"Baek!" Chanyeol sat upright in bed, soaked in a cold sweat as his dreamscape dispersed like a riverside fog. The bed beside him was empty and cold. Chanyeol shivered as he returned to himself and remembered the night. He rubbed his arms as it came to him in fits and starts and movie stills. "Baek?" he whispered to the empty room. This was Baekhyun's house. This was Baekhyun's bed. Why was he not in it?

Chanyeol's body was primed for the chase, going into motion without thought. He first checked the bathroom, thinking the worst - did he wake up sick and black out like the drunk he usually was? But the bathroom was empty, with no signs of sickness or struggle.

He threw the bedroom door open, his mind racing ahead to his boots by the doorway, and a sense of deja vu so strong he almost didn't notice the deathly still figure by the windows.

"Baek." Chanyeol swallowed hard, relief warring with the shot of adrenaline already in his veins. He was a mess, all shaking hands and trembles as he approached Baekhyun. The man was curled in one corner of the couch, staring at nothing. He didn't move as Chanyeol sat down beside him, reached for him, touched him, pulled him against his chest and held him. And then he moved, once, going limp against him in one breath like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Baek," Chanyeol said softly, wrapping him up. Face pressed to hair, tremors working their way through him as he held him tight, maybe more for his own reassurance than any need on Baekhyun's part.

The man didn't respond, didn't kick, didn't fight. He lay limp in Chanyeol's arms as if he wasn't really there, and Chanyeol felt fear creeping up on him. He wanted to shake him, he needed Baekhyun fighting and pushing like the angry survivor he was. Baekhyun's cheek rested against his chest, and never before had Chanyeol felt him so small as he was now. It terrified him. Baekhyun was larger than life, Chanyeol didn't know this silent defeated man, didn't know this husk of a human being in his arms. But he held on reardless. Whatever Baekhyun was or would become deserved to not be alone. Chanyeol shifted closer on the sofa, gathering Baekhyun into his arms and rested his chin on his head, letting out a long, slow sigh..

It may have been hours, or minutes, that Chanyeol held him like that, trying and failing to follow Baekhyun's slow breath to calm his own erratic heartbeat.

"You're scared." The words were so soft Chanyeol barely registered what he'd said at first. He started, sitting up and looking down at the dark head of hair under his chin. Baekhyun sounded so calm and empty that Chanyeol was frightened into agreement

"Of course I'm scared," Chanyeol whispered back fiercely.

"Why." The word was a sigh, a breath, a statement. A balloon deflating after the party was over and the guests have all gone home.

"I thought I was too late."

Baekhyun was quiet again, for so long Chanyeol wondered if he'd spoken at all, or if he imagined it. But then fingers twitched on his chest, resting feather light against his bone.

"Maybe." Baekhyun's voice was flat. It was as though every color and intonation had been stripped from his voice, leaving him black and white. Absence and presence. Mass and vacuum. Negative space. A candle's wick spent. "It's over. Everything I am is dead."

Chanyeol let out a shaky breath. He would burn for both of them if he had to. "What if this is a beginning."

"Everything I've worked my whole life for is over." Baekhyun sighed softly. "No fiancee, no family, no job."

"You have your job," Chanyeol protested, but not too intensely, because Baekhyun was talking. He was here, he was okay. And Chanyeol wanted to keep him that way.

"Not for long."

Chanyeol swallowed hard. "What will you do?"

"You know what I need to do."

Chanyeol knew. Self destruct. ​​​​The loaded gun in his hands was heavy and cold, it didn't get any warmer the longer he held it or the harder he squeezed. By contrast, Baekhyun was like air, warm and evanescent