The weathercast forecasted that it’d be a sunny day today. People were told that the sun would greet them with its warmth and that they were promised a day filled with nothing but hope and endless possibilities. They were promised, they were.

Instead, the sky was filled with blotches of various shades of grey; some lighter, some darker. Not even a tiny bit of blue, or any sort of lively color, has made its way to ensure the pedestrians that soon this gloomy day will be replaced by their days of hope and possibility. Instead, they are running, emptying the streets until one’s vision is left with nothing more but a mist that obscured their vision.

Transparent droplets fell and they fell hard, hitting the ground, the people, the building, the passing cars, and a red umbrella. A boy, a boy with a red umbrella, and a red scarf. A sea of people ran south. South, where people lingered for tropical islands, sipping on cool drinks and tease each other by splashing with salty sea water. The boy went against the flow, heading north. North, where weather was constantly bad, raining endlessly where warm winds didn’t exist, where snow would fall and be stained by dirt.

He walked in the middle of the road. His steps took him forward. The loose end of his vibrant red scarf flapped behind him, almost like a heroic cape, except there was nothing heroic about it, nor the boy itself. A gush of wind would glide past him, flowing below the scarf and pushing him backwards, a whisper telling him to not go.

Soon, two shining, white dots could be soon in the distance, blurred and mending with the mist. They grew bigger with each step, and the boy was sure that soon destiny would come and hit him, welcoming him with a somber smile as if they just found their lost son.

He heard a deep voice calling his name. The voice that distinguished itself from so many people, a voice that just didn’t fit his face but you couldn’t help but love it the more time you spend with the owner of that voice. He uncurled his fingers from the handle of his red umbrella, it being swept away by the wind and falling far behind him. The two shining dots approached more with each second that passed by. A loud sound echoed in the air, and the boy turned around painfully slow to face none other than the one he had said “I love you”‘s to so many times.

“BAEKHYUN!” was the last thing he heard, the warning sound from the enormous truck overpowered his voice, but Baekhyun didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss the voice of Chanyeol, nor the second the truck hit against him.
 

 

*

Chanyeol’s tired eyes fluttered open, ignoring the pain of his stiff neck that he had to cope with for the past few days. He was embraced by darkness, not having used lamps or any source of lightning for a long, long time. His cheeks felt dry, his nose slightly runny and a painful lump in his throat lingered. He woke up with his head resting against the small space of wall behind him, sitting on the counter below the big window he seemed to fell asleep by a lot, only to wake up to the sight of a night sky and city lights and tiny, invisible people due to living on almost at the top of the apartment building.

It’s been long, too long. The room was a mess, pots of plants knocked over and dirt sprawled on the floor, clothes wrinkled, thrown and abandoned wherever, bed untidy and sink full with unwashed dishes. The only thing that what one would consider clean and tidy, was a red scarf that was neatly folded up and resting on top of the counter Chanyeol was sitting on, a familiar red umbrella leaning right next to it.

He looked outside, watching the cars drive at an erratic speed. Everything moved too fast for him, as if time decided to fast forward. The vehicles turned invisible; the only thing left of them being the trails of glowing colours following them, the city lights flickering on and off, almost like a pattern. The sky was painted black, only a few stars visible thanks to very faint clouds occupying the dark canvas like an unwanted puff of smoke.

He swore he could see Baekhyun’s faded face, looking and smiling his slight crooked smile.

Silence was the only peaceful music, only to be disrupted by sounds of skin brushing against bed sheets and small, content sighs. Chanyeol brushed away the strands of hair that hid away the dark orbs he loved looking at, planting a loving kiss on beloved’s forehead, whose red hair was slowly getting overtaken by his original brown colour.

“Why do you like red so much?” he asked, his fingers playing with Baekhyun’s hair that was so soft to the touch, strangely ecstatic to the taller male.

Baekhyun let out a hearty chuckle, wrapping his arms around Chanyeol and snuggling close to him. “It was the first thing I remembered as a child,” Chanyeol muttered his exact words, now standing in the kitchen with a knife in his hand, cutting his already abused wrist to watch drops of blood drip down, a dark but beautiful, beautiful red coloring the white tiles.

The extremely tiny puddle of red liquid is what made Chanyeol smile sadly. A puddle of red liquid, just like when Baekhyun lied lifelessly on the road, body embraced and soaked by his own blood.

Even his dead, pale face was beautiful to Chanyeol. Everything was.




He grabbed a photo; the image being nothing else but him and Baekhyun grinning goofily at the camera, fingers forming a peace sign while wearing ridiculously stupid hats when they visited Disneyland. He pressed the photo against his chapped lips, trying to feel the warmth of his lover’s lips, yet to be only greeted by a sticky, cold temperature.

He’s had enough. He was sick, and life could only make his life more miserable. He silently walked towards the counter below the window, gingerly grabbing the red scarf and wrapping it around his neck; red umbrella in one hand, photo in the other.

“I wish I could be like Mary Poppins, you know? Flying in the air with an umbrella… it’s stupid, but I like it,” the voice replayed in his head. He slid open the window, the eerie sound of the wind filling his ears. The umbrella bloomed open with a swift movement, and Chanyeol would only look straight ahead. The sight of him was probably silly, but he didn’t care. At least he tried. At least he tried, for him, to realize something he wanted to do.

“I love you,” a tear. “We will be together again,” a choked sob. He kissed Baekhyun and jumped, his lover’s face being the last thing he saw with no regrets.

 

 

---

“Hey Jongin, pass me the salt.”

And Jongin did, wet hands sliding over the small, almost empty bottle of salt towards the grunting Kyungsoo, drying it off with the hem of his shirt. They had just moved into a new apartment since it was near to the college building Jongin attended, being left with the furniture and silverware – basically everything – the former owner had very strangely left them, but all the better, they both found.

The darker skinned male whistled a song as he continued to wash the dishes, gasping when he dropped the tablespoon and groaning when he had accidentally kicked it below the small space.

“Oh for ’s sake,” he muttered and turned off the tap, drying his hands and kneeling down, impatiently trying to grab the tablespoon. He suddenly hissed when his finger poked hard against something sharp. Kyungsoo turned to face him, a questionable look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Jongin merely shook his head and reached out for the tablespoon once again, finger brushing against the pointy object once again. He pulled it out, eyes widening at the sight of a knife covered with dried blood at its edges. He shrieked, dropping it and falling backwards. Kyungsoo shrieked in unison.





After the knife incident, they asked their neighbours if they knew anything about the former owner and what happened to him. They received a rejecting shake of the head, door closing shut in front of them. Jongin clutched his hair out of frustration.

“Why won’t anyone tell us? I can’t sleep comfortably without thinking a murderer lived in there and is out to kill us now,” moaned Jongin. Kyungsoo could only nod, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket. They wandered outside, greeted by the elderly lady that lived at the very bottom of the building.

“Are you enjoying your apartment so far?” she smiled warmly at them. They looked at each other until Jongin went and asked: “Excuse me, but do you perhaps know what happened to the former resident?”

He didn’t miss the way the corner of her lips let her falter her smile, her black eyes – once filled with such kindness and neutral emotions – turning into a sudden emptiness.

“Ah, you mean Chanyeol and Baekhyun…” she nodded.

“What happened?” pushed Kyungsoo further. She closed her eyes for a few second, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She shook her head, only to feed their curiousity.

“I have no idea,” she finally replied.  “All I know is that once Baekhyun left this world, Chanyeol turned into a mess. His face was so sickly pale as well, but he wouldn’t let me help him.” She grit her teeth, looking for the right words as her fingers – hidden behind her back – fiddled nervously with each other. “It was only four weeks ago when I found him on the ground, covered in his own blood while wearing the red scarf and umbrella Baekhyun owed. I… I called the police, and what happened next…” She paused.

“They took him away, and I’m sure he’s happier now,” she offered them a reassuring smile. “Come, let me show you something…”

Kyungsoo and Jongin nodded, following the lady in her apartment, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits placed in front of them as they made themselves comfortable on the half hard couch.

“Don’t they look precious?” she sighed and showed them a photo of Chanyeol and Baekhyun, grinning at the camera, fingers forming a peace sign while wearing ridiculously stupid hats.

‘They do’, muttered Kyungsoo. The lady took a sip of her tea with trembling, old hands. None of them mentioned the lower right corner of the photo that was stained with a crimson red.

 

 

 

---

 

Well, hope it wasn't too confusing omg
Was in the mood for some angst... as usual. Hope you liked it. <3;;