4

No matter what happens to you, know that your life is precious…

Chanyeol had barely rested; the nightmares he’d suffered after the incident were the worst. He’d never been so grateful for Wu Fan’s hard sleeping habits. At first, he’d made fun of it, and even indulged in the pranks that suited such a setup. However, recently, he'd never been so happy for it. More than once he'd wanted to haul his lover out of bed and thank him for such a double-edged trait. 

Wide eyes were almost pasted down with exhaustion, the bags under his eyes heavier than usual and his skin held a grayish tint to it that gave him the aura of being half dead. It had been only three days since they had visited Mother and practice went on as usual. The manager had been missing for most of it, not even taking calls due to having to meet those willing to book the group for various performances. 

The tall rapper all but dropped into a corner, wearily running a hand over his face. He yawned, the action making him close his eyes; even after, it was a struggle to reopen them. He half wondered if he’d die from lack of sleep faster than the looming doom.

A pair of lips on his made him open them to mere slits, enough to see a blurred image of his lover squatting before him. Wu Fan drummed lightly on Chanyeol’s upraised knees.

“Just another half hour and we’re free,” he coaxed gently. 

“Let me die here,” Chanyeol mumbled forlornly. “I promise I’ll go quietly.” 

The Korean felt the older man quiver with laughter. “Nonsense,” he murmured. “If I let you do that, who’s going to love me like you do?”

“Someone who isn’t hating you like I do now,” the twenty-two year old nearly whined. “I just want to go to the nearest comfortable surface and disappear from life.”

Wu Fan shifted and placed a sloppy kiss on his forehead, grabbing his arms and, with effort, pulling the other to his feet. Chanyeol leaned his weight on his boyfriend, mock sobbing into the other’s shoulder. 

“Wu Fan,” another voice entered into Chanyeol’s sensory register. It was Jongin. He was panting and sounded just as tired, if not more so. “We’re dying here. I mean, look at him. If he’s that pooped imagine the rest of us.”

“Isn’t Joonmyeon your leader?” Wu Fan asked; Chanyeol imagined him raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just a flam,” the nineteen year-old retorted. “You know we all defer to you most of the time, anyway.”

“I’m right here,” Joonmyeon called, indignant.

Chanyeol couldn’t help the weak chuckle that bubbled out of him, taking back his weight and straightening up. 

“What is it that they call you again? Duizhang!” Jongin began to whine, ignoring Joonmyeon and making one of the ugliest pleading faces Chanyeol had ever seen. “Have mercy on our souls!”

Wu Fan snorted. “It’s only a half hour left--twenty five now.”

“Keep stalling,” Baekhyun droned theatrically.

“You’re all terrible,” Tao said. He, among the rest, seemed completely unaffected by the grueling round and rehearsals. “It’s only practice. Training was harder than this.”

“Go to hell,” Yixing groused, earning a glare from the youngest Chinese.

“Eighteen minutes,” Wu Fan said, clapping his hands. “One more run-through and we’re done for the day. Deal?”

With reluctant compliance, everyone got in position.

The last run-through had felt exactly like that—like it ran right through him. He rode the bus with the others, silent as a lamb after being slaughtered, falling into the dark world of sleep as soon has he had settled into his seat. The others, however, had enough energy to spare to whine while Tao and Kris tried to chide and placate them respectively. He never knew when the bus stopped, when the others disembarked, when Kris tried to wake him, was unaware of the nightmares creeping slowly from the edges of his mind; he only knew when he shot forward with a muted scream, sweat leaking from every pore on his face. 

Long arms embraced him as he struggled to breathe regularly. Among the river of sweat he felt his filled eyes spill over into the mixture and dimly he heard a familiar voice murmur to him over and over, 'Never. I won't leave you, Chanyeol. I'm right here, baby. I'm right here,' before he descended into the dark once more.

When he woke next, he found himself sequestered between a warm body and the back of a couch. His internal clock stuttered into functionality, telling him belatedly that it had to be well into the night, crawling through the wee hours of the morning. Pale eyelids fluttered open, bringing into a blur, the face of a red shirt, the scent of old sweat invading his nostrils. Ignoring the tantalizing pull of sleep for the time being, wanting to move and get his boyfriend to take a shower and get to bed.

"Are you really awake this time?" Yifan's voice boomed from behind the hard chest. He sounded tuckered out if not outright exhausted. Chanyeol nodded meekly and with a whispered "Alright," from Yifan, they both shifted to rise from the couch. Once on their feet, the taller man gently grasped Chanyeol's hand and tugged him toward the hallway. They stopped into their shared bedroom and Yifan gathered a clean set of clothes for each of them, all the while holding Chanyeol close to him. 

The deep-voiced rapper looked down at their linked fingers blankly, bemused but not repulsed. Yifan courted him to the bathroom, sitting the younger man down on top of the closed toilet and locking the door behind them. Yifan went about the usual bath time ritual, moving about the bathroom with at least one part of him always brushing against Chanyeol. The younger of the two members had no qualms with it, however it seemed a bit... odd.

“Come on,” Yifan coaxed gently just above the roar of the running water. He wriggled out of his clothes quickly, and took his time with Chanyeol. He stood before the other rapper and motioned for him to raise his arms, slowly peeling the shirt up and over Chanyeol's head, coming to squat as the shirt went upward. Yifan signaled Chanyeol to rise, which the other did mutely, and worked at the button and zip. Pants slipped to the ground with a muted whisper, followed by tan plaid boxers. Chanyeol wordlessly toed off his socks, now completely . Slowly, Chanyeol raised his eyes to meet Yifan's, almost as if asking for further instruction.

Yifan bit his lip for a moment before taking the other by the hand and leading him to the tub and eased the tall Korean into the warm water. Yifan twisted to face Chanyeol with an already prepped towel, lathered in soap, kneeling beside the tub and began to bathe his boyfriend.

Only then did Chanyeol begin to speak. “Yif--.”

“Shh,” he was silenced by a pair of lips on his. “Let me, okay?”

A light pink hue spread across Chanyeol's cheeks at the gentle smile on Yifan's face. They continued in silence, the only sound being the slosh of the bathwater and the heavy drops falling from the towel back into the tub. Chanyeol felt awkward, not doing anything. But Yifan silently ordered him to remain still and only move to accommodate bathing him. Yifan moved to wash the other's face, careful not to get any of the soap in sensitive areas, like the eyes. After drying, Chanyeol blinked his eyes open carefully, owlishly, and they widened in surprised when Yifan stole a kiss – deep and searching. The Chinese moved away slowly, eyes half lidded and chain dangling between the two. He didn't move far, mouth still opened a bit as if contemplating stealing another taste of his lover's lips. Chanyeol held his gaze steadily, chest almost heaving as he regained his breath.

Yifan's brows suddenly furrowed and swallowed, his eyes took on a peculiar light. “I love you, Chanyeol,” he said, seeming to want to prove something. A large wet hand rose to cup Chanyeol's face, its thumb brushing over the damp skin tenderly. “Don't doubt it, even for a second.” Yifan's eyes searched Chanyeol's, seeming distraught and self-assured all at the same time and he whispered, fervently, “I'd die before I leave you.”

The words made the breath hitch in Chanyeol's throat, and a tear slipped out, unbidden and he managed a strangled gasp that acted as an invitation. Yifan closed the small gap and covered Chanyeol's mouth with his own, a soft, gentle whisper against the other man's lips. Yifan's tongue darted out to seek entrance, and Chanyeol granted it passage, deepening the kiss. Not breaking contact, the Chinese rose as much as he could, throwing one leg in after the other to settle in the tub beside Chanyeol, nestling comfortably next to him, looping his right arm over Chanyeol's waist, the other one cupping the back of the curly haired rapper's head. One of Chanyeol's arms had already found its way between the back of the tub and Yifan's body to wrap around his shoulder, and the other hand anchored itself to the older man's chest.

Yifan took a hold of the hand on his chest and guided downward just under the surface of the water to touch his hardening length. “Feel that? That's yours, babe.” He had Chanyeol touch every available part of him, going, 'this, this, this, that...' “All of me,” he finished, murmuring against the other's lips, convicted, “will never leave you. Not even you can make me leave.” The Chinese pulled back, eyes dark with passion but filled with determination. “So whatever monster there is in your head, I'm telling it, and you, that I'm never letting go of you. You're precious to me, Chanyeol. The ground you walk on, the ground you walk beside,the air you breathe and the air I share with you. All of it, I cherish.”

He brought Chanyeol's hand up to his lips and kissed each knuckle, each tip and each pad before placing one in the middle of his hand. “You know that, don't you?” Almost saddened eyes locked with Chanyeol's, the sincerity to strong it was crippling.

Numbly, Chanyeol nodded, trying and finally finding his voice, choked out a feeble, tear-choked, “Yes.”

“Good,” Yifan whispered before rising to exit the tub, pulling the plug from the drain. He helped Chanyeol out and dried him off, stopping Chanyeol when he tried to stop him. “I said, 'Let me,' remember?”

They left, their clothes in one of Yifan's hands and Chanyeol's hand in the other. They hadn't gotten dressed, but Chanyeol wasn't worried. The others were past sleep by now, the drain from practice rendering them all useless to themselves. Kris tossed their clothes in the general direction of their shared laundry basket, and led Chanyeol to an already made bed. The other tall Exo member slid in without protest, looking up at Yifan quizzically when the other man tucked him in and rounded the bed to get in himself.

“Skin to skin tonight,” he explained, placing a kiss on his lover's forehead.. “So should you wake from another one of those nightmares, you'll feel me against you and you'll know you're alright.”

Chanyeol didn't respond, just stared. Yifan stared right back for a few moments before Chanyeol finally moved and tucked himself under Yifan's chin, not wanting the other to see him crack. However, Yifan knew better.

He pulled back a bit and used a finger to tilt Chanyeol's watery gaze up to meet his own before kissing him soundly. 

A/N: THE SERIOUSNESS OF THIS CHAPTER HOLY GOD.

It's short, but it gets the intensity of their relaitonship across, pretty well I think. I wasn't sure whether or not to continue down this line of ness. It seems so appropriate and yet not. So if the appropirateness wins out in the end, I'll put it in the next chapter. Tell me what I shold do D:

Since this had me stuck for the longest, I'll figure out what happens next for the following chapter. It's not good to keep you all waiting, haha. Enjoy!