Archive of Our Own

Something about the rain that day casts the afternoon as an odd one, its torrential downpour an anomaly between its bright and windy counterparts. Hunched shoulders run around under umbrellas, and they spare no glances at the occasional odd souls giving their eyes to the storm.

Baekhyun stands still, oblivious to the upturned sky and the rattling of tracks, weighed down by the weight of a passing train. When he looks down and sees his own artwork, he wonders how two perfectly normal-looking hands, used to black and white keys and pulling out perfect notes can create such a fatal mess.

Baekhyun lets the umbrella hang in his grip, dripping red raindrops onto the scarlet tarmac.

He hears the sirens. And they sound just like the piano melodies from his past.

÷

“Is Mr Kim still asleep?”

“Probably. It’s best not to disturb him. I heard he had another tantrum last night.”

“The poor soul. If only he would step out of his room and see everything he has in this world, he surely wouldn’t be in this position.”

Jongin lifts a hand to his eyes because the sunlight hurts, then he laughs because however much he tries, he can still hear voices. He resists the urge to grab something long and thin and stab his ears out, just so he can stop listening to people's bullshit.

Just a little longer, Jongin assures himself. This time it’ll work – the cleanest, least painful way of all. He’d done his research. When he lifts his head up, it feels a little heavy, the sunrise three shades of orange too bright. His mornings, afternoons and evenings have been slipping past him in a lidded daze, where the ability to think in an unidentifiable way disappears and where every moment is eternity.

His head starts to spin and he has to clutch the sides of the window frame to stop himself from tumbling over. His throat is scratching itself inside out, but Jongin can barely register the coughs the neighbours can probably hear from miles away.

Jongin’s almost there. He can almost taste death.

÷

The sun pries his eyes open in a way that has him flinching.

“#3987, Byun Baekhyun. Are you awake?”

His eyes droop back down at the sound of another voice. “No.”

“A visitor is here to see you, and –“

“I don’t have relatives. I don’t have anyone.”

“It’s not a relative.” The guard says sternly, and Baekhyun imagines the way his straight back is dying to slouch over, restless in the way he can’t wait to get out of this hellhole and spend his break with a friend. “He’s the man from the Psychology Institute we talked about, and –“

“Him again?” Baekhyun shields his eyes with his arm, ignoring the pinpricks of pain from his distorted sleeping position. “Tell him I don’t care and I don’t want to, and that he’s just wasting his time here.”

“Please, just see him once. He’s been coming here every day since last week.” When Baekhyun snarls, the guard sighs. “At least tell him you don’t want to see him in person.”

÷

Baekhyun trods over with leaden feet out of his cell and into the long, narrow hallway covered in pale sheets of dust and grime, to the dimly-lit room they label the visiting area. Truthfully, he thinks it’s just an over-glorified cage in which he’s the prey. By now, the handcuffs feel just as much as a part of his skin that he itches for the feeling of cold metal back on his wrist the instant the guards take them off. Baekhyun sighs in relief when they reach the door, and his wrists are shackled once more.

Rays of light even more piercing than the sun impale him as soon as they throw the door open, and Baekhyun staggers back from the intensity of it. They say that after being deprived of something for so long, it takes a while to remember – but to him, it’s like experiencing everything new again. Baekhyun avoids looking straight up, afraid of what he’s going to see and averts his eyes to the corner of the room. It’s then that Baekhyun sees him – back leaning against the wall, eyes cast downwards with his dark hair failing to cover the frown on his face. The boy doesn’t look like he wants to be here, and Baekhyun can’t blame him.

“Baekhyun?” A tall, lanky man in a too-bright sweater bounds up to him with eyes that brighten with excitement, yet to Baekhyun they seem dull and shallow. His obnoxious name tag says Park Chanyeol. The name tastes like poison in Baekhyun’s mouth. “Hi! Hello! I can finally see you.”

He has to look away at the sight of the man’s lopsided smile, almost blinding in the way that it flashes far too many teeth. Baekhyun doesn’t respond.

“I’m extremely pleased to meet you. Have you thought about what I said in my last letter? When I asked you to give life another chance?”

“Are you asking me whether I’ve given up on suicide or not?” Baekhyun deadpans, and he sees the dark-haired boy in the corner look up.

“W-well, yes, yes I am.”

Letting his mind run back to his damp cell and the pills and razors and ropes stashed under his bed – the ones the guards haven’t taken away – Baekhyun holds back his anger. “I’ve given up.”

“Oh, really? I’m so thankful, you’re finally seeing what good this world offers –“

“I realised it was a waste of my own energy anyway,” he interrupts. “When all I have to do is sit and wait until I get killed.”

“Byun Baekhyun!”

“It’s…it’s alright warden Junmyeon. It must’ve been ages since he’s able to say things freely…”

“Trust me, the prison cell is much less locked out than the world out there –“

“How about we sit down?”

Baekhyun senses the man getting uncomfortable, and he makes the mistake of stealing another glance at the boy in the corner. His eyes seem to analyse every micro-movement Baekhyun makes and dissect his every thought.

“I’ve tried to get across to you so many times.” Chanyeol says, still grinning. “I’ve done a lot of research on you, and recently we’ve discovered a new theory in our psychology department. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like –“

“Please stop.”

Chanyeol looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I hope you haven’t mistaken my willingness to see you for anything else but a request for you to stop visiting.” Baekhyun says sternly despite his faltering gaze. “This attention…it’s unnecessary.”

“Well, you haven’t given counseling a shot, have you?” The smile Chanyeol gives him is too kind, too soft as if he’s offering Baekhyun a piece of candy and leading him into a trap. “It might really help. Especially if we start earlier.”

“I don’t need any sort of help. I am not a test subject for you to experiment your theories on, so it would be in both our interests if you walk out.” Baekhyun grits his teeth. “Right. Now.”

“Baekhyun –”

At Chanyeol’s pleading tone, Baekhyun brings both hands up to his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, making it obvious that he wants to block all noises away. Silence consumes him, and when he opens his eyes Chanyeol is nowhere to be seen.

His relief is short-lived, however, because the next thing he knows the dark-haired boy is towering in front of him, looking like he wants to strangle the living hell out of Baekhyun.

“You know, it would’ve been great if you had at least respected half the things he said,” the boy snaps, throwing Baekhyun a disgusted look. Baekhyun’s face remains passive. “My friend’s not the best person out there, but at least he tries. You and I both know we’re far from being anything even remotely close to good, so a bit sort of effort would’ve at least earned you some respect.”

“Then why didn’t you speak?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you say all this earlier?”

The expression the boy’s face is unreadable. “I wanted to check. Whether you had any empathy left in you or not.”

Baekhyun never gets to ask for his verdict, because the boy simply walks out without a second glance.

He can probably guess, anyway.

÷

The boy’s name is Kim Jongin; he overhears one of the guards say. He comes from a wealthy family, had been handed everything he needed on a silver platter topped off with golden dressing. But apparently money can never defeat depression. He’d just been released from the hospital after his latest stunt, which nearly got him killed. He must be blessed, to have another chance to live in this world again. That's what the guards keep saying over and over.

That night, Baekhyun can’t sleep, tossing and turning in his narrow bed. He realises that both of them, Baekhyun and Jongin, are so different, yet so alike in many ways – and it scares him, the fact that someone so fortunate to be born with everything can end up in the same position he is.

Baekhyun thinks it might be some glitch in his brain, but he wishes he had found out about all of this not by eavesdropping the prison guards, but from Kim Jongin himself.

÷

There was a time when Baekhyun found solace in mundane things – when Baekhyun felt normal, as if he belonged in the world.

Once upon a time the piano was his world.

From the very first touch, he knew this instrument was going to dictate his whole life. The turning point, which his life will inevitably come across, won’t be caused by a girl, or some natural disaster nor will it be due to a life-changing trip abroad. It’ll be because of the combination of black and white, the melodies he’ll coax out of these keys. The more he played, the deeper he was pulled into the world of music, the faster time went, the more oblivious of the world he became.

Baekhyun never noticed the pair of small, sad eyes across the street, studying him intently and ears reserved only for his pieces. Even the boy’s undivided attention was never enough to pull Baekhyun out of his reverie; broken only whenever the piano teacher crashed through the door and his shouts jolting Baekhyun out of his bench.

By then, the boy would have been long gone.

And at the time, Baekhyun thought all changes should happen for good reasons, and surely the changes the piano will bring him will make him happier somehow.

How naïve he was.

÷

The fucking sunlight is in his face again. They need some fucking curtains in this place.

“Baekhyun?” He hears a soft voice from the hallway. He looks up.

“Warden Junmyeon?”

“Please, just call me Junmyeon.”

The simple statement surprises Baekhyun, but he doesn’t give it a second thought. Junmyeon’s glasses are nearly slipping off from the way he’s grinning so widely, and Baekhyun notices the casual clothes he’s wearing – a jacket over a white dress shirt, and a pair of slacks. Since his time here, he had discovered that Junmyeon is different from the other uptight guard. He doesn’t act like one half the time, and is willing to sit outside anyone’s cell to talk for hours on end.

“I found something you might be interested in.”

Baekhyun frowns.

“You remember the person who came with the Psychology Man? The one who was sitting in the corner?”

He recalls the dark hair and the equally dark eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, I thought he looked rather familiar, and I realised where I’ve seen him before. Here!” Junmyeon hands him a DVD, titled ‘Kim Jongin – the Debut Era’. “Have you heard of him?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun admits. “Heard he was huge in the entertainment world.”

“I came across one of his interviews, and he said he was inspired by the works of many pianists. One of them was Byun Baekhyun.” Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you used to play the piano.”

Baekhyun hunches his shoulder a little. “It was a long time ago. And it was short-lived.”

Junmyeon waits for Baekhyun to continue, but when he makes no sign of doing so, he stands up. “I’ll head to my office. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Just as Junmyeon is walking away, Baekhyun calls him back. “I…can you play it for me? The DVD?”

Junmyeon seems taken aback, but he’s smiling when he nods a confirmation.

÷

As Baekhyun watches Kim Jongin dance, watches the way his body looks so frail but so resolute at the same time, he wonders if what Junmyeon says might be true. He remembers clearly the forlorn tunes he’d always play on his piano, the happier pieces saved only for himself - and he sees bits and pieces of it in the way Jongin twists and turns, his moves sharp and precise as if they hurt him. It's exactly like seeing into the mirror.

When he’s finished, Baekhyun sits back, thinking how unfortunate it must be for Kim Jongin to find someone so sad as his source of inspiration.

÷

“You shouldn’t get too close to him.”

Junmyeon turns around from where he’s rummaging the boxes, looking for more DVDs. He only half-heard what the guard had said.

“What do you mean?”

“The people here…they’re still criminals. Especially that convict you keep talking to – he’ll die soon. It’s better to stay detached and watch them go, rather than to hurt yourself when he leaves.”

Junmyeon shrugs his jacket off. He never wears the guard uniform – he feels like it’s a barrier between him and the inmates, as if he had been granted superior authority he never accepted.

“I told myself that, too. That I shouldn’t have any compassion for them.” He finds another Kim Jongin performance, and wipes the dust off the cover. “The crimes that some of these criminals did – they disgust me. Makes me want to run out the door and never look back.”

“That’s true, and –“

“But then most, if not all,” Junmyeon smiles sadly. “Have no choice but to live the way they’re living, and to do the things they’ve done. And who are we, as society, to blame them, when we’re the ones who create the world they live in?”

The guard stays quiet.

“Have you read up on Byun Baekhyun’s life?”

“No.” The guard admits.

Junmyeon gestures to the chair beside him, indicating that it’s going to be one hell of a story.

“He used to be a piano prodigy when he was very young, probably when he was seven or eight. Everything seemed to be going well for him until his parents died. His piano teacher took him into care – his family wasn’t very well off, and the will they left had granted custody of Baekhyun to his teacher. The world thought it was a blessing – pianist Baekhyun! Getting the best guidance he’ll ever need! He’ll surely see the path to success.”

The slow hums of midnight drives outside seep into the room. “Then…what happened?”

Unknown to Junmyeon, Baekhyun tries to focus on his own breathing in his cell, desperately attempting to block out the conversation happening at such a close proximity to him. But even when he can no longer hear the voices, he can see it, that day. And everything is so vivid, so tangible, that he feels like it was only yesterday that he –




It all feels too real.

He’s stumbling through the dark with the screams tailing him like laps of fire streaking across the hardwood floor. Baekhyun sees the crack of light ahead, and uses up what little energy he has left to break through it, yanking the curtains to the stage apart.

He hears the gasps before he sees the audience’s horrified expressions, hands to their mouths and eyes wide. For a while, Baekhyun can only hear silence in the auditorium.

Until he stretched his arms out, and sees them covered in blood.

A woman’s shrill cry, followed by profuse sobbing, breaks the silence first. Then there was a flurry of panicked shouting. His face is bloody! Oh my god, can you see that cut on his forehead? Is he dying? Someone call the damn police!

Baekhyun turns, and sees the perpetrator behind the curtains. And in that instant, he knows he has to leave.




“He ran away, after the concert that never happened.” Junmyeon’s voice turns quiet, so quiet Baekhyun can barely hear him through his own uneven breathing. “And it was like he disappeared into thin air. Within a couple of days, the story of the missing pianist prodigy no longer sold the newspapers as headlines. His story was soon replaced by other stories, more dramatic and overly exaggerated.”

“What happened to the...the…”

“The abuser? The person who hit a child until he’s bleeding, just because he said he was too tired for a concert, was his teacher.”

The guard gasped. “No!"

“Unfortunately so. Even worse, he ran away just as quick as Baekhyun did, and people paid even less attention to him. It took me hours to dig up anything relevant to this story; everything about it is so obscure.”

Junmyeon grabs the last of the DVDs from the box and closes it shut, still oblivious to Baekhyun lying on his side almost painfully trying to keep his sobs in.

“No one chooses to be broken, yet we treat them as if they had a choice.”

÷

The train station is as busy as usual when Jongin gets off from work. It’s been a pain trying to fit back into the same shitty set of people, and every turn of the day doesn’t make anything better. At least it’s a normal job, he reassures himself. Thanks to his prestigious status (his family’s, at least), he’s been able to land a job at a publishing company as a co-editor. Nothing too demanding, nothing too relaxed that’d encourage slacking off, either. He’s thankful for the job, because normal people have jobs. And for a few hours a day, he gets to pretend he’s ‘normal’.

“Move!” Jongin is shoved aside roughly, and before he can protest to the man running ahead, he hears, “Some guy just got into a fight!”

Frowning, Jongin follows the man, jogging lightly to some platform he’s not headed to. Immediately, he’s greeted with a crowd of people huddling near the rails.

“You want me to forgive the damn murderer? Are you crazy?”

Jongin pushes through the crowd, and his eyes widen.

“If he weren’t in prison, I’d kill him myself right now! Everyone is always like this – you don’t know how it feels like, but you act like know-it-alls – like fucking saints!”

His eyes meet Chanyeol’s, and he’s about to step out to help him up when Chanyeol shakes his head no. Chanyeol’s arms that are holding himself up tremble slightly, but his face is calm in the midst of all the chaos. Must be some psychology thing, Jongin thinks.

“Go away!” The woman who had pushed Chanyeol sobs into her hand. “Just – get out of here!”

Jongin sees Chanyeol’s own glassy eyes, and he sighs. However precious Chanyeol might be, he gives Jongin too much of a headache sometimes.

÷

“You’re so stupid.”

“What’s the point of living life without a little risk?”

Jongin rolls his eyes, and glances at his watch. “I think I’ll have to go now.”

“Already?”

Jongin stands up to stretch, his muscles aching from the lengthy hours he’d sat with his friend. Chanyeol seems to be oblivious to the fact that Jongin had spent half the day with him in the hospital room.

He smiles. “You might try and make me do things again, like go with you to the jail a second time. Or would it be my third?”

Chanyeol’s expression turns forlorn. “Do you really hate him? The prisoner?”

“It’s a little hard not to, after reading all the things people say about him.” Jongin pauses, hesitating a little before continuing; “I…did a little research on him last night.”

Chanyeol a little straighter in his bed, and Jongin takes it as a sign to continue.

“I wanted to know what crime he did that made him, you know. End up with a death sentence, so I searched him up.”

“And?”

Jongin looks away. “He pushed a woman and her child onto the train tracks and they were run over, then he used her umbrella to stab a passerby to death.” Jongin shudders at his own words, but Chanyeol stays unflinching. “He killed three people in that instant. Three souls were ripped out of bodies in less than ten minutes, and those souls were most likely innocent. Why he’d kill a woman and her little child that he had no relations to is beyond me."

“Did you read about his past?”

Jongin nods. “It was included in the article, there were horrible details. But he’s only one out of millions who are in the same predicament, the same unfortunate circumstances. I thought that, if we forgave him for his crimes – what about the victims? What will happen to one who loved the people he killed? They would never get compensation for what happened. It’s irreversible, and the best compensation they’ll get is to know they’ll never see him again.”

“But…Jongin…he’s got no one in this world.”

“That doesn’t justify whatever he’s done,” Jongin clenches his fists. “While I was growing up, I had nearly no one either. Whoever was around me, they were just placeholders – just figureheads with the labels ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. They’re only titles, because in reality they’re even more distant than strangers I meet on the streets.”

Just as Jongin’s walking out the door, Chanyeol says; “But what you did was worse than what he’s ever done.”

Jongin turns around, frowning, and the blood in his body turns cold. “What?”

“Because you ruined your own life, gave up the opportunities given to you. You had choices, but you took the wrong one. At least he didn’t have a choice but to do what he did.”

Baekhyun. Just hearing the name makes Jongin sick.

“Abandoning him like that just makes you the same as the people you hate most.”

The fact that Chanyeol is saying these words to him, however much of a ‘good friend’ he’s trying to be, makes Jongin feel like he has been stabbed in the back.

“I’m leaving.” He swings the door open. “And I don’t want to see him again.”

÷

Truthfully, the only reason Jongin didn’t pick better ways to kill himself was Chanyeol. Thinking of how Chanyeol would hold up without Jongin in the world makes him think twice, and is the only reason why he took sleeping pills instead of throwing himself off a building, why he slit his wrists instead of aiming a gun to his head. They’ve been friends since childhood, and Chanyeol had been the only one who had stuck by him through every daring plunge Jongin takes. Somewhere along the line, Jongin figured he should do the same.

Then he thinks of Baekhyun, and how many people who’ll miss him when he’s gone.

When all his thinking results in nothing, Jongin has to stop in his tracks to sit down. He ponders far too long on the prisoner he hates, but is hated by the rest of the world already.

÷

Jongin’s not sure of what made his feet take a different route on the junction, until he ends up right there in front of the glass barrier, staring into Baekhyun’s unreadable face again. His hair is still long, covering his forehead and falling into his eyes, and Jongin has to catch himself from drowning into them.

“Um. I didn’t expect you to actually come since…our last meeting wasn’t very successful.”

Jongin lets his gaze fall, unable to maintain the eye contact. He’s remotely surprised that Baekhyun had initiated the conversation first.

“That’s okay.”

An awkward silence falls between them, making Jongin shift uncomfortably in his seat. Unconsciously studying Baekhyun’s figure, he can sense he’s got something to say in the way he drums his fingers against his thighs, the way his eyes dart from left to right with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

A soft click of the door has Jongin turning in his seat, looking up to see Junmyeon’s default smiling face. “Oh! Jongin, I didn’t realise you were here. Thank you so much for coming in the place of Chanyeol. I hope he’s fine?”

“It’s…He’s fine,” Jongin breathes out. Kindness is stifling.

When neither of the two attempts to say anything else, Junmyeon clears his throat.

“That reminds me, Jongin, you used to dance, right?”

The words hit him like a truck at full-speed, blaring headlights sending his vision into momentary blackout. He shifts in his seat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he feels, because right now he really wants to run out of the damn place. “Y-yes.”

“I used to be such a big fan of yours. I’d watch your performances every week and record them.”

Jongin closes his eyes, wishing the sky would knock the living hell out of him. “Thank you.”

“It’s such a shame, how suddenly you stopped. And so soon, too! We were expecting great things from you…why did you stop –“

He slams the desk, the sound bouncing off the walls in the room, shutting up Junmyeon effectively, and Jongin’s palms tingle from the collision. The room is deadly silent.

“I’m never dancing again.” Jongin’s head hurts, the memories rushing into his mind at a far too quick a rate. “If it weren’t for Chanyeol, I wouldn’t even think of coming to this place full of –“

Jongin realises what he had said far too late. He casts a horrified glance at Baekhyun, who has finally looked up with a look of utter disgust on his face.

“Huh. That’s right. You’re just like one of them, then.” Baekhyun laughs bitterly.

“B-Baekhyun, don’t say that –“

“No, Junmyeon. Why can’t I? It’s true. All they want to do is learn a lesson from people like me – people who ‘suffer’, so that they can bask in their superiority and go home feeling good about themselves.” Baekhyun stands up, with a gaze that seems to cut through Jongin more painfully than any of his blades could. “It’s been a pleasure, sire. Was this what you wanted? For me to thank you for visiting or something?”

Baekhyun mocks a bow, his eyes never leaving Jongin’s, and kicks his chair over as he walks out of the room.

“Wait, Baekhyun –“

“Chanyeol got injured in the train station, while he was trying to talk to a relative of the victim of your murder.” Baekhyun stops in his tracks.

“Jongin, don’t –“

“He wanted them to understand why you did what you did, even just a little –“

“Jongin, please don’t discuss his crimes in here.”

“What?”

Just then, Jongin notices Baekhyun’s heavy breathing and the tremors wrecking through his body, before he collapses onto the floor screaming.

“Baekhyun! Quick, Jongin, call the security guards outside.”

“What? What’s happening –“

Then Jongin stops, because he hears the words Baekhyun is repeating over and over that turns his blood ice-cold.

”I’m sorry.”

÷

Jongin feels like he had just woken up, although the dark rims of his eyes are telltales of lost sleep. It’s been a few days since he’d visited the prison, and Jongin only has one method of drowning out the guilt he feels for rekindling Baekhyun’s traumatic experiences.

(Since when did he start caring?)

He reaches out for the bottle of vodka he’d thrown somewhere – was it vodka? – and upon finding it empty, he rummages his pockets for a cigarette instead. Little tools of death, eating away at the frays of his life are the things he keeps closest to him. Most people keep themselves as far away from them as possible, but he feels more at home with poison than he has ever felt walking around in his own skin and bones.

He swings a leg over the bed, only to wince at the feeling of broken glass jabbing at his feet. But instead of picking them out, he steps on the broken pieces with his other foot; tapping his feet lightly at first, and then beginning to stomp harder until blood is dripping onto the floor beneath him.

The pain feels all too familiar, and he reaches out for his sleeping pills while the drones of past agonies haunt him again. His vision momentarily blacks out while he’s shuddering, trying to open his bottle of pills, and then he hears music. He hears fucking music. He screams, trying to block out the noise and punches the floor impulsively.

The floor feels clammy under his hands, and far too wet than what it should be. His heart drops when he realises it’s blood, dripping from his wrists and painting a sick picture on his palms. For a moment, he stays curled up on the floor, hoping the pain and mental torture will go away with every shout he pulls out of his throat. But they never do.

So he staggers up, ignoring the sharp pains that shoot up his legs, and starts running to wherever his mind is taking him.

÷

“Baekhyun!”

Junmyeon pants. The winter air in the hallways pierces his chest with every intake of breath.

“Baekhyun!”

He thanks the deities when he turns the corner and sees a familiar cell, still pitch-dark even though the sun has long since set. Baekhyun never bothers to turn the light on, and it has always been Junmyeon who dispels the darkness – it’d feel too lonely otherwise.

“Byun…Baekhyun…” He sees the said man turn his head around, eyes heavy with sleep.

“What is it?”

“Mr…Mr Kim Jongin,” he wipes his forehead. “He’s here, and he says he wants to see you.”

“Why me?”

The gates of his cell scrapes open, and Junmyeon beckons him to go outside with his hands. “He didn’t say. Come on, now.”

“Wait,” Baekhyun grabs Junmyeon’s sleeve. “Aren’t you going to handcuff me?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “How would you feel if I sent someone to comfort you in chains?"

÷

It feels strange, not having the glass barriers and metal handcuffs restricting him, Baekhyun being left to his own devices. He steps into the room, he closes the door after himself and gingerly touches the walls. He doesn’t like the momentary freedom, longing for the damp walls of his cell back. When he hears noises in the room and finds the source, his heart instantly drops.

It’s the boy from yesterday – Jongin, crouching on the floor and curled up. It’s like the air is pointing daggers at him, and he’s cowering away from the sharp tips. Baekhyun’s eyes widen when he sees the blood on his arms and hands, making smears across the floor that look like he had dragged himself into the room.

“I – I don’t know why someone like me, who wants to kill so badly,” Jongin chokes out. “Is it still here, outside and pretending to be normal. But you – apologising for everything, and is traumatised by your wrongs is locked away…sentenced to death, I –”

Jongin cries out then, and all Baekhyun wants to do is reach out and touch him, because he’s so tangible and so real that with every cry, Baekhyun feels the pain in his heart, even though he’s got nothing to do with Jongin’s life.

Instead, Baekhyun slides into place beside Jongin, keeping a safe distance from him despite the urge to hold him close – because Jongin seems so fragile, reminding Baekhyun of himself years ago. “Who…who did you want to kill?”

“Do. Who do I want to kill? Myself.” Jongin laughs sarcastically. “It was the first time in weeks that I tried to kill myself. After meeting you, I had a lot to think about, but I was thinking of all the wrong things.”

Every time Jongin stops to catch his breath, Baekhyun waits patiently for him to continue.

“People forget, what it’s like to be in the entertainment industry. All they see is the lights, the money and the glamour of it – but it’s really just a thin veil covering all the shit that happens underneath.” Jongin curls up on himself even more. “I’m not a prodigy. I was trained all my life to be a dancer, attending multiple classes by world-class choreographers and all that bullshit. My parents were obsessed with the thought of raising a child who would achieve everything no other child can. They wanted to leave their mark on the world through me.”

Baekhyun hears a door slam outside, then a series of shushing afterwards.

“Once I gained popularity, it meant freedom. It meant doing stupid shit that would probably end up getting me killed, but I was happy doing them, and all I saw was the fun in it; never the dangers. But the pressure was still there, and instead of it getting less as I get more successful; I had my time, my life and everything that made me happy stripped away from me. I was losing pieces of myself every day, forced to dance hours on end, never stopping even when I injured my back.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen.

“I had a lot of problems with my body, and I was constantly getting injured. But every time I complain, my parents would dismiss it as excuses, telling me to practice even harder. And one day, my back was hurting so much that I collapsed, crying out to my mum that I needed a goddamn break. You know what she did? She kicked me. She kicked me until I felt like I was going to fucking die, right there on the dance floor. And by then, I couldn’t feel anything, and I was sure I was dead.”

“I’m –“

“I couldn’t dance anymore afterwards. I never liked it, but it was the only thing that I knew how to do. Everything came tumbling down after that, and I only saw. No. I only see suicide as an option. I – I might seem bitter and what I say can sometimes be outright rude and senseless, so I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine. You were being pushed too far.”

“I don’t like you,” Jongin suddenly says. “But I realise that I don’t hate you either. Because all I had to go on about you were exaggerated details that were written to entertain. I don’t have room in me to empathise with other people, but if everyone I encounter is going to be polite on the outside and just say pretty words, then I don’t need it.”

When Jongin doesn’t say anything more, Baekhyun asks, “what are you saying?”

“I… I want us to talk. I’m sick of hearing lies, and I want us to talk without trying to avoid anything. I’m tired of going around in circles.” Jongin says the last sentence in a whisper, barely audible from where Baekhyun is sitting even in the quiet room. “Can we do that?”

Just then Baekhyun feels the urge to laugh, so he lets out a chuckle; much to the surprise of Jongin. “Someone once told me backstage: ‘don’t worry, everyone here is equally bad off.’ He didn’t realise that the moment you say you’re bad off, equality no longer applies.” Baekhyun cocks his head. “You’re strange. To pick a prisoner on death row to talk to you…without bias.”

“Strange. Weird. Odd. I’ve been called those names before behind my back.”

Jongin sees Baekhyun’s lips almost curving into what might resemble a smile upon looking up.

“Me too.”

The room is still silent as the conversation trails off, Jongin continuing to weep. It’s a strong shaking, wrecking weeping that comes from a wound that will never heal. Baekhyun lets him, leaving him be with his memories and his pain. Baekhyun wants to offer him comfort, but it wouldn’t matter. The wounds that never heal can only be mourned alone. He knows that much.

÷

“Sometimes, you just have to stop talking and listen for a bit. Look.” Through the glass, Jongin watches Baekhyun as he cups his left ear, cocking his head slightly, eyes closed. “Each sound is different, and the longer you listen to it, the more distinct the differences are. For example, spring is like meringue in your tongue, and winter is like a curl of sugar on snow. Autumn sounds like,” Baekhyun makes a face. “Like the sounds of knots in a dog’s coat or something you wipe your feet on. Sandpaper-y.”

“They look like sandpaper.”

“Exactly! Every day, you can see that the brown always creeps up on the green. You can actually watch the colours change.” Baekhyun’s eyes seem to sparkle as he describes this, and Jongin is stunned speechless by the sight.

After a while Baekhyun seems to have caught on Jongin’s staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

"Like what?"

“Like…” Baekhyun hesitates. “Just, why?”

“You take notice of such ordinary things it’s…a little disconcerting.”

Baekhyun laughs in a way that makes Jongin’s head spin – kind of like when he’s on ecstasy, but a thousand times better.

“Disconcerting? Am I really that weird?”

“No, not at all. I actually think you’re a much better person than I am.”

At this, Baekhyun grins a cheeky grin from across the glass, and Jongin struggles to return his smile. His eyes fall to Baekhyun’s hands on the table, bound with metal handcuffs – a reminder of what sets them apart.

Baekhyun’s gaze follows Jongin’s, and his smile falters. Because for a while there, Baekhyun had forgotten about the glass barrier between them.

It’s their third Thursday together – or fourth? Baekhyun had lost count. Jongin is still coming in the place of Chanyeol, and that’s all he can remember. At first he lamented the thirty-minute time slot he’d have every Thursday, and he was sure the conversations would turn awkward, with Baekhyun wondering half the time if there’s a word in the dictionary for when people know the truth but pretend they don’t. He was convinced it was a fluke, when Jongin spilled everything to Baekhyun. He didn’t expect a repeat of it.

But then Jongin hadn’t talked about his problems. He treated the conversations as normal ones, like he’s speaking to a friend – and Baekhyun finds that he doesn’t mind the sore throats he’d always end up with at the end of the visiting hours, nor the little bits of Jongin he takes away with him every Thursday. With Jongin, Baekhyun doesn’t feel like he’s searching for unreachable answers – but to look for better questions, and it’s with this subtle aura of mystery that Baekhyun finds himself addicted to.

As if reminded of his position, Baekhyun leans back and away from the glass barrier, clearing his throat and doing his best to continue the conversation.

“How’s your friend?”

Jongin nods slowly. “He’s recovering well. Soon, he’ll visit you again.”

“No.” Baekhyun says a little too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from Jongin. “I mean, he doesn’t – you can. Hold on.” Baekhyun takes a deep breath, swaying from right to left when he says: “I’d...like it if you came here instead. It feels better with someone more, you know, my age.”

“My friend is probably more of your age. How can you tell that we’re of the same age?” Jongin challenges. “I might be a 50-year-old man who happens to take really good care of his skin.”

“Possibly." Baekhyun misses the humour. "But really, can you…you know?”

Jongin bites his lip. “I’ll try. I like it, too, coming here. It’s like a break from everyday life. It reminds me of the one thing I liked from my time dancing.”

“Was it backstage passes?”

Jongin looks at Baekhyun incredulously. “Was that the best you could think of?”

Baekhyun has the decency to at least look sheepish. “What is it then?”

“Snow days for Kai.”

“Kai?”

“It was the stage name I used to be known with. Does it sound weird?” Jongin laughs. “I’d be busy every day, attending every dance class my parents lined up for me and following the instructors’ orders. But often during winter, the snow falls so heavily that my parents wouldn’t be able to drive me to my lessons. On those days, I didn’t have to stay cooped up indoors. I’d sneak out and play outside with the other kids at a nearby park, and I’d stay there long after it got dark. Long after everyone else had gone home.”

Baekhyun imagines a young Jongin squatting in the snow, oblivious to the cold and simply enjoying his own freedom even in the dark. Baekhyun can imagine how he’d smile – unrestrained, probably a little too wide for someone who’s only really just messing around in the park. But Baekhyun thinks it must have been the most beautiful sight to see. After all, humans find the most beauty in things they don’t see often.

“I didn’t have to be Jongin on those days. So I named it Kai’s Days. A solution always comes much easier when you’re just a child – for me, a name change was all it took to be free.”

Just then the door creaks open, and Junmyeon peeks in rather apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but visiting times are over.” At the pathetic look Baekhyun sends his way, Junmyeon sighs. “I know, 30 minutes pass by very quickly. But there’s always next Thur –” Wincing a little when he realises how insensitive it sounds, Junmyeon changes the subject. “Jongin, do you have somewhere to go?”

“Probably just to visit Chanyeol. After that I’ll just go back home.” Jongin stands up to pick up his bag.

“It’s a snow day today.”

Jongin does a double take. “I’m…sorry?”

“It’s snowing outside. So,” Baekhyun shrugs. “Isn’t it Kai’s Day today?”

÷

“I’ll try and see if I can get your visiting hours extended.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been looking better little by little each day. You – and him, too.”

It’s intentional, the way Junmyeon walks painfully slowly to the cell, just so he can talk to Baekhyun longer. The boy obviously needs the company. And if Baekhyun had noticed this random act of kindness, he’s not letting on.

“It feels nice. Having a normal conversation like that. I have a lot to talk about, too.”

“How about you send him letters?”

Baekhyun frowns. “Letters?”

“You can send him one whenever you want. Write anything you might say to him during your meeting, we won’t read it don’t worry.”

Baekhyun weighs up the pros and cons. “Won’t Jongin find them…depressing?”

“He comes here specifically to see you. It would be the last thing on his mind.”

÷

Jongin stays rooted to the ground draped in a thick blanket of snow, at the edge of a small park he had stumbled upon. His boots are starting to dampen from the cold; but it doesn’t bother him, because he’s far too busy staring.

A few children run across the outstretched expanse of white, laughing hysterically and rolling around on the ground despite the chilly weather. Their tiny gloved hands grab at the snow to form small snowballs, and Jongin feels a sense of longing all of a sudden.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the two boys tugging at his shirt. He looks down at their command.

“Hey Mister! Look here! Do you want to play with us? Just one game?”

“There are five girls,” The other boy pouts. “And only three of us boys. We’d lose for sure, those girls are monsters.”

Jongin laughs as he crouches down to smile nervously at the kids. “I’d love to play, but I have to –”

Then he stops, because he suddenly remembers what Baekhyun had told him.

It’s Kai’s Day.

Jongin looks back at the boy’s expectant face, noses and cheeks red from the cold wind. He bends down to make his own snowball, deft hands quickly turning the clump of snow into an almost-perfect sphere. He gives the boys a thumbs-up. “I’d love to play.”

÷

Hey,

Don’t laugh. Sorry for writing so suddenly, but don’t laugh even if what I say might sound weird, because I’ve never written a letter to anyone before. There’s only so much we can fit into half-hour conversations, and Junmyeon figured the rest of it I can put on paper, instead of bottling it up all the time.

Until now, I’ve been thinking that I didn’t care about what happened to anyone; but specifically rich people like you, who had everything in the world that you can just get on with life without another thought. So I’ve been living my life like this, thinking that even if I died now, I wouldn’t have any regrets. But I was wrong.

No matter how happy they seem, the degree varies, but everyone has their own pain that they carry. And sometimes someone’s pain might seem small in comparison to others, but they hurt just as much.

I met you, and I realised for the first time that even though your situation isn’t the same, you’re still a person. You’re not a mannequin encrusted with jewels made to parade around. When you asked me to speak to you without bias, I was actually really surprised. Because up until then, I’d never met anyone who looked at me so earnestly, and there was never anyone who really paid attention to what I said. I realised that I’m still right here, that I’m still alive. In that moment, I was happy.

Maybe it’s hard to understand. I don’t expect you to. It would be unfair otherwise.

It’s a mouthful, but it would’ve filled in a 30-minute session including all the interruptions you would’ve made.

- Baekhyun



He stares at the letter he had painstakingly written, and against his better judgement he folds it, puts it in the addressed envelope and seals it.

Baekhyun wishes he could tear it instead.

÷

On other Sunday mornings, Jongin would lie in bed until past noon, curled up between the sheets wishing that the hours would go faster or that sleep would whisk him away to unconsciousness again. He’d probably have a few bottles strewn around the room (all empty) and maybe some colourful pills spilled on his bedside table, along with empty cigarette packets lying beside full bins.

But this particular Sunday morning he’s sitting at his desk with his eyebrows furrowed. His floor is clean of any mess, his bedside table occupied with neat stacks of books and his bin has been emptied out. Even his bed has been made. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and it was all because of that; the letter he had received.

At first, he couldn’t sleep because of the excitement; the thought of Baekhyun writing a letter to him was inconceivable. All his life, the only form of communication Jongin was accustomed to were cold, harsh directions that were meant to criticise. A letter, to him, is something fragile and thoughtful, because the person had taken time to handwrite each letter, each word, and each paragraph.

Then the thought of what he should do in return had kept him awake until now. What Baekhyun had written in the letter – it must not have been easy for him to say. Jongin wants to do the same. He wants to challenge himself.

It’s easy to think of what he can’t do. What’s hard is trying to think of what Baekhyun would appreciate. Jongin finds himself struggling, and with a heavy heart he wonders if four Thursdays spent with each other wasn’t enough for him to get to know Baekhyun properly.

When he grabs a notebook and a pen, however, he’s reminded of what Baekhyun loves most. It’s a crazy thought, but what has Jongin got to lose by being a little crazier than he is already?

÷

“Jongin, are you drawing?”

Jongin looks up from his sketchbook at two of his co-workers, Luhan and Sehun, who wear cheeky grins on their faces.

“Show us!”

Sehun makes a swat at his notebook that Jongin neatly avoids. “I’ve only just started, it looks like shit.”

“Everyone’s shit when they first start.” Sehun reassures hastily. “Just let us see it.”

Regretfully, Jongin flips his sketchbook in the direction of the two. It only takes them two seconds to start guffawing and then laughing uncontrollably. Jongin sighs. He knew he’d regret this.

“I thought you were kidding when you said it looks like shit. You’re more honest than you look, Kim Jongin.” Luhan wipes a tear from his eye.

“My stomach hurts oh my god it actually looks like a pile of crap!”

Jongin buries his face in his hands. “Can you just give me advice?”

“Neither of us are artists, but we’d kindly suggest you try drawing whatever you’re trying to draw as it is.”

“I’m trying!”

“We know.” Luhan pats his shoulder. “You should show us everything, though. It’ll really calm you down, and maybe we can help a bit.”

“Thanks. For caring about it.”

“You know, you’ve gotten pretty friendly lately.” Sehun smiles.

“Huh?”

“How do I say this,” Luhan rubs the back of his neck. “Until a while ago, you had this ’stay away from me’ vibe.”

“Yeah. And now it’s gone. Your overall mood’s changed, right?”

“We’re glad it did!” Luhan slow-claps. “We were afraid you’d burn down the whole building one day with just your glare!”

The pair fall into laughter again, and this time Jongin can’t help but join in.

“When you’re drawing, don’t just draw whatever you think it should look like. The end result will look distorted.” Luhan points at Jongin’s subject outside the window. “Look at every line, and draw them as they are. If you take it line by line, it’ll turn out decent I’m sure.”

“We’ll leave you to it, then. See you around, Jongin.”

Jongin lifts a hand up to wave before turning back to look out the window.

÷

“Do you sometimes make people dislike you on purpose?”

Jongin frowns at the question. “I thought the answer would be pretty obvious.”

“I guess. But I didn’t think you’d be the type to know the other alternative – how rejection would hurt the other person more.”

“Only a douchebag would be so oblivious.”

Jongin grips his bag tighter. They haven’t spoken about Baekhyun’s letter, nor has Jongin given him the drawing he’d worked so hard on for the past four days. On a second thought, he wishes he was smart enough to send it prior to his visit, just so he could avoid any awkward situations that might follow.

“Is it in you to hurt yourself rather than hurting others?” Baekhyun asks.

“Isn’t it in you too?”

Jongin’s being a little stingy, but Baekhyun doesn’t seem affected by it. “I have my reasons as well.”

“What is it?”

“When I apologised to the victim’s relative, she said I should give up a part of my body if I was sincere enough. So I thought why not give her my whole life? Suicide’s just a fast forward button since I’ll die soon, anyway.”

Jongin hates it. Hates the thought of not seeing Baekhyun anymore, Baekhyun with eyes that are too bright for the walls locking him in, Baekhyun who has his way with words. Baekhyun, who had somehow unlocked the way to his heart that he himself had forgotten how to open up.

He shakes his head. Thought processes have been getting really weird lately.

“Your letter,” Jongin finally musters up enough courage to address it. “Th-thank you.”

“That? Oh.” Baekhyun laughs, his voice tinged with nervousness. “I really wanted to rip it, but I spent a while on that so I thought screw it, might as well just send it to you.”

Jongin smiles at his light-hearted comments. “And I’m really glad you did. I wanted to write back, but I…I’m not very good with words. From our talks, you seemed to be paying a lot of attention to how things look outside. So I wanted to draw it. To show you.”

Baekhyun’s voice turns quiet. “Really?”

“But don’t get your hopes up! I’m really bad.”

Craning his neck, Baekhyun points his chin at Jongin’s bag. “Is that the sketchbook?”

Damn.

“I want to see it.”

“I haven’t gotten it quite right though, so give me a bit more time and –“

“Nope.” Baekhyun shakes his head. “If I die tomorrow, I’d regret it.”

Even through the glass Jongin can see Baekhyun’s smile faltering, and Jongin’s not sure if Baekhyun is trying to guilt-trip him or saying the truth, but whatever it is it’s working. He takes the sketchbook out.

“I didn’t laugh at your letter. So don’t laugh at this.”

Jongin holds the sketchbook up to hide his face, careful not to press the page onto the glass lest the colours smudge together. He peeks out and sees Baekhyun grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, that’s pretty good.”

Jongin’s lets out a relieved sigh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Especially the colours on the cookies. You really got the colours right.”

Jongin leans in closer, thinking he’d heard it wrong. “Cookies?”

“Yeah. It’s some freshly baked cookies that have been bitten off, right?”

Jongin blushes furiously, eye downcast. “It’s…They’re leaves…”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen a little in shock, and he fumbles with his handcuffs. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That’s right,” He looks at Jongin in the eyes. “They’re leaves.”

“Yeah. When I was outside, there was one tree that still has its leaves on it. It was weird considering it’s winter already, and then I remembered what you said about leaves having their own sound, so I tried to listen but I guess my ears weren’t’ –”

At Baekhyun’s unrelenting stare, Jongin stops. “I’m sorry. I tend to blabber.”

“No, just. Continue. I’d like to hear about it.”

The smile Baekhyun sends Jongin from across the barrier reminds him of another smile. Unguarded, oblivious and completely innocent. It reminded Jongin of the picture in the article.

“Why?” Jongin asked before he could catch himself. “Why did you kill them?”

In an instant, Baekhyun’s smile disappears behind his thinly pressed lips.

“I’m sorry for asking so suddenly but I’ve always wanted to know. Because for me, no matter how much you hate someone and want to kill them, in the end your fear makes you hesitate.” The words seem to spill out of Jongin, and he’s just hoping, praying that his curiosity doesn’t let him down. “To harbour such great hatred for people you don’t even know…”

“What’s that?” Baekhyun suddenly asks, pointing at a piece of paper sticking out of Jongin’s sketchbook.

“This?” Jongin laughs nervously. “It’s just something stupid my co-workers drew for me.”

He opens it up, and in it is a cartoon drawing of Jongin in what seems to be a white suit, a blue handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket. He’s standing proudly with a happy smile on his face.

“It looks stupid, I know.”

Baekhyun’s face was in profile, but then he turns and smiles at Jongin and his breath catches. And Jongin wonders if this is how it feels like to be beautiful.

“Jongin, you look like a groom.”

“We were talking about future weddings, so…”

“Someday you’ll wear this, huh.”

Jongin folds the paper, laughing bitterly. “I won’t. Who’d marry someone like me?”

“I wish I could see it, one day.”

When Baekhyun says it, he looks so sincere but crestfallen at the same time that Jongin has to furiously blink back the tears that threaten to spill out of his eyes. Baekhyun gives him another smile, and Jongin wonders why someone so delicate, who can put all his insecurities to sleep and starve all his fears, can live in terror all his life.

Instead, he forces back the tears and says, “Well, you’ll have to cut that hair first to be able to see me properly, won’t you?”

Baekhyun’s laugh is the best sound he has ever heard.

÷

“He always avoids it. Whenever I talk about his crimes. The more I talk to him, the more I wonder if he killed all those people for no reason.”

“People are not always bad. You and him, both of you can be good sometimes, and bad sometimes as well, right?”

Junmyeon opens the door, and Jongin wraps his coat tighter around himself. The prison feels warmer than the freedom outside.

÷

Jongin,

How are your drawings? I really think you have the potential – you just have to keep going. I’d like to see them again next time we meet. Don’t give up!

Anyway. Short letter today. Haven’t had much room to think these past few days. My mind’s been occupied by something else lately.

- Baekhyun

÷

“Sorry it’s all a little sudden,” Junmyeon laughs lightly. “Baekhyun didn’t give us prior notice, so we weren’t able to contact you earlier.”

Jongin finds himself smiling along, the action still foreign to the muscles in his cheeks, but not at all unpleasant. “It’s fine, really. I’d…actually like it if our visiting time is extended. Or made more frequent, you know.” Jongin bites his lip. “I feel like squeezing as much time with him as possible would be good for…for…”

“For both of you?” Junmyeon nods. “I agree. I’ve asked the officials about it, but so far I haven’t had any response. Once it’s confirmed, I’ll definitely let you know.”

Jongin sighs in relief. “Thank you, Junmyeon. But why am I here again?”

“Oh, yeah. Baekhyun asked for a haircut a couple of days ago.” At Jongin’s confused face, Junmyeon shrugs. “Random, I know.”

“But why did you call me? Why didn’t you get a proper stylist to do it?”

“The last time we called someone in, Baekhyun grabbed the scissors and tried to kill himself with it.”

Jongin draws a sharp breath.

“So we decided it’s best that we called in someone he knows well.”

“Why did he ask for a haircut all of a sudden?”

Junmyeon’s cheeks are tinged with pink, and Jongin can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or happiness, because his lips are stretched into a wide smile.

“He told me it’s because he wanted to see you better.”

÷

It’s not a secret that Jongin had never given anyone a haircut before, as his hands shake so much that Junmyeon has to step in and help him out. But once he regains his composure and starts snipping away at dark locks of hair, Junmyeon deems it appropriate for him to slink outside and give the two some space, if Jongin’s incredibly focused face is any indication.

It’s never stifling, being silent with Baekhyun. In fact, the lack of speech between them encourages Baekhyun to do something he hasn’t done in a long time – he starts singing. Not completely unrestrained, opera-style singing, but subtle humming, lips still tightly pursed and eyes closed, so gentle Jongin would probably have missed it if he hadn’t stopped cutting for a second to listen.

“You’re…what are you singing to?”

Baekhyun lifts his head up, his smile lazy and a little nostalgic. “One of my favourite pieces. Fughetta No.4 by Schumann.”

“Do you think you still remember how to play it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never touched the piano in the longest time.” Baekhyun looks down as Jongin resumes cutting. “My hands probably don’t deserve to touch it, anyway.”

“Don’t say that.” Jongin retaliates a little too forcefully.

Baekhyun shakes his head, stopping when Jongin whispers out a hold still and eliciting a laugh out of him. After a while, he asks slowly, “Remember when you asked me why I killed those people?”

Jongin doesn’t answer, figuring that Baekhyun’s question is a rhetorical one.

“Sorry I pushed it away. I know I promised to talk to you honestly, but I – I didn’t know how to answer it.”

“It’s fine,” Jongin interrupts. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“No. But I do want to tell you, because you’ve told me things about yourself. It’s just…I hope you’re prepared. I don’t want anything to change after this.”

“Never.”

Baekhyun inhales for the longest time, until his chest hurts and his head is light with oxygen. “Okay.”

÷

Something about the rain that day casts the afternoon as an odd one, its torrential downpour an anomaly between its bright and windy counterparts. Hunched shoulders run around under their umbrellas, and they spare no glances at the occasional odd souls giving their eyes to the storm.

Baekhyun is one of those odd souls, standing in the rain under a dinky roof of the station’s general store, so close to the edge that the drops of rain hit his nose. It’s been a while since he’s had such freedom. Under the rain, he feels as if the water can wash away all memories, every horrifying scene that keeps replaying in his head, over and over again.

Last night, he had stepped into a whorehouse. Last night, less than 24 hours ago. Baekhyun couldn’t believe himself either, that he would turn to such an alternative. But he had no choice. Having been on the run for nearly half his life proves to be no easy task, more so after losing his job at the dodgy bar his seemingly always-drunken friend runs. He’d been arrested by the police because of some drug-selling scandal, and the club had shut down soon after, leaving Baekhyun with nowhere to go.

He’d gone to the whorehouse in an act of desperation, after an intoxicated old man had thrown himself on Baekhyun as he walked out of the bar. He had slurred some profanities at him, before looking up at Baekhyun’s face and purring. He said Baekhyun had a nice face. A pretty face, one the men would like. He gave him a card with an address on it, before walking away and patting his ass. Baekhyun had felt conflicted, before finally giving in.

The minute he stepped inside, he realised why he had stayed away from the idea of prostitution in the first place. The place reeked of cigarettes and alcohol – nothing Baekhyun is unaccustomed to. But it also had underlying odours of impatience, lust and sex. He had tried to ignore the stares the men in the room gave him, as if they had wanted to ravish him right on the spot. Baekhyun turned away and was about to ask someone at the front desk for directions when a girl had burst through the doors with a scream. Baekhyun had frozen on the spot.

She had bedsheets wrapped haphazardly around her tiny form, and she clutched the frames of the door as if her legs would give out if she moved an inch. Her breathing was ragged, and her whole body shook, but what Baekhyun was drawn into was the splotches of red on the yellowish-white sheets. And the trails of crimson down her face, across her lips, and down to her neck, disappearing underneath the sheets she’s holding across her chest.

All of a sudden, Baekhyun was reminded of himself so many years ago, running out onto the stage basked in his own blood. And just like the girl, he had no one to save him, to grab him and run away from trouble.

From behind the girl, he could see a man slamming the door open, turning his head left and right before locking his eyes on his target. Baekhyun frowned, thinking he looked familiar, before making his mind up right there and then.

He grabbed the girl’s hand, and started to run.

Baekhyun had not wanted to learn the girl’s name. He thought things without names hurt less. He simply asked, after the girl had washed herself in a public toilet and they had made do with the bedsheet as attire, if she had a family. When she shook her head no, eyes still red from crying, Baekhyun had decided to take her to the hospital. She said she had money from her previous client. She can take care of the bills, and she can start again from scratch. Feeling guilty, Baekhyun had apologised, explaining his own predicament.

Instead the girl had told him, “You freed me. And that’s more than enough.”

She had planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, nothing more than a gesture of thanks because in a world like theirs, words are emptier than actions. Baekhyun had seen her off at a hospital and, after a lot of waving, disappeared into the night.

Less than 24 hours ago.

Baekhyun walks away from the store, throwing his empty noodle cup in the bin along the way. He sprints through the rain to the train station, thinking he might as well kill time there.

Shaking the rain out of his hair, he sinks into a bench and watches people pass by and stop, waiting as seconds tick by for the trains that are never a minute late. Baekhyun observes the way they stand, whether they care to look up from the devices in their hands to greet the people beside them or whether they prefer to alienate everyone else. Seems to be the latter, until he spots a mother and her son waving at him from a distance, the little boy tugging at an umbrella hanging from the mother’s arm in excitement. The small gesture takes Baekhyun by surprise, and he has to force his arm up to wave back at the little boy, who laughs delightedly in return. It makes Baekhyun smiles.

He stands up to go to the bathroom when he feels his wrist being grabbed on to, instantly freezing him on the spot, too scared to even turn his head.

Before Baekhyun can say anything, the man laughs, his voice raspy and very, veryfamiliar. His eyes widen as he starts to recall the voice.

“Long time no see, Piano Prodigy Baekhyun.” He mocks. “Where have you been running off to, then?”

Baekhyun tries to wrench his wrist away, but the man’s grip is brutally strong.

“You should’ve finished the girl off for me.”

His former piano instructor’s face looms into view, his grin maniacal and his eyes so dark they look soulless. He cackles, and strides away, leaving Baekhyun’s knees weak, his head spinning, and his heart incredibly angry.

His piano instructor, who had tortured him emotionally and physically, is still alive. His piano instructor, who had taken the beauty of piano and music and stripped it away from Baekhyun’s very being, had done the same to an innocent girl’s life – instead of reflecting to himself, he had gone and repeated what he had done eight years ago to another innocent soul, and is reveling in the misery he had caused.

And suddenly Baekhyun snaps.

He spots an umbrella nearby, and yanks it away from the owner’s hand. His eyes lock only to one target – the figure steadily escaping. But Baekhyun is faster, stealthier, and the second his hand’s got a grip on the man’s collar the man is on the ground, Baekhyun standing over him and driving the umbrella into his neck again and again. Until Baekhyun sees nothing but an empty shell of a man who deserves no other death than this one.

As Baekhyun stares at the limp body, ignoring the screams of people, he wonders if someday he’ll die like that, too. Because when he looks up, he realises who the umbrella belongs to, and where the owners are.

Baekhyun screams, and could only watch as the train’s frantic honking and blinding lights shine on the figure of the mother and her son, hunched in the tracks as if someone had pushed them there.

Accidentally.

÷

By the time Baekhyun finishes his story, the scissors are shaking in trembling fingers, hovering above the strand of hair that was supposed to be cut off a long time ago. Jongin’s tears fall in successions on Baekhyun’s head, making him turn and let out a small squeak in panic.

“No, Jongin, don’t.” Baekhyun stands, throwing away every regulation, every law and every restriction placed on him and wrapping his arms around Jongin’s figure. Jongin’s sobs intensify. “Don’t cry.”

“But you – your killings. They were justified.”

“Justified or not, I still murdered three people. Two of them completely innocent. When the relative of the mother and her child demanded that I be killed, I realised I couldn’t find enough of a reason to live to make me lie and say that I regretted killing him. I was the one who chose the punishment of ‘death’ in a way. Because I understood that relative’s feelings very well.”

Jongin sobs into Baekhyun’s shirt, the patch where his face is buried slowly dampening from his tears. Tentatively, and ever so carefully, as if Jongin is a glass doll about to be broken, Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, making noises of reassurance.

“I have no complaints about being here in prison.” He whispers into his hair. Jongin is a little taller than him, Baekhyun realises, but Jongin is also defenseless, confused and scared. “If I’m gone, the family of the victims may be able to live a little better. I have no regrets.”

Jongin simply clutches his shirt, trying to suppress his cries, only the tears won’t stop falling and even in the darkness he can see Baekhyun – mistreated, more pain and suffering hiding behind the pain he shows on his face. He wants to say something to refute Baekhyun – tell him he’s wrong, tell him what’s really in his mind, but all that comes out are cries of anguish and Baekhyun brings another hand up to his hair.

“No regrets.” Baekhyun says more to himself than Jongin. “No regrets. No regrets. No regrets.”

÷

“I need my visiting times extended.” Jongin grits through his teeth, hands gripping the edges of Junmyeon’s desks in a death grip. “It’s not a want anymore. He needs to hear everything I need to say, because I don’t know how much longer he has left.”

“I know.” Junmyeon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s…very complicated. You’ve had the longest time slots compared to other visitors already, so proposing for another day…it’s a little out of reach as of now.” Junmyeon buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Please.” Jongin sinks into the chair in front of Junmyeon. “Please, I’m begging you. Talk to someone, anyone. Otherwise I might have to commit a crime to spend more time with him.”

Junmyeon gives him a look, before finally bursting into laughter. The lines on his forehead don’t disappear, though, as if the weight of Baekhyun’s sadness has somehow etched itself onto him. “Kim Jongin. Do you even think before you say something?”

“I’m serious.”

Junmyeon laughs again, folding his arms on the table and shaking his head. “I know. I’ll try again – maybe I’ll put forward your ultimatum with that.”

÷

It’s a little after ten o’clock that night when Jongin’s phone vibrates on his bedside table. He puts down his glass of orange juice on his bedside table and frowns at the unknown number’s text message.

Another 30-minute slot every Tuesday, effective as of this week. It’s a late slot, from 10:30pm, but that’s the best I can do. See you in two days!

Junmyeon.

Jongin sighs, flopping down on his too-hard mattress and burying himself in the sheets. His mind is whirring, thinking of all the possible things he might want to talk to Baekhyun about, and how Baekhyun might respond to it. After all, Baekhyun’s moods are always unpredictable these days, though Jongin is not sure what might affect it – the weather? His food? Junmyeon’s latest lame jokes?

And he realises, as he soundly falls asleep to the dimming of his phone screen, that he might be a little – just a little – nervous.

÷

The first thought that crosses Baekhyun’s mind when Jongin sits down opposite him is how much he loathes the glass barrier separating them, and how much he wants to be back in his cell with Jongin snipping away at his unruly locks. With Jongin in his arms, as if for a moment he could fool himself into thinking that he’s able to protect Jongin from all the evil and sadness in the world.

The second thought is that holy crap, Jongin looks really good in casual clothing. But he ignores the latter when Jongin looks up at him, his mouth pressed into a thin line as if he’s about to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Although Baekhyun knows exactly what’s wrong. He bites his lip. “Please don’t look so sad. I didn’t tell you all those things to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Then smile.” Baekhyun says, following his own instructions. “You’re a good-looking young man, and not smiling makes you look otherwise.”

Jongin seems to be taken aback by the statement, and for a moment Baekhyun wonders if he’s gone too far and crossed the line when Jongin cracks a grin, small but enough. “Thanks. You too.” Upon realising what it sounds like, he makes a noise of protest and blurts out, “Smiling I mean.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Baekhyun picks at the wooden table. “My hair’s not in the way anymore.”

Jongin grins at him, seemingly proud of his own handiwork. “I swear I have the potential to be a hairdresser.”

“Yeah, you’d give all your customers a poodle cut.”

“You hair is amazing, okay.” At the compliment, Baekhyun unconsciously runs a hand through his hair, short strands soft under his palm. “You look really young.”

“Speaking of being young,” Baekhyun tries. “When you danced…have you tried dancing to classical music?”

“Of course. I took ballet courses at one point.”

“Oh yeah, I remember reading about it somewhere.”

Almost smirking, Jongin leans in closer to the glass barrier. “You read up on me?”

Baekhyun feels himself blushing, his cheeks so hot it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t fogged up yet. “Never…specifically I mean. I just found it somewhere.”

“That’s okay. I used to do a bit of researching about you, too. But it was all useless.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re nothing like what the articles say you are.”

÷

“It’s late. You should probably head home.”

He sees Jongin glance out the window, watching the way the streetlights flicker in the windy night. They’ve completely lost track of time, and Baekhyun has only been reminded of how late it is when he realises the absence of the usual silent hum of the city. He wonders why Junmyeon hasn’t come to remind Jongin the time is up, yet. It’s definitely midnight, if not later.

“Not late enough to leave you alone.”

Baekhyun laughs. “It’s alright, just go. There will be people worrying about you.”

The statement sounds like a jab at reality, like a reminder of how different they are. The words came out a little too poisonously, and Baekhyun tries to cover it up with an over-exaggerated happy face. It doesn’t work.

“Honestly, Jongin.” Baekhyun sighs, seeing Jongin frown. “I’m fine. It’s been really good talking to you tonight.”

“Junmyeon worries about you. I worry about you.” Jongin mumbles a little belatedly, and Baekhyun’s heart skips a beat and his stomach does a small flip. “I’m staying.”

“As tempting as that sounds, you can’t.” He says regretfully. “Visiting time. It’s limited.”

“I know. I just –“ Jongin shifts in his seat, mulling the words over in his head. “The other day, I heard you singing. I didn’t know you could sing. And my first thought was wow, that’s a beautiful sound.” Jongin’s cheeks are slowly turning pink under the yellowish light of the room, and Baekhyun suddenly wishes he could penetrate the glass and touch the expanse of his skin. “But then I also thought that…it was the loneliest sound I’ve ever heard.”

Stunned, Baekhyun freezes in his seat, not knowing how to respond to Jongin’s statement. Around Jongin, Baekhyun has come to realise that he turns infinitely happier and more carefree, less hostile to anyone who tries to breach into his trust. Jongin has unknowingly opened the gates to the deepest crevices of his mind, his thoughts and his heart – as if Jongin had coaxed him and he had been so oblivious as to follow it all along. For Jongin to have broken through the different layers of his façades – monotony, anger, confusion, passion and happiness – he has broken into the final, deepest one of all. Emptiness.

A side Baekhyun wishes he would never experience.

“I didn’t even know it still exists.”

Jongin finally looks up. “What?”

“That feeling. Emptiness. I didn’t know I still had it in me.” Tracing circles on the glass, Baekhyun stares past Jongin, past the walls of the prison, through to his train of thoughts. “Because as of late, you’ve been occupying every empty space I had.”

And it’s true, Baekhyun thinks as they exchange goodnights with Jongin’s smile playing softly on his lips, that he has been preoccupied with thoughts of nothing but Jongin, Jongin and Jongin.

And how Baekhyun thinks he should do that more often.

Smiling, he means.

÷

For the first time since he’d been sentenced to his death penalty, Baekhyun is reluctant to step inside his cell. Most days he would welcome the feel of the hard and clammy floor under him, the metal around his wrists, even the white noise he hears when he closes his eyes – keys jingling, gates scraping open, the quiet murmurs of the inmates he had never endeavoured to know better.

The guard grunts something incoherently, and Baekhyun understands enough to drag his feet into his enclosed space. At least he’s alone inside. Being sentenced to death gives you superior treatment in this place – there’s more pity included.

(With Jongin, he never feels pitied on.)

As soon as he’s on the ground he instinctively curls up on himself, as if the air has gotten colder all of a sudden when really, it’s just loneliness he’s feeling, prodding at him from all sides. He shuffles backwards, feeling his back hit the wall and it’s cold. Nothing compared to the warmth he had felt holding Jongin close, or the warmth he feels as he watches minute expressions flash by Jongin’s face when he talks, as if just by having him there it’s like having the sun in his cradle, making Baekhyun feel comfortable and secure and socontent without Jongin having to do anything but be himself.

He thinks back to all he has said to Jongin, feeling guilt settling in the pit of his stomach and making him a little queasy. First he has promised Jongin that he’d be truthful, and as he turns his thoughts over and over in his mind he wonders if he’s been truthful all this time.

Convincing Jongin that he had no regrets about anything was a breeze for Baekhyun, because that’s what he’d been doing to himself all along. He didn’t have any regrets. Didn’t. But for a while now…

Baekhyun rummages through the small pile of paper at the foot of his bunk, and between the blank pages he hasn’t written on he finds Jongin’s picture of leaves. Baekhyun didn’t have any regrets, but looking at the picture, he realises that for a while now he’s not so sure of himself. Talking to Jongin was supposed to just be a good way to kill time. But now he’s afraid of seeing Jongin.

Had he not killed the people, Baekhyun wonders, for a second, what kind of life he’d have had. His thought trails on, his subconscious apparently giving no heed to taking control of his mind, and he wonders if he’d ever give piano a second chance, or if he’d continue living in hiding all his life. He wonders if he’d find someone, settle down, maybe get married and live blissfully happy without a care. The thought of it seems to far away, too impossible.

But then he closes his eyes and in an instant, Jongin’s face crosses his mind. Jongin’s smile, small and inquisitive, fills every dark space like words scrawled in a book. The way Jongin is always quiet when he sits in front of the glass barrier and would stay quiet until Baekhyun initiates the conversation, and the look Jongin would give him when he says something interesting. Baekhyun doesn’t know when, but pretty soon after they met their meetings have stopped being counseling sessions and have been an exchange between two souls, two states of mind in need of another that would understand, and would give moral support without a second thought.

Now Baekhyun waits for Tuesdays and Thursdays. If only the entire week was filled with Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s pretty sad, he thinks, how he’s chasing after days and after every hour within them. Right now, it’s 5pm on a Wednesday. In exactly 10 hours, he’ll be able to see Jongin. Excitement rushes through Baekhyun’s veins, but is abruptly replaced with apprehension.

Because he’s afraid that when he sees Jongin, he’ll want to keep on living.

÷

“Jongin!”

Something hard and definitely not supposed to be thrown around in the air thwacks Jongin on the head, coaxing a loud groan out of him. He turns in his chair to zero in on Sehun and Luhan’s smiling figures, cursing under his breath. He swears the two never leave each other’s sides.

“You promised you’d go out for coffee with us after you finish your paperwork.”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you.” Sehun says, tongue peeking out to lick his lip habitually. “You’ve finished your work exactly 13 minutes ago.”

“Hey! That’s creepy.” Jongin hisses, but inside he feels relieved to have something to distract him for a while. “Sure, I’ll be out soon. Give me a few minutes to clear my table up.”

“We’re giving you two!” Luhan waves a hand. “Sehun here needs his Americano soon or he’ll throw a tantrum.”

Shaking his head at the pair, Jongin stands up to clear his desk, glancing up at the TV overhead. He freezes when he reads the headline flashing across the screen, turning blood cold at the words.

MINISTRY OF JUSTICE CONFIRMS THE FOLLOWING TWO INMATES ON DEATH ROW TO HAVE BEEN EXECUTED.

In a flurry of panic, Jongin rushes over to the television much to the confusion of other workers, praying under his breath for names he doesn’t recognise to come up.

The names glare across the screen and Jongin nearly collapses onto his knees, right there and then, but all he does is run his hand through his hair and sighs in relief. The names are just words to him, and none say Byun Baekhyun.

“Jongin! Your two minutes are up!”

He casts a glance at the TV one last time before shouting back. “Coming!”

÷

Coffee with Sehun and Luhan is always a nice occasion, and Jongin has to say that despite his lackluster conversational skills, they set the mood up incredibly well for Jongin to be comfortable – to not feel left out, but not questioned too often either.

Though he must have been way subpar with his social interactions today, because after a while Luhan had asked him what was in his mind, and noted that he had been looking more distracted than usual. Jongin just waved it off and said it was because of his session with Baekhyun soon, ignoring the grinning face of Sehun off to the side.

He didn’t want to tell them that the news he watched earlier had been like a bucket of cold water on him; a reality check. A reminder that Baekhyun will die, most probably sooner than later.

Even as he’s sitting down in front of Junmyeon and Baekhyun, Jongin is spacing out and Junmyeon’s words fly past him in an indecipherable mess.

“What?” He says, when he realises the room has gone quiet. Baekhyun is looking at him a little skeptically, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering.”

Junmyeon laughs. “That’s okay. I was saying, isn’t it your birthday next Tuesday? If you want, we can have a small, private party. Baekhyun suggested it this morning, actually.”

Baekhyun’s face flushes a deep red, and Jongin can’t help but grin.

“I mean, if you…you know, don’t have any other parties to attend to. I know your family, and all – they must want to.”

“I don’t have anyone else who’d care, apart from probably two of my co-workers.” Just picturing spending a day with Baekhyun has Jongin giddy with anticipation. “It’s really kind of you to remember, and I’d be happy to.”

They exchange promises in the form of soft smiles and steady eye contact before Junmyeon is called out. He bids the two a short farewell before running out.

“You don’t look too happy today.” Baekhyun notes from his side of the glass barrier, brows furrowing under his neatly trimmed fringe. “Is anything wrong?”

Jongin thinks of the news, and decides that it’s best he keeps it to himself. “No, I just. Well. No.”

From the look on Baekhyun’s face, Jongin can tell he doesn’t believe it, but he has the decency to drop the subject. It’s one of the small details Jongin likes about their relationship. One can tell that the other prefers to keep his thoughts inside, and they can drop the subject whenever one feels uncomfortable.

“Do you want anything for your birthday?”

The question catches Jongin off-guard. No one has asked him specifically what present he wanted.

“I mean, it’s not like I can go out and buy you anything but if there’s something I can do, I’ll try.”

“I don’t know. Nothing has really caught my eye lately.” Jongin admits.

“Think harder. Maybe something from the past?”

It’s then that Jongin realises that he and Baekhyun goes a long, long way back. The skinny, fragile boy sitting behind the window, his face hidden behind the big wooden piano – the boy who never notices Jongin as his sole, most dedicated audience.

“The piano…” At the word, Baekhyun visibly freezes. “If you can, I want to hear you play the piano one more…time.”

Jongin wishes he could reel all his words back in, cut off his tongue and dispose of it in the deepest hellfire because Baekhyun is looking like Jongin has burdened his shoulders with the world, the traumas and pain piled up high on his back. Jongin thinks he can’t get any more stupid than this.

“What was I thinking, never mind! I’m sorry. Please just forget about it, really.”

“I’ll play.” Baekhyun quietly replies, cutting off Jongin’s blabbering. “And in return…will you promise to never try and kill yourself again?”

The request is one that he’s heard many a time before, but the fact that it’s coming out of Baekhyun’s mouth brings a stinging feeling to the back of Jongin’s eyes that he has to hang his head and focus intently on his fumbling fingers.

“You’ve taught me how to enjoy the idleness of life. To cherish what little time I have, that there’s always something – someone, to make life worth living even for only a little while. You taught me to count the days I have left to live, and not how long I have left to die.” A tear spills out of the corner of Baekhyun’s eye and streaks down his cheek, his hand quickly reaching up to wipe it away. “How – how can you teach people how to live, and then die alone? It doesn’t make sense…”

“The world is unfair. You’ve taught me just as much.” Jongin brings a hand to the glass, splaying his palm on the transparent surface. Baekhyun looks up a little hesitantly, before reaching up to press his own on Jongin’s. Everything is real, but surreal at the same time. “I want you to live another year. I want you to live another ten, twenty, thirty years because that’s what you deserve. You’ve taught me what to see in life, and with that you’ve given me another lifetime.” Jongin’s voice cracks, feeling as if there are iron bands around his chest. “And you’re getting yours taken away.”

If time had frozen right there and then, it would have resulted in a perfect depiction of melancholy and distress, a thousand words to say and would have been said hanging thick between the barrier separating them. If time had frozen right then, it would also be crumbling. Like there is nothing solid within it anymore, like the ice is breaking all around them, sending their world spiraling down into darkness.

It’s one more hard and hopeless thing, and they were both tired of hard and hopeless things.

÷

“Can we have one more granted wish?”

“You’re so greedy.”

“I have every right to be.”

The covers don’t smell like himself, making Jongin wonder exactly how many nights he spends actually sleeping in it. Baekhyun had apparently persuaded Junmyeon to use his phone, because he had something to say that can’t wait until their next meeting. Jongin finds the action adorable, albeit a little heartbreaking.

“Alright. What is it?”

“Dance for me.” Baekhyun says a little breathlessly. “You said you dance classical. Dance to my music.”

Jongin bites his bottom lip. “Why?”

Silence is relayed over the line, before Baekhyun is sighing. “I can’t practice piano in jail. And so I only have one piece I committed to memory when I was young, but with it comes not exactly the best…memories.” Baekhyun stops. “I just…I want to be reminded of something that makes me happy when I play it, to replace the past.”

Jongin clutches his phone harder, steadying his breathing as his mind runs a mile a second. Dancing. To Baekhyun’s music.

“Jongin?”

“I’m here.”

“Will you do it?”

In all honesty, Jongin is prepared for anything Baekhyun wants. He realises he’d never be able to say no to him.

“Alright. In return, can you pray for me…so that I’ll stop trying to kill myself?”

The line crackles. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been praying for that the minute I laid eyes on you.”

÷

If Jongin were to be completely honest, he’d say he was a quitter. All his life, he’d been taught not to waste a minute of his life and to have a single goal that he should strive towards. It’s because of this that he realises the better you get at something, the more people expect of you, and in turn the harder you’ll have to work. It’s a vicious cycle, and Jongin sees no other solution that running away from it all together.

Just standing in the middle of the dance floor reminded him of why he quit in the first place, but the thoughts are instantly replaced by one objective; Baekhyun.

Testing the waters, he tries a pirouette, spinning uncontrollably and stumbling at the end. Wincing, he feels a shooting pain in his ankle, and realises he hasn’t stretched yet. Not that it’d make a difference.

He turns around, facing the mirror and staring into his own face, but only seeing Baekhyun’s in the dark depths of his eyebags and the hollows of his cheekbones.

It’s going to be a long night.

÷

“It’s really random. Just as you start to wonder how many years it’s going to be, a bunch of execution orders come back to back.”

It’s been a long time since Junmyeon’s face is absent of any smile. Today his face is a tempest, his complexion grey and the deep lines on his forehead accentuating the internal battle raging in him. He turns away from the guards, not wanting to hear another word they say and his eyes fall on the uniform he had neatly put away all those months ago.

He reluctantly rummages his pockets.

÷

“Oh, Junmyeon?” Jongin munches through his cereal, feeling lighter than usual after his successful practice last night. His muscles still ache, but it’s a constant reminder of what he’d been working so hard on and it’s not an unwelcome feeling. “I was just about to call you. How’s it going?”

“Jongin.”

Something in Junmyeon’s voice puts a frown on Jongin’s face. He drops his spoon, and sensing an impending disaster he stalks over to his room, grabbing a jacket. “Junmyeon? What’s wrong?”

“We just got orders from the higher-ups.” His voice is reduced to a mere whisper, and Jongin doesn’t need further explanations. “I’m sorry.”

Jongin runs.

÷

As soon as Jongin arrives, he slams the door of Junmyeon’s office open and, ignoring Junmyeon’s dejected face, grabs a fistful his shirt and shakes him.

“Junmyeon!”

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop him but –“ one of the guards start to say, but Jongin cuts him short.

“Let me see him!”

“I can’t do that.” Junmyeon says monotonously, unaffected by Jongin’s rash actions.

“I’ll take responsibility!”

“You can’t do that.”

At Junmyeon’s obvious reluctance to do anything, Jongin lets go of him, letting him sink into his chair. Heaving a sigh, he tries again.

“Please –“

“I can’t!”

Jongin has never heard Junmyeon shout before, and the sound startles him. Immediately, he falls silent, waiting for Junmyeon to continue his tirade.

But all Junmyeon does is bury his face in his hands and visibly deflate.

“I can’t let him know that his sentence will be carried out tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why can’t you?” The room is suddenly too small for Jongin to breathe in. “Can’t you at least let him know that he’s going to die tomorrow? Would you rather have him spend his last night in oblivion instead of cherishing every hour?”

“From the moment the sentence is passed, they all know that this day is coming.”

“So you should tell him –“

“Convicts on death row are prepared to die every morning!” Junmyeon shouts back. “Each morning, they fear the sound of the guards’ footsteps, and each night, they go to sleep without knowing whether or not they’ll have a tomorrow. But Baekhyun –“ Junmyeon looks away, unable to bear looking at Jongin’s desolate face. “He was always the other way round.”

“What?”

“He was always relieved when morning came. And when he found out that his punishment wasn’t that day, he’d seek out and try to kill himself. But just recently,” Junmyeon takes off his glasses, wiping away at the tears that start to fall. “Just recently, Baekhyun told me that he was scared. Because seeing you made him want to live a little longer.”

It’s like someone has taken a knife and run it through Jongin’s head. In that instant, his mind goes blank and every feeling left in his heart is filled with a shooting pain. Unconsciously, he feels trails of wet on his cheeks, but he doesn’t bother to wipe them off.

“He’s scared, Jongin. And that’s why I can’t tell him.” Junmyeon turns back then, and brings a hand to Jongin’s shoulder. “He wants you to be able to live a normal life. So I think that the one person who should remember his smiling face is the one who changed him. Just you.”

“I have a wish I haven’t granted to him.” Jongin sobs out. “I need to fulfill it. Please.”

Every moment they’ve spent seems to pass by Jongin when he locks eyes with Junmyeon’s. Almost six months, the year’s not even out yet and he has to say goodbye.

Junmyeon simply nods his head, and turns away again.

÷

Morning resembles a spring day, the sunlight silently hoarding every dark space in Baekhyun’s space. For once the light on his face is a welcome guest, and he tilts his head a little to catch more of it, his eyes fluttering to a close. He almost doesn’t hear the gates of his cell being pried open, with a uniform-clad Junmyeon stepping in, accompanied by two other guards.

“Junmyeon? Why are you all –“ he stops. “Is it…”

“Mr .Kim Jongin would like to see you.” Junmyeon is avoiding eye contact, eyes cast downwards as if trying to hide behind the cap on his head. “He’s in the auditorium.”

“Auditorium?”

As he’s about to step outside, Junmyeon stops him with a soft hand and unlocks his handcuffs.

“What…?”

“You won’t be needing these.” Junmyeon’s smile is a little forlorn, and the Baekhyun then would have been relieved at his toned down happiness. Now he feels a sense of dread plaguing him. “It’s much better when you don’t have these on.”

“Why?”

Junmyeon pries the handcuffs off, but he still doesn’t look up. “I didn’t want to lie to you, and Jongin told me not to either.”

Everything clicks in Baekhyun’s head, with a flurry of panic, despondence and – and then nothing. Baekhyun feels nothing, then, as if he has gone haywire and his mind goes at rest.

So he does what he thinks is most appropriate. He stands back, and bows low – a full 90 degrees – to Junmyeon. Words fail him more often than not, and he knows his actions come across much better.

“Thank you. For everything.”

÷

The truth is, Baekhyun had been looking for Jongin all along. He had looked for Jongin in television screens, between the glossy pages of magazines, amongst the identical faces whipping past him in the trains. He looked for him in the club he used to work at, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of him somewhere in the crowd of people. He had been looking for someone like Jongin all this time – he just never realised who it is.

When he steps into the auditorium, everything makes sense.

Jongin stands on stage, wearing a neat, white suit with his hair slicked back, a blue handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket. On his feet is a pair of dancing shoes, and his hands are folded neatly in front of him, as if expecting an audience. Or someone to get married to.

Jongin looks like he had jumped out of the picture he showed Baekhyun, on a day that seems so long ago. Baekhyun can’t help the tears that spill out of him, nor can he help letting out a laugh that sounds far, far too pained.

“You look beautiful.”

A pair of glassy but determined eyes lock onto his, making Baekhyun feel like he’s about to be swept off his feet any second. Behind Jongin, a big piano sits and Jongin gestures to him.

“Me?”

“Our last wishes.” Jongin reaches a hand out, and when Baekhyun grabs a hold of it he never wants to let go. “Let’s grant it together.”

Baekhyun hears Junmyeon shuffle out, and when Jongin is about to retract his hand Baekhyun tightens his grip, forcing them to face one another.

“I wish we met sooner.” Baekhyun cries out, letting the tears drip onto his shirt. Instinctively, Jongin reaches out to wipe it off, cradling his cheek. There’s no hesitation between them anymore. Everything is crystal clear, and everything fits in place. “At times, I wonder what it would have been like if we have met sooner – none of this would have happened, and –“

“If none of this had happened,” Another hand comes up to wipe at his tears. “We wouldn’t have met at all.”

Jongin’s lips are shaky on his cheek, and the contact only lasts for a few seconds that Baekhyun has to grip Jongin’s shoulder to remind himself that he’s not dreaming. He wants so much more, but the Jongin releases his hold on him and leads him to his seat.

“Play your best piece, prodigy.” His eyes are reassuring, and Baekhyun melts under his gaze. He nods.

Baekhyun’s first notes on the piano are shaky, weak and unsure from disuse. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and picturing Jongin with his suit in his mind, and plays again.

Muscle memory, his teacher had once told him. If you play the piece enough times, your fingers will remember forever. And the only thing Baekhyun can think of at the moment is how right he had been. The melody flows off as if it’s got a mind of its own, his fingers unfaltering in the way they move across the keys, remembering when to soften their touch and keeping every crescendo, every staccato intact.

What surprises him most, though, is that it’s a happy piece that he remembers most. Toccatina, uplifting despite its minor key, reflecting the moment perfectly. Knowing you’re going to die isn’t something very cheerful, but when Baekhyun casts a glance at Jongin he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Jongin adapts so easily to the piece; how the moves seem to come to him as easily as the notes do to Baekhyun. The way his eyes close in concentration, letting himself get carried by the music is addicting, Baekhyun realises when he can’t tear his gaze away from his moving figure.

And suddenly Baekhyun realises he regrets everything he has done, from the moment he grabbed that umbrella to the moment he had accepted a death sentence, and maybe he regrets running away from his piano teacher, too. He regrets how he had been given Jongin, but he’s letting him slip through his fingers. He regrets not spending his time with Jongin better, not starting the standard Hello, how do you do? earlier. Not being able to ask Jongin to go out for coffee, to hold his hand, to hold him close when he cries, to stop his nightmares at night, to hear his quiet breathing beside him and not being able to care for Jongin the way he wants to.

His notes falter when Baekhyun’s fingers slip on to keys that jarr the music in an ear-splitting way. His mind panics, and he tries to continue but it repeats again - his fingers slipping, the tune broken, the off-key notes making him wince and from the corner of his eye he can see Jongin’s movement slowing down, hesitation laced in every step.

The black and white keys start to swim in his vision as Baekhyun’s breathing turns ragged, internal conflict pulling him out of what had been a happy trance. His notes slow down like they’re chained by metal handcuffs, his diminuendo inconsistent in the way that he abruptly turns quiet and stops. Jongin casts a worried look over his shoulder, and seeing his face Baekhyun makes his mind up.

Desperation makes you do crazy things. Sadness robs you of your rational mind.

Baekhyun grabs Jongin’s wrist and starts to run, bursting through the unlocked doors and pushing past the surprised guards. It’s nothing like running away from his piano teacher - he’s with Jongin now, and everything should be alright. The wind mussing up his hair feels good, making him laugh and he wants to laugh with Jongin, too.

Yet when he whips his head around with a grin, Jongin’s face is one of stricken horror. Then Baekhyun hears a cacophony of noises - a scream, a hysteric ’no!’, a gunshot. But all too soon everything goes black.

And the last thought that crosses Baekhyun’s mind is this –

He had never told Jongin he loved him.