sink to the lilies in a small vase on the table.

To the small figure in an apron, the scent of burning meat, the sizzle of bacon.

To Baekhyun, glancing over his shoulder with a confused smile.

“Oh, Chanyeol?”

His heart stopped.

“You’ve been sleeping since I got home from the office, and I found some pancakes in the refrigerator, so… breakfast for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.” Baekhyun rolled his eyes, turning away from his pancakes. “Plus all I’m really allowed to do in here is reheat things.” He let out a puff of air, blowing a pesky strand of hair from his eyes, and his lips pressed together into a pout. "I guess it's more of a midnight snack, since I was hungry and you just kept sleeping, so–"

Chanyeol jumped up, clumsily tripping over his feet as he ran into the kitchen, sliding too far and pushing Baekhyun back against the counter, before enveloping the small blonde in his arms, probably crushing him against his chest from the way his arms circled around his thin frame, cutting off his air supply and muffling the surprised squeal that escaped his lips.

He was real. He was actually alive, and Chanyeol could feel him again. Feel his hands gripping at his sides again. Feel his heart beating against him again.

Don’t let go of me this time.

“Chanyeol–” Baekhyun choked out, but Chanyeol barely pulled away to slide his hands up to his face, and he pressed their lips together in a long-awaited kiss, hasty and desperate like he couldn't get enough. Baekhyun struggled in Chanyeol’s grasp, before he finally managed to pull away and breathe.

“Whoa, whoa,” Baekhyun laughed breathlessly, pushing Chanyeol away slightly, “What's going on? There’s no need to be that excited; they're just pancakes, Yeol.”

Chanyeol’s eyes scanned across every feature of Baekhyun’s face, still as beautiful as he remembered, and it was so difficult to let them linger for too long on any one thing when he missed all of him so much and wished he could capture him like a digital picture and keep him in this perfect state forever. “You’re back,” Chanyeol gasped, pulling his husband into a hug again, his fingers clutching at his light blonde strands of hair, just as soft as he recalled and had seen in his dreams, and happy bubbles of light escaped from Baekhyun's body as he laughed.

“Yes, from my normal 9-to-5 trip to hell, I’m back, thank you,” Baekhyun responded with a weak laugh, crushed once again in Chanyeol's embrace.

“You're back,” Chanyeol said once more breathlessly, his hands softly caressing his face, fitted to the curve of his cheeks. “Don’t worry about dyeing your hair back to brown – you look perfect as you are. I think every sweater you have looks cute on you, but I absolutely love it when you wear my hoodies, and I notice it every time you do. Every day that I'm at work, I miss you too; I’m always thinking about you, and sometimes the only things that can make me smile at the office are the pictures of us on my desk – I missed you so much. You haven’t gained any weight, I promise, because I’m looking at you all the time like I’ve memorized every single curve of your body, and you’re perfect to me just as you are because I love you, I love everything about you. Please don’t think that you have to change anything about yourself, please never think that you’re not enough.” He took in a deep breath, slowly pulling Baekhyun’s small body back into a hug. He slowed down as he finished. “I’ve been listening to everything you've been saying. The complaints, the compliments, the suggestions. I have been.”

Baekhyun stared up to his husband, smile slowly fading, more confused than happy, more worried than confused. “What are you…”

“I love you,” Chanyeol said once more before he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you. More than you can imagine.”

“Chanyeol…” Baekhyun whispered, but the concern in his voice slowly faded out as Chanyeol’s arms tightened around him, holding him close just to breathe all of him in.

“I missed you,” Chanyeol whispered into his hair, arms tightening once again around his small body. “So much, I missed you.”

Baekhyun didn’t understand, but he loved being held in Chanyeol’s arms like this, so he tightened his own grip around Chanyeol and rested his head on his chest, breathing out a barely audible “I missed you too.”

Chanyeol let their embrace break and slid his hands down Baekhyun’s arms to hold his hands. “We’re going to do everything together, okay? Does that sound fun?”

Baekhyun responded with nothing more than a blink of his twinkling, confused eyes.

“Let’s play a game. Let’s take a trip to Venice; let’s go out to your favorite restaurant. Let’s stay up all night stargazing again; let’s dance in the moonlight until the sun rises. Let’s spend all day in each other’s arms, let’s…”

And Chanyeol’s voice was only drowned out by the sweet tinkles of laughter coming from Baekhyun’s pink lips, and Chanyeol would do anything to be able to hear this beautiful sound echoing in his mind forever.

Chanyeol let his lips close, forming another small, sincere smile, and he leaned down once again to press their lips together, softly, sweetly, hands melding to each other’s bodies like they belonged there, and their lips knew each other’s so well that they were attracted together like magnets, and neither of them wished to let go. Chanyeol’s arms curled around Baekhyun’s back to draw him closer, and he focused on all the small things about Baekhyun that he had missed. His heart beating in his chest. His lips against his. His arms around him. And everything was back to the way it should be.

It was Chanyeol that drew out of the kiss first, eyes slowly opening to the soft blush across Baekhyun’s cheeks, drawing a large smile across Chanyeol’s face in admiration and adoration, because Baekhyun was beautiful and lovely and everything that Chanyeol had ever needed, and he couldn’t believe that just yesterday, he was mourning his death.

Chanyeol’s breathing seemed to pause for a second as he was caught in that space between this bliss and reality. This wasn’t perfect; it was temporary. The same man that was standing in his arms right now would not be in just seven days.

Noticing the grim shadow that had cross his husband’s face, Baekhyun’s smile faltered for a second. “What’s wrong, Yeol?”

You’re going to die in a week.

Chanyeol looked down to him, quickly deciding that he couldn’t ruin this sweet ignorance that was bubbling in his husband’s eyes. Instead, he gave him a weak smile back as he pulled Baekhyun into a more delicate hug and kissed his forehead once more. “Nothing, love.”

Nothing at all.

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