Chen – Fishing for Dregs (you leave and I wait)

So Kyungsoo’s gone again, after his promise to stay the week.

I’m not surprised, and I hate that. Because it means that I was right to be scared, and I don’t want to be scared. But I am and I guess I will be.

It’s just hard to – not stay away from people. To place yourself away from them, when you know that they will hurt you in the end. Whether they meant to or not.

--

Chanyeol writes in the morning, after breakfast. He has this corner of his apartment that he uses. Sometimes he’s at his table, sometimes he’s sprawled on a rug, papers arranged on sheets of cardboard.

Chanyeol’s not as haphazard as he looks. The day after Kyungsoo brought me home, Chanyeol took me back to have breakfast with him and Baekhyun. While we were eating, he cleared the bedroom of some boxes, changed the sheets and put blankets.

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo used to be lovers. Chanyeol never said it, but I can tell. He talks about Kyungsoo around me, often, when Baekhyun’s not here. I can picture their apartment – small, cramped, just a single bedroom and a tiny kitchen. Chanyeol teaching Kyungsoo how to cook, Kyungsoo writing short stories for Chanyeol and leaving them around the apartment. Chanyeol changing his major from music to English literature because of Kyungsoo, and then continuing with it, while Kyungsoo got a good job in an international bank after graduation.

It comes across, in the way Chanyeol looks around his new house as he’s talking. As though he can see Kyungsoo here – at Chanyeol’s worktable, working hard at the chopping board, sitting on their shared bed, grinning. As though Chanyeol’s too used to seeing a world with Kyungsoo in it, and sometimes he gets confused which is the past and what is the present.

It’s good, that he doesn’t do this around Baekhyun.

I’m good with not expecting much from people. It’s easier to love them, this way. Baekhyun’s not.

He likes Chanyeol a lot. Dislikes Kyungsoo, because of me and Chanyeol and how we seem to pay attention to Kyungsoo even though Kyungsoo doesn’t have a lot of time for us. Knowing that Chanyeol steals bits of time to talk about Kyungsoo because Chanyeol has never given up on him – and that Chanyeol’s aware that Baekhyun will be hurt by this and still does it anyway – this will hurt Baekhyun.

But, like I said, it comes across anyway. Chanyeol’s very easy to read. Baekhyun liked that about him, because Baekhyun can’t hide what he feels, even if someone pays him to. I tried, I bribed, but no go.

It’s easy for Baekhyun to see how Chanyeol feels about Kyungsoo – as easy as it is for us to see how much Chanyeol likes Baekhyun. Life’s funny that way.

--

Kyungsoo said he’d take a week off work yesterday, and he’s already back in office today. Chanyeol scolded him in the morning, when Kyungsoo brought me over. Kyungsoo had explained that it was urgent and they needed him.

I wish Chanyeol wouldn’t confuse me with him. I think Kyungsoo must have done this to Chanyeol a lot, back then, because there’s something personal in Chanyeol’s tone when he says, “you can’t keep doing this”. Baekhyun knows this, because he disappears from the door and goes back into their shared room.

I don’t want to watch either, so I go back into the living room and stake out a claim on Chanyeol’s rug.

I don’t feel like reading, now. I was reading what Chanyeol said was the book Kyungsoo couldn’t let go of, but it’s dark and makes me feel sad and sleepy in places.

So I lie on the floor in the sunlight, and breathe slowly. Calmly, I pretend to sleep as Chanyeol comes in and sits beside me.

He says, “you know it’s not your fault, right?” and I’m thinking, I’m wondering, is this me he’s talking to, or himself?

Baekhyun’s inside the bedroom, sleeping under the covers. Chanyeol should be there, talking to Baekhyun. Not here, not beside me, talking – not even to me, but at me, because he thinks I’m asleep – about Kyungsoo.

“He used to do this all the time,” Chanyeol says. “It was. I’m not saying that all jobs that pay well are bad, but it just. He was so busy, and I kept thinking, was it me? Like I. I wanted him around, more, and he told me to wait. He promised it would get better. And I just didn’t wait for him. I had my own friends, my career to take care of. I couldn’t come home to an empty bed and a silent phone every night and I would bunk at my friends’ places on the weekends because I didn’t want to be in an empty house and have to think of him. And then I realized that I had become used to. When I got my first set of poems accepted for publication, I. Didn’t tell Kyungsoo, I told my friends and they took me out for dinner and I was happy, the kind of happiness that came without a – a tag. I could be happy and that was it, I didn’t have to face disappointment in the next moment. And I told him, I took my things and moved out and didn’t pick up when he called. And he came to find me and I said I needed time and he looked at me and he knew that what we had was not enough for me and he smiled. He smiled and said we should break up, this isn’t good for you. I just-“ Chanyeol in a breath.

“He didn’t want to.” Chanyeol’s voice is small. “He didn’t want to but I made him do it anyway.”

It makes me wonder why Chanyeol hasn’t told anyone else about this before. He talks about it like – just - slow, grinding, like the lever of a rusty tap fighting against years of dirt and neglect. Like he’s ashamed to talk about it but he has to talk about it anyway. Like he hates himself for letting it end.

Chanyeol just sits there and I try to keep sleeping but it doesn’t work. Chanyeol makes a sound of surprise and traces my eyes – I can feel the moisture.

It’s been a while.

“Can we go to school with you, later?” I say, keeping my eyes closed. I want to say, you’re hurting Baekhyun, you’re hurting him and you and Kyungsoo both hurt and why does everything has to be this way. But that’s not – I don’t want to talk about all these here, in this apartment. On this rug. I don’t want to talk about sad things here.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says. I don’t know what he’s apologizing for because this isn’t about me. I can take care of myself. This is about the three of them and affection that hurts as much as hate.

“Can you go and call Baekhyun? He didn’t eat much, just now.” I hope Chanyeol gets what I’m trying to say.

He does. His fingers still on my cheeks.

“I don’t want to hurt Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, honest, and I want to say – Kyungsoo didn’t want to hurt you either, and neither did you want to hurt him. But it seems that us wanting things never seems to result in us getting them.

I make a noise. Chanyeol wants to say something, but stops. He gets up and steps across the heap of papers scattered on the rug.

I roll over and bury my face in the soft rug. Sometimes in the future, when I am on this rug again, I will remember what happened today.

That’s what happens to places. They take on this strange sheen of memories past and it’s hard to remember if you’re in the present or stuck in the past.

--

Chanyeol’s a writer-in-residence for the National University of Singapore. They pay him a small sum in lieu of the housing that he’s entitled to, and he conducts writing workshops for students.

We’re on a bus to school, Chanyeol, Baekhyun and I. Baekhyun’s sleeping on my shoulder. Cars in Singapore cost almost a hundred thousand Singapore dollars, which Chanyeol will never have in his entire lifetime. He had to count his coins before we left, for our bus fare.

Chanyeol’s reading through a thick stack of paper again. He workshops his student’s poems; annotates them carefully, makes an effort to write legibly on them.

It’s nice and cool in the bus. We’re on the upper level of the double-decker SBS bus, packed in the back row. They have an advertisement for canned food plastered across the side of the bus, and from where I’m sitting, half of my window is blocked by it. Sort of, but not really. It’s like the window is pixelated. It’s fun looking at Singapore through this.

“Do you want to see some poems?”

Chanyeol’s holding out a stack to me. I’d rather watch the view, but Chanyeol’s excited and a bit hopeful.

“Sure,” I say, taking the stack.

“I had them write about something in their daily life. See beauty in the mundane, and all that.”

There are poems on jams – traffic jams, I think, before I realize that it’s a paper jam. There are poems on the push-and-pull of attraction, over a meal at McDonald’s. There is one I like, about a balloon dog.

Chanyeol’s handwriting is neat, for him. He writes like he speaks, armed with exclamation marks and ‘great’, ‘i want to hear more’, and the occasional– ‘it’s also that, this reminds me of..”. I like his comments better than some of the poems. He might not notice, but it’s what he says that turns the poems from words I sort of understand into words I like.

I can understand why both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun like him so much. Chanyeol’s very attentive, whether to words or body language. He has this way of looking at you and talking to you that makes you like yourself even more.

--

There’s a huge field that spills over a gentle incline to pool, waiting. It’s bordered by the sports halls, the graduate residences, and a starbucks that overlooks it. If you walk past the starbucks, Chanyeol says, there are the student residences. That’s where Chanyeol teaches.

“We’ll wait for you here,” Baekhyun says. Chanyeol leaves, but not before making sure Baekhyun has his wallet.

There are people playing Frisbee on the lawn. Baekhyun and I used to play Frisbee at the shelter. We had a yellow Frisbee that we found among the cowgrass, and we played with it until it flew into the canal and got washed away.

I know that Baekhyun’s thinking of that, too, because he says suddenly – “let’s join them.” He’s off, skidding down the slopes before I can stop him, wallet jammed in the back of his jeans.

Actually, I don’t want to stop Baekhyun. I want him to keep slipping and sliding and moving on with a bright smile and genuine words for people. He’s better at that than me, so he should keep doing it. I’ll be the careful one instead, for both us.

He’s already fist-bumping a fellow cat, by the time I’ve reached. I slip a hand into his back pocket and palm the wallet, as he’s talking. He’s still talking to the same cat, even after I’ve put it aside and come back. I need to remember to keep a watch on it.

“Chen,” he says, excited. “Kai says we can join!”

Kai’s got a good vibe to him. His sweaty hair is plastered carelessly to his face, and his smile has the same quality to it – a bit self-mocking, a bit of laughter, a bit of attitude.

“Yeah,” he says. “You don’t mind being on different teams, though? Baek can join my team and you can join Sehun’s. Hey- hun!”

Someone breaks away from the crowd gathered around the water bottles, by the side of the field. He lopes over, wiping his sweat with a pink armband.

“My new member, Baek,” Kai says, pointing – “and yours, Chen.”

“Sure,” Sehun shrugs. “Hey.”

It’s as easy as that. It’s like I have tension built up inside of me, at first. Wondering what these people will think of Baekhyun and me. But Frisbee is Frisbee and all people care about is how fast you run and how good you catch and throw. And I’m very good at catching.

I slam into Kai, once, because I’m too focused on the yellow Frisbee and its arc across the cloudless sky. We go tumbling, and I’m going – “ow, ow, ow ahahaha,” laughing even though it hurts and my elbows bang against his ribs.

“You’re good,” he says, muffled, face pressed to the grass.

“Of course,” I say, and I mean it.

Baekhyun looms large over me. I shade my eyes with a hand, smiling at up at him. “This was a good idea.”

“Wow, you’re a mess,” Sehun says, appearing beside Baekhyun. Almost everything he says sounds deadpan. He offers a hand. “I’ll buy you a drink, for knocking Kai over.”

Kai grabs Sehun’s ankle. “Sehun,” he says, and Sehun shakes him off, tsking.

Baekhyun hauls me up. I lean into him, smiling. Baekhyun smells like grass and sweat and milk. Good things.

“Chanyeol!” Baekhyun shouts, waving our joint hands. I look up to see Chanyeol perched on the grass incline, shirt rolled to his elbows, shoes off in the grass. He has a notebook open on his knees, and a blue pen in his hand. Cap in his teeth, he grins at Baekhyun.

“Idiot,” Baekhyun says fondly. Baekhyun likes Chanyeol so much.

I should let go of Baekhyun’s hand, so he can go over. Instead I tug on our joined hands, and we sprint across the grass, as fast as we can, to Chanyeol.

“Are you writing something for me?” Baekhyun asks hopefully, bending over to look at Chanyeol’s notebook. Chanyeol nods, brushing the sweaty hair off Baekhyun’s forehead. Baekhyun brushes a kiss across Chanyeol’s fingertips, hiding a grin. I know how much Baekhyun wants Chanyeol to write something about him, not because Baekhyun likes poetry, but because Baekhyun knows how much poetry means to Chanyeol. Baekhyun wants to know that he means something to Chanyeol.

I’m still holding Baekhyun’s hand. His fingers slip through mine as I let go, without him noticing.

“I’ll write you one in the future, Chen,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun, they are good for each other. I’m happy for them.

“Sure,” I say. This is a smile that comes more slowly than usual, stretched a bit at the corners, but it’s still real.

I stitch up my own shirts. The new threads are always shiny and glossy, holding together a shirt made soft and a little faded by repeated washings. I think of that now, as I watch Chanyeol and Baekhyun. How there can be new feelings, bright and brilliant, shining alongside the worn and patched ones.

--

Baekhyun’s sleeping on my shoulder again. We’re on bus 10, on the way back, and Baekhyun’s tired from the Frisbee.

Chanyeol’s just finished writing. He taps my thigh, across Baekhyun, and asks –  “do you want to read this?”

Baekhyun

The arch of your back is the curve of your smile

and the sweep of your gaze

and the loop of your fingers, around

the cut of the disc, slicing blue sky.

You are made like

grass bowing, heavy

with dew, promising relief,

soaking dry nights.

The fat weight of tears

lands on the cage of my ribcage

as I bend like you

to yoke together, us in this summer

light, us in an arc

of a blade of grass.

I think of Baekhyun leaping for the Frisbee, Baekhyun leaning into me, us brushing lips, eyes bright, when we were younger. That all stopped when we got adopted, of course. It was a line we touched but never crossed, not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t think about it.

It used to feel that Baekhyun and I had all the time in the world, but it feels like I missed something with Baekhyun without knowing. Like it took reading Chanyeol’s poem and seeing what he had with Baekhyun to feel that Baekhyun and I had something we didn’t even know we had.

“Vowels,” Chanyeol says, pointing to the last two lines. “So…a, e, I, o, u. It wasn’t intentional, but they have what is termed assonance here. Contouring, ourselves, an, arc, of, a, blade, of, grass. Repetition of vowel sounds, especially a. It gives an aching feeling that should tug at your heart. Do you feel it?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say. Then, “Can we go see Kyungsoo today?”

Chanyeol’s caught off-guard. Then his eyes soften. He’s thinking that I miss Kyungsoo.

I don’t know if I miss Kyungsoo, or Baekhyun. I’m glad that Chanyeol thinks it’s Kyungsoo.

--

Bus 10 stops in the middle of Singapore’s Central Business District. There are tall metal-and-glass buildings everywhere, neatly arranged into grid patterns. It’s the people, though – younger, in office attire, walking fast and unthinking. Like they resent the time they have to spend passing through, like their beginnings and ends are important, not this crowded stretch of road, not the people brushing by them.

It’s strange, to walk past so many people and be as alone as if there was no one else on the roads.

There are massive blue buildings that look like they are made out of glass looming before us. Rows and rows of windows segment the building, making it look like it’s built out of thousands of blue glass blocks – some lighter, some darker.

That’s where Kyungsoo works, Chanyeol says. Marina Bay Financial Centre.

We walk through the long, horseshoe-shaped driveway, with rows of people and taxicabs waiting. Inside, Chanyeol leaves Baekhyun and I to share a couch, while he approaches the concierge.

He looks apologetic, when he comes back. “He’s not answering his office phone – he might be out for a meeting?”

I look at the people coming and going. I just saw Kyungsoo yesterday, but he’s been tired and busy.

I want to buy him something.

“We can go for dinner first?”

Chanyeol scrubs the back of his hair. “Sounds good.”

--

It is crowded in Lau Pa Sat. It’s an almost literal translation from hokkien, Chanyeol tells us, meaning Old Market.

“How do you say that?” I ask, curious. We’ve been in Singapore for a few years, but the tones are hard to pick up. Most people use English, but some English is molded with a Chinese accent – it’s not really like a Chinese accent, though, it’s something else – and some English is spoken by others with a Malay or Indian accent. And then there are the dialect words, peppered into conversation easily, like it’s part of the English lexicon.

“Lawl – deepen your voice on the last syllable – lawl. Pa – yes, that’s right – Sart, but keep the r under wraps. Kick your voice up at the t.”

Chanyeol’s only been here for about two months, but he’s interested in languages and local literature. He’s already much better than me or Baekhyun.

The tables are littered with packets of tissue paper, or cards, to mark that seats are taken. It’s that crowded, here.

Chanyeol buys us noodles. These noodles look like they’ve been pressed flat into long rectangular yellow strips. They’re soft and easy to eat, though, and the soup is tasty.

My mind is on what to buy Kyungsoo. He’s got a sweet tooth, so I was thinking about a bowl of dessert. But it might melt in the heat, so small pastries that could keep would be better.

We end up buying small, rectangular pieces of rainbow-colored cake. They’re sticky and have a bit of the texture of jelly, but it’s not jelly. It’s made by piling layers of different colors, cooked from glutinous rice, onto one another. Baekhyun tears the layers off strip by strip and gives them to me, Chanyeol and himself, piece by piece.

I hold two in a transparent plastic bag for Kyungsoo, the orange plastic of the string resting comfortably around my hand.

--

We see Kyungsoo in the lobby. He’s in the midst of a group of black-suited individuals, who move with the confidence and the speed of a group going for a meeting.

He sees us. He sees us and then frowns. For a moment it looks like he’s going to come over, but the men are moving through the metal barriers already, holding their cards to the black scanners.

He shakes his head at us instead, makes a shooing motion with his hand. Taps his watch and shrugs helplessly.

I feel stupid, standing there in the lobby of the office building in my ratty shirt and jeans, holding a plastic bag full of snacks. Kyungsoo looks like he wants to say something, but everyone’s already going forward. He makes the shooing movement again.

“D.o Kyungsoo!” Baekhyun shouts, suddenly. Chanyeol lurches into life, grabbing for Baekhyun, but he ducks away.

“D.o Kyungsoo, you’re an ! An !”

Everyone’s turning to look at us. The group of men pause, looking back at Kyungsoo, who’s frozen in place.

“D.o Kyungsoo!” Baekhyun shouts again. I grab Baekhyun’s arm, say “Baekhyun –“

Baekhyun looks at me, and I can see how angry he is. I don’t know why he’s so angry, suddenly. I’m sad and angry too, but this is Kyungsoo’s workplace.

Kyungsoo’s tapping out of the gates again, striding across the floor towards us. Chanyeol mutters “” and bends, throwing Baekhyun over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Chen,” Chanyeol says urgently.

“Yes, let’s,” Kyungsoo says, striding past us calmly. Chanyeol slinks after him like a beaten dog, Baekhyun now quiet.

I make myself walk after them.

--

“What were you doing?” Kyungsoo asks, folding his arms. Chanyeol says, “that’s – you should go back. Say it was a prank.”

“I was asking him.” I’ve never heard Kyungsoo’s voice so cold. Neither has Baekhyun, who’s looking sullenly at the ground.

“You are an .” Baekhyun says, defiant.

“And how? Did I know that you all were coming? Did I pretend to not see you all? Tell me, Byun Baekhyun, how was I an ?”

“It’s just like how you’re not an because you feed Chen and give him money at the start of each week. But you are an because you’re never home and you never take him out but you want him to be around when you need him. Chen’s not someone you can take out and put back whenever you want. You don’t give him enough and because you’re a cold-hearted bastard, you never will!”

Baekhyun’s up in Kyungsoo’s face, glaring defiantly, by now.

I don’t like this. I don’t like people fighting and I don’t like people fighting because of me.

I think Kyungsoo’s going to scream at Baekhyun. Chanyeol think so, too, because he wraps an arm around Baekhyun and yanks him back, putting himself between the two of them

“You’re jealous.” Kyungsoo’s voice is full of realization. “You’re jealous because Chen chose me and you think you can do better than me. But newsflash, Baekhyun, you’re with Chanyeol now. Not Chen. How much can you give Chen? I can touch him and hold him at night. Can you? Have you ever?”

It’s the angle I’m standing at. I can see Chanyeol flinch, when Kyungsoo drops his voice low, talking about touching me and holding me at night. I can see Baekhyun’s face wrench into a scowl.

“Stop it.”

Is this about me? It’s also about Chanyeol and Kyungsoo, Chanyeol and Baekhyun, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo.

I hate that because I don’t say anything, they think I don’t know. But I know, how Chanyeol and Kyungsoo still want each other. How Chanyeol and Baekhyun care for each other. How Baekhyun and Kyungsoo dig at each other with barbs because of Chanyeol.

“I said, stop it.” My voice is low and calm.

I hate that I don’t seem to fit in there, but they like to think that I do.

“I just wanted to see you,” I say to Kyungsoo. I’m proud of how I sound. Reasonable. “I’m sorry.” Like a reflex, I hold my hands behind my back, with the snacks in them. Like I need to hide how much I care.

“Go back inside and say it was a prank,” I say. To Baekhyun and Chanyeol, I say – “I’m going home.”

I start walking away, and thank god, thank god, Baekhyun and Chanyeol follow.

--

I say that I need to sleep and go into Kyungsoo’s apartment.

I think I’m going to fall apart and it feels like I will. But I don’t.

The snacks are in my hands, still. I think of eating them and feel sick. I can throw them down the chute, but it feels like I need to throw them further. Outside of the apartment.

It’s a good idea, to get out of here.

The two guppies swim in a glass bowl, on the centre of the living room table. I named the black one gold and the brown one leaf, after the apartment complex.

It must not feel good, to be in a dark apartment for most of the day. I cradle the glass bowl containing Gold and Leaf in my arms and wait for the lift.

I find a dustbin, in the garden. The snacks go into it.

There’s a playground in the distance. The surface underfoot is made of poured rubber, stamped with pictures of fishes.

It would be good for Gold and Leaf to have company. Reaching on tiptoes, I place the bowl on a platform, before climbing up onto it via a tiny ladder. There’s a covered slide, sloping downwards, from here.

It’s a playground built for kids, but it also faces the entrance of the apartment complex, where the cars enter. I can see the security guard slumped over on the desk on the guardhouse, taking a nap. It also means that I’ll know, when Kyungsoo is back.

The platform has four poles, one at each corner. They point towards the sky. I feel safe, between these four poles, curled up on this platform.

“I miss Kyungsoo,” I tell Gold and Leaf. “I miss him.”

It’s like today brought out things I don’t want to think about. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. Chanyeol and Baekhyun. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun. Baekhyun and me, last time. Kyungsoo and me, and the very real possibility that this is all Kyungsoo can give me.

It’s like history repeating itself, with Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. Except this time it’s Kyungsoo and me, and I don’t have the choice of walking away like Chanyeol did.

Chanyeol talked about arcs, in his poem. About arcs being people twining together. I think of them as part of circles, which loop people around and around. Like fish in a fishbowl, path altered by glass.

I trace the curve of the fishbowl, and ask: “should I let you two go?”

It would be easy. Water into the drain, fishes back into water, where they belong.

But I don’t want to be alone now, not tonight. So I leave Gold and Leaf there, swimming in tandem, tails fluttering in the water.

“I miss Kyungsoo,” I say, and it’s funny how when I say that, I’m resigning myself to a night of waiting for him, here in the playground. Like caring for someone never comes without something extra attached to it; like love cannot be separated from disappointment, and hurt. Like feelings fill your heart and overflow, going back up your throat to choke you and seep from the back of your eyes. Escaping from you, losing them because you felt it so strongly.

Love and loss, never one without the other. I knew that, but now I understand it, I think.

I know it, and I’m going to protect myself from it.

Kyungsoo – I promise I’ll change (are you listening? It’s good that you’re not)

“What was that?” Suho asks bluntly.

Kyungsoo rattles through the cabinets, hunting for the vodka he knows Luhan has hidden away somewhere. The meeting had, of course, not gone well.

Xiumin knocks on the pantry door. “Kyungsoo.”

“I know,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s not happening again.”

“No,” Xiumin says. “That was Chanyeol, wasn’t it?”

Kyungsoo curses inwardly. Xiumin had known both of them, back in university.

His fingers hit a familiar bottle. Kyungsoo pulls it out, scattering the paper cups stacked in front of it.

“Chanyeol? That Chanyeol?” Suho frowns. “I meant the catboy that was shouting at you. Didn’t you adopt one lately? What happened?”

Kyungsoo pours himself a shot.

“You need a break,” Xiumin says, and Kyungsoo goes, “I don’t.”

“You will have one, if you don’t tell us what went on.” Suho crosses his arms. Kyungsoo’s known Suho long enough that he knows that Suho means what he says.

“Chanyeol’s living next to me,” he says, after downing a shot. It’s easier to talk when he can’t feel his throat. “That was his catboy screaming at me.”

“So it’s a three-way between you, Chanyeol and the catboy?”

“, Luhan!” Kyungsoo swears, in unison with Suho and Xiumin. Luhan picks his way between the three of them to pluck the vodka bottle out of Kyungsoo’s hand.

“This is mine,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “So, Kyungsoo?”

“It’s not,” Kyungsoo says defensively. “I wouldn’t touch Baekhyun, even if you gave me a year’s bonus.”

“So you are hooking up with Chanyeol,” Xiumin says.

“No!” Kyungsoo says. He’s thought about it, alone in the shower, a few times in the office toilets, when the stress was mounting and Kyungsoo just wanted to think about something that made him happy.

Most of the time, he thinks of Chen, though. Chen sleeping on the sofa, sometimes, shirt rucked up to expose a pale stomach. Chen in his bed, sleepily rolling over to make space for Kyungsoo.

Chen waiting, now that he thinks of it. Always waiting for him.

Kyungsoo feels sick. “I need another shot,” he says, holding out his cup.

“It’s three in the morning,” Suho says. “How are you going to drive home?”

“It’s two shots, I’m not going to get drunk.”

“We’ve all been sleeping less than four hours a day for the past two weeks,” Xiumin says. “You’re not having another shot.”

Kyungsoo clenches the paper cup in his fist, before he can stop himself. It crumples and folds in on itself.

“I agree,” Luhan says, shoving the bottle back into the cabinet.

Kyungsoo can’t deal with this. He hurt Chanyeol, so many years ago, and he’s hurting Chen, the same way again.

“I ed up,” he confesses miserably. He’d never say it to anyone else, but he’s been with this team for over five years. They know about Chanyeol, and what happened.

“Is it the catboy?” Suho says, and Kyungsoo says, “yes, Suho, it’s the catboy.”

“You’re jealous.” Luhan leans against the counter, peering at Kyungsoo.

“Go away,” Kyungsoo says flatly, batting him away.

“I have my own catboy,” he says. “I’m jealous, yes, but I. I have my own catboy and I. Don’t want to lose him, like I lost Chanyeol. But I think it’s happening. I think I just can’t. I can’t give him the time he needs.”

“Don’t be a martyr,” Xiumin says briskly. “Take a day off. Anyone who contacts you will have their year-end bonus deducted. Got that, Suho and Luhan?”

Suho sighs. “Okay.” Luhan, surprisingly, doesn’t protest. He’s even stacking the cups back in place.

“Go home, Kyungsoo,” Xiumin says gently.

It’s that easy. Kyungsoo can’t wrap his mind around it, but he thinks of Chen. Chen and his face, when he said “I just wanted to see you.” The way he said it, it sounded like he didn’t expect an answer from Kyungsoo, or even expect Kyungsoo to understand. It sounded like he was saying, oh, I got it wrong. Doesn’t matter, goodbye.

Kyungsoo’s insides are crawling with guilt. He’s afraid to go back.

--

Kyungsoo’s bed is empty. He stares at the untouched bed, stomach clenching. Chen usually sleeps here, even if Kyungsoo doesn’t come home.

Chen’s door is slightly ajar. He pushes it open carefully.

It’s empty, inside, also.

Kyungsoo frowns. He scans the rest of the apartment, checking the kitchen and the bathroom. Chen’s not here.

It’s when he notices that the fishbowl isn’t there that he starts to think that something might be wrong. Chen adored those fishes.

--

“Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol unhitches the door chain and pulls it open. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Chen here?”

“No,” Chanyeol says.

Kyungsoo’s suddenly, instantly scared. Chanyeol must see some of it, because he asks – “isn’t he at home?” carefully. “Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Or searching for something in the storeroom.”

“He’s not,” Kyungsoo says.

“Chanyeol?” Baekhyun pokes his head out of their bedroom, sleep-tousled. “What’s-“

Chanyeol hesitates. Baekhyun sees Kyungsoo’s face and asks, “what’s wrong?” After a beat, “is it Chen?”

He pushes the door open and pads out on bare feet, Chanyeol’s shirt short on his thighs. “What happened to Chen?”

“I can’t find him,” Kyungsoo says, looking at Chanyeol.

“We’ll help,” Chanyeol says. “Baek, wait here –“

“I know him better than either of you,” Baekhyun says. “If I can’t find him, you can’t.” The last bit is directed at Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo’s not here to fight. “Fine. Let’s go.”

--

Kyungsoo covers the gardens, Chanyeol the carpark, and Baekhyun the pool and the poolhouses.

“He’s not here,” Chanyeol says, when they gather back at the lift lobby. Kyungsoo’s so cold with fear. It’s four in the morning, and Chen’s not around. Where is he?

“Did he take anything? Clothes? Money?” Chanyeol asks.

“He-“ Might have run away. Kyungsoo doesn’t even dare to say it out loud. “Just the fishbowl,” he says.

“But he loved those fishes,” Baekhyun says. “Where would he go with them? Unless..” Baekhyun seems to think of something. He starts running.

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo follow. Baekhyun’s running towards the main entrance, and Kyungsoo’s praying, praying, praying for Chen not to have left him.

--

There’s a small playground, isolated from the rest of the complex. It lies near the entrance of the apartment.

From far away, Kyungsoo can see a figure curled up on the platform. He keeps running towards it, until he catches up with Baekhyun at the edge of the playground.

Chen’s curled up asleep, his chest rising and falling shallowly. The fishbowl sits beside his head, the two guppies chasing each other round and round inside of it. The glass magnifies Chen’s eyelashes, the furrow in his brow.

“Chen,” Baekhyun says. He’s darting up the green ladder to Chen. Kyungsoo’s suddenly envious, that he can be so open about how much Chen means to him.

“Don’t do this again,” Chanyeol says to Kyungsoo. They stand together, watching Baekhyun lean over Chen, gently shaking him awake.

“I still want you,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped. But every time I look at Chen, I think he deserves you more. Because he’s willing to wait, while I wasn’t. It feels like this is the past and we’re cycling through it again, but I don’t want the same ending for you. And I want another ending for myself but we can’t have that now, so I want a better one for Chen. Please, Kyungsoo, please treat him better than you treated me.”

Chanyeol has never said anything like this to Kyungsoo before. Nothing so honest. It’s like a slap, a slap that returns Kyungsoo to their past, and everything Kyungsoo should have said but never said; everything Chanyeol knew would hurt Kyungsoo if he said, and had never said, either.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Kyungsoo says, throat clogged. “Chanyeol.”

“We’re past that,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t we? Kyungsoo, be good to Chen.” He starts to walk forward, past Kyungsoo to Baekhuyn.

It had been four in the morning, too, when Kyungsoo had said to Chanyeol – “this is good, this is good for both of us”, and left hastily in his car, leaving Chanyeol standing on his friend’s doorstep in his sleeping clothes. It feels like that day all over again, Kyungsoo leaving behind someone he loved without even saying goodbye.

It’s like he’s not thinking. Kyungsoo catches Chanyeol’s arm, pulling him up short. “I love you,” Kyungsoo says, quietly, over Chen’s confused “Baekhyun?” and Baekhyun’s hearfelt “Chen.”

He lets go off Chanyeol’s arm, then, moving forward towards Baekhyun and Chen.

Chanyeol swears under his breath behind him.

Kyungsoo has no idea what he’s doing.

Chen’s content with Baekhyun. He turns his face away from Kyungsoo, ignoring him.

“Go home,” Chanyeol says. He holds Kyungsoo’s hand this time. “If you meant what you said – go home. And –“ he hesitates. “Read Voyage again.”

This is more than Chanyeol has ever asked of Kyungsoo.

--

Kyungsoo grew up reading. It was like listening to people speak, people who said I am here, I hurt, I am. I hurt, and nothing you say can diminish this.

Sometimes Kyungsoo would find a book that sketched how he felt so perfectly, reading it felt like stripping off a layer of skin to expose the raw nerves beneath.

Voyage in the Dark is a book Kyungsoo’s scared to reread, because it makes him think and feel things he wants to keep hidden away.

This isn’t a book Kyungsoo thought he would be afraid of. It’s about an alcoholic woman going to London and living off men for money.

But there are entire passages Kyungsoo’s scared of reading.

Passages like,  “of course, you get used to things, you get used to anything. It was as if I had always lived like that. Only sometimes, when I had got back home and was undressing to go to bed, I would think, ‘My God, this is a funny way to live. My God, how did this happen?”

It was like the book itself had a smell, like the words blurred and marched across the pages, off the pages, tearing down the facades until you saw your world for the sham it is.

Passages like, “it was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what it’s like to try to speak from under water when you’re drowned?’”

Kyungsoo thinks of him and work and fear and money. Of how it feels, to be good at something and feel next to nothing for it. Not hatred, not distaste. Merely an interchangeability, like he could be doing anything and it would be the same. It wouldn’t make a difference to Kyungsoo.

Most of all, the tiredness would pass. The tiredness would always pass, once the digits ticked up in the bank account.

Kyungsoo’s not being sarcastic. He’s not being impractical. He’s being very practical. He would not be happy living in a run-down house, having to fix his light switches with duct tape. He would not be happy, not having money to send back to his parents and to watch his brothers have to do part-time, night-shift work to pay their university bills. He would not be happy, to have to scavenge for cheap suits and skip meals to pay for his electricity bill.

But there were also passages like, “The clothes of most of the women who passed were like caricatures of the clothes in the shop-windows, but when they stopped to look you saw their eyes were fixed on the future. ‘If I could buy this, then of course I’d be quite different’. Keep hope alive and you can do anything, and that’s the way the world goes round, that’s the way they keep the world rolling. So much hope for each person. And damned cleverly done too.

But what happens if you don’t hope any more, if your back’s broken? What happens then?”

Hope, Kyungsoo knows very well, is the greatest sham invented. It’s always hope, that if he gets better suits and good cufflinks, learns to speak with the right accent, people will see him for who he is. A good person. A capable person that can be trusted. That’s why Kyungsoo works hard. That’s why Kyungsoo works harder than anyone else.

It will all work out one day, and Kyungsoo will be happy. One day.

Inside everything, Kyungsoo knows, is fear. Fear that he’s going to let his parents and their hopes for him down. It’s fear that if Kyungsoo does something different, he’ll never be able to get back on the right career track again; a career that will let him retire comfortably and let him have the ability to travel anywhere he wants to. Freedom, at last. Kyungsoo’s just keeping himself safe for the future. So he can enjoy freedom, forty years down the road.

Kyungsoo needs to look good and work hard. This way, people won’t look at him and ask him why he’s doing what he’s doing, like Kyungsoo made a wrong choice and is lucky not to be digging through trash for food. This way, people will leave him alone, and Kyungsoo can finally be free.

He just needs to agree, now, to keep in line for now. He’ll be free one day.

Kyungsoo’s halfway through the book and he thinks, I can’t finish this. He’s choking on the smell of the words, like paper left alone for too many years. He can’t finish it because he knows that if he does, his hard-won satisfaction with all he has will be pulled to bits, and he’ll not. Just not be. He’ll have the sleepness nights and the cold gnawing at his heart again, the restlessness that keeps him writing poems even though his eyes blur and his head hurts and it’s another day at the office tomorrow, he needs to sleep early.

It’s been so many years. Kyungsoo feels like he hasn’t grown up at all.

--

There’s knocking on the door.

Kyungsoo knows it’s Chanyeol. He unlatches the door and walks right into –

“Hey!” Baekhyun says, clutching the fishbowl protectively. Water splashes out of the side of the bowl, drenching his hands.

“It’s you,” Kyungsoo says.

Baekhyun s the fishbowl at Kyungsoo.

“Where’s Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks.

“He’s cooking.” Baekhyun offers the fishbowl again. “Take it!”

Kyungsoo really, really wants to see Chanyeol.

“You look like crap,” Baekhyun says. “Take it, and I’ll call him over.”

“Why would you-“ Kyungsoo shakes his head, hard. “I love him. I told him that, just now.”

The fishbowl hits the ground in a tinkle of glass, water and two flying fishes.

“,” Kyungsoo groans. He runs indoors and grabs the nearest mug he finds, filling it in the kitchen sink.

Baekhyun’s cradling the fishes in his hands, when Kyungsoo comes back.
 

“Put it in here,” Kyungsoo says, extending the mug. “And – stay there. I’ll get you slippers.”

“I don’t want anything,” Baekhyun says. He dumps the fishes into the mug. “Chanyeol’s mine,” He says fiercely. “You left him.”

Kyungsoo drags the doormat over, placing it on top of the broken glass. The fishes go on the floor in the entryway, coupled with a silent prayer for them to be alright. “I know,” he says. “I know. I know that.”

Baekhyun steps carefully onto Kyungsoo’s front porch, avoiding the glass.

There are cuts on his legs, from the broken glass.

“Come in,” Kyungsoo says. He’s already walking in before Baekhyun can say no.

Baekhyun stands in the entryway as Kyungsoo climbs into his hall closet, searching for the first-aid kit. He has to rummage through it and check the expiry dates on the tubes before he brings it out (it’s been how long?).

Baekhyun speaks, as Kyungsoo picks out the glass with metal forceps from his leg.

“What do you want? Chanyeol? Chen?”

There isn’t a lot of glass. Kyungsoo breathes an internal sigh of relief. “I don’t know,” he says. “What do you want? Chanyeol? Chen?”

Because Kyungsoo’s so close to Baekhyun, he can see Baekhyun’s leg twitch.

“I know it’s not fair,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m – going to take care of Chen. First. I – “ he fumbles with the tubes, checking the labels. Whichever says antiseptic.

“Chanyeol has you,” he says. “Chen doesn’t. Not really. Not now.”

“I grew up with him. I can take care of him.”

“He was alone in the playground for hours before anyone noticed. That’s not – that’s on me, I should have.” Kyungsoo makes himself say it. “I wasn’t there. But I should have been.”
 

“I don’t trust you,” Baekhyun says. “I don’t trust you because you don’t take care of people you care about. You just let them walk away, all the time. Chanyeol – if you had told him, any time before he adopted me, that you cared for him, he would have taken you back. If you had said to Chen – come home with me, please – he would have let you take him. Why don’t you ever fight for the people you want?”

Fear. Kyungsoo already knows the answer, himself. “Because I’m not good for them.”

“You haven’t even tried.” Baekhyun sounds genuinely puzzled.

“I don’t know, okay?” Kyungsoo squeezes out the cream onto a cotton bud and begins applying it gently. None of the cuts look deep. Just painful.

“Ouch.”

“Just bear with it,” Kyungsoo mutters.

“That’s you, not me. Ouch!” Baekhyun complains.

Kyungsoo hides a smile. Out of the four of them, Baekhyun’s the only one who has guts. Chen dares to do things for people, but not for himself. Rarely for himself. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo both are good at avoiding problems.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says. “Just wishing I could be more like you.”

Baekhyun falls silent, tail swishing uncomfortably. Kyungsoo can see why Chanyeol and Chen like Baekhyun so much. You always know where you stand with him.

“We used to move in and out of foster homes.” Baekhyun says. “Chen was a bit older, looked a bit more responsible. So people would ask things of him. Would expect him to keep me in line. And he thought, people cared, so he tried. But I was always a handful, and. We kept moving. And Chen would do this thing where he’d just watch out for both of us, and not pay attention to the fosterers. He got – he’d give people one chance, then he’d stop listening to them. Cut them off. They couldn’t change his mind, and – why would people want to foster cats who are just strangers under their own roof? We got sent to the shelter, once we were old enough. If you don’t talk to Chen, I can’t help you.”

“You’re going to help me?” Kyungsoo looks curiously up at Baekhyun, who flushes. “No. But Chen likes you.”

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says quietly.

--

Chanyeol’s house has the same layout as Kyungsoo’s. A living room, a kitchen, a few bedrooms. It’s different, though. Messier. More eclectic. Chanyeol’s writing has overtaken a wall in the living room now; it’s plastered with papers, stuck by blu-tack on the wall. Blue and black ink and pencil and a whole wall of words, looming over everyone.

Kyungsoo should get curtains, for this side of the wall.

Kyungsoo opens the door to the guest room – Chen’s room is still the guest room, no matter which house it is.

Chen’s sleeping, so Kyungsoo falls asleep next to him as well, fully dressed.

Chen’s half-upright, propped on pillows. He’s staring at Kyungsoo, when Kyungsoo wakes up.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo fumbles for his mobile phone, on the bedstand. It’s ringing.

“-uho?”

“Hey, Kyungsoo. How’s everything? The catboy, and Chanyeol?”

“It’s, uhm.”

“We’ll come over tonight. Buy dinner. Give you some moral support.”

“That’s not a – in’ Suho,” Kyungsoo sighs. The dial tone rings in his ear.

“I’m not leaving,” Kyungsoo says, catching sight of Chen’s expression. “They just want to meet you.”

Kyungsoo honestly can’t tell what Chen is thinking. Chen’s good at that, but Kyungsoo only just realized. Chen’s very careful about what he shows others. That doesn’t mean that he’s dishonest or he hides. He’s just wary.

“You need to tell me,” Kyungsoo says. “You need to tell me when I’m hurting you.”

Chen’s gaze skitters away.

“I’m not going to let go of you,” Kyungsoo says. “Not until you tell me to go away.”

“Don’t make promises,” Chen says. “I don’t want promises.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. “Okay.”