Chanyeol lies on his back on his beach towel. His hair is stiff and slightly sticky from drying with salt water in it, and the hot sun is pleasantly warming after being chilled from spending hours in the water. Jongdae lies beside him on his stomach, head resting in folded arms and turned towards Chanyeol, and his shoulder hides his nose and mouth. All Chanyeol can see are his eyes, but they hint at a smile.

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says softly. He doesn’t just mean the surfing lesson, and from the way Jongdae’s eyes crinkle even more, he knows Jongdae knows it.

Jongdae doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Chanyeol with the gentle gaze that has always seemed so caring, right from the first time they met. But now there’s something else in it. Something trusting. Jongdae has always seemed so mature to Chanyeol, though he knows Jongdae, like him, is only in his senior year of high school—but right now that steady, trusting look makes him appear younger. So young that it makes Chanyeol think about how young he actually is to be all on his own like this. All the other things he told him in the water slowly start to sink in, the meaning of them spreading like words printed in fountain pen on tissue paper, bleeding ink in all directions. His mom dying when he was ten. His dad in prison—for what, Chanyeol still doesn’t know, and he’s almost scared to ask, given what Jongdae had said about protecting his little brother from adults. He understands now why Jongdae was so hesitant to talk about himself.

“Jongdae, how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“So... aren’t you still supposed to be in care?”

Jongdae props himself up on his elbows. “In the orphanage, there was a boy a year older than me. His name was Junmyeon, and he was probably the most angelic person you’d ever meet on Earth. He was the kind of kid they call an old soul. Wise beyond his years. I heard someone say once that pain ages children prematurely, and Junmyeon had leukaemia, had it as long as I knew him. But I think it was more than that. He was like an older brother to me, and he taught me a lot about how to deal with my emotions, how to channel them into my music. It was him who suggested I learn to surf, because he’d seen some documentary about how it could be like a spiritual path, and he couldn’t try it himself because he was too sick.” Jongdae’s fingers are drawing patterns in the soft sand, waves and curves. “He died at the end of last summer, and after that, I couldn’t bear staying in the orphanage anymore. I did try, for two months, but no one cared about me. They only saw what was on my file, things I’d done when I was hurting. They only knew an angry, volatile kid who went nuts on a regular basis, screamed and swore and smashed things, threw himself against the walls until he had to be restrained to stop him from hurting himself.” He swallows, then swipes the patterns away with his palm, making a clean sandy slate. “So I ran. I hitchhiked to get here. I hoped that if I could talk to Nini’s adoptive parents face to face and prove to them that I’d changed, if I could convince them that I wouldn’t be any trouble, they would let me live with them and Nini for just one year, until I turned eighteen.”

“What did they say?”

“I never got the—” He pauses, looking stricken, then shakes his head. “It didn’t work out.”

Chanyeol studies Jongdae’s profile, exploring his strong cheekbones and soft eyes. The way his straight eyebrows slant slightly upwards, give him a perpetual air of being faintly worried. The curled-up corners of his lips. Something about his face seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before this week. It’s like having déjà vu. Chanyeol wonders for a moment if he’s remembering a dream about Jongdae he’d forgotten, until it occurs to him that if Jongdae’s a runaway, he might have seen his face on the missing persons database he’s scoured in hopes of remembering the boy.

“Are you officially missing?”

Jongdae gives him a sidelong glance and a slight, guilty smile. “Yeah. Are you going to call the cops on me?”

Chanyeol taps his wrist lightly, chidingly. “You know I wouldn’t.”

Jongdae goes back to tracing patterns in the sand, whispering, “Thanks.”

Chanyeol rolls onto his back and shades his eyes against the glare on the sky with an arm draped over his face. “What about your brother—Nini?”

“Jongin,” Jongdae says, sounding like he’s smiling. “Nini’s what I call him. From Jonginnie.”

“Do you ever get to see him?”

“Sometimes. Not very often. But as often as I can. I like to make sure he’s being taken care of.”

Something occurs to Chanyeol then, and he takes his arm from over his eyes, twisting around to look at Jongdae again. “Jongdae, you said your friend died at the end of last summer, right? And you stayed for another two months before running?”

“Yeah?”

“Then what did you do for all that time between running away in—what, it would have been November, December?—and arriving here at the start of July?”

Jongdae sits up, brushing sand from his elbows. He reaches out for his jacket and puts it over his bare shoulders, like he’s suddenly cold, though Chanyeol is nearly roasting under the steady shine of the sun. “Yeah, I—um. I went to Jongin’s house in December. And then...I went away again.”

“But now you’re back? Why? Did you want to try and ask them again?”

“No…” Jongdae stands up and shoves his arms into his jacket properly. He paces back and forth on the sand a few times, then walks over and sits on a nearby driftwood log, the trunk of a tree worn down and bleached white by the salt and sun. Chanyeol gets up and follows him over, wondering what more secrets there are to uncover.

“You said I could ask you anything,” he reminds him gently.

Jongdae hangs his head, kicking gently at the sand. “Back then, in December, I... I met someone here. I came back to find them again.”

“Who was it?”

Jongdae’s eyes move slowly over his face. He looks hunted, all the joy and trust gone from him, and Chanyeol nearly takes the question back, tells him he doesn’t have to answer, it hurts so much to see. But then he reminds himself that Jongdae needs to share these things. That underneath everything he’s begging to get the burden off his soul. Maybe sometimes you have to acknowledge the hurt before you can begin to heal.

When Jongdae finally gives him an answer, it comes out so quietly that Chanyeol barely hears him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

His heartbroken tone tells Chanyeol it clearly does matter. “Was it...a girl? A boy?” Jongdae’s swinging feet go still. It tells Chanyeol he’s right as clearly as if Jongdae had shouted yes! in his ear. “Someone you love?”

Every muscle of Jongdae’s body goes rigid, as though he’s trying to keep the truth captive, or maybe trying to hold himself together. His lips are pressed into a tight line, his hands squeezing the edge of the log so tightly his fingers go red and white in patches.

“You can tell me,” Chanyeol says softly. Even though it will hurt to hear Jongdae say he loves someone else, he wants Jongdae to know he can confide in him. “I can see it’s hurting you, Jongdae. Let it out. Let it go free.”

The line between Jongdae’s brows deepens, and he gets an almost glazed look in his eyes. He looks pale, but Chanyeol can’t tell if it’s just because his skin somehow doesn’t seem to tan or burn, or if it’s because he’s so upset. “He’s the reason I came here,” he says faintly.

“You said that already,” Chanyeol reminds him gently. “You said you came back to find him.”

Jongdae looks into Chanyeol’s eyes, and the look stuns Chanyeol. It’s ancient, old with pain, and hopeless, the look of someone who has been terribly hurt and can see another pain coming. Then he looks away, out at the sea, where a couple of seabirds are resting on the water.

“Did you know the albatross can fly for ten thousand miles without landing?”

The question is such a non-sequitur that it takes Chanyeol a second to parse the words. But then he recalls again what Jongdae said in the bookshop. When questions are like bullets, I dodge. He’s definitely dodging.

Like it’s the most natural thing to do, Chanyeol puts his hand on Jongdae’s jaw and turns his face back towards his. His skin is the same incredible smoothness of his hands, not even the slightest scratch of stubble.

“Jongdae,” he says. “Talk to me.”

Tears are beginning to pool in Jongdae’s eyes. “This is the one thing I can’t talk about,” he says in a broken whisper. “Please don’t ask me anymore.”

He looks so heartbroken that Chanyeol doesn’t even think twice before sliding his arms around him and pulling him into a hug. Whoever this boy is, he must mean the world to Jongdae. Whatever the reason he can’t be with him, it’s tearing him apart. Chanyeol forces his own feelings aside and focuses on what Jongdae needs right now—a friend.

He feels Jongdae’s arms slide hesitantly around his waist, and his head sinks onto Chanyeol’s shoulder. Chanyeol moves his hand to the back of Jongdae's head, and he becomes keenly aware of the softness of his raggedly cut hair. It’s silky and smooth, and flows around his fingers without a single tangle. Like the salt water never even touched it. He pulls Jongdae closer, noticing how perfectly they fit together. Jongdae’s head falls into the place between his neck and shoulder, and they seem to melt together.

Jongdae tightens his arms around him instead of drawing back, clinging like a small child, and from it Chanyeol understands just how much hurt Jongdae’s been holding in all this time. He wants to take it from him, to draw it out and absorb it into himself the way Jongdae has done with his. And at the same time, he wants to lower his face to Jongdae’s and kiss him. So many emotions are warring inside him that he feels dizzy. Sorrow and compassion, intrigue and desire, swirling around and around.

His heart is pounding so hard against his ribs that he’s sure Jongdae can feel it through his thin t-shirt. And then, with a sensation of something clicking into place, Chanyeol understands the message his body is sending him.

He loves him. He loves Jongdae. He loves this boy who came into his life three days ago and changed him forever.

And Jongdae’s heart has been broken by someone else.

A shadow rushes across them, and they both look up. A giant cloud has come rearing up over the hill, a monsoon cloud, heavy with rain and crackling with electricity. They both know how fast the monsoon rains can come up, and they let go of each other instantly and jump up without words, gathering up the towels and bags and surfboards and heading over the dunes towards the car. The dry rutted track will become a sea of mud if they don’t get over it before the worst of the rain hits. The brief reprieve in the weather, the dry spell Chanyeol’s mom told him of, must be over.

As they toss the gear in the back and Jongdae hops into the driver’s seat, Chanyeol in the side, the blue sky already turning stormy above them, he feels suddenly confused, uncertain about everything. As though the suddenness of the storm turning up has set him adrift on the winds, blown to and fro in unfamiliar waters, and he’s not sure how to get back to land.

Unsure what Jongdae will see in his face, he gets out his phone and finds several notifications he’s missed. Most are from social media apps that he never checks anymore and he swipes them away without bothering to read them, but one is a text from Baekhyun. Storm’s coming up, can’t skate tonight. Wanna come to mine and play Tony Hawk?

Chanyeol thinks about Jongdae, about the boy, somewhere, who he loves, who has apparently broken his heart. He wonders if it’s fair to let himself have these feelings. Fair to Jongdae and to himself. If Jongdae has a chance of getting together with that boy, then the happiness will surely dawn in his eyes again. Chanyeol can’t be selfish and hold him back from that. And also, if—when, he reminds himself, when Jongdae leaves, it will only hurt more the more time Chanyeol spends with him. But his logic isn’t working properly. His heart is overpowering it. It makes no sense, but he feels this impossible connection between them, more powerful even than the rip that dragged him out. Is this what falling in love always feels like? Does it make you have delusions that everything the person you’re in love with does is about you?

It’s too much for him to figure out by himself. He reminds himself that he’s not alone, no matter how much he’s pulled himself away from everyone over the past six months. He has a best friend who has tried multiple times to reach out for him. Baekhyun isn’t exactly what Chanyeol would call a love expert, but he’s someone to talk to. Get all the mess out of his brain and lay it out and see if anyone else can make sense of it.

He texts Baekhyun back. Sure. Pick me up.

~~~

Chanyeol throws up his arms in victory as he finally breaks Baekhyun’s streak of six consecutive wins. They’ve been playing for hours and it’s completely dark outside, the nightfall made earlier by the heavy clouds that are currently hurling torrential rain against the outside of the dark windows. Baekhyun grabs him in fake fury and pretends to shake him until Chanyeol easily wrestles him to the floor and pins his wrists.

“Ow! I yield, I yield,” Baekhyun shrieks, so Chanyeol lets him sit up.

“You smell like the sea,” Baekhyun tells him, curiously reaching out to touch his salt-stiffened hair.

“I went to the beach today,” Chanyeol says.

“The beach?” Baekhyun looks astonished. “I didn’t see you.”

“Not our beach. Jongdae drove us over to a bay a few miles away. I never even knew it was there. He gave me a surfing lesson.”

Baekhyun’s mouth falls open. “You went surfing?” The stunned expression gives way to a look of hope. “How did you—I mean, you’ve not been good with the ocean since…” He trails off, looking half-excited, half-afraid, like he’s worried he’s going to say something wrong and trigger Chanyeol.

“I know,” he says. “I was a bit freaked out at first, but...Jongdae somehow made it okay. He got me in the water and after a while I just...got used to it, I guess. And I realised that it wasn’t as scary as my mind, my memories, were making it.” He shrugs. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe I was just finally ready.”

Baekhyun’s face softens. “I’m so glad to hear that. It’s been really rough on you.” He rubs his nose, slightly awkward, and yet so visibly happy for Chanyeol it makes his heart warm. “It’s been so good seeing you open up again the past few days. Jongdae is good for you.”

“He is,” Chanyeol agrees, unable to help his smile, the softening as he thinks of Jongdae. Baekhyun, in turn, sharpens gleefully, eyes sparkling.

“So Jongdae took you to a secret beach? Just the two of you alone? Was it a date?”

“No,” Chanyeol says, shaking his head. “He’s just really, really nice. Really kind. I don’t know why he seems to care so much about getting me...I don’t know, fixed, I guess?”

“Because he likes you, idiot,” Baekhyun says, rolling his eyes. “How much more clear does it need to get? Did you not notice him singing a love song he composed to you the other night?”

Chanyeol’s happiness slips a little. “I mean, I guess I did see that… and there are things that make me wonder, make me think… but it’s so confusing.” He scrubs a hand through his salty hair in frustration. “He told me he came to try and find a boy he met here last winter. That’s the whole reason he’s here. You didn’t see the way he looked when he told me. I’ve never seen anyone look so heartbroken. He’s still in love with him.”

Baekhyun frowns, hugging his knees. “Remember how I told you about how Jongdae looks at you? Like you’re literally the centre of his universe?”

“Yeah, but—maybe that’s just the way he looks at people? At everyone?”

Baekhyun gives an incredulous laugh. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

No, Chanyeol doesn’t. He’s not blind. And Baekhyun has evidently seen it too. That makes it not just Chanyeol being weird.

“But even if that’s true, what about this boy? What if he turns up and they fix things? I don’t know…” he trails off, not wanting to put into words the strength of his feelings, not even to Baekhyun. Because every second he spends with Jongdae he falls deeper, and he doesn’t know how he’d bear it if he lost him.

“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says. “Are you sure there’s another boy? Are you sure you didn’t meet Jongdae when he came here last winter?”

Chanyeol starts to shake his head, because he’s positive he would remember Jongdae, but then he stills, thinking about it. Because there have been times when Jongdae has looked strangely familiar to him.

Could it be possible? It would explain so much. The way Jongdae found him the first moment he got here, and how, though he’s perfectly polite and friendly to everyone he meets, he’s really only been interested in spending time with Chanyeol. The way he looks at Chanyeol, the way he sings. The way he genuinely cares about Chanyeol, and the way, this afternoon, he trusted Chanyeol with secrets of his own.

Chanyeol has no idea how he could not remember meeting Jongdae. But he has a sudden, slamming conviction that Baekhyun is right.

“I have to go see him,” he says, standing up suddenly, the controller in his lap falling to the floor. Baekhyun squints up at him.

“What, now? It’s like, ten at night, and pouring—”

“Yes. Now.” Chanyeol takes a pace towards the door, then remembers that Baekhyun picked him up and spins around again. “Baek, I need you to drive me to the youth hostel.”

Baekhyun starts to laugh in disbelief, but he stands up anyway. “Okay, but you have to text me and tell me what happens or I’ll die of curiosity,” he says. Chanyeol nods distractedly. His brain is going a mile a minute, trying to place Jongdae here in winter clothes, maybe in the bookshop or the convenience store or watching at the skate bowl, and coming up utterly blank. His heart seems to be leaping in his chest and there’s that weird sensation of pulling again. He feels like Jongdae has tied a string around his heart and now he’s reeling him in. He’s almost scared, because the depth of pain in Jongdae’s eyes was something he’s never seen before, and how could Chanyeol have caused that if he can’t even remember Jongdae? He’s scared for it to be true and he’s scared for it not to be.

But if it is true, then Chanyeol will do anything, everything, to fix the hurt he’s caused.

He doesn’t know how all this is even possible, and if it is, why Jongdae didn’t just tell him—but first of all he has to find out if it’s true.

~~~

Jongdae has lost track of how long he’s been sitting at the edge of the saltwater pool. He hugs his knees and watches the rain fall into the surface of the dark water, making a constantly changing pattern of splashes and ripples. The last of the daylight has long since faded into night, but he can see well enough in the dark to make out the faint outlines of the rocks, and the flashes of spray where the waves break over them. The ocean is too rough to go out to the end of the rocks. Though it wouldn’t matter if Jongdae did get knocked in. It’s not like he can die when he’s already dead.

The rain hammers down on his head, runs in rivulets down his face and neck. He’s soaked to the skin, and he’s starting to shiver from having been wet for so long, even though the air temperature isn’t all that cold. He feels like he’s being pounded by the surf, pushed deep, deep under. Like he’s drowning all over again.

He came so close to telling Chanyeol the truth this afternoon. The emotion in Chanyeol’s eyes was so clear. Nobody has ever looked at Jongdae with such love and such longing.

He wants Chanyeol to know how deeply he cares for him, and how intensely he wishes that there could be a future in which they could stay together. His head and heart feel all tied up and knotted, too tight to ever have a hope of untangling. All he knows is that it hurts.

He understands that Chanyeol, somehow, has forged an incredibly strong connection with him over the past four days. He can tell by the way the bond between them pulls. He doesn’t understand how it has happened. He never intended it. Turning up to make Chanyeol fall in love with him and then disappearing forever—it’s the cruelest thing Jongdae could do to him. He was supposed to make things better for Chanyeol—and the worst of it is that right now, he has. He can see Chanyeol blossoming, like a flower whose delicate petals gently unfurl as the sun rises. But Jongdae is going to leave him, and he’s scared it’s going to be like a boot coming down to grind the flower back into the dirt. If Chanyeol feels anything like the amount of pain Jongdae is feeling right now, it’ll be enough to crush him.

He closes his eyes and turns his face up to the night sky. Lets the rain batter against his face. Soon all this will be gone. He will not feel the rain. He will not shiver in the cold. The wind will not caress his skin and tease his hair. And even if he breaks his promise to Junmyeon and visits Chanyeol again, Chanyeol will look right through him.

After a while, he senses a presence beside him. He opens his eyes, and Junmyeon is sitting on the rocky edge of the pool next to him, his legs dangling into the water. It’s strange to see his hair and white robes unaffected by the rain. Even his legs appear completely dry, though they’re submerged in the pool water. Jongdae releases his grip on his knees and lets his legs down too. He must be colder than he thought, because the water feels slightly warm.

“Oh, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says softly, with such compassion it makes tears come to Jongdae’s eyes. That’s all he says, but it’s enough.

Jongdae swallows. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says. His voice breaks a little. “I just wanted to help.”

Junmyeon doesn’t say anything, but he puts his arm around Jongdae’s shoulders. Jongdae leans against him, biting his lip hard in an attempt to keep his composure. He feels the strangeness of the way their bodies stay apart and don’t merge into each other—a barrier of faintly fizzing energy instead of skin and flesh. He wonders if it feels like this for Chanyeol when he touches him. He’s never mentioned it.

“Hyung,” Jongdae whispers after a while. “Has anyone ever been brought back to life?”

He looks up at Junmyeon’s face. The pity on it is hard to take, and he has to glance away again, the lump in his throat so big it’s painful.

“I mean,” he continues, “I’ve seen people healed who were on the brink of death, or who had only just died. But what about people whose deaths have been sealed?”

Junmyeon nods slowly. “It has happened,” he says. “It’s very rare—I haven’t come across such a case myself—but I heard that if an assigned healer wasn’t able to get to a person in time and they were declared dead, but the Balance wanted them to stay alive, a reaper will be assigned to unseal the death and bring the spirit back to the body. I heard the spirit has to agree, though. Once their bodies have been sealed, they get a choice whether to go back or go on.”

So the power does exist. A terrible blaze of hope leaps up inside Jongdae. “Has anyone ever been brought back after being dead for a long time?”

Junmyeon turns to face him, a knowing look in his eyes. “Meaning six months?”

Jongdae swallows. “Yeah. About that long.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “Jongdae… I’m still learning about these things, like you. Like I said, I’ve never seen even a recent death be unsealed. But…” He pauses, and a thin line appears between his brows, like he’s hesitant to say anything more.

“But what?” Jongdae grabs Junmyeon’s arm, searching his face. “Hyung, tell me.”

Junmyeon his lips. “Kyungsoo told me that in the five hundred years he’s been sealing deaths, he’s only ever unsealed one. But that one… he said it was someone who had been lost in a desert and had desiccated into nothing but a skeleton. There’d been some mix-up with the Bookkeeper about who was supposed to die that didn’t get untangled for a whole year.” He holds up a hand before Jongdae can speak. “That’s all he told me. I don’t know the details. Please don’t get caught up in what-ifs, Jongdae. It hurts to see the hope in your eyes.”

“But,” Jongdae says. His hand has fisted in the white silk on Junmyeon’s arm. “But if the power exists, there must be some way. Couldn’t I, I don’t know, apply for an exception or something? It’s not like it’d cause problems here on Earth. My body was never found. Nobody knows I died.”

Junmyeon just gazes at him sadly, and Jongdae can read the answer in his eyes. He clenches his jaw, looking away as the flame of hope that had so quickly and brightly blazed sinks back down into the last flickering ember of a guttering candle, leaving everything darker than he’s ever known it before.

“If it was up to me, Jongdae, I would give you back your life in an instant. But you know it’s not.” He puts a palm to Jongdae’s face and turns it so that their eyes meet again. “You’ve been telling Chanyeol that he needs to move on from the things that have tormented him and live the life he was given. Don’t you think it’s time for you to take your own advice?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” His voice is a fractured mess.

“No. You’re trying to go back, to change things that can’t be changed. Life is so much more than the time we spend on Earth, Jongdae. It’s the journey our souls make, and the things we learn along the way. There’s so much more out there waiting for you, if only you could stop looking behind you and turn your eyes ahead.”

The words slowly sink in as Junmyeon holds his gaze. Jongdae thinks of the pathway that leads on past Still Waters. The one he’s seen countless souls travel until they disappear into the endless curtain of mist. He thinks of the many times he’s followed them, out of curiosity or boredom, and arrived again at the Divergence where the path splits into three. Up to Elyxion, down to Exordium, or straight ahead, to rebirth.

The souls always seem to know exactly where they’re going. But the pull Jongdae feels has only ever been from behind.

He works for a different reason to Junmyeon. It’s not because he feels called to the work, or because he wants to serve the Balance. It’s because he can’t let go.

Can he do as Junmyeon says? Can he let his memories of his life on Earth go, leave the people he loves so dearly behind, and head onward into whatever is waiting for him?

He understands that this is what is supposed to happen. After death, souls must move on. It’s the way life works. But something inside him still fights against it.

“You’ve done so much good for Chanyeol,” Junmyeon says. “But it’s time to let him carry on with his life. If you stay any longer, Jongdae, you will only be holding him back.”

At that, the tears he’s been battling finally win. They slide down his face and mix with the rain. He doesn’t know any more whether he’s shaking from the cold or from emotion. He feels a terrible sense of injustice. The desperation to stay with the people he loves, and the grief that he has to let them go all over again, feel like they will tear him in half.

Junmyeon pulls him close and lets Jongdae cry against his shoulder for a few minutes, petting the back of his head gently. Then, when Jongdae’s sobs diminish a little, he lets go and stands up, holding out his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “Give me the pendant and come back to Still Waters. There’s so much ahead of you, Jongdae. More than you can ever imagine.”

Jongdae’s hand trembles as he slowly reaches up. And then freezes as he hears his name being called. It’s muffled through the pounding rain and the roaring of the waves as they smash into the rocks, but he knows the voice immediately.

Chanyeol. Chanyeol is calling for him.

Junmyeon looks up and out, over Jongdae’s head, and Jongdae spins around, scraping his leg on the rocks as he scrambles to his feet. He sees Chanyeol through the downpour, coming along the path towards the rocks. He’s holding a flashlight, sweeping the beam from side to side as he searches for Jongdae.

Jongdae spins back around to Junmyeon, shaking his head wildly. His whole body is trembling, hair dripping endlessly into his eyes. “I can’t,” he cries. “I can’t come back yet! I have to tell Chanyeol I love him. I have to say goodbye. I can’t leave him without saying goodbye. I’m going to break his heart by leaving, and I won’t have it be because he thinks I don’t love him.”

“Jongdae, there isn’t much more time,” Junmyeon says, suddenly very urgent. “They’ve been asking me why I’ve delayed accepting assignments, why I’ve been delegating my work to other guides. I don’t know how much longer I can throw them off the scent. If they find out what you’ve done, you’ll be punished. If they realise I knew you had the pendant all along, I’ll be punished too. Please, you must finish things tonight.”

“I will,” Jongdae says. “I promise, hyung. Just give me one last night.”

He spins back around towards Chanyeol, and feels Junmyeon fade out behind him, leaving nothing in the air but a fading echo of love and sorrow, and the rain.

~~~

Chanyeol holds the hood of his summer windbreaker over his head with one hand, the other clutching the flashlight Yixing lent him. The light reflects off the falling rain and it’s hard to see far, but the streets appear deserted.

He’s trying not to panic. When he’d gotten to the youth hostel, Yixing had worriedly told him Jongdae went out for a walk hours ago and hadn't come back, that he had only been wearing his usual shorts, t-shirt and summer jacket des