In Still Waters, everything is silent. The old house with its central courtyard feels like a tomb. The mountains rise high, high above the graceful tiled roofs, dwarfing the house, and the rocky cliffs seem to be closing in around him on all sides. With no wind to stir them, the mists hang in still wreaths, blocking any view of the sky. Jongdae’s not even sure there is a sky. It’s a place where time has stopped, or perhaps it never started in the first place.

Jongdae feels like time has stopped for him too. He watches the spirits slowly float up the path beside the house, on and on, neverending. None of them stop at Still Waters, or return from the Divergence to take a job. Unlike Jongdae, they are compelled to move on. To take the next step in their journey, be it up, down, or straight ahead.

He left it too long. The higher servants of the Balance figured out what had happened and caught up with him, and even Junmyeon couldn’t protect him from receiving the punishment he deserves. For stealing someone else’s pendant, he’s been stripped of his job as a healer, since they cannot trust him to behave the way he should. For revealing himself to someone alive, he’s been barred from Earth, as they cannot trust him not to cause havoc. Jongdae understands the punishments. It doesn’t make them any easier to bear.

For the hundredth time in however long he’s been lingering alone in Still Waters, he closes his eyes and visualises Chanyeol. He feels the bond tugging in his chest and tries to slip to him, but it’s like throwing himself against a door that’s been bricked up on the other side.

In the end, it didn’t matter that he promised Junmyeon he’d never visit Chanyeol again. He can’t go now even if he tries. He’s trapped here, and with no way to be useful, for the first time he truly feels like the ghost he is. There is nobody he can help. There is nobody to talk to. There is no music. There is no life.

There is only Still Waters, and the endless souls passing by.

~~~

Chanyeol has spent the last three weeks trying to make sense of everything that happened with Jongdae. It’s not like he can talk it out with anyone. There’s no one to ask the millions of questions crowding his thoughts.

It’s raining again today, probably the last gasp of the monsoon before the summer heat strikes in all its blazing glory. Chanyeol huddles in his raincoat under a slight overhang at the base of the cliff, the saltwater pool ahead of him. Beyond that, the rocks where Jongdae died stretch out into the rainy gloom. The ocean is calm, just whispering softly against the rocks. The shallow recess where Chanyeol is sitting is dry, but he has to curl his long legs tight to his chest to keep them out of the rain.

He’s seriously questioned his own sanity several times, but every time he comes to the conclusion that he’s not crazy. He knows Jongdae was real. He has his clothes left crumpled on his bedroom floor after Jongdae faded out within them to tell him he wasn’t dreaming. He has Baekhyun and Jieun and Lu Han asking where Jongdae went to tell him that he wasn’t hallucinating him. He has his own guitar, brushed free of dust and standing by his bed instead of the corner it was banished to for six months, to remind him of the way they sang together. The way Jongdae unlocked the music Chanyeol had kept tightly locked up inside his heart.

Everything seems to remind him of Jongdae. Baekhyun bringing steamed buns from Minseok’s mom’s deli reminds him of Jongdae’s cautious nibbling, like he’d never had a steamed bun before and wasn’t sure of the taste. Walking past the surf lesson kiosk reminds him of Jongdae bribing him into the waves by answering questions about his past. So many things about Jongdae that didn’t make sense before make sense now. His reluctance to talk about himself. His efforts to get Chanyeol past his fears and interested in life again.

As he’d faded out, he’d begged Chanyeol to promise he wouldn’t forget that Jongdae didn’t regret what he’d done, and that he loved him. Chanyeol had been too panicked to promise then, but he’s promised since. He’s promised a thousand times. It feels like the one last thing he can do for Jongdae. To remember that Jongdae doesn’t regret it. To remember that he loves him.

Chanyeol doesn’t know what he did to deserve Jongdae’s care for him. He wonders about the bond between them, the tide he’d felt pulling him towards Jongdae. He’d felt it during the six months between Jongdae’s death and him reappearing in Sanha, but he hadn’t understood it. It was a feeling of something being missing. Of searching and searching but never finding, because he didn’t know what he was looking for in the first place. And then there was Jongdae, and the pull between them had found its origin, and how could Chanyeol ever fight against something as powerful as the tide?

Now Jongdae is gone, and the feeling has lost its goal again. Now he’s the ocean being tugged by the moon on the other side of the Earth, pulled and pushed in an impossible direction by an invisible force, and with no possible way of ever reaching what he’s so desperately pulled towards. He wonders if it’s going to hurt this much for the rest of his life.

It makes him wonder, too, if ghosts exist—which they evidently do, and probably other kinds of afterlife beings too, since they found Jongdae and took him away—what other concepts that he thought only belonged in myths and fairytales could be true? Could there be a soul bond of some kind between them, where the two of them are only completed by the other?

It makes sense to Chanyeol, because it matches how he feels, but it also hurts terribly. Because Jongdae is dead, and Chanyeol is alive. He'd briefly thought of suicide, but he hadn’t gotten far with that line of thinking. Jongdae gave his life for Chanyeol, and he’d come back just to help him learn to live it again. He’s given Chanyeol the gift of his life twice over, and how can Chanyeol even think of throwing away a gift so precious and given with such love? Besides, he doesn’t understand enough about how such things work to try and find a way around the circumstances that have so unfairly split them up. He could mess things up even worse by trying to cheat.

He remembers all the things Jongdae told him about the boy who saved his life, before Chanyeol knew it was Jongdae. That he made the choice to paddle into danger. That it wasn’t Chanyeol’s fault. That it could have been the best thing he ever did, to save Chanyeol.

Jongdae knew Chanyeol. He really knew him. He knew he was hurting. He knew what he needed to be healed. To know all that, he must have been watching Chanyeol all along, ever since his death. He must have seen how his death affected Chanyeol, and been so pained by it that he’d break the rules, risk whatever punishment he might be getting now, to come back for him.

Chanyeol is suddenly filled with a love so immense he can’t contain it. It grows and swells until it’s ripping him apart from the inside out. Tears spill down his cheeks, and he puts his head into his folded arms and lets them come freely.

Then he wonders, if Jongdae saw him before, does that mean he can see him now? He goes perfectly still, lifts his damp face up, trying to sense any kind of presence around him. But other than the rain falling just beyond the toes of his sneakers, he can sense nothing.

After a moment or two, he hears something. It’s a scuffling and a snuffling and a faint jingling of a collar, and seconds later he has his lap full of excited, soggy, slightly smelly brown retriever. As Koko eagerly at the salty tears on Chanyeol’s face and treads her big sandy paws all over his legs, he can’t help the choked laugh that breaks from his lips. Moments later Yixing appears around the rocks, wearing a bright yellow raincoat that reaches to his knees.

“Sorry, Chanyeol,” he says. “She’s always running off.”

Chanyeol hugs Koko, not even caring how soggy and wet dog-smelling she is. “It’s okay.” Curious, he glances up at Yixing. “Aren’t you working?” Yixing is always working.

Yixing smiles. There’s sadness to it, but also a sense of relief. “I finally hired a permanent staff member. Jongdae made me promise to, before he left. He taught me that moving on from Zitao didn’t mean forgetting him.”

Chanyeol’s lips part as amazement at Jongdae fills him up, love and pride and heartbreak all at once. “He taught me a lot too,” he says, and to his embarrassment his eyes fill with tears again and flood over. Koko jumps up to at them again, and when Chanyeol has managed to fend her off and wipe his face on his sleeve, Yixing is sitting beside him. He looks out into the rain with his dreamy eyes, a gaze that has always seemed like he’s staring into things nobody else can see. His profile is serene.

“Life is precious, isn’t it? It’s sad that sometimes we have to lose someone to realise that.”

Chanyeol thinks about Jongdae. How precious his life was. How Chanyeol’s life was so precious to him that he gave up his own for it. His throat starts burning, and tears prick his eyes all over again. Yixing puts his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders, and Chanyeol leans against him, safe in the knowledge that Yixing understands. Yixing has lost someone incredibly precious to him as well.

“Jongdae loves you very much,” Yixing says softly. “If he could have stayed with you, he would have. Even though he had to go, it was through circumstances he couldn’t control. It doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

Chanyeol’s breath hitches in his throat, because he doesn’t know what Jongdae has told Yixing, but it’s almost like he knows. He knows more than just the sadness of a swift summer romance, ended before it’s begun.

“I know,” he whispers.

“Jongdae taught me that life is meant to be lived,” Yixing says. “I am going to try and do that now. Will you try too?”

Chanyeol thinks of all the times Jongdae pleaded with him to live his life to the fullest. He gave his life so you could live, he’d said, when they were sitting out on the end of the rocks. So live, Chanyeol.

He Koko’s head, feeling the softness of the fur around her floppy ears. “Yes,” he says. “I will.”

~~~

There’s no real way to measure passing time in Still Waters, but it feels like Jongdae has been here for an eternity. Some time ago, he drifted down to the start of the path, moving against the flow of souls moving up it, to stand at the shore of the wide silver river where souls first arrive from Earth. A boat is coming now, becoming clearer through the mists as it approaches the small jetty. The soul sits in the prow, with their reaper standing at the stern. On the shore nearby, a cluster of souls are waiting. They’re the people who loved the newly dead soul during their life, waiting to greet them. When the disoriented-looking man gets out of the boat, he’s embraced in their welcoming arms.

Jongdae searches the face of the reaper standing in the boat, but it’s not Kyungsoo, and none of the other reapers ever talked to him. Maybe even Kyungsoo wouldn’t talk to him now. He’s not a healer anymore. He’s just a lost spirit, of no more consequence than the eternal mists. This reaper only meets Jongdae’s pleading eyes for a bare second before turning the boat and vanishing slowly back into the mist.

Jongdae tags along behind the group of souls as they move up the path, past Still Waters and up to the Divergence. Most souls don’t hesitate here. The balance of their lives draws them either up towards the brightness of Elyxion, or to slink down the shadowed path towards Exordium. The onward path, Jongdae has noticed, isn’t often taken right away. Unless they died very young, the souls spend time resting and absorbing what they’ve learned in their previous life before being ready for another. Jongdae has seen a couple of souls return down the path from Elyxion to take the onward route, but never any from Exordium.

When Jongdae was a healer, he never used Still Waters as his resting place. Every time he was here, he felt restless and out of place, stifled by the silence and the way it never changed, not even the patterns in the mist. So he spent all his time between assignments with Chanyeol. The only place he was ever drawn was to Chanyeol’s side. Being with him, even when Chanyeol couldn’t see or hear him, made him feel less lost. Now he’s more lost than ever, but he can no longer use Chanyeol as his refuge.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did. Maybe he only made things worse for Chanyeol. He’d probably have healed on his own, eventually. He would have found happiness again. Instead, Jongdae gave him one more wound to heal from. And now he’s stuck here, with no connection to Earth, no access to the people he loves. He can’t even check up on Jongin every now and then. The souls that pass briefly through here have no interest in him, and the healers and guides and reapers are all busy with their own work. So Jongdae slowly wanders up and down the path between the lake and the place the paths diverge, aimless and forlorn.

After a while, he finds himself at the Divergence again, but this time something makes him look down the path towards Exordium. Looking that way makes him feel uneasy. He can see the shadows down there. But for the first time, he wonders what they might be hiding. What it is that draws some souls there, rather than towards the light.

Before he really realises, he’s taken a couple of steps down the path. He notices that it’s already darker, and when he turns around, he’s shocked to find that the Divergence is far, far behind him, and high above. Much further than a couple of steps should have taken him. The glimmer of light that is the start of Elyxion is nothing more than a faint star on a distant horizon. For a moment, he’s terrified. How did he come so far without realising? He starts to take a step back, but then he realises that he doesn’t want to. All he feels like doing right now is moving farther away. Away from other people. Away from light. Away from anything that might require him to let go of the things he’s trying so hard to cling to.

He turns and looks down the path again. It’s so steep and dark. The black rock walls on each side of him rear up so high and tight it’s more like a tunnel than a path. Far below him, the shadows become so dense they’re like a solid wall. Jongdae takes one step further, and finds himself right in front of it. The wall of shadows touches each side of the rocky walls of the path and rises up as high as he can see. He can’t see anything through it. It’s a darkness thicker than night, more like a black gelatinous fluid than anything else. He’s so close that if he reached out his hand, his fingers would sink in.

He gazes into the wall of shadows. He can’t see through it, but something about it speaks to him. It tells him that his pain and sorrow is understood here. That he is welcome here. It invites him to come in. To surrender to the shadows and live in them. It seems so appealing. He won’t have to fight anymore. He won’t be lost anymore. The darkness will be his home, where he can finally, finally rest.

But then he feels something else. Something rearing up inside him, a resistance and objection. Experience and knowledge gained from the life he lived on Earth. He lived in darkness as a child, and there was nothing comforting or appealing about it. Nothing about it felt like home. The more he surrendered to it, the more painful it became. And he knows that there is something better than darkness.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to his last day with Chanyeol. He remembers how it felt to sit next to each other and sing together. For a long time, he struggles to remember how their first song went. The melody seems to be drained out of him by the shadows, but eventually the refrain comes back to him in a rush, and with it comes the warmth of them pressing close together, and the bond of their love flowing between them, and how it had felt to kiss Chanyeol. How happy he had been. How bright everything had shone.

If that’s the alternative to darkness, what is he doing here?

He opens his eyes and turns around, and Junmyeon is standing right behind him. Jongdae falls back a step in surprise, and Junmyeon reaches out to catch him by the front of his robes, pulling him forward again, as though he’s afraid Jongdae will stumble backwards into Exordium. When he’s convinced Jongdae has regained his balance, he releases him.

“You scared me,” he says. His face is crumpled, voice trembling, and suddenly Jongdae sees not a wise guide, but the young boy who had died of leukaemia just a few months before Jongdae drowned. He steps forward and hugs Junmyeon tightly, and Junmyeon grips him back, clinging like their roles are suddenly reversed.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jongdae whispers.

“No, I’m sorry,” Junmyeon says. “I’ve been so busy with assignments on Earth that I neglected you. I didn’t realise you were so lost you would…” He trails off, swallowing. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll take you.”

Jongdae grips Junmyeon’s hand, and a moment later Junmyeon has slipped them back to the courtyard at Still Waters. He leads Jongdae to a bench beneath the unchanging trees and they both sit.

“You need to make a decision,” Junmyeon says.

“About what?” Jongdae asks.

“What to do next.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “I’ve already decided. I’m waiting.”

“Jongdae, you can’t just do nothing until Chanyeol comes. You could be waiting for decades. And by then… he may have moved on. Loved someone else.”

“Don’t.” It feels like the words are stabbing him. “I know I’m being ridiculous. I know he’s got his whole life ahead of him. But I don’t care. I’m waiting anyway.”

Junmyeon places his hand over Jongdae’s. “It’s not just that. You’re putting yourself in danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who linger too long here, with nothing to occupy them, tend to get lost.”

Jongdae knows what he means even before Junmyeon nods in the direction of the Divergence. He felt the darkness trying to lure him inside moments ago.

“But if I leave, what if I miss him when he comes?”

“You’ll know when he gets here.”

Jongdae frowns. “How?”

“The same way you found him on Earth.” Junmyeon taps Jongdae’s chest gently. “You’ll feel it here. That connection, that pull, between you and those you love. You only have to be paying attention, and yo