Hi!

This is kind of an angsty one-shot, I guess. I don't really know what this classifies as but I hope you enjoy it. I had my sister proof read it and tell me what she thinks about it and she liked it, a lot actually, and that made me really proud (My sister and I are really close :3). Anyways, I hope you will like this aswell! X3

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They say that wounds will heal with time.

That with time things will work out.

That time will heal everything.

The seasons that pass us by, the new ages that lies before us.

Every second that pass us by, every minute wasted or used…

...It was and will never be now.

Give it time, and it will heal.

***

Suho rocks the body in his arms back and forth soothingly, carefully the boys back while whispering into the bundle of black hair that’s soft under his caring touch. The bodies shaking, soft sniffles drowning into the front of Suho’s white shirt as tears stains the thin fabric, but he doesn’t care.

He let’s him cry.

The secureness in Suho’s arms shades the black haired boy from the sharp light that hits the room in an almost blending intensity, the boy clutching at the shirt with a hitched breath as he tries to talk, to explain the situation. But he’s cut off, the pair of arms tightening around his small frame as he whispers.

“I know, Baekhyun. I know.”

They stand there, in the middle of the room with the faint sound of music coming from the stage just a few walls away, and Suho waits. He waits patiently until the breaths against his chest evens, the tears stops trickling and the body relaxes in his arms. And he still waits.

He doesn’t release the other before a slight tug makes him open his hold, he dries the tears with his hand and Baekhyun stares at the hard floor with tired eyes, the emotions that just poured out making him feel drained and exhausted.

“Let’s get your makeup off, okay?” Suho smiles reassuringly, patting the black hair in a motherly way before ushering the boy to take seat at one of the many mirrors in the room. Their performance had already been recorded and Suho had managed to find an empty room in the crowded corridor as glossy eyes had met his own after their stage, and he knew the other was on the edge of breaking down.

He cleans the make up with a concentrated look on his face, from time to time glancing at Baekhyun’s dispirited expression, his eyes on the floor and no signs of the usually talkative and mood-maker friend he knew so well.

“There. All done” Suho smiles in satisfaction, taking a look at the boy’s now stain free face and slightly red cheeks as he wipes his hands.

The buzzing of people rushing outside penetrated the thick walls in a faint noise that the boy's were so used to they didn't even notice it, the sound drowning out into nothing as they concentrated on each other's breaths. The strong light lit up their faces in maybe a little too uncomfortable way as it made it impossible to hide their emotions.

“I love him”

The voice was so small, so vulnerable, that Suho almost didn’t make out the words that reached his ears. The eerie silence settled over the room and let the words hang in it’s air like a layer of tension.

And Suho sighed, taking in the fragile appearance in front of him, guessing a huge weight had lifted from the boy’s heart even though he was sure the boy knew he had already figured it all out.

“I know” he answered, stretching out a hand to grasp Baekhyun’s slender fingers in an encouraging hold. “Now let’s get back to the others. We can deal with this later, okay? Let’s rest for now.”

Baekhyun nodded and let himself be dragged by the leader’s caring hold to meet the others by the van, waiting to drive home and rest after another hectic and eventful day. He holds back a new wave of fresh tears, his heart squeezing in a painful way as he caught sight of him standing by the road.

And he knows it’s wrong.

Because he knows that he will never be his.

***

A week. Two weeks. Three weeks becoming four, and the brightly haired boy finds himself with a drenched shirt at more occasions than once, making him worried and stressed out. Because he knows, and he’s sure the others have noticed too, that Baekhyun’s condition is not well.

The boy is worn out, tired to the extent of dark circles that can only be covered with layers of make up, the layers becoming thicker and thicker each day, and Suho feels responsible for the health he knows is dropping.

So he let’s him cry.

Until the time when he had lost count on the endless nights that Baekhyun would come into his room with a soft knock at the wooden door. Until one day when he had had enough, that day when the guilt and anger inside his chest had swelled to the extent where he thought it would burst.

And he knocks at the room that belongs to him, ignoring the widening eyes of a black haired boy in the corner of his eyes as he demands to talk. He hears a faint plea, a cracking voice telling him ‘no’, a tug at his arm and he stares, penetrating the pair of wavering eyes before him.

But Baekhyun’s voice is small, pleading desperately as he fists the fabric of his shirt. A tear rolls down his cheek, followed by more and Suho breaths deeply through his nose. He couldn’t do anything, he was powerless because the tall boy before him had already made his decision and it couldn’t be changed, wouldn’t be changed.

The tall boy, standing on the other side of the door, only a metre away, knows why Suho’s here. The white haired man is sure that the message he sends to the other is clear as glass as he stares deeply into the black orbs.

It’s your fault, Chanyeol.

It's all your fault.

***

When a soft knock disturbs Suho from reading his book, he knows who it is, and when he opens the door he’s greeted with a tear stained Baekhyun standing ashamedly in the doorway. The trails of tears on his cheeks glims in the dim light of his lamp standing by the bed and Suho can tell that the black haired boy had gathered a lot of courage to come.

He greets him with open arms, let’s the wetness soak his shirt for the thousandth time that month because the boy is so fragile, so vulnerable in his arms that he isn’t sure if the other will break if he isn’t there to hold him together.

And when they fall asleep for the thousandth time on the soft cushions that night, the moon sending it’s shimmering light through the window, Suho can’t help but wonder.

If time really can heal a bleeding heart.

***