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prompt — Vampire Prince Chanyeol has been lonely for so long after his lovely lover Jongin, whose only sin was bearing a werewolf-vampire baby - their baby - got hung alive in front of him. He never thought he would love another person anymore, not until his parents present him another betrothed... a human bearing Jongin's face and name.

The news comes quick; the realisation comes quicker: an arranged marriage has to take place. It concerns himself, and some human Chanyeol has not met before. The arrangement had been made two years prior he finally roused after deep sleep of nearly two and a half centuries after, well, the tragedy. The realisation is quicker: it is made to strengthen the crumbling relationship between the communities of vampires and humans; the relationship that is threading on the edge, ready to be broken after even the littlest of miscommunication or provocation from any side. The excitement, the joy — they never come.

Instead, Chanyeol feels a bone deep sadness and tiredness that he has been feeling for a very long time; it consumes him enough that he finds a sanctity in the big apartment that he lives in, far from his family and their never-ending expectations and reasonings about how and why he needs to change and move on; about how staying stuck is not going to help — when it's only the memories of the lost that keeps him sane.

The apartment that he lives in currently is a safe distance away from the Park Mansion; though located in the heart of their city, it's the safest and the loneliest sanctuary of his — of course, that is when he does not take into consideration the few places, unexplored by humans and safe from the vampire and werewolf communities, that keep his memories safe; in, perhaps, a little more physical existence. His older sister visits him rarely, but her presence is ever present in his home; some kind of… support that she thinks he needs, and that he believes he does not. His parents do not visit often but when they do, they have little tilt to their mouths that they believe is unseen, but is anything but.

Otherwise, it's safe and lonely. Exactly the way he thinks he needs. The apartments on the entire floor have been booked by him; to keep another soul away, and perhaps that is why it makes him sadder thinking about how his parents, even in his absence, settled a marriage without his input.

He had been asleep for nearly two and a half centuries when he woke up three years ago; still unsatisfied with the life he is supposed to live, the sadness and tiredness a familiar part of himself, and still with no true wishes fulfilled. He stayed at the mansion for a year before leaving the place altogether, tired of all the badgering and hopes that he knew he would end up proving false.

In his apartment, right after the announcement of his marriage, he keeps seated on the couch that faces the west, watches as the sun keeps dipping lower and lower, through the floor to ceiling window, until it disappears behind the concrete of tall buildings in their city. The night falls, the stars come up, and he realises he has to go to the supermarket. He sighs and falls back on the backrest, eyes closed for a while as if he can already feel the pounding headache on its way.

It's silent in the apartment, as it has always been like — though intimidating in its existence, even for someone like him, it provides him with the comfort and security that this century has failed to provide him. It's almost holy, this silence, if not for the, well — he keeps his silence, too tired to keep moving forward with his thoughts. Five minutes into it, his eyes closed and pin-drop silence in the apartment, he jerks himself out of the sleep that almost lulled him into unforgiving darkness of memories of back then, still engraved in his mind, still persistent about their existence.

He swallows, his throat unusually dry.

He gets up from the couch with a tired sigh, feeling like anything but the strong Vampire Prince he's supposed to be. Had he been a human, he would have spent his days and nights drinking the alcohol that drives those vulnerable creatures to their eventual end. With shaking legs and numbed arms, he makes his way into the kitchen, grabs a glass from the counter, switches on the tap, and fills it up with water. The only sound he hears is of the filling glass, otherwise it's too silent. Too quiet. Swallowing the water down, he slams the glass back on the counter, leans heavily over the counter, arms taking up all the weight, and just stays like that for a while, mind restless and still pushing him to think about that particular evening that took everything away.

He closes his eyes, and then snaps them open. It's okay, he tells himself, making his way to the kitchen; it's alright. It will be, if he keeps telling himself that over and over again; the lie will eventually become the truth he so much wants it to be.

The supermarket is loud and crammed with humans, as always. They're too loud, he thinks, ears numb even though he keeps experiencing this over and over again, nearly twice a week. He pushes his glasses up, makes sure the mask is intact lest people know and freak out knowing they have the Prince between them, and pushes his hands in his pants pocket. Like this, he resembles another human.

He walks into a store, the one he often visits, picks up a cart, and looks for all the things he needs at home. As a vampire, food is the last thing that he needs to survive, yet — thanks to his status and family history and overall background — it is important enough that he cannot wholly avoid it either. So, every week, twice, he walks into this store; has been doing so for the past two years, and found a friend in the woman, the helper, in recent times. They don't talk often — though they are friends, of sorts, Chanyeol likes his silence more than any conversation. Yet, when a human stumbles into him, smaller than him in height and leaner than him in many regards, he talks to her, cones to her with a question that he wants to be answered, for whatever reason.

He silently watches the human disappear into another aisle, the one next to the one he's standing in, and then turns to her. He lowers his mask, curiosity obvious on his handsome face. "Who is he?"

"Who?" She repeats, pushing her long hair in a bun. She's pretty, pretty enough that she caught his attention the moment he laid his eyes on her. "We get a lot of customers here. Daily."

"The one who stumbled into me. The one, that one —"

"Oh, that," Irene, his friend, hesitates. It confuses him. She is a werewolf — a beta — knows of humans and their nature just with their smells. "A human."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. You know I am not asking about that."

"Why don't you go and talk to him on your own?" She snarks, putting the last box on the cupboard. She turns to him, an eyebrow raised. "I don't play Cupid here."

"I am not—" he bites his words, "I am not looking for love, you know. He just, he just—" he swallows, turns a little to look at the cupboard that separates them as if he could see through it.

"Seems so familiar?" Irene suggests, a tilt in her words that he barely understands. He turns to her. "You will feel so if you don't meet enough people, Chanyeol. Happens to the best of us."

He swallows. "You know what I am talking about."

"As far as I know, no creature is capable of knowing what others are thinking. I am no special." She dusts off her hands. "Besides, if you wanna play with friends, you can. No one is stopping you." She reminds, then leaves.

Once she is out of his reach, he wears his mask again, and moves to the next aisle. Chanyeol won't know for a while, no matter how hard he tries, what exactly — attracted him to a mere human. It's certainly not the face, because he hasn't even seen one. It's, perhaps, the voice; maybe, maybe the frame. He does not know, yet — he stands frozen behind the human as the human seems to pick up his needs. Observing him for a few long seconds, he understands what has attracted him all of a sudden to this human: familiarity.

Yet there's so much unfamiliarity, Chanyeol can count on his fingers what separates this human from — from what, exactly? he asks himself, and if left bereft of an answer.

The human turns around all of a sudden, must have felt the weight of his gaze on him, and stares back, confused, but mostly — in this strange manner that sends some emotion right where Chanyeol needs it. The longer he stares into those wide, brown eyes — bambi like, soft and sweet, gentle and kind — the more he feels the heavy weight on him, on his shoulders, in his heart, and everywhere else. Staring into his eyes is like a punch to the gut, it leaves him with gasping lungs, and overwhelming feelings — most of them that he has trapped perfectly still for two centuries now.

He swallows, and takes some steps forward, unconscious of what he's doing, why he's doing, or what it means and implies. The human steps back, his posture turns stiffer, ready to fight if need it be. "Hello," he says, softly, instead. "Hello, I am — Chanyeol."

The human looks up into his eyes, posture still stiff.

"I—" he stops, and raises his hands in surrender, showing he means no harm. But he's big, broad and thick; there are light circles under his eyes, the mask, the falling fringes over his eyes — his hair unwashed for a few days now — make him look a little mean; a little grave. On top of all that, he is a vampire; the Vampire Prince at that. He still tries to appear non - threatening. "I am Chanyeol. Hello," he adds in a softer tone.

The human looks back, guarded. "You the Prince?"

He cringes, sad that he has yet to get out of the identity that left him so lonely. "Yeah. I guess," he adds, softly.

"What do you want?" The human asks, a hand raised to cover his chest as if worried that Chanyeol, as a Vampire, will aim straight for his heart. He almost laughs at the childish reaction, of vampires needing to eat human hearts to stay alive long after they're technically dead, a thought that should have been left behind by now. But, humans are vulnerable creatures, weaker than their counterparts that consist of communities of vampires and werewolves. He understands, a little.

"Nothing,"  he replies, because — really, he wants nothing at all. He just wants to see. The face behind the mask; the eyes that remind him so much of the lost prod him to see the face, too, just because — his heart wants so.

The human looks stiff, still; there's hesitation in his stance, his eyes seem wary, and his tone is still guarded. "I don't understand — if you don't want anything, may I leave?" He asks, curiously, cautiously. "Prince," he adds as an afterthought.

"No, I—" he feels nervous, like he once did, when he first met his love centuries prior. He quickly looks down at the cart in the young man's hand, notices various products of different brands, and different — yet, in a hope to lengthen their conversation, for whatever reason, he asks about "the, uh, baby food," of all things.

"Huh?" The human replies, confused.

"The, uh, baby food. I want." He swallows, "for a friend's baby. He is sick; my friend is." He nods his head, as if acknowledging that he is bad at lying. "The baby needs her nutrition, though. It would be great if you could help me."

"I," the human begins, he sounds and looks sceptical. "Okay," he says, finally, and turns to the closest shelf. "May I ask how old the baby is?"

"Uh," he replies, distracted by the human's side profile, and the smooth skin he can see on the side. He tries to not trace it all back to the faded memories — but it's hard when everything reminds him of nothing but that. "Two?" He lies. "He's two, yes."

The human looks up, as if surprised. There's a slight emotion in his eyes, amusement mixed with something that Chanyeol cannot understand. Before he can even try, though, the human places two packets in his hands; the covers make them look branded and expensive, and as far as his knowledge goes, they do look like they belong in a baby's stomach. "Wait a moment, you still need more." He turns to another shelf, and busies himself again.

"You seem like you know a lot about these stuff," he begins, trying to lengthen their encounter. "Do you — do you work in a daycare or something?"

"Something," the human answers, voice a little fond but still cautious. "I have got my own baby." He looks at Chanyeol over his shoulder, eyes searching for any malice in Chanyeol's eyes or posture. "He is one, currently with my neighbor." He then stops, as if worried he has given too much information. He turns to Chanyeol with another packet, and hands him that, too. "Here. Mix either of them with this one. My baby likes it — something about the taste and texture, I don't really know — so hopefully that imaginary baby will like it, too."

"The baby is not imaginary. He's real." He flushes, red faced at being caught.

"No, liar. I know you're lying." He picks up his own cart. "You mistook the pronoun."

"I," he says, and flushes more when he realises that he, in fact, has done so. "I am sorry," he says, and follows the young man out of there. He does not forget to put the items back in their respective racks.

"That's fine, Prince. I am just curious why you would trouble yourself with a human." He stops and turns to him, his brown eyes staring cooly into his own; there's so much cockiness in his gaze, kind of steely, and cool, too that they remind him of his own love. "Why exactly did you lie to me, I am curious about that."

"I don't know," he replies, unsure, nervous even — and so for the first time in centuries. It's so funny, but Chanyeol thinks if he had a heart working, it would be pounding loud and clear in his chest. "I just—" he stops, and looks into the human's eyes, fingers nervous as he holds them back from doing the unthinkable, of undoing the mask on the human's face to see. Because he really wants to see.

The human swallows, the stiffness in his body loosens a little. In fact, he seems softer around the edges, and there's — familiarity in his eyes, and everything that he showed Chanyeol earlier — the wariness, the edginess — seem fake. A fib; everything seems like a pretence now. "Prince," he says finally, "if I am not crossing my limits, I want to tell you that you have packaged a lot of burden on your shoulders. It's better to let them go."

It's spoken so casually that Chanyeol does not even feel the slightest of offense and anger at being spoken like that — it surprises him enough that he stands stiff where he is for a long moment.

The young man shifts his cart from one hand to the other. "If you need any real help, you can ask for it. I still have to check myself on the counter. I have time, Prince. Otherwise…"

"You can go," he replies, throat heavy and tight.

A certain dimness appears in the human's eyes, and some sort of emotion that Chanyeol often finds in his own when he looks into the mirror. He does not say anything. He just simply leaves.

Driving to the uphill, Chanyeol realises how much he has missed the feeling of cool, fresh, and reminding air on his bare skin. When he gets out of the car, he steps out of his shoes, and decides to walk barefoot as he once used to. The grass is still soft, he realises as he walks up, and just as refreshing is the dew that cling to his bare skin; precious and pretty in their own right. It is with a heavy heart that he reaches the hill, and just as heavy are his eyes when he looks over the bubbling mess that is their city; of bright lights, and a loud world whose noise is even identical here. He breathes, once. Twice. Thrice.

It's silent then, when he tunes out the rest of the world. It's silent, when he thinks of no one but his lost love. It's silent, when he thinks of the child who could have been. Just as silent, when he realises, now for a millionth time, that he is as lonely as the word comes. The silence is non penetrable, Chanyeol makes it so. He sighs, closes his eyes, and opens them again.

It is best that he sits down.

Baekhyun, his childhood best friend, lives in a building in the eastern side of the city (Chanyeol lives in the far north), and it takes a little more than an hour to travel to his friend's apartment which, of course, gives him enough time for thinking. It is two days later after the brief encounter with the human; two days, eighteen hours, and seventeen minutes to be exact (he is a punctual man, he takes note of time). It is two whole days, and yet he thinks of the human and the familiarity that he brought in this unfamiliar century. It is almost laughable, astounding even, how much he is thinking of a stranger instead of the marriage — arranged, he reminds himself — that is decided, of his own and a human who he has yet to meet and get to know. It is almost surprising that he gives his time to think about the stranger he met in the supermarket instead of pushing himself to go and meet his family and talk about everything else that they have decided in his absence.

Yet, the hour that it takes to reach Baekhyun's apartment, he thinks less of his own and more of the unknown familiarity, and immense confusion.

It is then, of course, when he meets the human for the second time.

The elevator is crammed with too many people, so many that he gets pushed in the far back — by those who don't know of his identity, and by those he does not want to really scare because he does not have the energy — and into the young man's face. Almost. Literally. The human, as thin as they come, flattens himself against the mirror, head ducked down and body a little curved in on itself; Chanyeol, even in this state of his, knows it's him. Perhaps the human does it, too.

People are too many, and space is less. Chanyeol finds his balance by placing both hands beside the young man, flattens the palms, gets closer to him, enough that if someone were to look at him they wouldn't know someone is standing in front of him. It reminds him of earlier times; of times when he used to stand next to his love, who was smaller and slimmer in appearance than him.

The human says nothing, but Chanyeol notices the minute trembling in his body anyway. He looks away. When he hears a little 'Prince' spoken with hesitancy, he looks down again, curious about the answer. "I need some space," the human says, voice a little muffled through his mask. "I cannot even move."

"I am not doing anything intentionally," he replied, a little rudely perhaps. "There's not much space anyway," he adds, in a softer tone.

"Uh, that's—" the human — whose name Chanyeol still doesn't know — stops, and says nothing for a while. "It's uncomfortable," he says, softly, "not even much space to breathe properly."

It, this complaint, is so endearing for some reason — perhaps reminding him of back then — that he, without a second thought, pushes behind himself, forces the people to give him some space. It does not help much, but he buys them enough space that the human doesn't have to flatten himself to the mirror anymore; he can move freely. The curses thrown at him matter not when the human, with his bright brown eyes, passes a thanks to him.

He swallows.

When they reach a floor some time later, the human asks for a way out. He, unwilling to let him go without any proper reason, takes some time to gather up his thoughts and to actually give him a way. The human walks out, albeit with a little trouble, and does not look back at him before disappearing from his sight. Chanyeol, suddenly feeling tired, turns around to stare at the closing doors before he sighs, closes his eyes, and waits for his friend's floor to come.

Baekhyun is a vampire, too, a couple decades older than Chanyeol himself. Yet, when one looks at him, he seems nothing short of alive and youthful — save for his non beating heart that Chanyeol knows he has in his chest. He grins at him crookedly when he welcomes in, and announces in a cherry voice — that the topic certainly does not need — that he heard about his upcoming arranged marriage (he stresses a lot on the last two words).

"I am not here to talk about that, Byun."

"Tell that to my foot," Baekhyun replies, eyes drifting over the papers in front of him to Chanyeol. "My man is finally gonna get a mate — is that not a cause of celebration?"

"It's not, and you know why."

Baekhyun sighs, the smile leaves his face, too. Chanyeol looks out of the window, knowing well he has not been the best one to talk to for a while now. "It's been two centuries, Chanyeol."

"Am I supposed to forget what happened?"

"You are not supposed to stay in the past anymore. It's disrespectful. Not to you, but to Jongin." The emotion that he usually does not carry well on his face is obvious in the name he takes in the end. "You gotta let my babe go."

Before Jongin, his late lover, met him, he had been dating Baekhyun; Chanyeol hadn't known of their relationship at all, despite being Baekhyun's friend. They were stronger in the beginning, as Baekhyun had recited once, but it didn't seem to work enough. They separated; Jongin and he met, and then dated. Then mated, too. Jongin conceived their child during his fifth heat with him, since then Baekhyun had taken a respectful step back from the now dead werewolf. It was happy, back then; back then which still reminds him of what true happiness actually feels like.

He replies nothing.

Baekhyun sighs. "Want some coffee? Tea? Nothing? Okay."

Two hours later, Chanyeol finds them on the long couch in Baekhyun's living room, eyes unfocused as they watch the drama unfolding on the screen; by now, Chanyeol has lost the plot, he does not know what's happening anymore. He can only guess now. Baekhyun is probably in the same state, he knows as he watches his friend focusing more on his phone than on the screen.

"Do you ever meet someone and you feel like you have known them for centuries?" Baekhyun wonders aloud, one cheek held in the curve of his thick palm. Chanyeol does not spare him a glance, even when his mind runs back to the human he has met twice. He does not have an answer to himself when he wonders why. "I mean, not that I have ever. But this is like, this new trend or somethin' to flirt and stuff."

"Trying to keep up with the trend, are you?" He jokes. It falls flat.

"Not really," Baekhyun answers and chews on his popcorn. "It's a good thing to know what's going around, though."

"It is," he agrees. He goes silent, and so does his friend; Baekhyun probably already knows he is hiding something. He swallows. He takes his time, Baekhyun remains silent like the good friend he is. "I felt something, you know," he finally begins, "not, like, I know him personally for centuries, but it was so — familiar, seeing him. I didn't know how to proceed with my thoughts."

"Who?" Baekhyun asks, simply.

"I don't know. A human."

"Oh," Baekhyun says, sounding curious. "That's curious."

"Yeah," he agrees, nods because he has to do something to keep his mind occupied. "His whole appearance," he begins again, waving hands nervously, "seemed familiar, as if nothing changed."

"Changed from what?" Baekhyun asks, prodding.

Chanyeol goes silent. He does not know what either.

When he leaves Baekhyun's building some hours later, he finds the human, who has raised his dead curiosity like no one did in centuries, leaving the building as well. He thinks it might simply be a coincidence, but the longer their paths remain the same, the longer he feels it is more than something as simple as coincidence. In the dark of the late evening, his eyes are sharper, more curious as they find the young man's frame; catching details that he did not before. It's an unconscious move, he does not know he's doing it and he does not know why he's doing it, but he's doing it anyway.

The human carries broad shoulders on his person, a little less broad than his own; he seems lanky despite the heeled boots he has worn, and his form is hunched, as if shy in nature and person. However, Chanyeol does notice the lean muscles he carries, too. Distracted by what seems familiar and what doesn't, he notices not when the human stops and turns to him, his posture and eyes now defensive. Chanyeol finds them bright, his eyes; wide and beautiful, brown in color like that of his late lover. But sharp, almost accusing him of something that the human most likely does not know what is.

"Stalking," the human begins, words and voice dipped in honey, "is very, very unbecoming of you, Prince Chanyeol."

"I," he stutters, unlike the Prince he is supposed to be, "am not stalking you."

"That sounds very true," the human replies, sarcastic in his tone. "I hope you do not say we have to take the same path to our respective places."

They, in fact, have to as far as Chanyeol can see. Or maybe not. Maybe they don't have to follow the same path all the way, but this human does not need to know that. "Yes, my home is this way."

"This way — I am going to the station. I don't think you travel on the metro?"

"I, in fact, do."

"I suggest you wear a mask then, Prince." Thus, he leaves. Chanyeol follows after him, bound by the unknown, unbidden emotion that he still finds difficult to explain. "How's the baby?" The human asks, turns to look up at him slightly. He does not seem much curious, but only… amused, perhaps.

"What baby?"

"Yeah, right. There wasn't any to begin with."

It reminds Chanyeol of the day in the supermarket. He reddens in shame. "Yes, uh, right." He clears his throat. "How's your baby?"

"He's doing very well," his voice turns softer, posture and stance now slightly relaxed. "I am sure he is waiting for me."

"You are his parent, of course he is," he answers, smiling.

The human looks up at him, his eyes searching and smiling, too. "We have reached the station, Prince. Don't tell me we have to take the same metro, too."

"I guess, yes."

Finally seated in the metro, the human next to him, Chanyeol asks for his name. He asks it hesitantly, unsure if he's crossing his limits, unsure if he proceeds further without much thought would he go on several hours suffering because of embarrassment and shame of showing so much interest in a mere human. However, the anxiety eventually means nothing when the human finally reveals his name, uncaring of the effect it has on Chanyeol.

He says his name is Jongin , and for whatever reason even removes the mask covering his little face. Chanyeol does not know what he actually feels at that moment, but the crowd is too silent, and the painful ringing in his ears and head too obvious and loud for anyone to ignore. He stays still, seated next to the human who keeps his eyes on him as if calculating every shift of muscle on his face. He must have found what he's looking for, because he just as quickly puts his mask back on as if afraid of being seen by the others, too.

Obvious and perhaps even knowledgeable about the running thoughts in Chanyeol's head, he speaks next, in a tone rather unsure, "I know why you followed me."

Perhaps, even Chanyeol now knows why he felt so and so since the first time.

Jongin brings him into a building, nearly two hours away from Baekhyun's apartment; they travel much on the metro, and cover the remaining distance on foot. He remains just as stunned to silence as he had been in the metro, but Jongin remains composed; he even looks like he can explain everything that needs to be explained. If he stumbles more and more with each step he takes, if he looks at Jongin more than what should be comfortable, then he says nothing to Chanyeol. He remains on his tip toe, as if wondering if hugging Chanyeol would be the right thing to do. Chanyeol does not know either; he thinks he may break once touched.

"This is my flat," Jongin announces, stopping in front of a door. Chanyeol is unaware about the floor in the building. He has pushed his mask off his face, and through the numerous buzzing thoughts all Chanyeol can think is how pretty he looks; it's not a trouble than to attach his face to the memories of the past. He swallows.

"Come in," he sweetly tells Chanyeol as if everything is normal, and nothing seems out of place, and — of the past. It brings some irritation into his veins, but it soon melts into nothing when a shrill, joyous cry resonates in the flat, undeniably that of a little babe. In no seconds, he finds another man, taller than Jongin, carrying a little babe in his arms, his eyes searching and rather curious when they identify him.

"Prince," the new human says with a slight bow of his head. Chanyeol does not return it. "Jongin," he says, "Junmyeon needs sleep. He won't sleep without you."

"I will take care of him, hyung!" Jongin replies cheerfully, taking the baby in his own arms. Chanyeol gathers he is Jongin's own child with the little interaction they have, soft enough that he loses some tension in his body, and forgets about the weird confusion and a hundred different questions that he has been carrying since the past few hours. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

In the five minutes that they talk, Chanyeol feels out of place, does not know where he belongs, and where this new man belongs. Jongin finally gives him attention when the other human leaves, his face — Chanyeol thinks with little halts in his thoughts, has not changed at all. His eyes still carry the same gentleness they used to, his nose and his cheeks are the same, even the mouth on his face reminds him of those lips he used to kiss centuries earlier. Like this, nothing has changed.

But when his eyes fall on the baby in Jongin's arms, unfamiliar to the memories he has so gently held safe in his chest, he realises there's nothing similar, too. The realisation is hard on him, must be obvious enough because Jongin's cheerful expression soon turns into a concerned one, so real in its existence that it soothes his nerves.

"Would you like some water?" Jongin asks, uncaring almost, as he shifts the baby in his arms. The curious babe looks at him through his overgrown fringes, so small and innocent that Chanyeol feels sorry for making him scared.

"Jongin," he replies instead, throat dry and hands sweaty. "Jongin," he breathes next.

"We will talk later, Prince."

Later comes nearly two hours later. In that short amount of time, Chanyeol ends up raising the baby's curiosity, enough that he does not shy away but curiously stays close to him as he keeps peeking at him through his lashes, eyes wide and innocent as they take in his brooding figure. Although living through a whirlwind of emotions, Chanyeol entertains him, too. He smiles at him, almost shyly, as if he does not know how to act around babies. His reactions must be genuine enough that it helps the baby — Junmyeon, Chanyeol learns the name — relax.

In the meantime, Jongin prepares them food as if it's a perfectly normal evening. Chanyeol pays him less attention, mostly because he does not know how he would stop himself from saying or doing something that should not be done. His heart is barely restrained, held back only because these passing centuries after his lover's death have taught him some patience; at first, it was only to hold himself back from choosing death, but now he wonders if the meaning would change.

One hour in, Chanyeol sits next to them as Jongin feeds the baby the food he has prepared, nudging him every now and then when he seems drowsy. It is such a gentle sight, soft and sweet, some of his dream, that Chanyeol finds himself sighing every now and then, eyes unmoving from them but still seeing nothing.

Nearly two hours later, when Junmyeon has fallen asleep, Jongin brings them into the balcony, silent as if giving Chanyeol some moment to collect himself. He has nothing special to say, Chanyeol realises, he just — wants Chanyeol to listen, because he, too, had been here; unknown, curious, and scared of finding out what he fears may change his identity of this age and century. Chanyeol thinks he has come far, the baby he carried once in himself, and now a little family of them. Yes, it seems so.

"Hi," Jongin says, as if saying so to a long time friend or a partner who he has not met in a long time. It's almost sweet, if not for the reminder of his past.

He swallows, wordless. He is nervous, he believes, nervous but curious, too. Mostly nervous. Or perhaps just sickeningly curious that it's making him so nervous. When Jongin remains silent, as if giving him some time to collect himself, he says nothing but 'Jongin."

Jongin seems like a different person, Chanyeol thinks, looking at him through his own fringes and past the gasping breaths he takes. He seems stronger now, not like his late lover wasn't, but — the difference is obvious in appearance. His eyes though still soft and kind have steely emotion now; his figure seems fuller with little muscles on his person — however, most of all, it's the aura that he wears; inviting but reminding, too. His late lover was not of this sort; he was, yes, a stubborn wolf, too, but there rarely ever he noticed anything steely; his nature was softer, even in front of those who did not deserve to see such. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for them to take him away.

Jongin, his late lover, was not a fighter; Jongin, of this century, seems nothing but.

"Chanyeol," he says, softly, tearfully, looking softer as if contradicting all that Chanyeol gathered about him just mere seconds ago. "How have you been?"

It's such an innocuous question, but it wrecks sobs out of his throat anyway. When he hugs Jongin, he gets hugged back after centuries. Like this, he thinks with whatever sanity is left in his brain, he is just the same; still smaller and thinner against him, ready to fill in the empty spaces between his arms as if it was meant for him. Like this, he thinks less and feels more.

Hours later, when they seat themselves in the balcony, a little far from each other because it's been such a long time, and everything just — is not the same anymore, Jongin speaks in a clear voice, as if afraid that the words may not reach his listener. Curious to know what he knows, and what is happening, Chanyeol stays silent. He thinks it's mostly because he wants to hear; wants to listen to the voice that he has missed so much. There's so much that he wants to do, but — he stops. Jongin does not want him to, he realises, and it tears some poorly stitched fissures in his dead heart.

"I knew you knew, even a little, when we first met in the supermarket," Jongin says, avoiding his eyes, "but I genuinely did not know how to talk to you."

"How is this possible?" He asks instead, his curiosity taking hold of every emotion in his heart. How is it possible, he asks, again, to himself. "You," he says, swallows, "you were—" he stops, because he cannot say further than that; he does not think he can say anything further than that.

"I don't know either," Jongin replies, smiling, though it is not amusement in any sense. "I just know — feeling it, when I first saw you on the news, and your family. It did not happen right away, but the memories came, some, little by little."

"You remember everything?"

"I don't remember much, if not at all. I don't think I am supposed to."

Baffled by such a response, he spoke next in irritation, "how could you say that? What do you mean you're not supposed to? Jongin, this — is this a joke to you?"

"You have always been irratational, Chanyeol," he says the name for the first time in centuries; carrying such heavy meaning and emotion with it that Chanyeol has to take deep breathes to stop himself from doing or saying something stupid; something unacceptable between two… strangers. He swallows, nervous at the implications left behind a word as simple, and perhaps just as complicated, as 'strangers'.

"You're not understanding what this means," his voice is still soft, even if Chanyeol does notice the impatience that etches itself slowly on Jongin's darling, little face. "This, this is different."

"You're talking ridiculous," he replies instead, irrationality more dominant now, "I — how could you say so? It's been, it's been centuries, Jongin!" His voice, though loud, is nothing but vulnerable at this moment, the words heavy and choking him. Finding him, a human that carries that same face as his kate lover, is a surprise in itself; unbelievable is its existence, but having this conversation, this way — not that he had thought what wau it would be — is almost tragic, burdening. It carries more weight than he has carried collectively in all these centuries.

The voice he uses, the tone and the words that he uses, all demand nothing but to be heard and understood; it's been a long time that he has found himself this vulnerable; it's been a long time since he has looked at Jongin, and having this conversation instead of spending some time together, perhaps even kissing, they are talking. Talking! as if anything about their situation is normal or demands talking. However, looking at Jongin and the vulnerability on his face, he gathers talking is more important this moment, at least for him.

Chanyeol still, after all this, wants to kiss him first.

"Why aren't you trying to understand—"

"No, I am not, and I will not!" He speaks as if he were a little babe, demanding something from his parents that his parents think he isn't ready for. "I don't want to understand what you're—"

"I am not the same Jongin!"

It silences him; not because he never had this thought in himself before, but because how obvious this truth becomes when spoken aloud and by the man concerned himself. The implication is heavy, the truth heavier, and Chanyeol feels the burden on his shoulders and on his chest more than he ever did. Even though he looks into Jongin's trembling eyes, all he hears and feels is the tearing seams of his fissures; some old, some fresh, some deep, and some shallow.

Jongin swallows, his eyes closed as if he's holding himself back from letting out the tears that barely and desperately cling to his beautiful lashes. When closed, Chanyeol thinks how much they resemble those from his memory. From the past. "You're making this harder for me," he says between heavy breaths. "Do you think I never thought this way? Even when I did not have many memories, I fought with myself to not let it swallow me. I am so different, Chanyeol. I am a new person, I am a human. I am not the same."

Chanyeol swallows and sits back against the cushiony chair, as if dumbfounded.

"I don't even remember most of the things, and whatever I do doesn't define me anymore. I have a life, Chanyeol. I have a baby, and I am so sorry to say this to you, but he's not yours." He stretches a hand towards him, as if wanting the comfort that he is so keen on providing Chanyeol. When Chanyeol takes his hand back, away from his touch, the hurt that passes through his lovely features punctures whatever is left of his heart, dead as it is, it still hurts. "Chanyeol," he says, begging to be understood, too. "Please, not you, too."

He does not understand what those words mean, he does not understand the implications of them, and what Jongin might want to tell him, but the only thing he understands that he needs to leave. Immediately. As if encouraged by such thought, he gets up swiftly, and leaves both the balcony and the flat. Thus, leaves Jongin alone, too.

The two days that pass after the encounter are harder than the two centuries he has lived without his love. Anxiety remains a constant, of what he does not know (or at least pretends to not know), and he feels restless all the time. The thoughts in his head are a jumbled mess, almost resembling a garbage; they barely make sense, and when they finally do, Chanyeol unconsciously throws them into the back of his mind to repeat the cycle all over again. It's infuriating, almost; he feels as if he's held on gunpoint by the time itself; he's conscious of the passing time, but it barely matters.

Of course, it is then that they meet. On the fourth day, when Chanyeol is just as much on the edge, he finds Jongin and his son, Junmyeon (he reminds himself, as if he keeps forgetting the name), in the clothing store, in the section of adult as Jongin carries his son, held painfully sweet in his arms. He tries not to be seen, tells himself that he will buy his own requirements some time else, but Junmyeon notices him anyway. Chanyeol does not know how a little babe of one even remembers him after so long, but he does. When Junmyeon notices, Jongin does, too.

Jongin waves at him, as if things are normal and Chanyeol did not act rude and mean just four days earlier. His face is just as bright and youthful as it was four days ago, but Chanyeol notices the burden and evidence of tiredness in his eyes and hunched shoulders anyway. It softens him immediately, loosens up the long stretches of ropes that hold him back from accepting the things as they are, now.

When he walks to them, a little hesitantly and with a lot more shame, Junmyeon hides his face in Jongin's neck, and curiously peeks at him in shyness in divided attention. "Hi," he says, gruffly, perhaps a little mean, too, mostly because he cannot stop himself from remembering the stringent words of days earlier.

"Prince," Jongin says, formally, "it's a surprise we found you here!" He must have been obvious in his undeniable hesitancy, because Jongin soon humours him, a little demanding but a lot more curiously, "would you please hold Junmyeon? I have to try some of my choices." He shakes the different set of clothes in front of him. "Please," he says, again.

Chanyeol swallows, divided. "I don't," his voice turns softer, unconsciously, mind obviously concerned with the demand now, "I have never…"

"Held a baby before?" Jongin finishes for him, smiling, "that's fine. There's always a first time to everything." Junmyeon is holding onto Jongin's shirt, a little tightly, in his small closed fists, as if worried that his father may send him into the arms of someone he does not trust. "Junmyeon is a friendly baby. Remember how he acted around you the last time? yes, he will be easy if you treat him well, which I am sure you will, Prince!"

When he dares to stretch his arms towards the baby, nervously and hesitantly and without any thoughts, Junmyeon turns away from him, trusting Jongin more as he hides in his chest. It makes sense, but Chanyeol oddly feels hurt. Embarrassed, too.

Jongin looks over him, as if checking if this has left any hurt behind its wake. Chanyeol hopes he shows nothing but nonchalance. "Prince, don't worry!" He exclaims, cheerfully. "Junmyeon is a friendly baby, but he's shy. He's one, too." If the slang term this generation uses (lol), Jongin would have expressed it well with the unapologetic face he carries. Chanyeol does not understand what to make of all this. "You just have to be careful with him."

It's okay, he tells Chanyeol when he passes a reluctant Junmyeon into his arms; when the baby looks on the verge of tears, separated from his parent, he soothes him with so much sweetness and kindness that Chanyeol wishes he, too, were a recipient of such adoration; it's a sudden wish, and a sudden hope, that he cannot help himself when he flushes in shame, and embarrassment under the curious gaze of the human. Junmyeon, when finally left alone with him, looks at him as every curious babe does; eyes not blinking as he stares into Chanyeol's own, as if he is, and he can understand what type of creature Chanyeol is. Under such heavy gaze, Chanyeol shifts uncomfortably for a couple more minutes, wondering if he does look as welcoming as he is supposed to be in front of the baby.

Junmyeon is small, as a one year old is supposed to be, and lightweight, and almost gives Chanyeol heart attacks whenever he moves even slightly; makes Chanyeol feel like his big, broad arms may not be able to handle such vulnerability that they are not capable of. It is easy to soften under his curios gaze, too, when the little babe carries such innocent and charming features; wide-eyed and chubby cheeks adore his little face, one of his hands hold him on his shirt and the other remains close to himself, as if ready to fight if Chanyeol did or say something mean. It's almost amusing, he thinks.

He must have gotten tired looking at Chanyeol for so long, because he soon rests against Chanyeol's chest, the free hand now safe in his mouth as his head rests below Chanyeol's chin. Like this, he does not spare Chanyeol another glance, but keeps his eyes fixed on the changing door behind which Jongin disappeared a couple minutes before.

Chanyeol swallows. If his heart were alive, it would be beating at a concerning pace. This, he thinks, he did not expect to happen: to have the little baby trust him enough to leave himself vulnerable in Chanyeol's arms as if he has known Chanyeol for a long time just… does something to him; opens up the gates he had once frantically closed, for little babies after losing his own, and keeps them open to his desire. He swallows, again, blinking back the emotions that are desperate enough to show through his eyes, and his face.

It is then that Jongin comes out, looking satisfied. Chanyeol blinks thrice, and hopes the emotions went astray because they shouldn't be seen so quickly.

"Prince Chanyeol," he says, and coos at the overly excited baby in Chanyeol's arms, "I hope it was not a trouble for you."

He clears his throat. "No, it wasn't."

He smiles, satisfied as if he had expected this answer. "Well, Junmyeon looks comfortable." He pinches his son's cheeks. Junmyeon blabbers something, Jongin grins at him. "If you are not busy, would you help with Junmyeon's clothes, too?"

It — with the request delivered, Chanyeol does not know where he stands. Yet, he nods.

Hours later, when he finally finds himself at his own home, and alone on his bed, he thinks of no one but the humans he spent the entire evening with; unwilling at first, but then comfortable and satisfied the next. With heart in his throat, he shifts and lies on one side, eyes focused but unfocused all the same on the little pendant that hangs on the night lamp. It's so easy to overlook it and at the city lights that charm him through the wide windows in his bedroom, the air as fresh as it could get. When he thinks about it, he wonders if it's the same wind that blew centuries earlier; does it know of his plight and his miserable emotions hanging on a thin thread, ready to snap him out of whatever is left of his own sanity.

It's a burdening thought, and it pushes him back gently; he focuses on the little pendent. It barely moves with the wind, but its presence is as obvious as anything else could be. When he sits up on the bed minutes later, and takes the little pendent in his own hand, small and lightweight in its existence, he thinks of no one but of his dead lover, and of the night when the wind blew, too, but his late lover remained motionless; just as motionless as the pendent that hung on his neck.

Chanyeol has tried, ever since it happened, to forget about that night, yet it stays seated in his mind as if stuck with a bubble gum, stubborn enough to be noticed and accepted as it is. He swallows, and overlooks the pendent again to stare, with unblinking eyes, at the wound, old and almost invisible, on his wrist. He blinks, finally, minutes later. He clutches the pendent in his hand, it disappears between the thickness and the broadness of it, and gets up on the bed.

He needs to talk to Jongin. Of this century.

The drive to Jongin's apartment is smooth, but hurried; he remains edgy, irritated, but mostly silent as he makes his way through the heavy traffic even at this hour of the day. When he finally reaches the building, hours later, and stops to take a breath because he needs to, he thinks of what has been said to him; so many of it, and making little sense at this moment. There's no reason there should be separation between them, not when Jongin was born, again… and is so real, real enough that Chanyeol can apologize to him, finally, about everything that happened, and everything that he couldn't stop from happening. There's a baby, too, he thinks suddenly as the elevator takes him to the floor he barely remembers is Jongin's; there's a baby now, like there should have been. It only makes sense that — he swallows, unknown to what he himself means and is going towards with his own chain of thoughts.

When he rings the bell, four times, a sleepy Jongin opens it, eyes barely open as they squint under the bright light of the hall to stare at his unexpected guest of the late hour. Chanyeol feels sorry for him, feels sorry that he woke him up when he looks so adorably sleepy. His face somehow still looks bright and youthful; as if kissed by the sun itself. His hair is a mess, Chanyeol wants to smooth it down. He keeps the urge to himself. Chanyeol, really, finds no difference in his late lover and this Jongin. It, then, seems disconcerting how Jongin tells him he is different.

"Chanyeol," Jongin says, curiously, questioning, dropping the formality, "what has happened?"

"Do you remember this?" He asks, and shows him the pendent.

Jongin stays silent for a while, now a little more awake. He swallows, perhaps nervous. "I do," he softly answers, and looks up into his eyes as if waiting for more questions, as if he's ready to answer; as if he has prepared himself for all of it for years now.

"What else do you remember?"

"I remember a lot," he answers, "but is it late at night, and not everyone is a vampire. I need my sleep." It's a soft disapproval, but it irritates Chanyeol further anyway.

"I want to talk now."

Jongin now looks a little put off, too. "No, Chanyeol. We cannot have our wishes granted—"

"I want to talk to you, Jongin!" He exclaims, pushing himself into Jongin's space, crowding him against the adjacent wall as if he wants to be heard and if this is how it can be done, then so be it. Jongin looks much awake now, looking up at him as if taken aback by such behaviour. "I want to talk to you," he says, steps further and further into his space as if to make a point. By the time he is finished, there's barely any distance between them, in fact, the space between their faces, and thus their mouths, is almost non — existent, enough that if Chanyeol leans in, he could — kiss the mouth he remembers so well.

"You're still a stranger to me," Jongin says, as if trying to hit him where it hurts the most, "and don't shout. My baby is sleeping, I don't need him to wake up at this hour. He will get a headache with his half sle—"

"Then, talk to me, please," he says, begs really, vulnerable so much that it would otherwise bring shame to his princely pride, "I have waited centuries for this; centuries, Jongin. You cannot even imagine how I have lived through all this." He swallows, loosening the tension in himself, to make Jongin comfortable so that he doesn't feel uncomfortable. "I have lived through hell, all by my own, without you. Can you imagine it at all?"

Jongin swallows, and tears his eyes from him. "No, I don't," he answers, softly, "I don't know anything."

"Then please help me God, talk to me. Don't touch me, don't kiss me. Just talk to me. I have lost you once, I have lost our baby—"

"Not ours," Jongin denies, easily, "that wasn't my baby. It was yours… and his."

"Wny do you deny it so much?"

"Why don't you try to understand that I am changed?" He snarks back, unapologetic as he stares into his eyes, "you are so involved with your own tragedies, Chanyeol, that you are refusing to accept the human that I am. I have a different story to tell; I have a different family, a different past, and a different future and it has nothing to do with who and what I was!" When Chanyeol breathes heavily, he swallows, "I am sorry, Chanyeol. We can talk, of course, but—"

"You remember everything, don't you?"

Jongin closes his eyes. He sighs, "I do," he replies, "but it has nothing to do with the Jongin… I was," he adds, softly.

"Yeah, right." He steps back, though there's still not much space between them. "I should get going then." He feels tired, overburdened somehow. When he turns to leave, Jongin holds his hand.

"You need some sleep," he says, "and I know you won't sleep."

"I am a vampire, it's not necessary for me to sleep."

"I know, but you need it." Bravely, he steps into Chanyeol's space, and stretches a hand to his face so that his fingers can press the skin beneath his eyes. It's such a gentle touch, the response to his misery soft and accepting that he barely holds himself from falling on his knees, desperate as he is to be held after such a long time. "Your eyes are swollen. Good thing you're a vampire, Chanyeol, otherwise you would have wrinkles by now."

"That's," he tries to say, but stops.

"You can sleep, we can talk after. I promise." The promise is half-hearted, but they both know it is unavoidable at this point.

He swallows and looks around, wishing the hand to stay on his face longer, but wondering just as much how long it will actually stay. "Where?" He asks, as if that matters the most.

Perhaps it does. He doesn't know, not anymore. "In my bedroom — at a distance, of course. We can keep the pillows between us." He takes his hand back. "It's late, and I have work to do. Besides, Junnyeon wakes up early. I don't want to go to work half asleep."

"Oh, that."

His sister calls him the next day; the next day when he still finds himself at Jongin's apartment, seated in the dining room, feeling fresh after a good, long sleep that he definitely had been missing for a long time now. Nothing happened last night; both of them slept at a safe distance, Jongin had fallen asleep just moments after hitting the bed (he had felt sorry and apologetic for keeping him awake), but he had been awake, although only for a couple extra minutes, the minutes that he spent in looking over at the face that he finds just as lovely as before.

In the morning, they had come nearer, though still separated by the pillows, but — they were close, close enough that he could have kissed him and gotten away with it.

Now, at exactly ten in the morning, his sister has called him. He does not dare to stand up, not when Jongin has given him the responsibility of Junmyeon, again; the little babe seated on his lap, hyperactive in the morning as babies are supposed to be. It's almost scary how much he moves, and how much he has to hold him tight, not too tight, to keep him safe. Jongin's constant cooing at his son doesn't help any; if anything, it only excites the little baby more in action.

He ignores her calls for a while, hopes that she would take a hint and stop, but the calls don't stop. Jongin peers at him curiously, as if wondering what's stopping him from picking it up. He stands in the kitchen, prepares food for them, but — everything now actually seems different from how it used to be back then. He blinks, and stares down at the ringing phone. Knowing she won't stop until he picks up her call, he accepts it after the fifth missed call.

"Honest to god, Chanyeol," she says into the phone, exasperated, "this is how you behave when you live away from us?"

"I could have been busy," he deadpans.

"Busy in what exactly? As far as we know you do nothing, but mop—" she stops from speaking something more blunt and hurtful; Chanyeol does not feel hurt by any of it. Yoora loves him a little too much, sometimes enough that it feels like she would smother him with her love love and concern. She cares too much. "Chanyeol, if nothing, at least pick our calls."

"You're missing your whole point of calling me this early." He holds Junmyeon tighter. The baby moves too much.

She sighs, "didn't mom tell you about the arrangement?'" Arrangement, of course, means the arranged marriage; meet the human, get to know him, it's important to marry, we are not leaving this — he knows all that she will say. "When are you meeting him?" It's a 'him', he thinks distantly. Does it matter, he asks next, peeking at Jongin; it's an unconscious move. He does not care.

"Doesn't matter, it's not like I will love him."

"Marriage does not necessarily involve love, Chanyeol. You can at least meet him once."

"Don't think I care enough," he replies, turning broody. He does not, he does not even want to think about it; he does not want to see him, know his name — anything. He wants this to end so that he could focus on someone else entirely. "You know I said I will never love…"

"another, yeah, I do remember. But, Chanyeol, you need to see him, I promise. It's," she stops, as if both nervous and excited, "you need to see him, Chanyeol. I promise you will not be disappointed."

He doesn't understand what is exciting her so much, doesn't understand why she's so enthusiastic about him meeting a human when she knows well how Jongin's death had affected him. He does not bother speaking about it. "We will talk later," he tells her, not curious enough to know what she's so excited about, or what she wants him to see and know. He is not… excited, has lost all sense to feel such a long time ago already. "Bye."

Junmyeon goes silent in his arms, as if he can somehow feel how upset he is. It almost saddens him, but surprises him, too. Yet, he appreciates this more; he does not think he is in the right state to handle a wriggling baby in his arms.

"I know I am crossing my limits, but is the call about your upcoming marriage?" Jongin asks, then looks up as he walks out of the kitchen, "Prince," he adds, as a formality.

He swallows. "How do you know about it?"

"Uh, the whole city does." He seems amused, Chanyeol does not understand why. "Would you like to eat something? I know you most likely don't eat much, if not at all — but still, would you?"

"How could you trust a stranger so much?" He nods at the baby in his arms.

"Shouldn't I be?" Jongin questions, serious, his eyes drifting to his baby as if the question hasn't ever bothered him. "We know each other, yet we don't." Chanyeol swallows at the silence that Jongin gives him for a while. "You are not doing anything by saying that, Chanyeol. I have come far from where I stood once." He takes Junmyeon back in his arms, the baby now more giggly and alive with him. It's — it hurts him, somehow, makes him feel… something that he hasn't ever felt before. "I have trusted you for centuries, and even if the circumstances aren't the same anymore, I know you're a good human." He turns his head to the side, as if realising something. "A good vampire, I mean."

"You keep saying that a lot."

"Saying what?" Jongin turns Junmyeon to himself, and smoothes down his messy hair. It's sweet, this relationship between them. Chanyeol cannot relate — did not even get the chance to hold… his own baby. Centuries earlier, when Jongin had announced his own pregnancy, it had taken him and his closest friends by surprise; not because they weren't expecting it, but because, somehow, they all knew it was not entirely good news. It was doomed from the beginning. Doomed it turned out to be even.

"I am saying what you know is right," he sighs, "you don't me."

"I do," he stresses, "I do, Jongin. How can I not — when everything about you us the same. The same face, the same height, the same fucking height!" Jongin glares at him when Junmyeon trembles when he shouts, curling further into Jongin's arms as if Chanyeol has scared him. Chanyeol swallows, and sits back down as all fight leaves him. He feels ashamed when he looks at the little babe, and sighs in such when Jongin remains silent, too. "I am sorry."

"You should be," Jongin replies, trembling, too, "God, Chanyeol." He slaps an empty plate in front of Chanyeol, and puts some meat over it, then slaps a bowl of rice. "I don't care if you eat anything or not, but — let my baby and I eat in peace. Thank you."

Baekhyun seems most distrustful of him when he tells his friend of what has happened in the passing week. It's reasonable enough, a lot has happened in a span of a week; things that he would not have thought possible if someone told him a week prior. Yet, everything is happening, and yet — nothing.

"That's a lot for less than two weeks," Baekhyun says, gathering himself after Chanyeol explains that he hasn't had a dream, and it's all true. He has seen him, hugged him, got touched and hugged in return, too, he tells all to his friend. "Did you say the same face, the same name?"

"Yes," he replies, bone deep tiredness heavy on him. "It's true. It's him."

"He knows everything?"

"He does."

Baekhyun goes silent. He stays silent for a while, too, eyes ahead, fixed on the ceiling. When he speaks next, it's almost a request; he does not look into his eyes, but it's clear enough he is desperate. "Can I see him?"

Chanyeol does not know why Baekhyun would ever ask that; he has known Jongin the longest, longer than him even. His own curiosity and desperateness are obvious and… so there. "Of course."

Baekhyun grins, as if thankful of such approval. "He has got a baby, you say?"

"Yes," he answers.

"No partner?"

He opens and closes his mouth, bereft of any answer. "I don't know that."

"You don't know that?" His friend asks, turning to him in disbelief. "You don't know if he's got a partner or not. That baby came from somewhere, right, Chanyeol? You have known him for days, and you don't even know that?"

"I have known him for centuries."

Baekhyun shakes his head, confused, "oh, no?"

"What do you mean by no?"

"I mean, of course you know him. But you don't either."

"I am not getting your point."

"If you had known him, you would have known of his life like a human, too. However, you don't." He stops. "You obviously had this conversation with him already, so I am not going to repeat anything but that you need to accept it all with an open mind."

He swallows. "I—"

"The Jongin you lost was a werewolf. This Jongin is a human. There's a difference." He gets up from the couch. "Having the same face and name, and even the memories of the past do not define him, Chanyeol. I hope you know that." He pats him on the shoulder. "It's okay, brother, take it easy. You have lived centuries without him."

The place Jongin works at is a good distance away from his apartment. When he leaves for work two days later, Chanyeol volunteers as Junmyeon's caretaker for the hours.  He does not know why he does it, but it seems the most reasonable and logical; to get to know him. Jongin seems sceptical at first, but he soon gives in. He trusts him, Chanyeol hasn't forgotten.

Junmyeon is a hyperactive baby; more so in the morning. Handling him is not easy, not when he tries to wriggle out of his arms like a worm and onto the floor every now and then; holding him all the time is not an option: his arms tire out, and the baby gets restless staying in the same position for a long time. He poops a couple of times, Chanyeol hates himself in those moments the most. Calling Jongin, and asking him, again, about it all is easy, and almost natural, but — that still does not help with the smell that spreads over the living space after the deed is done. It is in those smelly moments that he thinks he should have instead completed his own set of paperwork. He has always threaded on a thin line, done things when the deadline is heavy on his shoulders. This time seems no different.

Junmyeon is an adorable baby, spending time with him is not as tiring as he had expected it to, it's almost — rewarding, soothing in its nature; when he thinks of the past, and of his own emotions that he used to feel sleeping beside his late lover, he thinks this is almost— the best that has happened to him in centuries. The blabbers that don't make sense are the same he had been dying to listen and understand, love and adore, all this while. Now that he is finally listening to them, he cannot help but think, cliche as it is in nature, that they're music to his ears; annoying after a point, sure, but cute and mellifluous anyway.

When Junmyeon lies on his tummy on the carpeted floor, playing with the soft plushies that Jongin left behind, Chanyeol feels an ache so deep, the realisation hits him suddenly, softly though it leaves him numb anyway, that he fights with himself to bring his eyes away from the innocent figure the little babe makes; so tiny, with little body and little hands and feet — he swallows. He dares not tearing his eyes from the baby, lest something happens like it did before. While Junmyeon plays, sometimes with his toys and sometimes with his hands and fingers, he keeps his eyes on him, afraid that if he looks away for even a second, it — will result in something unforgettable, again.

Jongin finds him like that, the brooding figure that he makes, sleepy and tired (though, if possible, a little satisfied and relieved) right where he left them. Junmyeon is asleep by now, on his chest as if he has considered it his own personal bed. He is soft and tiny against the larger frame he carries, looks more vulnerable and sweet under the moonlight that falls on their frame. Chanyeol does not know how they look to Jongin, but he guesses must be beautiful enough because it leaves Jongin without a word for some time.

Jongin opens and closes his mouth, as if speechless even after minutes. "Oh," he says finally, smiling, "looks like Junnyeon has found a friend in you."

Chanyeol does not mean to, but he flushes red with embarrassment anyway. "He is going to have a moving career," he says, watches as Jongin steps out of his shoes and hangs his snapback on the little hanger. "He moves a lot."

"That he does," Jongin agrees, sighing.

He makes a beautiful figure like this, Chanyeol still does not know what exactly he does, but dressed formally like this — he looks beautifully hard working. Chanyeol has forgotten how to look anything but tired and dead. He thinks of his own work, sitting on his laptop, waiting to be done, and then looks at Jongin to make up for the sour expression he is sure he made.

"Thank you so much, Chanyeol. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, right," he agrees, notices the tiredness that hangs over Jongin's frame. But I wanted to, I don't know why but I wanted to, he says not, afraid that it might be too quick; too quick indeed, he thinks, it's not even been two weeks since they first met.

"Would you like some tea? Coffee?"

"No, I don't drink them," he replies, but soon realises his upcoming, "actually, I think that's not necessary at all. I should get going—"

"Please, stay," Jongin says, suddenly, looking worn out now. "For him," he looks down at his son, but they both know he means it more for himself. They keep it hidden behind the silence that needs to be present, and hope they understood each other anyway. It's too fast, Chanyeol thinks, to even think of anything else. "He looks comfortable, and I could use some — washing." He pulls at his sweaty shirt. "Please."

Much has changed, Chanyeol thinks, but he still feels lost and soft under the wide-eyed (most likely unconscious) look that Jongin carries on his darling, little face. He was not immune then, and he (seems) to not be even now. He swallows.

Every hour spent with Jongin is a curious event; the time seems shorter, even if they are spent in complete silence. Chanyeol guesses they both don't know where to begin. There's so much to unbox, so much to talk about, but — they don't know why they're stuck at nothing. Yet, when they finally start talking, it begins with him asking about something that he most likely does not care about. Perhaps that is why Jongin doesn't give an answer either, he wants him to wait until he is ready to hear one and care for one. What means past to him, means something bigger and important to Jongin of this century; what he does not care about (or lies to) has shaped Jongin the way he is.

He understands. Perhaps.

"You don't even care," he tells Chanyeol, again, "but I will give you some hints anyway." He turns to Chanyeol, as if he's about to tell him something interesting. "My ex husband and I married two years ago. He is SA — sales assistant, just in case you don't know—" Chanyeol takes offense to that, Jongin seems uncaring—"in some fancy place. We married two years ago, and he taught me a lot; like, he was a mature kind of man, honest and truthful, a guiding force. He taught me a lot! It was working fine, but obviously it didn't work out fine enough. We separated just six months after our marriage. I was pregnant at that time. Of course we didn't know about it — or at least, I didn't tell him anything until it came to divorce — but he helped me through it anyway." He shrugs, he does not seem much bothered. "It wasn't like I needed his help, though. I was already doing well, but you do need someone during the later months, right?" He asks Chanyeol as if he is supposed to have the answer.

"Though he helped, he didn't really want to do anything with Junmyeon. So," he shrugs again, "I have been alone since then." But that's fine! I have my baby."

Chanyeol does not know how to tell him (or remind him) but much of Jongin's past is the same. No, Baekhyun and Jongin, his late lover, never had a baby together, but they were once in love; inseparable. Before they separated.

"You don't care?"

Jongin presses his lips together, it still comes out pouty; unintended, perhaps. "I did once. Now? No. I don't. As I said, I have come a long way." He yawns, and looks over at the setting sun, eyes shining, skin shining, and —everything just as pretty and natural just like… before. He swallows, and shakes himself out of it. "What about you, Chanyeol? How did you go through it all?"

It's, as far as Chanyeol knows, is an innocent question, no ill intent behind it, and yet — he swallows down the anger, as if afraid that he may say something that he shouldn't, not when everything is new. "I don't think you're ready to listen to a man who once lost everything he ever loved," he answers, a little bite in his words. But then he looks over at Jongin, and sees his little face, soft and sweet under the setting sun, and then it's easier to swallow any irritation and anger that he felt.

"Do you hate me?" Jongin asks, all of a sudden, his eyes unmoving from his.

"No, I don't." He doesn't think he's capable of such emotion.

"Then, do you only talk to me because I have the same face? the same name?"

"No," he answers, swallowing. How does he tell Jongin that when he first saw him, in the supermarket, he felt something sweet and soft, tragic and painful, even though he hadn't known it was him? Would it mean much when he has always, always showed interest in the sharp resemblance between the past and the present more than anything else? He fears not, and with such thought keeps the words to himself.

Jongin smiles, as if satisfied. "That's sweet."

Chanyeol hopes the flush on his face is not visible. He tries to change the topic, restless that if Jongin said anything more, he will — kiss him, hold him, or worse. "Do you miss it at all?" He looks away, in fear of catching an expression he does not want to.

Jongin shrugs. "Miss? No, I don't have emotional attachment to memories I have never lived through. I just, I guess, sometimes wonder what it was like living the life in my memories. It seems peaceful, yet not. Eventful, I guess. It seems eventful, tragic." His words hang heavy in the air, touch Chanyeol in ways that leave a bittersweet taste behind its wake. "What about your marriage, though? Do you know the human?" He seems amused, almost, as if barely concealing something that Chanyeol is not aware of. He feels curiosity nudging at the back of his head, but Jongin quickly speaks some more, and it's forgotten for the very moment. "It's all over the city, people are talking about it. I think it's positive. They all trust you," he says, softly, "and, besides, everyone is tired of constant fights. This will bring some change in the fast pace." He shrugs again.

"I don't know him," he replies, not understanding the enthusiasm behind Jongin's words. He seems like he knows the human himself, but Chanyeol is too confused to ask him anything. "Never even got to know his name."

"Oh," Jongin replies, "you're intended to marry him?"

"I—" he looks over at Jongin, "no," he replies decisively. "Jongin," he swallows, afraid, "I know it's only been a little over a week that we first met," he stops, Jongin nods as if encouraging him, "but — they need a human, right? I, you are a… human."

"Oh," he laughs, eyes curving into little moons, "Chanyeol. Oh!"

"Yeah," he swallows.

Jongin stops laughing. He shakes his head. "You don't even know me."

He swallows, again, nervous that he is faced with the same question. "No, perhaps not," he answers, although reluctantly, "but — I want to."

"Chanyeol," Jongin breathes, and it is only now that Chanyeol feels the heavy silence of the city.

"I mean, it will take a while, sure. But nothing wrong with it." He shrugs, showing more nonchalance than he is capable of at this moment. "A human is what my family needs, and this society does, right? You are one, and that's — that should be alright, I believe."

Jongin smiles at him, unsure perhaps. "You will have to tell that to the human your family has chosen, too, though. You will have to tell him of your own choice."

"I will."

"You will break his heart?" Jongin questions, innocently, though Chanyeol finds happiness in his eyes anyway. "I have watched you from afar all my life, Chanyeol. Never knew you were capable of such cruelty."

"I am not. We don't even know each other, how would he ever feel anything for me?"

"Sure," Jongin answers, nodding, amused. Chanyeol finds himself confused, again. "I guess you need to call him, then. Call him somewhere fancy, and talk to him about it. Don't sugarcoat it, he may be hurt afterwards. Don't be cruel, too."

"Oh, I will not be. I promise."

"Pay for his bills, too. You can do that at least, after breaking his heart."

"I—" he stops when Jongin starts laughing, looking more amused by the passing seconds. "I, okay."

Calling Yoora, and asking for the man's number — whose name is still unknown to him — is easy; when he calls, and a voice unidentified tells him that he is the man's friend, and he would inform him about the Prince's offer. Chanyeol hangs up afterwards. He has set the date two days after the conversation with Jongin. In those two days, Chanyeol brings both the father and the son to one of the places — a hidden path that leads up to a little clearing in the forest in the countryside — that keeps his memories safe physically; the names, etched by both his late lover and himself, are still prominent on the tree trunks. When he touches them, feels the roughness on his equally calloused fingertips, he feels overburdened with emotions; of what he has lost.

It's been centuries, but coming here makes it feel like it was only yesterday that he saw his lover dead, motionless as the doctors checked for pulses that shouldn't be there. He does not remember how he had felt in those moments; he must have felt numb, if anything. Just when he is about to fall down in the memories of the past, the present (Junmyeon) clutches at his hoodie weakly, reminding him of the current moment. Jongin is looking somewhere else, but sadness is evident on his darling, little face. Perhaps he is thinking back to whatever he has learnt of this place. Chanyeol does not know.

He takes Junmyeon back into his arms as he steps away from the trees. "Time to show you something pretty, yeah?" He tells the little babe, as if he could understand any of it. But Junmyeon giggles in response anyway, holds his hoodie with his cute, little fists, and rests his little head on his chest, trusting Chanyeol with himself.

When they finally leave several hours later, and he turns to look at the place he once shared with an entirely different soul, he tells himself — nothing. The memories need to stay right where they are, he needs to make a move and accept everything. He does not know how difficult the journey from now on will be, but his little werewolf and their unborn baby — dead before he could take a breath — will always be in his heart.

Two days come quicker than Chanyeol expects them to and before he knows, he finds himself seated in an expensive restaurant, in the heart of the city. The restaurant is full, and when they find him among themselves, he notices their nervousness more, but excitement is evident on their faces. It's a human owned restaurant, good for the relationship that needs to last for centuries to come.

As he waits there, alone, for several moments, he realises the default in his own planning, and how unbecoming it is of him to not even ask the human about his name. He thinks if his parents were to find out about this behaviour — especially Yoora, oh god, Yoora — they would be the most embarrassed. He closes his eyes, and takes several long breaths.

Ten minutes more, as he waits for the human, head hung low as if to keep a low profile, the chair in front of him moves. Before he can even look up, he hears the familiar voice of Junmyeon. It surprises him enough that he sits up straighter, hitting his knee under the table in the process, and finds both Jongin and Junmyeon in front of him. He finds himself surprised, speechless, enough that he sits there silent and confused for a long minute.

"Please," Jongin begins, amused sadness on his face, "don't tell me you have rejected me already."

"I—?"

Junmyeon giggles before he can finish saying anything, wriggling in his father's arms until Jongin nods at Chanyeol to take him. Chanyeol does as asked, confused and speechless as he has been ever since he met Jongin. Junmyeon sighs happily in his embrace, resting against Chanyeol's chest as if he were a kitten and not the little babe he is. The waiter comes soon with two glasses of wine, as ordered by Chanyeol, and right after he leaves, Jongin turns to him with a sweet smile, as if this all is amusing to him.

"To a new beginning, Prince."