Chapter 10: Our Eyes Are Watching The Sun Sets

words: 3,3k+

A/N:

I wrote this while listening to Hurt by EXO. I'm so excited with this comeback, their songs are all gold ;__;

I hope you can enjoy :D

Kyungsoo

            Our morning-after was strange.

            “Leave.”

            Chanyeol’s grip on my waist tightened. I was not breathing. “Chanyeol, leave.”

            “No.”

            “It’s almost seven.”

            “I don’t want to.”

            “Jongin would call in a minute.”

            “Let him do it.”

            “Last night was all a mistake—”

            “It was not.”

            He hugged me, and the lump in my heart made it hard for me to face him and hug him back.

            When you touch the one you love the most, first your skin gets altogether hot and your breathing turns short and you probably also cause your cheeks damp, and wet.

            Long ago, women knitted mittens, hurt their fingers in the way, and waited through winter night for their men to come back from long journey. They hummed melodies to keep themselves company, but it was different from something a Siren would sing to herself. When they reunited again, they kissed, the men telling those vixens how they missed them and words tickled their heart like fetus reaching for Mama’s wombs, and they’d heard that plenty. Now, I should’ve waited for Jongin and stayed before our apartment door just in case he lied about his whereabout and he tiptoed all his way here to give me a surprise, a surprise remained to be secret he wouldn’t ever spoil the slight peak to anyone else.

            But instead, I had slept with Chanyeol, my dream man, my lad in every desire I climbed. Eventhough I was never originally a good prayer.

****

            We lay there in a pond of longing. Chanyeol whispered on top of my nape. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said.

            But it was ten minutes ago. Because then I almost tore him into pieces. I yanked him and screamed at him to get out. He was half dressed and I only in my sleep robe. He was near crying and I had spilled an Arctic ocean, cold glassier floating on the surface of my pounding heartache.

            My phone was ringing, it had Jongin’s name on the screen. Our morning took a loop forward but nothing else followed. Thinking of all we had been through together, I once again yelled at Chanyeol. Get out, get out, get out, we had different past and future, get out. “That’s the exit door,” that’s the ing exit door, and I threw whatever I could grab in a quick second and banged it hard, the sight filled me with salty taste and guilt.

            He didn’t leave. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

            “I love you,” I caught him, crystal clear. “They always tried to erase you from my life. But I’ve found you now—come with me, I don’t want to let go.”

            Chanyeol wasn’t exactly a great talker. Just like he warned me many times, his choice of words had always been lousy. His voice was too deep and his spelling was most of the time off. It was still not in the right state the moment he confessed his feelings to me also.

            But I heard him though. Walking steps by steps backward until my back touched the room barrier, in the context of that juncture, I kept replaying these words; “they always tried to erase you”, “but I’ve found you now—come with me, I don’t want to let go.” and everytime I tried to blink, Chanyeol was still there, the morning air was gray and breezy and after a while he shifted closer. The sound outside my apartment windows was a little more than a spate of meaningless resonance.

            “Come with me,” he placed my palm on his chest. Chanyeol still hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt yet. I was imagining about the two of us together, him as my past and my current lover—I wondered from which time span would Chanyeol emerge and our names become one. When I touched him, he was flinching, a loud sound tuning chaoticly from his core. And my phone started running out of battery. And perhaps Jongin hung up because he began feeling tired. And that was that.

            We were only inches from each other. This time, Chanyeol didn’t kiss me.

            This time, he lifted up my chin. He questioned, soberly, “Do you really want me to leave?”

            There was nothing remarkable from the way he uttered it. As though he had known the answer himself, and I was a rabbit in testing.

            But I recalled his intonation as some kind of last words between two old lovers. It was difficult being the one receiving the question, I spent muted seconds knowing that Chanyeol was waiting for my answer. Chanyeol released my hands, but even with my eyes locked I felt him breathing, softly, I was showered with his stare and the wall behind my back was as cold as a newly formed ice packs.

            “What do you mean by that?” it was happening again, that rumble noise in my head called-up those grey scenes of Chanyeol between my dreams.

            Preserved along with the unmoving hour hand, I flickered my vision open. Since he was tall, I had to keep my neck stretched, I let my orbs glided down the outer line of Chanyeol’s lanky form. He had tears in his eyes, but only the left side was red. My tongue jammed with the things I would say to him the first time we met.

            I didn’t know whether I remembered the details correctly or it was exactly the opposite, because there were too many I had yet to pass him, the bomb I burried within my life and my breath and my spitted saliva as I went through seven years having him in and out my dreams. But the more I tried to voice my words, the more my mouth betrayed my will. With no caution or whatsoever towards my feelings, Chanyeol pressed his thumbs on my lips, and I felt safe, as I invariably do when Junmyeon tucked me under his blanket during rainy days and he ruffled my hair saying that the thunder wouldn’t chew us alive.

            “What do you mean they always tried to erase me?”

            Our foreheads came in contact. “It’s a long story.”

            “Had you been dreaming about me?”

            Had you, Chanyeol? Had you, once, in some ways?

****

            “You’ve been missing for three days.”

            “I caught a fever, you see? I’m not avoiding my work, stop giving me that look. More importantly, what are you doing here?”

            Baekhyun liked to pretend that people didn’t shout on his face.

            So he barged into my apartment, played with Jongin’s dogs, and placed the big, white plastic bags he carried with him on the dining table. “I brought you lunch,” he declared, but there was no such thing as free food between two acquaintance. When it came to Baekhyun, especially, you’d suspect every possible suspicion there was to know.

            He sat with one leg crossing the other, Jjangah and Janggu sniffing his striped shocks. I stared at him, my face darkened, but it didn’t show anything like an irritated look. Anyway Baekhyun gave no sign of caring about my attitude.

            “Are you planning on just standing there and not eat? So much for paying the cab and coming here for you,” he sighed, peering at me. He got up when I didn’t respond, my finger busy Monggu’s fur, and headed towards my kitchen. I watched his back disappeared behind the room barrier, from the way he glanced back once in every step he created that the horse sense in me was but a rattling dismay if he ever wanted to talk about Chanyeol in this situation. A kind of uneasiness had suddenly been added to our surrounding. As my stomach growled, I pulled a chair and let myself seated, putting Monggu down to play with his bone toy beforehand.

            Inside the plastic bag was a box of tteokboki. Cheese, egg, and noodle, was written on the styrofoam surface, clearly wasn’t the right choice to offer someone who caught a fever.

            I kidded myself with the idea that maybe Baekhyun was the one who needed me, but for whatever reason I didn’t really want to know. He was back a minute later, carrying two pair of chopsticks and a big metal bowl. Janggu and Jjangah seemed to like his striped shocks so much.

            “Eat while it’s still warm,” he poured the food into the bowl and picked one rice cake, stuffing the whole thing into his mouth he resembled a squirrel in hunger.

            “Have you washed your hand?” he only shrugged, and moved the bowl so that it was situated right in the center. “Eat this yourself, I only eat porridge. After that—you can leave. No, you shall get out of my house. Tell the others I won’t be back until next week.”

            “Making use of your position in the wrong way, don’t you?”

            “Well, I’m your Boss—I’m their Boss; I’m the Boss, I can leave my shop anytime I want. Jongin already knew and he granted me the permission to—”

            My stomach growled once more. Baekhyun watched that scene and ventured a laugh, I silently wished he would choke the noodles up and spilled the broth all over his loose cargo pants. In the almost silliness of that moment I decided to join him, I sat on my chair munching the tough rice cake for what seemed an eternity. After three days of devouring nothing but porridge and medicines, the spiciness of tteokbokki burned my tongue. Baekhyun rose from his seat, and returned with a glass of cold water. It was his habit, I assumed, walking around someone’s apartment as though he was the real owner.

            Before I noticed it, we were about to finish the bowl clean. This was our first time eating together—Baekhyun slowly lowering his chopstick, I said nothing about the cuts of leek he had around his cheeks. He wiped them with tissue, finally, and smiled at me. I wanted to believe his sincerity.

            “I’m no longer needed at your restaurant. The original vocalist has recovered from his sickness.”

            “It’s severe diarrhea, eventhough he told us it was influenza,” I leaned back with arms folded, feeling so full. “But you can stay if you want, my customers like you—and apparently my staffs too. I don’t know, you can sing duet with Jongdae or something. Make it works.”

            But he only nodded and hummed. “Did you sleep with Chanyeol?”

            It was enough to fume my anger.

            And worst, I was actually expecting him to drop it sooner.

            “Leave,” I said without looking up, as loudly as I could put forth, the scenes three days ago had been on and on replayed.

            Albeit vaguely, the teary eyes of Chanyeol I had washed down with many cups tasteless chamomile still flowed in my every nerve. But it was Byun Baekhyun I talked to, hence he didn’t cry, instead he slammed his hands against the table, catching hold of his breath Baekhyun replied to me through gritted teeth, “Stop trying to run away from reality!”

            I got a terrible heart attack from that. “Nothing is reality, it was all a mistake.”

            “Bull!” I noticed with a tint of fear in the tiniest part of my mind that Baekhyun, while hadn’t thoroughly cleaning the scraps of rice cake trapped between his teethgap, was wildly announcing a war with his sharp tongue. “You slept with Chanyeol, you can’t change this sole fact. You two had , for God’s sake! You bedded my very straight bestfriend—no, you ed him even—and he went home looking like a mofo in heartbreak!”

            It was two in the afternoon by then.

            One day I asked my father if it was okay to throw thantrum at someone’s house. Dad warned me, no, don’t be a bad kid, but I thought Baekhyun’s father didn’t teach him the same thing. The rage that penetrated his body was so real I could feel the warmth of his breathing blowing through all the thin layers of air, his displeasure was still there, and it quickly shrank to the other side of the room.

            “He wouldn’t explain why, but I immediately understood, though; it was you. It has always been you.”

            He continued as if I hadn’t been aware about these things already.

            The last pieces of Baekhyun’s ramble brought me to my sense. Something was gone in my puzzle of life, all I managed was to toss a ball of used tissue and let it hit the main door of my apartment. Baekhyun of course didn’t snap an inch, but who to make sure, I could hardly look at him because he was glaring too much and Jjangah jumped on my lap, asking for a soft . Which I did, and while running my fingers along the soft animal hair I voiced to him, “Are you done? If so, you may leave my house now, that’s the exit door. Thank you for bringing me lunch.”

            “You are unbelievable, you know, Boss? And it’s not in a good meaning.”

            I kept a straight face, yet again tossing another bundle of used tissue towards the main door. “I am.”

            Baekhyun left with a hars thud, but not before he explained me that I was as cruel as a murderer, and that I didn’t deserve Chanyeol’s love. He leaped through the disorganized dog toys on the floor, stomping his skinny feet, not looking back again. Such was time passed that afternoon; still in my last position, I halfheartedly agreed with him near the instant he put the entryway to my apartment shutted, sometimes it’s that simple.

****

            Luhan got a new haircut.

            It was a tad too short, but he was still as handsome as ever. But then again, this was not one of those times to talk about his side-shaved head. The night after, my fever got worse. So Jongin called him to come over, wide-eyed, Luhan hugged me tight like I was about to bid eternal goodbye and he had to bear the role as the one and only eyewitness. “You’re burning. I’ll take you to hospital with Sehun, okay?”

            We acted rather like a side, unimportant couple on the soap-opera shows Ryeowook-hyung watched every afternoon break.

            I rolled on my bed. “Nah, I’m alright, just need more sleep. Your job is to look after the puppies, they have an appoinment with the usual vet tomorrow,” and after three sets of cough I carried on with, “Sorry. For being a burden; this time, too.”

            A tired-looking Luhan, his jacket wasn’t zipped properly, was frowning at me as soon as I ended my sentence; not only did he own a pretty, sugary face when he was being happy, his dissappointed expression wasn’t too far from the word handsome as well. And as much as it felt horrible when he was the one giving me the sour evil eye, I smiled—Luhan rubbed my shoulders thinking that it would make me relaxed, and it sort of worked I almost telling him the lump I hid behind my laugh, but I knew I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.

            “When will Jongin go back?”

            I still hadn’t used of seeing his new haircut, thus I wasted longer period gazing at his now visible ears until I discovered my voice back, and I said, “Next week, he’s really busy that he rarely calls... Where is Sehun?”

            “Downstair, taking care of the puppies. Monggu was a bit of a rebel today, he refused being inside our car. Maybe because it smells like .”

            “Watch your mouth, young man!”

            And then, because he no longer had thick bangs, lines of wrinkle were shown on his forehead when he giggled. All of which went to remind me that he’ll be twenty six this year, and moment passes and that even the great Luhan everyone wanted to be their partner at prom couldn’t stay young forever.

            I tried to imagine what Chanyeol would do during the end of his twenties—the thought that he might someday marry a girl and bring his oldest son to school had never even crossed my mind until then. Would I still end up with Jongin and we move to quieter area and adopt two daughters—would I be happy, knowing that my heart belongs to Chanyeol, always has, always been. How many days is it since the last time I met him in my dream? In the depths of the mirror I saw Sehun coming closer, and I asked the same question; is this what I want? Would I be happy, would I enjoy the remaining time—knowing that Chanyeol feels the same?

            Even with the term that he couldn’t remember me rightly.

            “Would you be okay if we leave you here alone?”

            “It’s just a fever, Luhan, don’t be too dramatic,” Sehun reeked strongly of a musk perfume, the kind his boyfriend would use down his armpits. “Rest well, okay? Call me if anything happens.”

            “Or you can always call me.”

            “Don’t call him, you don’t want a banshee screeching on your ears from the other line.”

            I laughed. Somewhere, would I be Luhan, and Chanyeol as Sehun, or would I be a woman, and bear Chanyeol’s daughter? We can have two other sons.  

****

            But there are darkness. And there are light. And the are things better left unanswered.

****

            For example, why was Chanyeol suddenly here in my bedroom, while I packed my clothes and out we escaped from that building.

            He looked dazing and clean-cut, dressed a la young single gentleman when I opened the door for him, my body wrapped in blanket like burrito. Lips slightly parted, he held the knob as I tried to lock him outside, only a minute and few seconds had gone by as he began with, “I stopped dreaming about you when I was sixteen. I think—I don’t really remember.”

            I ceased from my movement and glanced over through the small hole that connected me to Chanyeol.

            “They told me to see a psychiatrist, and I drank medicines. Too many at once; it was not a nice memory. But you’re always there, I suppose.”

            “How do you know it’s me?”

            “The young me put your name in a diary,” he stirred at last and chuckled dryly. “It as though I knew you’d disappear one day, and I’ll forget about you completely.”

            It was stupid, to let him inside. But I love him, no matter how many times I told myself I should share this feeling with Jongin.

            This time he wasn’t just a mere shadow. Now and again I found Chanyeol latching his tall figure onto me. I turned my head, and our lips met. The kiss grew less and less tactile. “You’re burning.”

            Then I cringed, because Luhan had stated the same thing just one hour ago. Sorry, he whispered, you must really hate me.

            “I love you,” stripping my wrist along the outline of his waist, I pulled back. “But I’m going to get married,” and I didn’t mean to cry, but tears poured down without me taking the authority. Chanyeol showed me a generous amount of hiccups, I lost the interest to learn how many exact hours had he spent to weep over our fate.

            “Run away with me.”

            I wanted to mock his idea. “Sure.”

            But Jongin—being with Chanyeol; being with Chanyeol is nice.

****

            “Where do you want us to go?” he turned up the engine a moment after. “Where should we head to?”

            “Anywhere. You show me the road, Clyde.”

            It was a forthright smile I saw adorning his face. “Does it mean,” Chanyeol wiped my sweat away and fixed the wrap of my blanket with another hand, “you’ll be the Damsel in getaway?”

            “No, of course—no, I’d be your Bonnie Elizabeth, stupid.”

            Being with Chanyeol—being with Chanyeol is perfect.

****

To be continued