The first thing that comes to mind is the image of a familiar pretty face.

 

People have once told him that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Is that what this is? Is he dying?

It’s raining. It’s dark. And if he’s honest, it’s a little melodramatic. It makes him want to smile. The sound of the rain. The scent of the rain. The way it splashes against his face, like it’s washing all of his worries away. Perhaps it’s the memories the rain reminds him of – happy memories spent together with someone he loves in the rain, or cuddling under sheets to the sound of the rain tapping against their windows. He likes the way it makes the street shine. He likes the way each drop ripples in the puddles on the asphalt. He likes the way it sparkles as it drizzles onto the shards of broken glass that gleam in the streets and reflects off the puddles of rainbows from spilling gasoline.

But he feels nothing. Numb from the cold. Numb from the pain. Numb from the guilt.

If these are the images he gets to see before death, he assumes it can’t be that bad. Cute, pouting, pink lips. Sparkling eyes. A smile that makes his heart skip a beat when he realizes that he’ll never see them again. He’s finding beauty in all the things he missed, and not having enough time to regret missing them. Missing holding his lover’s hand, missing kissing his lover’s forehead, missing telling him that he loved him. That he still loves him. His head aches, and it’s becoming hard to breathe, so he stops thinking about it.

There are noises. Sirens. People. The dull throb of bass, the beating of his heart slowly pounding in his temples.

A blur of colors. Flashes of light. Screaming. His name.

As he lies bleeding in the middle of the street, amongst broken glass and gasoline diluted by the rain, he lets his eyes close, and as the familiar voice of the pretty face he can’t stop thinking of replays in mind, the corners of his lips curve up into a soft smile before he fades out of consciousness.

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

 

“You promised, right?! That you won’t forget me? Do you remember your promise? Chanyeol? Chanyeol!”

 

I remember, Baekhyun. I promise.

 

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

His eyes slowly open to white. It feels like someone is padding his brain with cotton balls, or like he’s suspended underwater, floating alone in an endless abyss. Movement seems sluggish and restrained. Sound is muffled and staggered. There seems to be nothing but the mechanical sound of his soft breaths steadily escaping through slightly parted lips and the clouds of white air that it makes on his oxygen mask.

His entire body buzzes with a dull ache, and there are needles and tubes in his arms, assisted by the repetitive mechanical whirs and beeps of machines. His fingers twitch with the intent to help him sit up, but he can’t find the strength to do so, so he relaxes back against his uncomfortable bed, letting himself give into gravity and pain. His eyes wander across the ceiling, but his eyelids feel as heavy as lead, and despite how much he wants to figure out where he is, his body wants nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

There’s a sudden noise beside him that breaks the rhythm of the mechanical beeps. Someone standing. Words being said as people shuffle out of the room. A hand on his hand. A low, soothing voice. “It’s okay, Yeol, you’re okay, the doctor will be here soon.”

He understands the words for a second before they all turn into gibberish, ground up syllables and letters, like mushy alphabet soup, and the meaning escapes his mind like thin wisps of steam.

His eyes close.

 

He comes back to his senses when the door opens again and a woman wearing white walks into the room. To the rhythm her bright red heels make as she walks across the floor, he watches her as she walks toward him, a clipboard tucked under her arm. Lips stained a bright cherry red, eyeliner sharp and bold. Hair the color of coffee after you’ve added one too many creamers curls around her thin pale face and cascades down her shoulders in ringlets. She looks like a doll, her face painted on to a degree of perfection that makes him stare. Stare as she smiles, stare as she speaks.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?”

He watches her lips move as the words parse slowly in his mind. He nods.

“I’m Doctor Jung, and I’m going to ask you a few questions,” the doctor says slowly as she sits down in the chair opposite his bedside, looking down to her clipboard and flipping through a few pages. “What is your name?”

He stares at her blankly when she finishes speaking before he realizes he doesn’t know. A look of panic crosses his eyes, but the doctor remains calm, almost as if she knew this would happen. The fact that everyone seems to know something that he doesn’t is beginning to frustrate him.

He reaches for the first word he can grasp for in the expanse of nothing in his mind, just to get this silence to end. “Baekhyun,” he responds, hoarse and raspy.

The doctor looks down to write something down on her clipboard. “What year is it?”

He searches for another answer, only becoming more frustrated when he doesn't come up with one. “Baekhyun,” he says again. The answer doesn't feel correct, but at least it’s an answer.

The doctor looks up to him with a frown. Must have been wrong. “The year?”

“Baekhyun,” he repeats softer, having nothing else to say.

“What country are we in?” she asks, an eyebrow raised and her eyes portray a look of concern, or perhaps confusion. Contemplation? He can’t tell.

“Baekhyun,” he replies once more.

The doctor purses her red lips, looks back to her clipboard, and scribbles down a few notes before she points to the man standing by his bedside. The man whose hand is currently holding his own.

“Do you know who this man is?”

He’s tall and thin. He’s wearing a long tan coat that looks like it’s been passed down for too many decades. Distress is obvious in his unkempt hair and the bags under his thin eyes, as though he’s been worrying for far too long. He’s looking at him like he means something to him, like he was once important to him, and maybe like he still is.

But he doesn’t know him.

“No,” he responds, and the man’s face, already solemn, seems to sink in further, although he doesn’t think that a frown fits the shape of his lips, and he desperately hopes that the man will stop looking at him like he’s pitying him.

The doctor sighs and stands. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” She says before she nods to the man next to the bedside and leads him away to talk to him in hushed tones and soft whispers.

He watches them exchange information jealously (the fact that they are exchanging information that is obviously about him and refuse to tell him is more than aggravating), but his eyelids soon begin to feel heavy, so he closes his eyes and rests, hopefully just for a little while.

 

There are faces. Many faces. Faces that should feel familiar, but faces that he doesn’t know. They visit the hospital; some come one at a time, some come in groups.

None of them match the pretty face from his dreams.

They hold his hands and ask if he’s okay, they ask what happened, they ask why he did it. They ask if he remembers them. He doesn’t remember them. Some of them cry, others look excessively worried. The man in the long tan jacket always tells them that it is okay, that Chanyeol is okay, that Chanyeol is tired, that Chanyeol can’t remember anything.

 

The next time he opens his eyes, the lights in the room are dimmed and there’s a man sitting in a chair beside him, asleep.

A woman in a doctor’s jacket walks in. Her lips, a bright red. Her light brunette hair curls atop her shoulders. It’s messy and sticks out in too many directions. The badge clipped to the bottom of the shirt of her scrubs has her face and the name “Dr. Jung” written on it.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, is that okay?” she asks.

 

“What is your name?”

“Baekhyun,” he responds.

“What year is it?”

“Baekhyun.”

“What country is this?”

“Baekhyun.”

 

“Have I asked you these questions before?”

“No.”

 

The routine repeats every hour, every few hours, whenever he is awake. She asks the same questions; he gives the same answers.

The doctor has stopped writing down answers, almost as though she has begun to expect the answers that he is consistently looking so hard for. She looks at him for a few seconds before she sets down her pencil, folds her arms across her clipboard, and purses her cherry red lips.

“Who is Baekhyun?”

His eyebrows furrow as he looks at the doctor. “Baekhyun,” he responds softly, not knowing what else to say.

The doctor frowns and leans forward. “But who is he?”

His eyesight slowly drops to the floor as he thinks about it. He wants to respond, but he’s not sure what to respond. It’s a name. There’s a face associated with it, but he can’t remember all of it, only bits and pieces. Fair skin. Pink, pouting lips. Soft, beautiful eyes. A cute button nose. But he knows that Baekhyun is more than that, more than a name, more than a face. Baekhyun is a noise. A boisterous, contagious laugh. A touch. Soft cuddles under a fleece blanket in front of a fireplace. A scent. Freshly baked sugar cookies. Baekhyun feels like safety, warmth, happiness, and comfort.

His heart sinks, and he feels like he’s forgetting the one thing that he should never have forgotten.

“I don’t know.”

 

Memories slowly come back like quick flickers of light in a lightbulb that hadn’t been used in years. His name is Chanyeol. Byun… Chanyeol? No. Park Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun. For some reason, the words sound like they just fit together. They roll off his tongue easily, almost melodic, like the rhythm to a tune he used to love. Like they belong together. Park Chanyeol. Byun Baekhyun. He repeats them in his mind for stability, until he finds other memories to hold on to.

Memories from childhood. 1992. It feels like he is exploring the dark cave of his mind with a narrow flashlight, shining light upon memories and then forgetting them as the light fades. The round face of his mother in contrast with the sharp face of his father. The estate he was raised in, and the scent of the flowers in his mother’s garden. Memories are faint and blurry, and there are very few things he remembers aside from the few things he found impossible to have forgotten.

Memories from high school. Meeting Baekhyun. Falling in love with Baekhyun. That heartache when Baekhyun moved away. It’s like the table of contents to a book, yet when he attempts to search for the chapters, the story, details that he longs to know, the pages are blank and empty, and leave him fumbling in the dark for more answers.

Memories from 2010. Entering university, being reunited with Baekhyun. Never wanting to let go of him again.

Everything seems distant. Baekhyun is the most prominent. A smiling face that he once adored, and now can only barely remember.

It must be autumn. Today. Right now. There are leaves falling from trees with the wind, reds and oranges painting the ground outside of his window. It’s the year 2013. He’ll be turning 22 soon. Baekhyun is already 22. He tries to picture his face once more, but the image is blurred and fuzzy, so instead, he thinks of the way it makes him feel. Happy memories. Warmth. The thought of him visiting the hospital so he can see him as soon as possible makes him smile.

Chanyeol struggles to sit up in his bed, and a man in a tan jacket comes to his assistance, but Chanyeol pauses and stares when he sees his face.

“Yeol?” he asks, tiredly, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Chanyeol remains silent, observing. The man tilts his head and his dirty blonde hair falls in front of his eyes. “Do you recognize me?”

Chanyeol doesn’t need to study his face to answer him; he recognized him immediately. Sehun. Oh Sehun. His best friend since kindergarten. And based on the look in his eyes, it seems as though he couldn’t recognize him just a few minutes ago.

Chanyeol opens his mouth to respond, but instead closes his mouth and gives him a simple nod, and the relief that floods through Sehun’s face is enough to give Chanyeol the courage to speak.

“You're my father,” Chanyeol says softly, his eyes wide and innocent, and Sehun’s face drops immediately until Chanyeol’s lips turn up to a smile and the first peep of laughter escapes them, and Sehun lets out a whine of Chanyeol’s name and pushes Chanyeol slightly, but Chanyeol turns away from Sehun, muffling his laughter in the sheets.

Sehun places his hand on his back and rubs it softly. “I’m glad your back.”

Chanyeol isn’t sure if he’s back, although he is laughing and joking with his friend to hide the insecurity that he feels. He still isn’t exactly sure of who he is, his identity or his personality, and he’s still slowly regaining most of the memories that should define those things, so to keep himself from wondering if this joking personality he’s showing right now is the real him, he laughs until he feels stable again.

His laughter slowly fades along with his smile as he focuses back on the window to view the autumn paved streets as droplets of rain begin to gather on the glass.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t remember anyone stopping by the hospital, but Sehun seems to be talking about visitors like everyone in the country stopped by to see him. There are a couple of bouquets of flowers collecting in the windowsill and a few colorful cards, perhaps from friends, scattered around. Sehun’s droning begins to fade out in Chanyeol’s mind as he loses interest.

“Your mom came earlier today but she left because she couldn’t stand you not being able to recognize her.”

“Did Baekhyun come?”

Sehun stops speaking to look at Chanyeol, who is awaiting an answer so patiently that Sehun opens his lips and closes them again, unsure of what to respond. He is barely able to let an “uhh” tumble out from his lips, but a knock on the door interrupts him before he gets the chance to answer.

A female doctor enters the room with a clipboard and a smile that looks too perfect on her small face. She situates herself on the chair next to Chanyeol’s bed and jumps into questions without as much as an introduction.

“Name?”

“Park Chanyeol.” He speaks slowly, articulating each syllable, as though he’s trying to confirm it to himself as well.

“Year?”

“2013.”

“Country?”

“South Korea.”

She points to Sehun. “Do you know who this man is?”

Chanyeol glances up to Sehun and nods with a smile. “Oh Sehun.”

“Have I asked you these questions before?”

Chanyeol’s smile falters, seemingly caught off guard by a question he didn’t know the answer to. His soft voice fills with worry. “Have you?”

The doctor twirls her pencil between her fingers and looks at him with a smile. “At least you’re answering with words other than ‘Baekhyun’ this time.” She begins to scribble something down as she finishes. “That’s an improvement from the past few days.”

“Days?” Chanyeol blurts in disbelief before he can stop himself. He thought he had woken up just a few hours ago, and he thought that this was the first time he had met this doctor, but she’s telling him that he had been here for days?

The doctor’s red lips spread into a soft smile. “Just a few,” she says as though that’s any consolation. “It’s normal, what you’re experiencing. You get tired easily and have a lot of medicine in your system, so you’ve been sleeping a lot, and due to the memory loss, you may not remember it. That’s normal.” She continues like she’s mumbling to herself. “You’ve been healing steadily, so most of these effects should wear off soon.”

When she finishes writing, she stands and turns to Sehun. “He’s recovering slowly, but well. The concussion wasn’t too severe, so the amnesia might dissipate completely too. Effects don’t look to be outstanding.” She looks down to her clipboard and kneads her red bottom lip with her white teeth. “His body seems to be healing well, so we’ll test out his motor skills, and if everything is well, we can allow you to leave by tomorrow.” She turns back to Chanyeol with a smile. “Just a few extra tests, and then you get to go home.”

 

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

 

Chanyeol is released from the hospital on a day that the sky is grey and the air is cold. The trees are not yet bare, but the leaves on the ground have lost their sheen and are painted against the concrete in splotches of color with the rain from earlier that day. At the moment Chanyeol steps outside, the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s not light. It’s lukewarm against his skin, and Chanyeol is beginning to think that everything is a bit too in between today.

Sehun has his umbrella open, but he only brought one, so he holds it above both of their heads while trying to match the pace of Chanyeol, who is too lost in his thoughts to notice his friend struggling.

Chanyeol's mind is full of questions, and most of those questions are full of Baekhyun.

Who is Baekhyun? Where is Baekhyun? What is he doing? Was he looking for him? Had he visited the hospital to see him? Was he worried about him?

As he thinks about his questions, Chanyeol’s eyes scan the people walking along the streets looking for any spark of familiarity amongst the people or the scenery when a bright red umbrella catches his eye, but he’s less interested in the umbrella than he is in the man holding it.

This face… those small eyes downcast, pink lips pressed together in a soft pout reminds him of something that causes his heart to leap.

Chanyeol steps out from under Sehun’s umbrella and toward the street. Sehun grabs his wrist and calls his name, but Chanyeol can’t hear any of it above his thoughts and his pulse pounding loud and fast in his temples. The man he has been dreaming of is standing there, he's right there, like a beam of light in the grey, cloudy skies, and Chanyeol can’t help but be drawn toward him.

He shakes Sehun off and steps into the street, and before Sehun can call his name once more, he’s running. He’s running across the street and through traffic as cars around him screech to a halt and honk, people yell at him, and passersby turn to see the uproar, but Chanyeol hears none of it and stops for no one.

Most people lose interest in Chanyeol when he is safely across the street, but Chanyeol doesn’t slow down. He weaves between people, apologizing but never stopping until he reaches the short man holding the bright red umbrella.

Chanyeol places his hand on the man’s shoulder and turns him around, and it’s finally when that beautiful face is in front of him once again that his heart stops, and all the loud outside sounds fade into monotone white noise, and the overwhelming joy he feels makes him miss the the surprise in the pretty man’s eyes as Chanyeol’s hands cup that soft, pale face, and he presses his own lips against those soft, pink surprised lips that he has unconsciously been yearning for.

The umbrella falls from the other man’s hand.

Chanyeol feels like he’s floating. Like his body is responding to a pleasure that he’s been deprived of, intoxicated with bliss. As he holds the smaller man’s face, his soft cheeks, his plush lips, everything slowly begins to make sense again.

This is Baekhyun. The Baekhyun.

The Baekhyun whose nape he has painted pink with soft butterfly kisses and teasing nibbles, whose every mole he has kissed, including those between his thighs and in the dip of his lower back under their shared sheets.

The Baekhyun whom Chanyeol is planning to propose to in just a few weeks.

His Baekhyun.

The caress of bliss ignites into a sharp burn at the slap of Baekhyun’s hand against Chanyeol’s cheek, breaking him out of his reverie as Baekhyun stumbles backwards, appalled.

“What the ?!”

Chanyeol holds a hand to his stinging cheek at the sound of Baekhyun’s voice piercing through the haze of Chanyeol’s daydream and straight through his heart. The rain forms a thick grey veil between them, and anger and humiliation blossoms in a soft red on Baekhyun’s face as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Chanyeol’s confusion manifests itself in the form of a blank stare and a blink.

Perhaps… he was the wrong person? No, that couldn’t be possible. It couldn't be possible with the way his heart was leaping, and it couldn't be possible because Baekhyun is one thing he unquestionably knows, and he’s the one thing he could never forget.

So instead he stares at the man he loves, wondering why it looks like he doesn’t love him back.

“There are people around, Park,” Baekhyun hisses before turning to pick up his umbrella, leaving Chanyeol stunned and silent.

“Chanyeol!” Sehun shouts as he approaches and holds his umbrella over Chanyeol’s head, “you just got out of the hospital, can you at least try to not get hurt again?”

“Keep control of your dog, Sehun,” Baekhyun says, twirling his umbrella as he holds it above his head once again, and Chanyeol can’t help but stare at Baekhyun’s long eyelashes when he blinks the rain out of his eyes, and at Baekhyun’s lips when he speaks, and he can’t keep his eyes away from Baekhyun’s beautiful face, even with the way his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain, or the disdain in his eyes as he glances at Chanyeol and then away.

“Sorry, Baekhyun,” Sehun says, anxiously tugging on Chanyeol’s arm, “we were just heading home.”

“Baekhyun, right?” Chanyeol interrupts and pulls his arm away from Sehun to get closer to Baekhyun. “You’re Baekhyun; you have to be.” He has to be because he’s the one thing he’s sure of, sure that those beautiful brown eyes are Baekhyun’s, that that cute button nose is the same little nose he has kissed every night before Baekhyun would fall asleep cuddled in his arms. This is a face Chanyeol knows: his small, soft face, a face he could once draw from memory. But the look in his eyes is unfamiliar. The tension in his body is unfamiliar.

This isn’t the Baekhyun he knows.

Except it is Baekhyun, it just can’t be his Baekhyun.

Those aren't the eyes he has fallen in love with over and over again, the lips he has kissed in the library, in their apartment, in the coffee shop, nor are they the same ones that have sleepily whispered multiple “I love you’s” while he curled up next to Chanyeol in bed. This isn’t the gaze of a lover who would be elated to see him.

Baekhyun isn’t supposed to be angry when he sees him. His Baekhyun is supposed to run into his arms, screaming his name, and melt into his kiss, laughing and crying until the world feels like it’s upright again.

A piece of Chanyeol’s soul feels like it's missing, and the arrow in his breaking heart is wedged in further to the point that it’s becoming painful to breathe.

“W...where’s the man I love?” he asks, his voice weak and trembling, and as he slowly reaches out his hand to touch Baekhyun’s face, Baekhyun slaps Chanyeol’s hand away.

“The man you love?” Baekhyun asks with an irritated laugh. “Get over yourself; I have a boyfriend–”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Chanyeol cuts in, his voice edging on desperation that he isn't even trying to hide. “It’s... me, right?”

It only takes a few seconds for Baekhyun to realize that the confusion in Chanyeol’s voice is as sincere as the disgust in Baekhyun’s eyes and that he’s not just playing around. Baekhyun’s expression slowly loses his edge, the annoyance becoming softened by bemusement until Chanyeol’s confusion is reflected on Baekhyun’s own face. His lips turn down to a more familiar frown, and Chanyeol can finally begin to see the man that he loves underneath this facade.

Sehun pulls Chanyeol to aside before Baekhyun can speak.

“You're still missing memory, Chanyeol, let’s go home.”

“What memory am I missing?” he asks back. “Baekhyun is my boyfriend; I remember that much.”

Even if he can’t trust his thoughts, his eyes know that he’s Baekhyun. His lips know he’s Baekhyun. His heart knows that he’s Baekhyun, because how could he forget his love, the one thing he thought he knew?

Baekhyun speaks up. “Did you just forget that I didn’t want to see you anymore? Or did you just skip over the fact that we broke up?”

“We broke up?” The words escape Chanyeol’s lips in a whisper as nothing more than the soft wisps of white fog from Chanyeol’s lips frozen in the air, too similar to the white fog his breath made on his oxygen mask. The rain is deafening. Baekhyun’s silence is deafening.

Chanyeol can barely hear his thoughts above the ever growing ache in his temples, but this couldn’t be true. He loved Baekhyun. And Baekhyun loved him! He had been with Baekhyun just yesterday, or a few days ago, or whenever the that was, holding him in his arms, with Baekhyun’s fingers ping Chanyeol’s jeans, Chanyeol mouthing at Baekhyun’s neck–

“But you promised me! You promised we would get married!” Chanyeol insists.

“I’m not the one who broke that promise!” Baekhyun shouts back. Chanyeol’s lips open to ask him what he means, but he’s rendered speechless by his accusation. So he stares at him silently for a few seconds and instantly finds it unfair that despite the anger in his eyes, Baekhyun is still so pretty. Even when he’s yelling at him. “Your innocent act is disgusting, so cut it out, okay?”

Chanyeol’s head is spinning again. It feels as though the world is spinning too fast, like Chanyeol is being left behind, and if it wasn’t for Sehun holding him up, he might have already collapsed.

“Let’s go home. I’ll talk to you about it at home, okay?” Sehun cuts in, bowing apologetically to Baekhyun before leading Chanyeol away by his arm despite Chanyeol’s weak protests as Sehun drags him away, and his glances over his shoulder at the small man standing alone in the rain, staring back at them.

 

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

 

The apartment looks almost the same as he remembers it, but something feels wrong.

It’s too clean. Too empty. Too quiet.

There are guitars lined along the wall. His first one from his childhood. His first electric guitar. The baby blue one that Baekhyun helped him buy. A new one that he’s never seen.

He didn’t know that a place he once called home could feel so foreign without the one person he had moved into the apartment with.

His bedroom is clean too. Baekhyun was always the messier one, but his things always managed to find their way out of his room and into Chanyeol’s. He spent most of his time in Chanyeol’s room anyway. When they first moved into the apartment together, Baekhyun used to climb into Chanyeol’s bed on rainy nights, then on cold winter nights, until they eventually found themselves sleeping together every night (Chanyeol once joked about moving into a smaller one-bedroom apartment. Baekhyun said he’d take over all the closet space, and Chanyeol promptly agreed that there was no need to move). The closet is also organized, and Chanyeol immediately wonders how many of his hoodies Baekhyun took with him when he left.

A memory returns, one of waking up to Baekhyun sleeping in his arms in one of Chanyeol’s thick, grey hoodies, his messy black hair peeking out from under the hood.

Chanyeol looks away from the closet to shut out the memory and flops onto his bed. There are a few sketchbooks of his own in the drawer next to his bed, but none of Baekhyun’s little scraps remain. He flips open one of the sketchbooks and remembers back when he and Baekhyun used to sit at their table together on the weekends, with Baekhyun making up stories and Chanyeol sketching out the scenes. Their room used to be full of colored post-it notes that Baekhyun would stick around with notes for a new concept, because he always claimed that if he didn’t write them down immediately, he’d forget them. Baekhyun used to love the idea of being an author in highschool, and in college, his focus changed to children’s books. They were both students who left their hobbies as just hobbies for the sake of majoring in something deemed useful, so they could only indulge in these pleasures at home with Baekhyun’s colorful post-it notes and Chanyeol’s sketchbooks.

Chanyeol groans and rolls onto his back, rubbing his eyes to stop thinking about Baekhyun, but it’s hard when all Chanyeol can see is his absence. The room feels too big when he’s in it alone. It feels cold and uninviting. It doesn’t feel like his own room. But what used to be their room is now his room, and there’s no wonder that something about it feels wrong.

As far as Chanyeol knows, he and Baekhyun have been dating for over three years now, but they’ve been in love for longer. They had a perfect relationship to last a lifetime, characterized by skipping classes to lie together in bed, sharing kisses on the roof of the apartment under the stars, and all of the other romantic things Baekhyun used to love doing. Making breakfast and pushing Baekhyun out of the kitchen every time he snuck in, trying to get a taste of whatever Chanyeol was baking. Their first time under Chanyeol’s white sheets, and the many other times that followed.

And in an instant, he is informed that it’s over.

It feels unreal. The man who has made him the happiest he’s ever been, the man who has always been by his side when he’s needed him the most, the man whom he planned to spend the rest of his life with is suddenly gone, and has no intention to come back.

Chanyeol thinks his bed feels too empty that night.

 

That night, Chanyeol dreams of Baekhyun, sitting alone on a black metal bench, his scarf wrapped around his lips and his nose as soft white fluffs of snow fall around him.

 

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

 

“Baekhyunnie, turn off the lights…”

Chanyeol shivers in his bed. “Babe,” he calls out for the small body usually pressed up against his chest, reaching out to pull him back into place and cuddle him for warmth. “Baek?” he asks once more before he opens his eyes to an empty bed.

“Awake?” a voice that isn’t Baekhyun’s calls from the door.

Chanyeol looks up with squinted eyes. “Where’s Baekhyun?” Chanyeol asks and holds a hand to his head. “And why are you here?”

Sehun leans against the doorframe with a frown. “You don’t remember yesterday?”

Chanyeol yawns and props himself up on his elbow while he rubs his eyes. “Why should I remember yesterday? Did Baekhyun go to class already? He never wakes up earlier than me.” Scratch that, Baekhyun doesn’t go to class, especially if Chanyeol doesn’t drag him out of bed. Chanyeol fumbles around, looking for his phone or a clock. “Am I late? What time is it?”

Sehun frowns at his friend. “You were discharged from the hospital yesterday.”

Chanyeol stops to squint up to his friend. “Hospital?” The word barely leaves his lips before the memories return in a fuzzy haze. Stark white bed sheets. The overwhelming scent of sterilizer and antiseptic. The soft white breaths on his oxygen mask. He frowns. “Oh. Hospital.”

“Remember?”

“A little.”

Chanyeol holds a hand to his head as he sits up, hoping to lose the images of the memories in early morning vertigo. Something feels wrong. Like his memory is buried under splotches of white paint, smeared across the canvas until everything is just a blur. So he recounts what he knows, and hopes that it will make him feel stable again. It’s cold. It’s too bright. The frown on Sehun’s face is making him uncomfortable. Baekhyun is gone.

Sehun watches as Chanyeol looks longingly at the empty space in his bed, as though he was still attempting to regain the memories from yesterday and fit everything together into an explanation that made sense, only to end up with an incomplete puzzle, with more questions than he has answers.  

Sehun’s voice is soft, but understanding. “I hope I won’t have to remind you of this every morning.”

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes closed, silently apologizing for being a burden. “I hope not either.”

“Have you gained the rest of your memory back?”

“How much more is there to remember?” Chanyeol asks, unsure if he should trust his own memories when something is obviously off.

“What year do you think it is?” Sehun asks after a while.

Chanyeol answers tentatively, as though he’s afraid to be wrong. “2013?”

The frown on Sehun’s face only deepens. “It’s 2016, Yeol.” When Chanyeol doesn’t respond with anything more than a stare, Sehun raises his eyebrows and says, “Check the calendar if you don’t believe me.” He walks toward the side of Chanyeol’s bed. “We’re housemates now. Baekhyun moved out so I moved into his old room.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, glancing back down to his empty bedsheets. “Is that so?”

Sehun places his hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “It’s the weekend; you don’t have work today, so go ahead and catch up on your rest.”

“I have a job?”

“Yeah,” Sehun says as he sits on the bed next to Chanyeol. “And they were nice enough to give you some time off while you recover.”

Chanyeol’s sight falls back to his bedsheets. Three years is a long time for people’s lives to change. If he has a job, does Baekhyun have one too? He closes his eyes, taking it all in. It’s just difficult to imagine them no longer as “Chanyeol and Baekhyun” the epic duo who spent all of their time together in college, but rather as “Chanyeol” and “Baekhyun” who are two adults with completely separate lives.

Sehun’s hand drops from Chanyeol’s shoulder to Chanyeol’s back. “Get a lot of rest, Yeol. Go stay with your family and catch up on all the things you’ve missed. Perhaps they’ll help you remember.”

Chanyeol nods slowly and leans against Sehun.

“Any more questions?”

Chanyeol has many questions. What happened? Why me? Why did Baekhyun leave? Will he come back?

Chanyeol has many questions, but as he looks up to Sehun, only one escapes his lips. “Can I see him?”

Sehun takes a few seconds to respond. “I wouldn’t expect to.”

 

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

 

Chanyeol spends his first few days out of the hospital with his mother at home.

Nothing has helped him remember.

It has been days, but there is nothing new. There are gaps, large gaps still in the distant past, but the three years between then and now are completely blank, as though they never occurred. His family recounts his graduation, his recent birthday, and other events through stories and pictures, but attempting to gain back the memories only makes him more discouraged.

Returning back to Sehun feels like a defeat, and spending all of his time in an apartment full of memories lost makes him feel claustrophobic. So he spends time outside, taking meaningless walks, just hoping that he won’t lose himself in his thoughts, wondering about all of the things he can no longer remember. And it’s then that he runs into Baekhyun once again.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol gasps when he sees him, and Baekhyun turns to see who is calling his name. When his eyes lock with Chanyeol, he turns and walks in the opposite direction.

Chanyeol follows. “I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Baekhyun continues walking, refusing to glance behind him.

When Chanyeol catches up to him, he grabs his wrist. “Please Baekhyun, just give me one minute.”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrow as he pulls his wrist from Chanyeol’s grasp and glares up to him. “What do you want, Park? I’m busy.”

“What did I do to you that makes you so angry whenever you see me?”

“Ah, man, should I just say one thing?” Baekhyun asks with a roll of his eyes. “Tell me, where should I start?

“Was I that awful to you?” Chanyeol asks, his voice sincere and tired.

Baekhyun looks Chanyeol up and down and lets his anger fade out in a soft hum.

“Sehun said you got into an accident,” Baekhyun says, leaning back against the wall. “A bad one. Bad enough to lose memory.”

Chanyeol gives a slow nod. “I guess; that’s what he told me too.” He purses his lips. “Suppose you didn’t show up to the hospital.”

“I didn’t because I didn’t know.”

“If you had known, would you have been there?”

Baekhyun looks away. “It doesn't matter now.” He finds himself back to Chanyeol after a while, his lips no longer pressed into a hard frown as he looks him up and down. “You really forgot?” he asks once more, slowly this time, as though he’s being careful and judging Chanyeol’s response, his posture, and his attitude.

“If I remembered, I wouldn’t be asking you to remind me.”

Baekhyun stares at him for a few more seconds before glancing away with a laugh.

“Is it funny?” Chanyeol asks.

“No,” Baekhyun responds with a sarcastic smile, “I’m just so astounded that there’s not a single ing promise of yours that you kept.”

“What does that mean.”

“Nothing,” Baekhyun turns on his heels and begins walking again.  “Perhaps it’s good for you that you forgot. They’re memories you wouldn’t care to miss.”

“I do miss them,” Chanyeol interjects, following behind Baekhyun. “I miss every memory that had with you in it, whether it was a happy memory or a sad one.” His voice gets softer. “Every moment I spent with you made me happy.”

Baekhyun scoffs and walks faster. “Tell me something that won’t make me gag.”

“I mean it,” Chanyeol insists, “I cherished every memory with you in it. So please, won’t you tell me what happened?”

Baekhyun stops. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “No,” he says. “I want you to remember what you did to me on your own and then come crying back begging me for forgiveness.” He looks to the ground. “If you still feel the same after you know.”

Chanyeol holds his head in his hands and groans, annoyance pricking at his temples. “It’s been a week since I’ve been out of the hospital. If I was going to remember, I would have remembered by now.”

Baekhyun doesn’t respond, merely looking toward the sky.

“Are you angry because I broke up with you, or did I do something to make you angry which made you break up with me?” Chanyeol asks.

“Neither,” Baekhyun says. “If it was that simple, this wouldn’t be fun a game.”

“Is that what this is? My feelings are a game to you?”

“Three years ago, my feelings were nothing but a game to you either.”

Chanyeol watches silently as Baekhyun’s expression changes, slowly becoming more somber.

“I will admit it’s quite fun dragging you along like this,” Baekhyun says with a sigh. He turns to Chanyeol with a faint, cruel smile. “As much as I hate seeing your face, I like knowing this is causing you so much distress.”

“Is what I did to you that horrible?” Chanyeol asks, tired and worn, and if Baekhyun is going to be like this, he just wants this game to end.

Baekhyun continues without giving an answer. “I’ll also admit that I was waiting for this. For you to crawl back to me, beg for me to come back to you just so I could tell you no.”

Chanyeol watches Baekhyun’s face closely. “You seem to be happier without me.”

Baekhyun holds Chanyeol’s eye contact for a few seconds, and then he glances toward the floor as the frown on his face deepens.

“I am.”

And in his frown, Chanyeol can see a little bit of the old Baekhyun that he knows peeking through that lie.

“I’m not happy,” Chanyeol says. “I mean it, Baekhyun. I loved you then. I love you now.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Baekhyun spits, the words sharp and bitter on his tongue. “If you loved me, you’d still be here with me. Make up your mind. Three years ago, we cut all ties from each other, and now you’re following me around like it was the biggest mistake you’ve made.”

“Letting you go was the biggest mistake I’ve made.” Chanyeol confesses. “I don’t know what happened, but whatever I did to make you this upset was a terrible accident, and I’m sorry, Baekhyun, please forgive me.”

“You’re too late, Park,” Baekhyun snaps, turning on his heels and begins to walk away. “You’re three years too late.”

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