“There was a reported bombing at Area 93 at approximately two o’clock in the afternoon. There are currently no survivors found—“

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do.

Area 93 is where Yixing—his Yixing—is stationed at. He knew that their enemies were coming close; so close that their nation had doubled the recruits for the military. Junmyeon had already finished his service a few years ago, but Yixing—he hasn’t yet.

And now that the country needed the men, Yixing had no choice but to go. They thought that their enemy was bluffing; really, it’s already been a year and nothing has happened. It’s like the Cold War between Russia and the United States all over again—except, their enemy finally struck.

Area 93; bombs hit the region, fire surrounding the place, burning and burning . . .

His skin feels cold, and Junmyeon realizes that he dropped the remote control on the wooden floorboards. When was the last time Yixing held him? When was the last time they talked to each other?

He can’t remember; he can’t think. All he can focus on is the smoke being shown on the television screen. The various angles showed how terrible the bombs hit the area, and there were multiple helicopters hovering above the scene. His hands shake and he feels his heart break at the sight.

His Yixing is in there.

Yixing is inside that malice, inside that mess, inside that fire—and Junmyeon can’t do anything about it. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

Ring! Ring!

Junmyeon jumps at the loud ringing of his phone. God, where did he leave his phone? He hopes it’s Yixing; he hopes and prays—but it isn’t. Instead, it was Kyungsoo.

“Are you alright?” he asks worriedly. “I saw the news—Yixing, is he—“

“I don’t know, Soo,” Junmyeon replies sadly. He’s not going to cry. If he cries, that means that he gave up—and he’ll never give Yixing up. “I don’t know,” he repeats.

“I-I’m sure he’s alright,” Kyungsoo tells him. “Do you want me to come over there?”

“No, just—I’m fine. He’s fine; I’m certain.” Junmyeon bites his lower lip and rubs the corner of his eyes. His tears are leaking and he sniffs. He’s not going to cry; he will not cry. He’s not going to give up; not now, not ever. “I’ll call you when I hear any news.”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t hear any news for days. And the war between their nation and their enemy’s nation started.

Junmyeon hasn’t heard anything from Yixing. It’s been a week since the bombing and he has been praying religiously to whoever’s willing to listen to him from the heavens. He prays nightly, daily; he prays for Yixing’s safety and health. He wishes for strength and courage for whatever’s to come.

Days turn into weeks, and Junmyeon counts them all. Three weeks and two days; he still hasn’t heard from Yixing. Junmyeon sits on the sofa and grips his shirt—Yixing’s shirt. The worry has been gnawing him from inside out, and it was showing. He was losing weight, forgetting to eat and neglecting his needs. But he tries to be strong—for himself and for Yixing—so Junmyeon forces another cold fruit down his throat.

“Three weeks into the war and it seems like it won’t stop anytime soon. The wounded soldiers are being treated in medical venues, many in critical conditions—“

Junmyeon bites his lower lip again, teeth digging into his chapped lower lip. The tears are ready to flow but god damn it, he’s not going to cry. He hasn’t received news from the military, so he will not give up. Yixing never gave up on him.

And even if he did, Junmyeon knew that he’ll never give Yixing up.

“I’ll do anything,” Junmyeon says aloud, tilting his head up. “I’ll do anything. Please let me be with him. Please let him . . . let him be healthy—alive. Safe. Please,” Junmyeon whispers, burying his face in his hands. “Please let him be safe . . .”

He hears his phone sing out tunes at probably four in the morning.

Junmyeon jumps, hand instantly grabbing his phone underneath his pillow. The caller ID is unknown, and his heart drops down into his stomach. He knew that it was the military. He had a shrewd feeling in the pit of his gut and Junmyeon contemplates whether or not to answer it.

He does.

“H-hello?” Junmyeon whispers, voice rough with sleep and raw with emotion. He should’ve prepared for the outcome. What if—what if Yixing is dead? He’s been getting his hopes up for nothing? He can’t be; Yixing can’t be dead. He promised that he’ll be with Junmyeon when they grow white hair and wrinkles. He promised.

“Junmyeon?”

And Junmyeon cries. Because the voice belongs to his Yixing, and his Yixing is alive. He’s safe, and he’s speaking to Junmyeon, and he’s alive. His heart aches with joy, and he sobs, finally letting his concern leak through his emotions after keeping it in for three weeks and two—now three—days.

Yixing laughs faintly on the other end of the line. “Hey, don’t cry,” he says. His voice is thick, and Junmyeon knows that he’s trying not to cry too. “I’m here—I’m alive, okay? I’m alive, Junmyeon.”

He cries some more. He lets Yixing whisper into the phone like he used to, and when Junmyeon gets himself together, Yixing breaks down into tears.

“I was so worried, Yixing. So, so worried,” Junmyeon says. He hears Yixing sniff. “Are you okay now? Fine? Better? Anything that had to be amputated?” He wants details—needs them, actually. “Tell me—I’m just—“

“I’m fine,” Yixing tells him. “I just woke up from a coma. They said I was really burned, looked really fatal, but during my coma, I recovered. I hurt all over though.”

Junmyeon wraps an arm around his abdomen. “I wish I can be there with you.”

“I don’t want you here,” Yixing says. “Too dangerous.” There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly they were speaking all over each other.

“I love you and I miss you—“

“I miss you so much, and I love you—“

They both stop for a second and simultaneously laugh; a nice, refreshing laugh that they often share after they overcome the hard times.

“Are you coming back to t-the . . .” Junmyeon doesn’t want to say war. He doesn’t want to imagine the possibilities that come along with it.

“If I recover before it ends, then maybe,” Yixing replies solemnly.

Another pause, but it’s longer this time. “I miss you a lot.”

“I miss you too,” Yixing murmurs. Junmyeon stares up at the ceiling, eyes following invisible trails.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies and Junmyeon presses the back of his hand on his closed eyes. “I can’t wait to see you. I promise I’ll be back.”

“I’ll wait for you.” He doesn’t want to end the phone call; but there’s an ending to everything. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” Yixing tells him firmly. “By the way, it’s our four years by the end of this month. I’ll send you some cake.”

“It’s okay,” Junmyeon says, a tiny quirk on the corner of his lips. “Everything’s alright since I have you.”

And it’s true. As long as Yixing is with him, everything is alright.

"I'll see you soon," he repeats.

a/n: so yea i just wanted to post something bcz its been too long tbh. and i've got lots of writing projects i've started and im trying to finish them but nn thanks guys for reading~ :)