Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. The bright glow of it hurts his eyes from the inside, like all the complicated stems are being tugged. His whole head hurts from the inside out, along with his spine and the left side of his ribs where he’d been folded up awkwardly. The couch isn’t Chanyeol sized in best condition, let alone since he and Jongin fell onto it with more enthusiasm than the supporting beams inside could withstand. 

To think he’d hoped to catch more sleep on today of all days feels sort of inane. Chanyeol finds his phone between the envelopes on the coffee table and stops rubbing his sore ribs to rub his sore eyes with his palms instead. It’s only 1pm. 1:02pm, to be precise. It’s still too early. 

That’s the one thing Chanyeol has always found to like about Sundays — it’s the one time when nobody is following their usual routine. The world feels like a different place on Sundays. Especially the evenings; the world falls into peaceful quiet as everyone prepares for the week ahead. There’s always the eerie silence, too, and Chanyeol doesn’t like that part. He works from home, when he can get work, and weekday loneliness is nothing like a Sunday. People come and go all day long. There’s the morning and evening babble of school children passing by, the traffic rumbles. There’s a lot of life around.

Chanyeol waited to see the quiet sunrise this morning before settling on the couch with a blanket. His notes have been laid out on the table since last night, when he originally thought of heading out. Sometime between realising it was Saturday so he’d undoubtedly be seen and resting he’d organised the notes even further by adding colourful post-its.

“Well,” Chanyeol says decisively. He rubs his damp palms on his jeans, thumbs around the corner of the envelope addressed to his sister, wipes off on his jeans again. He’s recited the explanations and apologies week after week. Some developed quietly in the back of his mind as he spoke to his few precious people, already slipping away from them. His goodbyes are exactly as he wants.

It’s still too early. Chanyeol paces, looking for any loose ends he can neatly tie. Planning suicide is strangely methodical once you get started, he found. Sort of like a dream where you watch yourself. When — if — he makes the news he wants the intrusion to bring as little shame to his family as possible. His apartment isn’t immaculate, but it doesn’t look as though it’s occupant has been too apathetic to upkeep it. Its occupant on the other hand..he never did get around to bleaching his roots again. Not that it will matter. His mother will choose a photograph of him smiling, because those are the only kind they have. One where his hair is black and sensible; highschool, until he joined a band. An unrecognisably small, chubby-faced Chanyeol will beam out at the world.

The stack of books slotted between couch and wall is the only thing that looks notably untidy. He hefts the pile up onto the coffee table. The far corner, leaving his notes undisturbed. Filtering the books into suitable spaces has been a job on his to-do list for long enough that the overlapping edges have gathered dust. 

“Never even opened this.” Chanyeol dusts off the top book on the pile. He’d preordered it months in advance. The author was recommended on twitter, some expert in the art of routine and mindful connections to your surroundings. A girl Chanyeol follows for anime themed nail art had said it changed her life. The spark of excitement when it arrived had improved his day, at the least. “Man. This is..”

Chanyeol folds himself up on the rug and reads the introduction. The first three lines absorb, and then he thinks of the bridge. He reads the first three lines again. At 3pm he’ll leave and take the long route down to the bridge. The fourth line is a warm offering of congratulations from the author, eager for them to embark on this journey. Chanyeol had hoped there’d be a sunset to see, and if there is he wants to snuff out before it.

It’s still too early. Chanyeol sets the book on the table and his forehead onto the book, pressing down onto it’s hollow solidity. He won’t call his mother. Sehun would pick up if he knew it would be the last time, but that would require explaining to him that it would be the last time. And that would require Sehun answering his calls. Chanyeol charged his phone more from habit than necessity, really. He turns his head, cheek squashing into his makeshift pillow. Hardback books are always better.

Still too early, Chanyeol takes a red skinned apple from the counter and slowly gnaws into it. He peels the skin with his front teeth. The juice is sharper than it is sweet and helps with the nausea.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep causing the trembling. 

If today had felt different then Chanyeol would have taken it into account. If he’d woken up afraid and wanting another day on earth then he’d have shuffled the notes into a drawer and lived. His right forearm itches in a wide circle where his newest tattoo is pulling into tight scabs. It hasn’t even fully started to peel yet. Oh well. 

The tremble starts inside Chanyeol’s chest and radiates out. He’s vibrating through all his joints right to the tips of his unsteady fingers; his legs are shaking like he’s one of those little bug-eyed dogs bred too small to do much else but shiver their way through life.

He chooses his favourite sneakers — the white-turned-grey pair that never make his feet hurt - and slips into them without needing to fumble with laces. When he used to spend the night at Jongin’s place he’d always hold them up triple-checking his small apartment. It was something Jongin teased him for in his mild-mannered way, draping himself around the doorframe and whining, playing cute for attention. The urge to protect the little bubble of his life is still there. It’s not so much a goodbye to his home, just keeping it safe until his mother consents to it being disturbed.

Perhaps the police will contact his father. They probably will. Then he’ll force his way into a story Chanyeol has left for his mother to understand. The one person who didn’t get a note will be the one to take charge and his mother and sister will be reunited with him in grief. Chanyeol takes the final flight of stairs at a clattering run. Thankfully he holds the apple and bile in until he’s reached the metal trashcan intended for cigarette butts in the entrance to his building.

Chanyeol turns swiftly past the high wall surrounding the school and to the main road. The mountain parks are visible on the horizon, rising hazily above the tall buildings on the other side of the river. Chanyeol lives the residential side; the larger half of the city is a bridge away. He’s been here since his late teens and has trekked up into the trees only a handful of times. He and Sehun would cross the wide river to sit in the bus terminal smoking area and watch their own side of town from a distance, like they could share secrets more confidentially without its buildings listening in.

The cars are already thinning out on the roads as Chanyeol had hoped. Within moments of walking the tip of Chanyeol’s nose is cold. He keeps his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. The white sky is turning grey, and under that a hint of bruised purple.

Even the long route is a pretty fast one if you want it to be, and Chanyeol isn’t hanging around. If he were honest, he misses Sehun more than Jongin. He misses his best friend every day. There are so many warm, quiet nooks in this area for friends to tuck away and hide from the world in. With the wind biting at his face Chanyeol isn’t pausing to reminisce. His legs feel heavy and unsteady, but his mind is peacefully blank. More so than it’s been in months. Everything of Chanyeol is neatly organised to be stored away, and none of this will look in the slightest different once he isn’t here.

There’s only one stop Chanyeol makes on his way, and that’s the restaurant on the corner where narrow road becomes junction. It’s been run by a woman he’s sure was beyond retirement age since long before he moved here. On the edge of the weathered stone step leading up into the doorway is a wooden crate. In recent months a laminate sign has appeared in it: Take Free :-). Every day she leaves carrot tops and green onion roots for the school kids to take home and grow. Today none will. Chanyeol pockets three straggly onion roots so the crate won’t be full when she comes to bring it inside.

The main road opens up to the river. There are several bridges over the stretch of water, some pedestrian, some for the cars and deliveries. The one he takes is beige stone overrun with grass from the bank. The railings are so low that he always avoids walking too near to the edge. The impulsive flash of thought has been there for a long time, even with Sehun laughing in his ear or Jongin tugging him faster to get out of the cold water breeze.

The sky is yellowing now, trailed with pink. Just how he’d hoped. If he’d had to place what the final straw was Chanyeol couldn’t have. There was no dramatic moment of finality - not the breakup, not the lost contract, not when his best friend blocked his number. Chanyeol just kept going and going until whatever it was that kept him going ground down so fine it finally broke, and then the calm followed. Once he’d made a plan he was calm. 

His body isn’t, still, his limbs jittering and now his teeth are chattering too. It’s unceremonious but easy getting over the low iron fence. Kids do this all the time, Chanyeol thinks dimly, looping is hands between the decorative curves behind himself to stay steady. Just for fun. It’s fun for kids to risk lives they don’t yet understand. The wind is bitterly cold coming in off the water. Chanyeol cautiously leans forward to peer at what’s below, and his curse travels out across the river. Kids do this all the time.

There’s netting. Of course there’s netting. If Chanyeol jumps from where he’s imagined jumping from he’ll just be caught squirming in a net and released back into his apartment.

So the universe couldn’t resist one last jab at him. The main road isn’t what he wanted — isn’t what he planned — but he isn’t turning back. He’s having the final word. He walks fast, sweating under his heavy jacket, tears running thick down his face. He’s a quarter of the way down the footpath before he runs out of determination and leans against the concrete barrier, panting. From between both sides there’s the distant rumble of the larger city still active, but not here. Here it’s just Chanyeol, hair plastered to his damp forehead, the acrid taste of apple still in his mouth.

For as long as it takes to catch his breath, Chanyeol focuses on how alive he is right now. Fog trailing from his mouth, hot damp skin under his clothes and numb wet skin exposed to the air. Any sign that he wants to keep going, keep trying, and he’d take it. But his mind just buzzes and the adrenaline is in his limbs and they’re buzzing too.

“I got to see the sunset,” he tells the sky. Fuck the universe on that count, at least. It’s as stunning as any sunset is. Chanyeol faces away and climbs. 

It’s not as easy getting up and over this barrier compared to those railings, but it’s a rare occasion his height is to his advantage. He clambers over the top and his feet hit hard, compacted mud. Beyond here there’s just a flimsy strip of metal separating him from the drop. He swings his leg over and only then notices the tear in the knee of his jeans and smear of blood.

The river below is shallow at this time of year. It’s stone and small islands of wild grass that grow bigger as storms flush debris downstream. It’ll be the impact that kills him, and that’s fine. It wasn’t the water Chanyeol wanted. Wasn’t the height, either. For a while he observes the view and the speed of the water, and when he digs for his phone he finds green onions. For a moment he looks at those too, rolling the round stubs in his raw pink hand, then tucks them safely back into his jacket.

Chanyeol’s phone is warm from his pocket. There’s something severing in letting it drop. If it did land in the river below, under the distant hum of a small city and the mountains and the cold wind around his ears, Chanyeol didn’t hear it. Chanyeol doesn’t look down for it, or back to the city, or over his shoulder at the setting sun. 

Chanyeol has been thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking about this moment. It doesn’t matter which bridge it is or what colour the sky is or how full the river is. All he’d wanted was to not be upsetting to find, and this way is the best. He’ll be spotted from a distance, face down, and no one will need to think about it for long. He leans back and grounds his palms resolutely on the metal barrier. He’s tied up every loose end so carefully, so neatly. All that’s left is

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. He stares at it until it hurts, panting, waiting for his breathing to slow. He’d fallen in his dream and jerked awake, heart frantic. His whole head hurts from the inside out, along with his spine and the left side of his ribs where he’d been folded up awkwardly. His knee is throbbing, too. Old age has reached him at 29.

It’s inane to think he’d have liked to sleep more on today of all days. He skims his hand over the neat map of envelopes on the coffee table for his phone. It’s 1:02pm. Something important happened at 1:02pm, he thinks, struck by the sequence, but his head hurts too much for thinking. Yesterday was Saturday and he stayed up until sunrise organising his already organised notes, so whatever he thinks he remembers can’t be that important.

Shaken from his dream, Chanyeol sits on the edge of the couch with his elbows propped on his knees and takes slow breaths. Dreaming of falling didn’t scare him, it hasn’t changed his mind. “Well,” Chanyeol says decisively. He straightens the row of letters once more and lingers over the envelope addressed to his sister and doesn’t feel decisive at all. He feels on the verge of remembering something he shouldn’t have forgotten, and it’s unnerving when he needs all his loose ends tied.

It’s still too early to get going, so Chanyeol paces. Despite the bleak view right now there’ll be a sunset today if he waits long enough; he has a good feeling about it.

The small stack of books slotted between couch and wall is the only thing that looks notably untidy. He thought he’d moved that yesterday, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s meant to and not found the motivation. He sits cross legged on the rug and pulls the top book from the pile. “Oh, this is that nice man.” He frowns, opening the book, closing it, turning it to skim the back. He never got around to reading it, but he remembers how kind the author sounded. Maybe from the online blurb. He tries to read a little of it now, just to pass the time, but the familiarity makes it hard to focus. He settles on the same line about a journey for what feels like the fifth time. Yeah, this isn’t working.

Chanyeol sets the book on the table and his forehead onto the book, pressing down onto it’s hollow solidity. He has time to waste and his phone is fully charged — he plugged it in last night out of habit, not necessity. His mother is kind and wonderful and will believe he’ll go to hell for taking his own life. They’ll never see each other again, in this world or any other. If he calls her it will hurt her so much more. He turns his head on his makeshift pillow and sniffs loudly. Hot tears trickle down onto the hardback cover.

It’s still too early and Chanyeol is starting to feel nauseous the longer he feels trapped here. If he hadn’t had that stupid dream..the fall is all he can really remember, but there must have been more to it. He goes to the counter for an apple, hoping something fresh will stop his insides churning. The action of peeling the skin between his teeth only makes that unsettled feeling worse. It’s something on the tip of his tongue, just out of the edge of his vision. It’s as though he’s repeating something he’s already done, watching himself move through a dream. Like he knows exactly what he’ll do next.

Well, of course he knows what he’ll do next, that’s kind of the point of a suicide plan.

It’s the lack of sleep causing the trembling. The sensation of falling. His healing tattoo itches so goddamn bad.

Chanyeol picks his comfy shoes. He does a last rundown of the apartment and leaves the key in the door, easy for whoever comes by first. Midway down the stairwell he remembers that in the dream he’d thought of his father coming over here, and then he thinks about it now, and he has to lean against the wall to fight the wave of nausea. 

The cold air feels good on his clammy skin. His legs are heavy and unsteady, but he walks almost on auto-pilot. The cars are already thinning out on the roads as Chanyeol had hoped. He should be taking it slow, reminiscing his final walk through these familiar streets, but all he can think about his is father.

He takes quick, solid steps, trying to find grounding in each thud against the paving. Everything of Chanyeol is neatly organised to be stored away, and none of this will look in the slightest different once he isn’t here. But when he disappears his father will fill the void, take control. Again. It will force him back into their mother’s life after the years it took to extract him. But family are like that — they can never be removed from the root.

Chanyeol’s heel scuffs the ground and he stumbles, insides jolting. He knows his sister will hold firm. His mother, though..She’d never truly wanted to stop giving him chances. 

There’s only one stop Chanyeol makes on his way. He pauses for a long moment outside a small stone fronted restaurant, pretending to scan the menu while he waits for the tears to blink away. Every day the old woman who runs this place leaves carrot tops and green onion roots in a crate on the weathered stone step. She always has done since Chanyeol moved here, probably long before. They’re for the school kids, mostly. The thought of the crate being full at the end of the day inexplicably brings more tears to Chanyeol’s eyes. He picks out three onion roots; something to fiddle with in his pocket as he sets off.

The sky is yellowing now, trailed with pink. Chanyeol’s teeth are chattering. If only he hadn’t had that dream. He hasn’t changed his mind, but he can’t seem to clear it, either. His thoughts are intruded on by memories of the dream coming back to him vividly, and the dream is how he’d envisaged his plan. He’s already halfway to the road when he wonders why and the netting under the bridge flashes into vision as though he’s hanging right off there, looking down at it.

He just— he just needs to go. Right now. He knows all of this already. What will be on the other side once he’s heaved himself over the concrete barrier, the view of the drop below. The shallow river with its grassy islands. 

Chanyeol’s phone is warm from his pocket. He throws it, and he waits, and he doesn’t hear it hit the water. He wasn’t expecting to. Maybe the dream was real and he didn’t die and now he’s unconscious and dreaming it again. Or maybe the universe is just doing what it always does, prodding at tender spots until they’re unbearably painful. He tried to have the final word and it didn’t let him. But..no, there’s no way.

Chanyeol crouches down and grips his aching head. His plans have occupied him for his final weeks. He had everything tied up so neatly, so carefully. He’s a careful person. He’s a considerate person. Hell, he’d go as far as to say he’s a decent person and if he deserves one thing in life it’s to be allowed to exit out of it. If he’s just delirious from lack of sleep that would make sense. Yeah. He’s just thought this out so many times that it feels familiar. He just. He just needs to get a grip. Just walk to the edge and 

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. He glares at it. He lays there with his head and his spine and his left side hurting and scowls at the sky. And then he scrambles off the couch to puke in the sink, not on his carpet. 

Yes, the universe hates him. 

The apartment building is old and the narrow balconies were sealed shut long before Chanyeol moved in. The windows crack open just enough to let out smoke. Even if he could open it wide enough to climb out and over the railing he wouldn’t. Yeah, jumping from here would be the easiest solution, but easiest isn’t always best. Every day he hears the bustling line of school children pass by and feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want anyone else’s life ruined by the mush of his body.

Chanyeol stares out at the bleak skyline. The cold from the window seeps deep into his skin. He’s very much alive. He knows he’s fallen into that river at least once; twice a possibility. “Why couldn’t you let me have this?” His breath clouds the window. He’s alive. And it’s Sunday again. He’s managed to get himself stuck in Sunday, of all days. 

God, fuck, the universe really hates him. 

At lack of anything else to do, Chanyeol sits and studies his notes. Will they ever reach the people they’re intended for? He runs a finger along the edge of the envelope for his sister. He’d had more to say to her than anyone, the envelope with her name bulging up from the table. He’s been so orderly about this, so careful. He wanted to be useful at least now.

It’s not that he wants his mother to be sad, of course not, but he hopes he’s left everything in a way that won’t make her feel ashamed. Even the fugue of the past few months can’t lessen how her disappointment hurts. How could he expect her sympathy. She takes it personally that he’s been raised to be so inefficient. If he had the presence of mind to organise his death so carefully, why couldn’t he do the same with his life? 

“Fuck. Shut up, shut up,” he murmurs. His leg starts to jog anxiously, so he gets up.

It’s too early to head to the bridge. Because he will, again, and he’ll fall again. He’ll just have to..fall better this time.

Chanyeol leaves earlier. All staying in his apartment is achieving is making him feel nervous about the swooping in his stomach when he drops. It’s a long fucking way to fall - not something you expect to need the courage to do more than once.

The streets are still quiet. He takes a more meandering route towards the edge of town and doesn’t think about Sehun or Jongin or his father at all.

He pauses outside the restaurant, crouching down to prod through the carrot tops and onion roots. Alright, he’ll concede to having one thing he wishes he could have done - eating here. His distant fondness for the old woman who runs it and believes in children still enjoying the simple pleasure of watching things grow has never done her any good like paying to eat there would have.

Sunset is beautiful and unsurprising.

“This time,” Chanyeol says under his breath, then curses as he heaves himself up and bangs his knee.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window.

“God fucking damn it. Fuck you, hey,” he hammers on the cold glass, “Fuck you.” 

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. He wishes he’d chosen a different day. He’s never going to see the sun again. Just clouds and the orange glow as it slips out of sight. Months and months he hasn’t cared about the sun. He shuts it out of his apartment so he can see his laptop screen. He hasn’t really felt its sweet warmth for what feels like years. He misses the sun.

Before leaving he tears up the envelope addressed to Jongin and stuffs it in his pocket. Just in case today is the day it works. He’d been depressed before the breakup; if anything compensating for what he lacked gave him more to focus on than the relationship itself. It was only clear that what had hurt Jongin was Chanyeol’s lack of faith in him once it was far too late. No goodbye at all is better than a three page apology.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window.

Chanyeol counts five days, including the potentially real dream. Marking it down didn’t work - the pen and paper were where he’d left them on Saturday night. After then it gets hard to keep count, but inevitably at some point he really will have had a week of Sundays. 

His tattoo still itches. With time to waste he finds the aftercare lotion he’d bought then apathetically stashed in his bathroom cabinet. His perfect raw inked skin will be at the top of the artist’s Instagram for eternity if it’s always Sunday, so there’s something. 

Within days he streamlines the lotion process, making it a part of the ritual. Every day his tattoo stops itching, at least.

Just once he asked online, anonymous, if anyone else gets impulses when they’re in high places. The last post of his that Sehun liked was two weeks ago. Chanyeol has weighed up whether he’s stuck in this loop because there’s something unfinished to resolve or if he’s in some kind of purgatory. Sometimes he comes dangerously close to posting a public suicide note and waiting to see who cares. The possible outcomes are that tomorrow will be Sunday again and they’ll have forgotten that they care, or that it will unlock Chanyeol’s freedom from the loop. Everyone will care very much, and he won’t be around to benefit from it, and he’ll have made it hard for everyone.

He wants to see his mother one more time.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. His routine is efficient now. Lotion for his tattoo, and while he’s in there he picks through the dusty tubes and jars of product. It’s like another person filled his apartment with skincare products and clothes and hobbies. He’s sick of eating red apples.

It doesn’t get easier. The falling. Or jumping — whichever he feels up to. You’d think your nerves would harden the more you do something, but if anything Chanyeol feels more frightened of it each day.

Chanyeol is in his usual spot, though the surroundings show no sign of how many times he’s clambered down here. Everything is still fresh and untrodden, just as it was the first Sunday. It’s familiar and feels private now, though. The dirty river smell in the cold air, the wet leaves, the mud. The onion roots jangle around in his pocket like a charm.

The chill feels good on his sore, swollen eyes. If Chanyeol really let himself think that he’ll be standing here again in no time he wouldn’t know what to do with himself, so generally he doesn’t. This many attempts sort of ruins the whole climactic ordeal of death. At this rate Chanyeol’s probably failed to die more times than he’s succeeded at much else.

“Am I supposed to feel even worse than this for it to work?” he asks the sky and whichever gods are up there laughing down at him. Whether there’s anybody or anything beyond the clouds that actually listens, he doesn’t know if he believes that. But he has a strong conviction that something of some form is up there and it delights in constantly nudging him in the wrong direction. “If you need me to really mean it.. Do you think I could feel any worse? Huh?”

Chanyeol’s phone is warm from his pocket. He hurls it upwards, spinning, willing it to puncture a cloud before it soundlessly drops out of sight.

And the answer comes, provoked. The universe responds immediately with a sound Chanyeol has never heard on any of his other attempts. It’s an echo. It’s something barely carried on the wind, only just reaching where he stands. 

Chanyeol’s stomach hollows out. It’s a voice. No, no—

There shouldn’t be anyone else here. He’s stood on this spot day after day, he knows no one else is here. Even though his original plan failed and he moved here, he knows there can’t be anyone else. Except today there is. He questioned whatever spiteful being is out there and it punished him, again, as always.

Chanyeol’s eyes are stinging, tears pouring out and getting whipped away by the cold wind. On the riverbank is a figure frantically waving their right hand, the left cupped around their mouth. Their legs are buckled from the exertion of trying to reach him.

No no no no. 

There are other bridges. There are bridges in both directions. Bridges for miles following the river. A sob catches in Chanyeol’s throat as he turns away. If he just climbs back over and runs he can still make this ok, can’t he? The person on the riverbank will be fine. They’ll be fine. When news gets out they’ll blame themselves. The last thing Chanyeol had wanted was to haunt someone’s memory. He’d prefer it if no one remembered him at all.

Another sob wells up, hot pressure inside Chanyeol’s cold skin. He presses both palms to his eyes to wipe away the tears before they freeze down his cheeks. Familiar as this area may be to him now, he takes one blind step forward and hits a dip in the scant grass. His footing goes from underneath him, his sneaker skidding in mud. 

Today is neither a jump nor a fall. Today Chanyeol’s death is a tragic accident.

⇆

And it doesn’t change that he opens his eyes to a white, blank sky. Chanyeol wakes up knowing that someone saw him die and can’t move from the couch until gone 1:30.

He can’t stomach an apple today. He doesn’t find he feels deserving of the relief of lotion on his tattoo. Does he hit the ground and die? Or does the loop restart as he’s falling? For the latter to be the case the whole story of the universe would have to centre around him, huh. Unlikely, then.  
 
 
Chanyeol kicks at a tuft of weeds that have pushed a mound through the concrete. This is turning into the worst commute of his life, and that’s saying something. He’s got a knack for climbing over the barrier now so his knee doesn’t get scraped, but damn the pedestrian bridge for having that netting.

Today he called his mother in some vain hope that it will free him from the loop. His kind sweet mother who has been through too much in her own life, more than anyone should have. Her childhood was hard, her marriage an extension of what her father started. It isn’t surprising she doesn’t believe in depression. She raised her children to inherit her tenacity. She had no idea that for today, at least, it was the last time she’d speak to her son. 

Parents always say they want better for their children, but in dark moments Chanyeol can’t help thinking his mother relished them experiencing her childhood. She got through it so of course her children would, too, it’s just the way the world is. The way relationships are, the way fathers are. His sister moved away first, her tears all for Chanyeol when she said her goodbyes. 

The guilt blackens his soul further. He’ll never get into heaven if he doesn’t forgive his parents. Yoora did all she could and he understood why once she got away she couldn’t risk turning back. He’s never hated her. When he goes she’ll hate him. The void of him pulling his mother, sister, father, all back together. God, fuck. Today’s jump will be a relief.

Chanyeol cautiously eyes the riverbank to be sure that there won’t be a repeat of yesterday. The figure buckled over has been on his mind all day. He squints down through the wind smarting his eyes, waiting, just in case they suddenly walk into focus. 

His mother will hate him, his sister will hate him. It’s unavoidable that this will ruin the rest of their lives; no amount of planning and carefully worded, neatly sealed notes will change that. I’m going to hell, eomma, I’m sending myself to hell. I’m breaking up our family. Even my father, even your father, will be in heaven with you. 

Maybe Sehun will blame himself. Maybe Jongin, too, sweet Jongin who Chanyeol could have loved forever if he’d had the capacity to receive the love Jongin offered. 

Distantly a new sound filters through. Chanyeol sighs, drops his head back to stare into the blank sky. Again, as always, fuck the universe. As the sound draws nearer Chanyeol recognises it as footfalls echoing on the empty footpath. Fast, heavy, uneven. Their legs are probably as jellyish as his were the first few times. They aren’t on the riverbank - they’re heading for him directly today. And they’ll be one more on a long list of lives he can’t help that this will ruin, but at least today there’s a chance he’ll succeed.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol mouths softly over his shoulder as the footsteps draw level. All he has to do is take three steps closer to the edge and 

⇆

It’s still too early when Chanyeol makes his way from his apartment to the main road. He takes the three onion ends as always. Prods them around in his palm, tiny specks of dirt dropping from the roots. Does he take different ones each day? Or do the same three onions get taken with the promise of regrowth just to regenerate back in their crate?

Over the wall, he gets situated against the small metal barrier and waits. Even now his stomach swoops uncomfortably from the height.

Now, as he sees it there are two possible outcomes. He will see or hear this person arriving, and once he knows their routine he can adapt his own accordingly. Or — his preferred theory — the reverse psychology will work and the universe will take this addition away if he willingly seeks it out. It’s as foolproof a plan as can be in the circumstances.

Which of course, is not very.

Chanyeol has his eyes on the riverbank and is anticipating the sound from the path. He knows from the colour of the sky that it will be soon. His stomach is already grinding with nerves, but pure ice pitches through him at a sudden cry of his name. His—

“Park Chanyeol, please wait,” the voice calls, weak and distant. Then come the same uneven footsteps, faster than yesterday, “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, please—”

If failing to die is the thing Chanyeol’s done the most of recently, vomiting feels a close second. Thankfully he had his apple this morning so there was something to empty out. This cannot be happening. Is what he wants to think, at least, but why not. If he can still be standing here after a month of Sundays then what’s stopping this loop from shifting? He hasn’t found a way to crack it open yet, so why wouldn’t it start to alter of its own accord? 

He isn’t the centre of the universe, after all.

Chanyeol silently waits. He almost wonders if this person will vanish, too, like he does each day. It doesn’t feel right that someone could reach him. Sure, maybe there could be the illusion of it to make him feel even more wretched. He anxiously turns one of the onion roots in his pocket, waiting, waiting.

The footsteps don’t fade. The person on the other side breathlessly asks themselves if this is the right spot, and Chanyeol doesn’t know what to do. He knows what he needs to do - what he always does; turn around and

“Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol, are you there? Please stay there.”

And Chanyeol..does. Dizzy, he grips the flimsy metal barrier.

For the first Sunday in the many, many Sundays Chanyeol has experienced, he feels worse for someone else than himself. The man who knows his name is sobbing, desperately struggling to heave himself over the concrete wall with no success. Chanyeol listens to his shoes scrabbling against it, the little pleading wails between the panting. Carefully this time, he picks his way back towards the wall.

“I’m—” his voice catches in his throat. If he does this..if he breaks his routine, who’s to know what will happen next. The world might cave in around them. Chanyeol being the last person alive feels like something that could happen, with his luck. He coughs out the bile and mucus blocking his throat and calls back, “I’m here. I’m still here.”

The sobbing gives way to shaking gasps. The scrabbling stops.

Hesitantly, Chanyeol raises his hand over the top of the wall. A white flag. The promise that he’s really here. The sudden grasp around his fingers is crushing. Short nails cut into the spaces between his knuckles, and it’s Chanyeol’s turn to choke back a sob. 

“God. Oh, thank god. I’ve seen you die so many times,” the voice behind the wall cracks, “Thank you. Chanyeol. My name is Kyungsoo. Thank you for turning back. Please stay.”

“I will,” Chanyeol replies weakly. His fingers close around the small, cold hand gripping his, and they tremble together.

“I haven’t kept count, I don’t know. Maybe two weeks?”

“I think it’s been longer for me,” Chanyeol frowns, “More like a month. It’s felt like a month.”

“I see.” Kyungsoo drops his head back to rest on the concrete wall and lets out a long sigh. The mist of his breath rises up, curling visible in the beams of sunset until its gone. “I’m sorry to be insensitive,” he continues after a moment, “But have you been coming here and doing this the entire time?”

Chanyeol prods at gravel. They didn’t so much agree to sit here and chat; getting back over the wall the other way was more exertion than Chanyeol expected, and the strength seemed to leave both of them at once. Kyungsoo, understandably, had refused to let Chanyeol move. “Yeah, um. Yeah. Like, every day. It felt like at least a month had passed until I started seeing you.”

If the circumstances weren’t what they are Chanyeol would feel embarrassed by the way Kyungsoo had held him to the ground. He’s far smaller than Chanyeol, stocky and heavy enough to keep him pinned, make sure he’d been saved. They’re sitting side by side now, Kyungsoo’s knees folded and Chanyeol’s legs sprawled out straight across the footpath. 

“It took a while for me to realise what was happening. There was..” Kyungsoo looks toward the end of the bridge, where they’d both walked from, “Every day when we were closing up there was this commotion outside. Too many sirens to ignore. Halmeoni sent me out to find out what was happening in case it was a fire. People heading back from the bridge said there’d been an accident, and..sorry.”

Chanyeol stops scrubbing tears from his face to shake his head. “What do you have to be sorry for? I caused all of this.”

Kyungsoo frowns. He purses his lips in thought, then decides against the thought and continues, “So, every day the same thing happened. I was always midway through stacking the chairs when we started hearing sirens — I always do them in threes and had to stop at two. It bothered me.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says dryly, but the tears dampen it into something genuine.

“But that’s the thing? I started to feel like I already knew I’d be annoyed about it. And from that, I knew something would interrupt me. The accident started to feel like when something happens and you know you’ve had a dream about it. But then it was like..” Kyungsoo looks to Chanyeol as though he thinks Chanyeol will tell him he’s being stupid. Chanyeol gives a small encouraging nod. “..it always happened at a familiar time, and it felt like I kept hearing people say the exact same things.”

“But how did that lead you to me? I made sure no one was around.”

“Because I saw you every day. You’d stop outside to take things from the crate.” Kyungsoo blinks his big eyes at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol’s are even wider as he blinks back. The tears weighing his eyelashes down are so cold.

“Wait- You work there? For the old lady?”

Kyungsoo shrugs. “It was because I was looking at the sunset, that’s all. I just happened to see you stopping outside. I hadn’t turned the sign yet even though we were cleaning up, so I kept watching in case you were a customer.” He gives Chanyeol a glance, then focuses on tucking his hands into the backs of his knees “I knew what had happened didn’t sound like an accident. It didn’t take many repeats until I remembered your face, and to start with I figured it couldn’t mean anything. Like, it could be anyone, and why would this guy be taking things to grow if..” he shrugs again, hunching in tighter. “But you always looked so troubled. Once I could remember what was going to happen I started tracing the time backwards.”

“That’s..” A lot. This guy has had to live the same Sunday every day for all this time too. “Good detective work,” Chanyeol offers awkwardly. He’s never been as alone as he thought he’d been, and that’s..not something he can process right now. Thinking up an apology large enough to cover all of this disruption should be his next thought, but another barges in first. Kyungsoo startles at Chanyeol’s abrupt sob.

“It- it’s ok?” Kyungsoo offers, “Now this has happened, we..” 

Chanyeol sobs into his hands, inhaling his own hot breath in a loop until he’s dizzy. “You know my name so that- that means they identified me. And they made it public knowledge before the day ended.”

Kyungsoo’s hand wavers beside Chanyeol’s arm, uncertain of how appropriate making contact is after the unceremonious way he’d tackled Chanyeol before. He drops it, folding back in. “Yes..it made it to the late night news. Only local, I think. Of course I forgot that I knew several times, but it was still reported as an accident, and..I’m sorry?”

Chanyeol takes shallow, panting breaths. “All this time- my mother has had to find out every day.”

For a moment Kyungsoo looks pained in sympathy for Chanyeol, but when he speaks his tone flattens. “She can’t remember it every day, though. Right? By now she would have done something if she knew.”

“Would she?” Chanyeol splutters out a laugh. It’s bitter. His mouth stings with the taste of apple coming from his throat. “You could say the same about why I did it the first time when I thought it would work.”

It’s Kyungsoo’s turn to find the gravel interesting to poke around. “I’m sorry to hear that. Really.”

It’s more exhaustion than calm that eventually overcomes Chanyeol. In ways he wishes she didn’t ever have to know how desperately he’s tried to die. In others he resents her for not knowing, not making any attempt to stop him. A complete stranger managed to break into his loop but not his own mother.

Well, that’s enough for today. “I still have to go,” Chanyeol announces decisively, planting his hands on the wall to help haul himself onto his numb legs.

Kyungsoo twists, following him up in a scramble onto his knees. “What? You can’t—”

“Kyungsoo. I’m..I appreciate..” Chanyeol relaxes and tenses his fists. Sharp gravel digs into his palms. The sky is dusky now, and he doesn’t want to try climbing around down there with it much darker. His previous slip and fall wasn’t a pleasant way to go. “And I’m sorry. Of course. I’m really sorry that you’ve had to be a part of this and that you’re stuck in it with me.”

“This must have been a lot to take in, but we can..”

“We can’t. Whatever you’re going to say, we can’t. I can’t. I just need to..” Chanyeol looks away from Kyungsoo. He can’t bear it; someone made this much misplaced effort for him, the guy who can’t even die right. “I just need to..pull myself together, you know? I’m doing something wrong.” 

“Fine,” Kyungsoo spits, collapsing back to the floor, “I’ve already had to see it over and over, I know what happens.” The flare of anger gives way to tears quickly, and Kyungsoo’s voice wavers the way it did from behind the wall. “You know I have nightmares about you nearly every time I go to sleep? If I can sleep, knowing I’ll just wake up on the same day and have to act like I don’t know what’s coming.”

“I’m really sorry.” Really really really sorry. Chanyeol’s head and eyes and hands feel like lead with how he wishes this wasn’t happening. “The last.. believe me, the very last thing I wanted to do was inconvenience anyone.”

“What do you think dying does? You don’t seriously think you’ll just vanish and it won’t mean anything?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t need to know anything about you to want you to live.” Kyungsoo makes a grab for Chanyeol’s leg. He catches him, then seems to think better of it and lets go, curling in on himself. “Chanyeol, please. I know I’m just a stranger, but surely us being able to meet inside this loop must mean it was supposed to happen.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Chanyeol rests his forehead against the wall. He’s too tired to think about it. He has to jump and succeed for more than just his own sake now. “You make the call, Kyungsoo. Maybe it’ll release you from the loop if you’ve fulfilled your role.” He braces his hands to climb, presses his face to his arm and sniffles. “Thank you again, for trying.”

To his side Kyungsoo chokes back a sob. “Then— Then you keep trying and I’ll keep trying, too.”

Chanyeol nods. He doesn’t look back. He climbs and lands on the compacted mud and the dirty river smell hits him, and Kyungsoo calls “Go safely,” from behind the wall, and Chanyeol has never prayed so hard to succeed. 

⇆

Anticipating this doesn’t make it any easier. Chanyeol walks his usual route at his usual time, and he makes his way along the footpath with his head shamefully bowed.

Kyungsoo is waiting for him against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Honestly, he didn’t have to come all the way down to where Chanyeol usually climbs over if he’d planned to stop him. 

“So was that complete bullshit or did you really think I might have been let out of the loop?” 

Chanyeol scuffs his heels before shuffling to a stop. He’d hoped Kyungsoo would come today so he could apologise, but he’d also hoped Kyungsoo wouldn’t remember anything. “I did honestly think it might work. But I’m sorry it was..”

“Self-centred.”

“It was.” 

“It was,” Kyungsoo asserts, and then all at once his drawn features relax, softening. Chanyeol’s heart thuds. “But considering what you come up here to do every day, and the news you’d just had, I figure you’re not in the best place for decision making. So I’ll let you off.”

Chanyeol nods solemnly. He’s still here to jump - neither Kyungsoo’s memory of him nor his own guilt about Kyungsoo’s involvement can change that. The loop will repeat until he achieves death, and he says so.

Kyungsoo thinks about it. Or, he wraps his arms tighter around himself and looks down at his feet for long enough that Chanyeol assumes he’s thinking. Kyungsoo is shivering; the thin flannel shirt he wore to work in the heat of a restaurant isn’t much help up here. Eventually he says, “What if I’m the one causing it, huh? What if you’re just really unfortunate that you got caught in my loop the day you decided to come here.”

Chanyeol swears he physically feels his brain melt a little. This thing is difficult enough as it is without wondering who the main character is. “I.. I don’t think..”

“I know,” Kyungsoo’s smile is crooked, “Just so you know, I’m not planning on repeating all the fun I had yesterday talking to the police.” 

Ah, it was a joke. They went straight from introductions to comfortably joking about Chanyeol killing himself. Weirdly enough it is comfortable, though; Kyungsoo being so undemanding about the whole thing is infinitely nicer than..well, how everyone else reacts to the topic of mental health. “Thank you for doing that. I’m sorry if it was..” Chanyeol winces. He fishes for a suitable word, mouth hanging open. “..time consuming.”

Kyungsoo nods. He starts rubbing his upper arms to warm them. “Spared the dog walkers from finding you first,” he says. Chanyeol looks alarmed until Kyungsoo gently rests a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll still report it before they get here. I’ll just do it anonymously this time. I didn’t think to yesterday, seeing as I hadn’t expected you to still do it.”

Ouch. But fair. Chanyeol offers a small bow of his head, because he suspects Kyungsoo will just get irritated if he apologises too profusely. “I am sorry,” he mumbles, “I think you were really brave to stop me.”

Kyungsoo squeezes Chanyeol’s arm firmly. He’s strong in the disproportionate way people are from manual work and heavy lifting rather than intentional honing at a gym. “To be fair I got a lot of practice runs before the one that worked out. Kind of worked out.”

“And I’m sorry about what you said. The nightmares,” Chanyeol continues, “I can’t imagine. It’s the opposite of how I’d intended things to be, and I did plan carefully. Just..”

“It is what it is. Your plan would have worked if I hadn’t been thinking about you every day.”

For a moment it feels like the wind blows straight through Chanyeol’s head. The white noise of the distant rustling trees takes over until he eventually manages, “Uh, yeah.” Kyungsoo seems to be a straightforward kind of guy. It’s nice. It makes a change. 

“But are you alright after yesterday?” Kyungsoo asks sincerely, but it gives way to an abrupt laugh. It forces out between his teeth and he takes his hand from Chanyeol’s arm to cover it. “Sorry. It’s nerves.” He clears his throat, forcing his mouth into a straight line. “As alright as someone about to jump off a bridge can be, I mean. You know I mean aside from the standard bridge thing.”

In his heart Chanyeol had expected Kyungsoo to be here again today. He’d just had a feeling that Kyungsoo would be that kind of person. Nothing else he’d pictured about what his new loop buddy might be like is turning out correct so far. “Aside from that, yeah.”

This morning Chanyeol tore up the letter to his mother, just in case it helps. He held an ashtray full of singed shreds up close to the crack in the window, letting the smoke suck out. It felt ceremonial in a way. Maybe today things will work out.

Apparently more comfortable with silence than Chanyeol, Kyungsoo gives him a nod and then steps back to lean against the wall. And then he just stays there, watching the clouds, offering nothing. Chanyeol’s never found a silence he’s been comfortable in yet.

“So,” he says so brightly it makes himself wince more than Kyungsoo. That throws off any patter for small talk he thought he could manage, so with a sigh he joins Kyungsoo. The concrete is so cold on his back. “You know, this is the most I’ve spoken to anyone in weeks. I’m rusty. I didn’t used to be like this.”

Kyungsoo hums, a small sound that conveys a lot about how relieved he is that Chanyeol currently isn’t up to enthusiastic conversation. “Rusty,” he repeats, then shrugs. “This is just the Chanyeol you are right now. Everyone who knows you knows a different kind of Chanyeol. Maybe I’m different to usual, too.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I’m Sunday Kyungsoo,” he reasons, “Sundays aren’t like other days, I’m sure I behave differently.”

And with that they fall back into silence. It’s..not exactly unnerving having someone here to see him off, but Chanyeol’s insides are writhing in a way they haven’t since the first handful of times. Almost like it’ll be embarrassing to fail this time, now he has someone who knows what he’s planning to do.

The sky starts to redden along the horizon. Chanyeol will miss his cue if he doesn’t get climbing. He pushes back from the wall, and out the edge of his vision he sees Kyungsoo stiffen. It’s on the tip of Chanyeol’s tongue to demand that Kyungsoo doesn’t try to talk him out of it, but when he looks back Kyungsoo is just staring at him. Waiting. Ok, it is unnerving.

“I hate making phone calls,” Kyungsoo says, then scowls when Chanyeol laughs. “I do! This is unfair. I never call anyone. If the police trace me I’m going to kick you tomorrow.”

“That sounds fair,” Chanyeol smiles. It feels good to laugh. “Maybe you should kick me now, just in.. oh! That reminds me. Kyungsoo, look.”

Kyungsoo flicks a wary glance up to Chanyeol before obligingly leaning closer to where Chanyeol holds out his hand, fingers spread. Between each knuckle is a pink crescent dotted with scabs.

“They were there when I woke up.”

“Oh.” Kyungsoo’s eyes are so vastly deep in the fading sunlight. “Sorry.”

“No, no- I mean, the loop reset, but these are healing naturally. You left a mark on me that stayed.”

Kyungsoo’s mouth drops in realisation. He takes Chanyeol’s hand in his own, resting Chanyeol’s fingertips in his palm. “Do you think that’s good?” He ghosts the pad of a finger over one of the small wounds, feeling out the raised bumps. “Maybe we’re making progress in breaking it. Maybe..I don’t know. What do you..”

Chanyeol gulps down the lump in his throat, but it’s too late to stop the tears. Kyungsoo startles, quickly looking back down to Chanyeol’s hand.

“I don’t have any idea what it means,” Chanyeol admits. His voice comes out thick and strange. “I know this is my fault, and I’m self-centred and inconveniencing you and giving you nightmares, but..”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. His expression is a very specific kind of grief, like when Yoora said goodbye for the last time. Unused muscles reserved for situations people are rarely in, distorting their face. “Don’t worry about that. What is it?”

“Before I go, can..” Was Jongin the last person to touch Chanyeol? It can’t have been Sehun, but both seem so long ago now. “Can we just stay for a moment? I miss..”

“Of course. Yes. Of course, that’s ok,” Kyungsoo mutters more to himself than in reply. 

If Chanyeol knew him better he’d think he seemed flustered by the idea, but Chanyeol doesn’t. Kyungsoo is a stranger and probably feels awkward about holding hands with a man he’d only anticipated capturing and handing over. But once he’s gathered himself Kyungsoo covers Chanyeol’s hand with his other, holding him secure between two small, cold palms. And Kyungsoo gently manoeuvres, slotting his fingers into gaps that naturally fall between Chanyeol’s, covering his wounds. 

“It’s fine, Chanyeol. You’re fine.”

⇆

“It makes you think, doesn’t it,” Kyungsoo drops his head back to rest against the concrete.

Chanyeol obligingly grunts. 

“How many insignificant moments make up the day, when you relive them again and again. For me, at least. It’s making me realise how my day divides up. I do some things I like just because I can, some because I need to..even parts of my job I thought I hated, actually they’re quite satisfying. I realised there’s not much I’d change.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol offers. That’s nice for Kyungsoo but a pretty unrelatable sentiment. Chanyeol woke up today feeling like literal death warmed up and doesn’t have much to offer for company. Kyungsoo must have picked up on that quickly — he didn’t kick Chanyeol, and Chanyeol didn’t doubt that he would. 

“You know, I keep thinking I could do something really wild. No one would remember it tomorrow, so why not?”

“So why not,” Chanyeol echoes. 

“I wonder,” Kyungsoo laughs, a deep sound, “If I was younger, yeah. I’d have..I don’t know, got a tattoo, or shaved off my hair. Maybe stolen something expensive so I could spend half a night in a cell.” He pauses, but Chanyeol offers nothing. “It’s been helpful, honestly. This happening has helped me sort out some things that I needed time to think about.”

Chanyeol does manage a smile at that. He likes Kyungsoo’s company, if he’s honest. Likes learning more about this strange man who sensed his sadness; the type of person he would never have crossed paths with in normal circumstances. “I’m glad of that, at least.”

Kyungsoo’s smile is an odd shape. He looks a little like he’s wincing. It’s so genuine, it tends to prompt Chanyeol to respond. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t everyone need more time than they have? I feel kinda lucky.”

“Hmm.” Chanyeol ducks his head down. The tips of his ears are stinging with cold. If he’d just die already he wouldn’t have to keep getting cold every day. “You don’t have to keep doing this, though, Kyungsoo. I’ve done nothing to deserve all this time and kindness from you. I’ll keep working on fixing this so you can be free.”

“I don’t think you’ll believe me, but you don’t need to earn those things when you’re down.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. That’s exactly what kind people who don’t know any better say.

“My vigilance, however,” Kyungsoo is still smiling, “You have deserved that, Park Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol wonders if Kyungsoo would have smiled at him if he’d visited the restaurant. If Chanyeol had acted on his fondness for the place any day before this loop had started, just went in and sat at the counter. He’d have been any other guy, not a guy that Kyungsoo has watched crack open too many times to count. Kyungsoo doesn’t particularly strike Chanyeol as the service with a smile type.   

“Sorry.” Chanyeol has gravel prints in his palms again. Red indents he can feel when he brushes the sharp stone away. “It’s time, I have to go.”

“Ah..it is.” Kyungsoo doesn’t make to stand to see him off today. “Don’t think I’m calling the police for you every day, though.”

If Chanyeol has learned anything about his new companion, it’s that he will be calling the police every day. He sniffles, then forces a smile. “Hey, we should try something.” Chanyeol feels in his pocket and first finds his phone, keeps going until his palm is filled with ticklish roots. “Take an onion. See if it disappears when I do.”

Kyungsoo opens his hand for them. “Oh, you think I’m hiking up here tomorrow to tell you all about it? You know my only options after you’ve gone are the police or facing Halmeoni. If I leave before you jump then I have to make an excuse. I’m technically still in the middle of a shift.”

Chanyeol considers apologising, then considers Kyungsoo. “Have fun with the police, then,” he says. He’s hauled himself half over the wall before Kyungsoo reaches to give his foot a hard tug in response, a yelp followed by laughter echoing across the bridge.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. Kyungsoo waits on the bridge, shivering and jogging on his toes. He has theories on why the onions were still on his desk this morning. Chanyeol listens to them in a daze.

“I know this is gonna sound weird,” he says, hands planted on the wall ready to heave himself up, “But it was nice hearing you talk about your room. And your morning, and, stuff. I know that’s weird. But thanks for talking to me like I’m..” Chanyeol hesitates to say a normal person. Like someone who’s worth having a conversation with. Like..no, there’s no way to put it. He settles for: “Yeah, y’know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Kyungsoo’s standing with his arms primly folded behind his back and a smile so gentle Chanyeol can’t bear to keep looking. “Well, maybe you’ll die and won’t have to live with the embarrassment.”

Despite the cold Chanyeol feels heat rising in his cheeks. It’s definitely time to go. “That’s the plan!”

⇆

“You know what my grandmother always wanted me to do?”

Chanyeol turns his head to blow out a stream of smoke, then looks back to Kyungsoo with a frown. “Work in her restaurant?”

“Hmm?” Kyungsoo looks puzzled, then shakes his head. Then he says, “Oh, no, Halmeoni isn’t my grandmother,” and Chanyeol takes another drag of his cigarette so he has a reason to turn away again, embarrassed. “No, although I’m grateful to her. She’s taught me everything I could want to know.”

“I see,” Chanyeol mumbles, “No, I don’t know. What did she want you to do?”

“Travel to Paris and train there. Every year since I turned 13 she’d slip me money here and there. She insisted,” Kyungsoo smiles, “Thought it’d get me there eventually. But it has helped at times when the restaurant isn’t doing so well, and it made her happy.” 

Chanyeol attempts to smile back, but he’s cold and his own smoke is stinging his eyes. His own grandmother on his father’s side was similarly optimistic. He taps off ash. “You think you’ll work there your whole life?”

“Yeah, why not. I really did want to go to Paris when I was younger.” Leaning back on the bench, Kyungsoo’s smile turns more placid as he thinks. “Train classically, travel the world. Maybe even get famous and do tv work or write a book. I’d have preferred a book. But things change,” he shrugs, “I guess as you get older you can understand how wild some dreams are.”

It’s been a long time since Chanyeol has crossed the bridge to sit in the smoking area. It’s making him morose, seeing Kyungsoo’s small frame blotting out far less of the skyline than Sehun would. He didn’t want Kyungsoo in his flannel shirt with the restaurant heat quickly fading from him to stand out on the bridge while they talked, so they made their way over. Chanyeol hasn’t smoked in a while, either, but Kyungsoo said he didn’t mind. Kyungsoo gave him change to feed into the machine. It would be in his pocket again tomorrow, so why not.
 
“I get that,” Chanyeol mutters, “When you’re young you don’t even understand what you need to prepare for. None of my plans worked out in the end, even the tame ones.”

“I figured. Seeing as you’re—” 

“Kyungsoo. Can you stop doing that? You make some ‘well obviously, you’re jumping off a bridge’ comment every day.”

“Do I? Sorry. My memory of it is hazy,” Kyungsoo says, not looking sorry enough in Chanyeol’s opinion. He has a charm to him that shouldn’t work, that Chanyeol can’t quite figure out. By estimate he’d guess they’ve been meeting for over a week now, and Kyungsoo doesn’t unravel however much he talks. Kyungsoo can be abrupt and yet still caring, patience for days, no temper but a mean glare. He gives a little full body shiver, exaggerating it by squirming on the bench. “It’s so cold. I should start bringing a thicker coat to work.” 

Chanyeol makes a low sound in agreement. He’d wondered if it was a good idea to come here in case anyone passed by and saw them, but so far it’s been as silent as his home side. The only evidence of human life around here was the plastic lighter Kyungsoo retrieved from underneath a bench, having slipped through the slats and escaped its owner. The tip of the cigarette glows. Fresh ink still itching on Chanyeol’s arm acts as a preventative, but in his mind, just for a split second, it’s bare and burnable.

“I dated someone in my teens and kept their grandmother, if you wondered why I’m so close to Halmeoni,” Kyungsoo pipes up again, “Her family didn’t care for her much so we sort of took each other in. Hey— why don’t you come in and visit? You always stop off outside on your way, you should come in. I know I said we were closing up, but if I told her you were a friend she’d be more than happy.”

Chanyeol offers a little smile because it seems polite to. He’d only partially heard what Kyungsoo was saying, and unfortunately he has Kyungsoo’s full attention.

Having tried the enthusiastic approach, now Kyungsoo moves closer to him. The benches are wooden slats bent into wide circles, designed to have trees grow in the centres. Kyungsoo rests his arms on his knees and leans into the closest point where their opposite seats meet.

“I’m trying to be talkative because I assumed you were. You seem off today, Chanyeol.”

“I am talkative. Never shut up when it isn’t a Sunday.” He purses his lips around a final puff of smoke, then stubs the last of the stick out under his sneaker. Red sparks fly out and drift away toward the bridge. “I couldn’t stand the thought of my mother being told the news every day, you know? Her heart breaking every day. But somehow I just got this feeling. Like..” Emotion aches in his throat. “I dunno. I don’t think I should say it.”

“You can say what you like to me, Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo urges closer. “It’s likely I won’t remember it tomorrow.”

“That’s unfair on you.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, then eases back, giving Chanyeol space. “You can say what you like. Sorry to bring up the bridge every ten minutes, but I already know that part. You ended up there because of things you couldn’t tell anyone, right?”

Cold wind ruffles their hair. The sun has already long since passed this spot. Even the familiar sunset looks a little different from this angle.

“Maybe you’ll die if you tell me?” Kyungsoo offers.

Chanyeol tries not to smile, he really does. Kyungsoo sees it. He nudges the toe of his shoe against the side of Chanyeol’s sneaker; he’s here if Chanyeol needs him. Here even if he doesn’t want him. 

“I’m just sorry you have to be a part of this,” Chanyeol says, “You’re stuck here with me and that’s bad enough, let alone having to hear all this dumb stuff about me.”

“You don’t have to keep apologising for it. We’ve met because of this, so you may as well tell me if you’re never going to tell anyone else. It’s not like we met to be friends or colleagues, y’know?” Kyungsoo slopes to lean on his knees again, neatly keeping in his own space. In time Chanyeol is realising that Kyungsoo isn’t awkward about physical contact for Chanyeol’s sake. “We met because you were going to jump and I figured it out, that’s what connects us. So no offence, but I don’t care if you wouldn’t be good as a friend.”

“I don’t think we’d be friends. I’ve thought about that. If we met in a different way, I mean.”

It’s hard to say what the look Kyungsoo gives him means, but it makes Chanyeol’s stomach twist like he’s in trouble.

“What I’m saying is it doesn’t matter if I know the things you wouldn’t tell people that are close to you. It’s harder talking to people when you care what they think, no?”

“You think I don’t care about you?”

Kyungsoo drums his fingers together. “I care about you, too,” he says. It zips through Chanyeol like electricity. “But in a very different way to people who you’ve met in other circumstances.”

It’s getting annoying that Kyungsoo always has something to say that Chanyeol can’t disagree with. He reaches for the pack of cigarettes again and Kyungsoo says nothing about that. “Make you a deal.” It takes four flicks to get a flame from his borrowed lighter. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to make any more bridge comments.”

“I can’t promise because I might not remember I promised,” Kyungsoo reasons sensibly, like he seems to reason everything, “But I’ll do my best. And you can say your worst. Go ahead.”

The tear in Chanyeol’s jeans comes and goes. Some days he scrapes his knee on the wall and it bleeds, some days it’s a clean swing over. Yesterday was a bad one and he stares at the fraying hole, the circle of skin he could press embers to. “I feel like my mother knows. And every day she gets angrier and even less forgiving because I keep putting her through it. And..Hmm.” He shakes his head, waiting for his throat to relax. “It’d be less upsetting for her if I succeeded and she never had to discuss it with me, than if I broke the loop and we had to move on from this period in my life. That’s just..that’s how it is. She’s been through so much and she brought us up on those stories, but that’s what they are. She tells us, we don’t talk. If I could go back there isn’t anything I could say or do differently that wouldn’t still lead us here.”

Kyungsoo considers that for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry to hear that. Families are..” The wind changes direction. Kyungsoo waves away a trail of cigarette smoke, and for the first time Chanyeol notices a skin toned bandaid wrapped around his middle finger. “..down to luck. Like I was just saying about Halmeoni.”

Holding the cigarette by his knee so the smoke doesn’t bother Kyungsoo, Chanyeol takes a deep breath and looks away to the sky. The phantom sensation of a burn creeps under his skin. “Nothing you can do about it if your luck is bad, though.”

“No,” Kyungsoo sighs.  

When Chanyeol’s done smoking he’ll head back across the bridge. Kyungsoo nods. For a while he watches the tip flare red and smoke pour from Chanyeol’s mouth, and briefly Chanyeol feels like he’s 15 again. He practiced in secret so he could smoke in front of his friends without his eyes watering. They were impressed. His mother hit him, but his father was impressed, too.

“See you later, maybe,” Chanyeol offers as he comes to a stop on his usual spot.

Kyungsoo slows and turns back to face him. He’s been silent for the whole walk, and Chanyeol had started wondering if he regretted lending Chanyeol money. Or disliked the smell of smoke, maybe.

“Uh. Yeah, so I’ll..” he gestures awkwardly to the barrier wall. Hopefully today he can make it a clean sweep over the top if Kyungsoo is going to stand and watch. Kyungsoo isn’t even doing that, though, just looking at the ground. “Are you ok..?”

“Can I say something?” Kyungsoo asks, but by the way his hands ball into determined fists Chanyeol doesn’t take it as a question. He nods. “You can’t get rid of family, no, but you can find more. You can find people who would be your real family in a heartbeat if they could. And if family take advantage of someone because they’re family and feel they have a right to, it doesn’t mean you have to still owe respect to them by some kind of default. You don’t have to tell me more than you’re comfortable with. But if you wish you could sever ties from your family, you won’t get any grief about it from me. If you want to cut off from them then I’d support your decision.”

It’s like Kyungsoo deflates once his outburst has finished. He seems even smaller suddenly, arms around himself, drawn in tight. Stunned into silence, Chanyeol only just remembers to wave back when Kyungsoo raises a hand to him.

Today Chanyeol watches Kyungsoo leave first, marching determined short steps, probably conscious of eyes on his back. When Kyungsoo is out of sight, Chanyeol climbs.

It feels lonely on his personal section of the bridge today. Not the type he’s used to. Chanyeol watches his phone spin upward and drop out of sight and can barely breathe from how lonely it feels to be standing here. 

⇆

“You finally remembered a coat.” Chanyeol beams, pushing away from the wall and casually stuffing his hands into his pockets. He’d been picking around his nails.

Kyungsoo laughs, his fast steps turning into something of a rapid penguin march as he hurries the small distance left to Chanyeol. “Finally! After weeks I managed to remember to borrow Halmeoni’s.”

They come to a stop in front of each other, toe to toe. Kyungsoo’s 80% padded coat with shoes and fingertips sticking out. He’s holding a paper bag. All of this is unfamiliar. 

“You’re, um. You’re late? Did something happen?” Chanyeol attempts casual, but it sounds strained. He doesn’t want Kyungsoo to feel pressured to come out here every day or anything, but what he wants and what he hopes for aren’t the same. “Do you think the loop is changing?”

“Ah! No, actually, I just..” Kyungsoo holds the brown bag out like he’s offering it, then swings his arm back down. “You know I have to make an excuse to leave during my shift, but I wanted..well, I don’t know, I just thought. We don’t really do these, I had to do some searching.” This time he does hand it over, returning his arms stiffly to his sides.

Warmth seeps through the bag into Chanyeol’s hands. “You brought soup?” He pulls the small styrofoam cup out so the heat can fill his palm. It smells good even trapped under a plastic lid.

“Sorry it isn’t anything more interesting,” Kyungsoo shrugs, “Just thought you could do with warming up. We do yukgaejang,” he says as Chanyeol lifts the lid and peeks in, “It’s good. You should come in and try it.”  

“I usually eat an apple before I come here. It’s all I’ve eaten since the loop started,” Chanyeol says before thinking it might be odd to tell Kyungsoo his routine. The back of his nose is prickling and stinging at the thought of hot food in his belly. “I’m going to fucking cry over this soup and I swear to god if you laugh at me—”

“I don’t think killing me is going to get you out of this situation,” Kyungsoo cuts in, “I won’t watch you crying over soup.”

“I didn’t realise you were the chef. When you said you’d been clearing up I just assumed you waited tables.”

Every time Kyungsoo moves in his puffy coat he makes a sort of swishing sound. They’re  sitting back to back, and the slight movement of him shrugging makes him swish against Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Oh, I do a bit of everything. It’s a small kitchen, we’re both in and out. It’s easy to clean down at the end of the day. I make sure it is so I have time to clear the chairs before Halmeoni tries to do it herself.” 

“A chef and good at cleaning. You must be popular.”

“What is it that you do? Or..did? You said it had dried up, right?”

“Mm, yeah.” Even the gritty sludge at the bottom of the cup tastes so good. Chanyeol involves himself in the complicated matter of tilting it enough to get it moving towards the rim but not so fast it spills. “I make stuff.”

“You build things?”

“No, like, digitally. I could never settle between art and music so did some of both. Graphic design type stuff, and I make some music.” Spare for the cup itself, Chanyeol has eaten all there is to eat. Yukgaejang does sound good. He’s sure if Kyungsoo makes it then it must be amazing. “Honestly I did better with the music I just made as a hobby, though. I had a decent following, but it’s a competitive scene, you know?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t, but he nods earnestly anyway and says, “I can imagine,” even if he can’t.

“Yeah, I dunno. I got overambitious and started comparing myself to other artists. It’s like I wanted to achieve as much in three different areas as most people do in one, and somehow I thought I could. But it’s hard to do creative work when your head isn’t working. For a while I just didn’t have time to dedicate to my personal ideas, and then I didn’t have the energy, and eventually I was too sad to have the ideas anymore.”

“Creative work seems hard. Cooking is creative in a way, but more in that you learn and then adapt. Having to think of new things all the time..is probably why I’m better in a restaurant that’s had the same menu since I was born than trying to make books.” Kyungsoo holds back a laugh - Chanyeol hears the huff of breath. He drops his head back, fitting against Chanyeol’s nape. “Oh. Forgot how big you are,” he does laugh then, “I thought our heads would meet.”

Given the circumstances, it’s not as though this relationship needs to make any sense. Today that had weighed on Chanyeol when he woke up. It’s hard to say how many days they’ve known each other for; both of their memories are incomplete, hazy on the details of their conversations. Whether he’s really remembering it or just letting his imagination fill in the gaps, Chanyeol’s had this sense that he’s probably been overbearing. He’d just about convinced himself that Kyungsoo wouldn’t come today, finally sick of him, and then he showed up happy as anything. Only late because he’d been thinking of Chanyeol. It’s not like with Jongin, not contextually.

“Every day I wake up with my phone charged and I think about asking people if they’d miss me.” His phone, warm, thrown up at the sky and down at the river bed and always returned to its charger the next morning. “I know that’s manipulative. I’ve never done it, I wouldn’t. But honestly..it’s partly because I’m scared no one would respond. Why would they when I just abandoned the people who supported me?”

“I’ll subscribe.”

“And tomorrow you’ll be unsubscribed again.” Chanyeol slopes down, wriggling. His back against Kyungsoo’s coat sounds like balloons rubbing together. He knocks his head against Kyungsoo’s. “You know, I can’t remember eating before Sunday. After the first few loops I realised how long it had been since I really felt the sun. And now I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time I cooked or really just..enjoyed eating. Couldn’t tell you the last meal I had.”

Kyungsoo hums lowly. “It takes so much away, doesn’t it.”

It does. Chanyeol could place when he first started experiencing apathy towards life to an exact age if he thought about it. He thinks about how warm the contact between their backs is instead. This probably isn’t the right line of conversation to pursue if he wants to know more about Kyungsoo.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo’s fingertips venture over his own head to tap against Chanyeol’s skull. “Did you finish eating? You’ll be late.”

“Oh, now you want me to die.” With a sigh Chanyeol pushes away from Kyungsoo, onto his knees and then up. He slides the empty cup back into the bag. Giving Kyungsoo trash to take back with him feels like insult to injury. “How are your nightmares now, by the way?”

Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. He takes the paper bag from Chanyeol and neatly rolls the top. It takes him a long time to get as even as he wants.

“We don’t have to only talk about me, you know,” Chanyeol presses, and Kyungsoo shakes his head.

“Well you’re the one- wait.” Kyungsoo squints at Chanyeol. He really focuses, like he could make out the past through him if he just searches enough. Chanyeol offers a disapproving purse of his lips. The prompt sparks what Kyungsoo was looking for. He lowers his head. “I think I’m not supposed to say what I was about to say.”

Something even warmer than the food in Chanyeol’s stomach blooms inside him, immediately twisting with nerves. “Thank you. For the soup, and for remembering.”

“You’re welcome.” Kyungsoo shrugs his usual little shrug. His coat swish swishes as he raises then drops his hand, reaches to tug Chanyeol’s sleeve. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to go, I know you just have a preferred time. I was facing the sunset so..”

“No, I know,” Chanyeol says with a smile. He doesn’t say it’s getting harder to face the drop. He doesn’t say that if Kyungsoo refused to let him go he’s not sure if he could fight him off like he did before. “It is time, so..”

“I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Chanyeol nods, and then he climbs. Behind him he hears Kyungsoo’s coat swishing in a wave.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. Today he looks through his closet and takes out the sweater Jongin encouraged him to buy last Autumn. It’s a shade of mustard Chanyeol would never pick himself. It has a high neck and is warm, and looks pristine on account of his dislike for it. 

He goes through what has become his usual routine now - lotion for his arm, moisturiser from the pot that refills itself each day. Chanyeol brushes his teeth. Pauses and frowns at his reflection, unsure how his hair usually looks, how he used to style it. It mattered once, and then it stopped mattering, but it matters again right now.

“What do you think would happen if you didn’t jump?”

“There’s no other option.” Chanyeol knows this. It’s his loop, and he knows how to deal with it. “We’ll never get out of this if I don’t die.” 

Kyungsoo hums lowly, knuckling over his pursed lips. He drags the toe of a shoe back and forth through pebbles and scant grass. “So..do you think you’d die some other way if you didn’t jump?”

They met a little earlier today, catching each other at the top of the footpath. To keep out of the wind they clambered down the bank and found a spot under the bridge. It’s all echoing, graffitied concrete and empty cans and the river smell is intense. Neither of them have looked across to the spot where Chanyeol lands each day. 
 
“I’ve thought about it. It spooks me, honestly. I know what to expect with the bridge.” Chanyeol pats the great concrete column he’s leaning against. “If it had to happen some other way..I don’t know. Maybe I’d just get hit by a car on the way back or something.” Which would of course be worse - then he’d be killed, not die. Good, reliable bridge. 

“Or just fall over and hit your head. Then they’d make documentaries about you.”

Chanyeol lets out a startle laugh. “What?”

“You don’t think there’d be some ironic intrigue in a guy setting out to kill himself, turning back, and then dying by pure accident?”

“You have the worst sense of humour.” Chanyeol shakes his head. The high neck on his sweater makes his hair sit awkwardly, some of it tucking in and some getting lifted up to tickle his jawline. “You should tell me more about yourself so I can retaliate.”

“But why are you afraid?” Kyungsoo continues like Chanyeol didn’t say anything. He’s perched on the edge of a large square block that has a neat stencilled number sprayed onto it, and he slowly straightens and re-crosses his ankles. “You’d be succeeding, however it happened. Once you’re dead it won’t matter if it didn’t go to plan.” 

An awkward heat fills Chanyeol’s face. “That’s not the point.” The hotness prickles down the back of his neck and reaches his belly as tingling. “I spent a lot of time on that plan making sure it was worked out right. It’s the only thing I have done successfully, not accounting for ending up in a loop like this.”

Kyungsoo nods, sharp and dismissive. “But in that case what have you done since? We’ve been here for weeks and you just keep repeating what isn’t working.”

“What can I do?” Chanyeol snaps. Back when he used to feel things his temper was always quick to spark. The familiar wave of it washes upwards through him, heady and new and familiar at once. “The same thing happens every day. If I move anything or talk to anyone it doesn’t change anything. You excluded, obviously.”

“Are you even trying to find clues for how to make it end? Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo stops himself there, taking a slow breath. “I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong, that’s not how I meant it. I’m just saying, if your plan was so perfect and we’re still here, what if dying isn’t the end you think it is.” He must sense the tension; his tone softens to something deep velvet. If they were having a different conversation it would have made Chanyeol’s stomach swoop, but all he can feel right now is hot, bright anger.

“It has to be. I don’t have any unfinished business. No one cares if I’m here or not, what else is there to do? The universe is just fucking with me.”

“Maybe the universe is sending you a different kind of sign. And my memory may not be great, but I’m pretty sure I’ve cared for a while.” Kyungsoo says it so easily, so plainly. Chanyeol knocks the back of his head against the column with a jarring thud. Kyungsoo is a polite spectator to him kicking his soft heeled sneaker against the concrete until his blood is buzzing. When the thudding has stopped, he asks, “Are you wearing different clothing today?”

“Why are you like this?” Chanyeol pushes his hair out of his eyes to look directly at Kyungsoo. His skin is clammy from the sudden burst of exertion. “I never know if you’re disappointed or mocking me or just genuinely don’t care what happens to either of us. I can’t tell if you even like me when you say you do or if you’re just humouring me because I’m pathetic.” 

At that Kyungsoo moves, pushing away from his perch to stand level with Chanyeol. “How else am I supposed to handle the situation? I don’t want to demonise what you’re doing and make you feel worse, but I don’t want you to keep suffering. And I can’t wish for you to die as the solution to it, but I can’t hold onto you and beg you not to jump each day, can I?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think talking is valuable to us both,” Kyungsoo says, avoiding Chanyeol’s eyes, “It isn’t easy for me, either. I say I like you and care about you because I do, as much as I can in the time we..”

“Stop,” Chanyeol barks. It echoes around them, Kyungsoo withdrawing at the sharpness. “Stop all of this then. Don’t meet me anymore. Let me figure this out by myself if you’re so disappointed I haven’t done it yet.”

Kyungsoo’s giving him that look again with all the strange unused muscles, as though he’s just been informed of a death. Kicking back against the concrete again doesn’t startle the expression away like Chanyeol had hoped. If anything he’s the one getting intimidated, desperate to get Kyungsoo away with no idea how to.
 
“Do you really feel like I’ve been mocking you? Or are you just trying to make me angry so I’ll stop treating you like you deserve anything better.” However defiantly Kyungsoo stares Chanyeol down, he’s still so small facing up to Chanyeol’s anger. Kyungsoo’s hands visibly tremble as he wedges them under his arms, holding himself tight. “You just want me to feel the way you do about yourself to make it easier- because you’re scared of what happens if someone sees good in you. What do you want me to say? That I think you’re a shitty person and you’d be better off dead? Do you think I’m just too naive to see that you’re a bad person? Do you think I’m too nice of a person to understand what it’s like?”

Three things happen while Kyungsoo wipes his eyes and refills his lungs: Chanyeol lets out the most wretched sob, as big as a whole apple pushing up in his throat. Then the apple comes too, and he gags. He turn sharply to retch and stumbles, and he lets the motion carry him. He runs without turning back, easily scaling the unfamiliar river bank and not slowing until the familiarity of the footpath.

Chanyeol jumps the wall quickly because he knows Kyungsoo can’t. He can’t be followed once he’s on the other side. And then he waits and waits and waits, until he’s sure Kyungsoo won’t be down there to see him land.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. He closes his eyes, covers them with his palms to blot out the light. He doesn’t wake instinctively thinking about his letters on the table anymore, his stack of books. Chanyeol doubts that he dreams in the space between fall, loop, wake, but Jongin was on his mind as the world came into focus.

He and Jongin dated for 8 months. Mutual friends of friends, they were shuffled together in an effort to get shy Jongin out of his shell and anxious Chanyeol away from his desk. It didn’t take long to realise that Jongin wasn’t really shy at all — he was bashful, easy going, and on their second date he spontaneously danced to music Chanyeol had composed then collapsed into giggles. Chanyeol often suspected it was just that his kind nature was misread. Jongin loved women in every sense but the one most men do, he was a beautiful dancer, he loved cuddling with soft cute things and staying home to watch movies in his own comfortable space. Jongin was content, not shy.

It’s not that Chanyeol was anxious, either, as such. It was just a popular word their circles of friends used to describe every day hinderances so could only extend to him to explain how he was. Jongin used it, too, even if it never fitted quite right. They understood each other more by guesswork than by description, but meeting Jongin was like surfacing for air.

It was Jongin’s same confident love of life that Chanyeol stumbled on first. More and more he felt Jongin could be a better, more vibrant version of himself if he let Chanyeol go. The insecurities would spike at random, his guilt lingering for longer each time Jongin soothed him. Jongin’s breathless, loving kisses became harder to accept when he used his strong dancers’ body to take over where Chanyeol’s depression was causing him to fail. Chanyeol knew he didn’t deserve someone as bright and beautiful as Jongin; it was Jongin’s kind nature that stopped him from seeing it. That’s what he’d thought at the time, why he couldn’t let Jongin make his own misguided decisions.

“I was wrong. I was wrong, I was wrong, I know I was wrong,” Chanyeol mutters, pawing through the envelopes on the table to reach Jongin’s. Today, too, just in case, he’ll destroy it.

“You’re still here. I thought..” Kyungsoo stops in front of Chanyeol. He doesn’t meet his eye, and then he does. They both instinctively wince, like it stings. “I don’t know what I thought. My shift ended and there was no commotion outside. I was starting to think you must have gone somewhere else.”

Chanyeol shrugs. Hands buried deep in his pockets, he weaves an onion root between his fingers. “It didn’t feel right, leaving and not letting you know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” Kyungsoo mumbles, head low. He’s zipped up tight in a jacket that’s weathered like it’s been back and forth to work with him for years. He’s wearing both straps of a brandless backpack neatly on his shoulders and has thick framed glasses. He looks more like a student than the man Chanyeol is used to. “Idiot. What if that was it? What if you needed me not to be here? I thought..I thought you’d done it and the loop had broken and that’s why the day was continuing like usual. I thought you’d gone and the last time I saw you-”

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming, either.”

Kyungsoo shifts the weight of his backpack and looks left, at the sky. “You’ve missed your usual slot.”

“You wear glasses?”

“Mm.” Kyungsoo pinches Chanyeol’s sleeve between his thumb and finger and tugs, encouraging him to start walking and stop staring directly. “You’re lucky I could even see you up here from the riverbank. You were so fuzzy I could have been shouting at a tree for all I knew.”

A smile tugs the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth. “I’m not that tall.”

“A sapling, then. With yellow blossoms.” Kyungsoo glances up at Chanyeol. Chanyeol uncertainly side-eyes him and Kyungsoo looks back to the path. “They’d just steam up in the kitchen so I don’t bother with them at work.”

Thoughts of Jongin had occupied Chanyeol this morning, but if they hadn’t he’d have been at a loss over Kyungsoo’s absence. Waiting for him on the bridge he’d had some ideas, albeit stupid ones. He visualised banging on the restaurant door until the old lady came. She’d tell him where Kyungsoo lives and wish him well. Like there’d be nothing crazy and overboard about showing up at his apartment: ‘why didn’t you come and report my suicide today?’

“Do you remember like, in the late-2000’s when people used to have those free hugs signs?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kyungsoo replies. His backpack is pressed to the wall, and whatever is inside it must be soft and unimportant - now and then he uses it to push himself forward, hanging on his toes before cushioning himself from the concrete with it again.

“I did that. I set up outside a station with this big cardboard sign. Hardly anyone came over for a hug, but I don’t blame them. Some tall teenage boy with weird hair is enough to make most people distrusting anyway, right?”

Kyungsoo is still puzzling over the concept and nods. It’s easier to meet his eye now they’re settled in their usual spot.

“I was genuine though, you know? I give good hugs. It would have been..y’know, at that age, it was embarrassing telling anyone I cared about other people being lonely. Or that I was sad I’d grown out of my mother hugging me and missed it. It was just one of those weird trends at the time, so it was like..I got to have my lame emotions but look cool at the same time.”

“Chanyeol, I didn’t understand any of that. But things are ok.” Kyungsoo faces him, all of that direct alarming intense focus. He shrugs his backpack off, the straps sliding smoothly over his waterproof jacket. The way he opens his arms isn’t an offer; it’s just where Chanyeol needs to be. “Come on. Come here.”

“It’s a long way down.” Chanyeol aims for sullen teasing but lands on trying-not-to-cry. A firm hand guides him to Kyungsoo’s shoulder, pulling him in until he’s curled around Kyungsoo. He feels Kyungsoo’s silent laugh in a hot breath over his ear, a vibration through all the points of contact. It’s easy to fit his arms all the way around Kyungsoo, lock his hands around him and squeeze. 

“I don’t know that I give good hugs, so you’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. The cold tip of his ear brushes Kyungsoo’s neck. “I shouldn’t have behaved like that. I got angry because I know you’re right. I’ve done this over and over. I get scared people don’t want me in their lives and then sabotage it so they have no choice. And then feel even worse about myself because they’re gone, because of me.”

“I think..it can be both things. It isn’t a free pass to treat people unfairly with no consequence, but it hurts if they don’t understand what you’re really trying to tell them.”

“I don’t think I understand that either. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” Chanyeol says, and his voice wobbles as Kyungsoo’s fingers brush his nape.

“You’re feeling and learning things. That’s good.”

No words come to Chanyeol in response. Pressing his cheek to Kyungsoo’s shoulder brings back a foggy memory of the first Sunday, sitting cross-legged on the rug, his head too heavy to read. Warmth seeps into his back from Kyungsoo’s hand and then the soft, rhythmic pats to his hair start. Kyungsoo cradles him, just for a second, and then works his fingertips through strands, feeling for signs of tenderness.

“Does it hurt? From yesterday.”

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Kyungsoo’s sigh is loud beside Chanyeol’s ear. His hand stays in his hair, absently stroking. “You give good free hugs, Chanyeollie.”

⇆

Chanyeol has begun brushing his teeth each day. He’s in the bathroom anyway, for the lotion, and he’s come to like the rhythmic nature of it. When his mouth is tingling and full of foam it reminds him of highschool and how diligent he was with his winning smile. Seeing as he and Kyungsoo have been getting pretty close recently it feels impolite to show up with a three day furry mouth.

When Chanyeol is in the bathroom applying moisturiser and debating what to do with his hair he often thinks of Kyungsoo. That he’d like to look nice for him. Not anything over the top, of course, just better than Chanyeol’s standard day to day. Kyungsoo is like all other people are; showered and presentable and functioning, at work on time, sensible clothes and a logical mind.

Kyungsoo’s presence is like a physical weight in his chest. Every day Chanyeol is eager to see him and terrified that he won’t be there. Kyungsoo laughing at his stupid stories, the funny little run Kyungsoo breaks into, the way Kyungsoo likes his own space but always extends into Chanyeol’s with firm confidence. Chanyeol would think of their encounters all evening if the bridge was a daily commute he returned home from, but he makes do with the piecemeal recollections as they come to him. The more he likes Kyungsoo the more exhilarated he is to leave the apartment, and the more he curses himself for letting this happen.

“I had a bad breakup because someone loved me and I punished myself for it. I wish my father was dead. I don’t think I have it in me to kill him myself, but I’ve fantasised some very specific scenarios about accidents and health issues. My sister is the only person who understands and looked out for me but I haven’t seen her in years, and my mother would be so disappointed if she even knew I’d been planning this that she’d wish I’d succeeded so she could make up her own version of events—” Chanyeol lists off, tapping a finger for each item. Kyungsoo’s mouth has dropped in surprise, but he says nothing to interrupt. “—I fucked up and hurt my best friend so bad I don’t think he’ll ever speak to me again. I lost a big upcoming job and then my work dried up because the sadder I get the slower I am. Maybe— maybe I’ve never really felt able to accept myself the way other people do, and maybe although I thought I had support from my family it was actually conditional and I grew up wrong so I’ve always felt like a disappointment for every choice I’ve ever made.”

“That’s-

Chanyeol holds up a hand. “Please don’t stop me or I won’t be able to finish. I want to tell you everything, and then maybe you’ll be freed from this. I started looking forward to seeing you and I— I shouldn’t do that, that’s not the purpose of you being here. So I wondered if maybe the clue related to you being here with me, and if you know everything then it’ll let us go.”

“Ok,” Kyungsoo replies softly. He folds his hands at his front. The bandaid around his finger is edged with green fluff from his flannel shirt.

Ok. Chanyeol inhales deeply and mentally digs for every negative thought he’s had about why Kyungsoo should have nothing to do with him. “I know I’m young, but I feel like I’ve been exhausted for years. The last time someone really cared for me I felt like an imposter. I haven’t been able to sleep for most of my life and it isn’t that I don’t try, but no matter what I do it’s always still 3am. I didn’t get a real job that actually gives me a purpose in society because I believed I could make a change with my creativity, but I haven’t been able to reach that part of myself for so long and let down my supporters. I was into everything as a kid but nothing makes me feel anything anymore. When I feel real bad I burn myself instead of trying to do anything useful about it. My whole family is fucked up and sometimes I think they actually enjoy it, and sometimes I think maybe I do too because it’s easier being messed up than trying to blend in with people I can’t understand. I think my mother wanted us to have it as bad as her, and..and sometimes I don’t want better for other people, I don’t find it fair that we have to hide all of this to fit into other peoples judgements because they got lucky and had a normal family.”

To his credit, Kyungsoo barely reacts. If he hadn’t smoothed down his wind ruffled hair he might not have moved at all.

“I didn’t know that last part until I said it,” Chanyeol admits breathlessly, “I feel too far away from normality to believe anyone that this shit gets better. It feels like everyone else manages to cope with the bad things that happen to them, and my mother tried to raise me better than this, but I can’t seem to get past it. I don’t see how it can get better when all of this has been inside me for so many years.” 

Kyungsoo picks at the bandaid, keeping his eyes down. His nails are wide and neat, like he must have trimmed them just before the loop started. “I think you just need some help, Chanyeol. To find people who understand and can show you how things can be more manageable.” 

“I can’t afford help. Even if I could—”

“Your mother has a lot to answer for.” Kyungsoo purses his lips tightly, and Chanyeol groans, dragging his hands down his face. 

“I’m nearly 30. What’s the point in trying to figure it all out now after this long.”

“What if you live to 90?” Kyungsoo says plaintively.  

Then Yoora will be even older. A time that far away feels impossible when Chanyeol has never lived his life able to picture more than a few months ahead. “I’m doing my best not to.”

Without realising they’ve slowly wandered straight past Chanyeol’s usual spot. He’s considered switching it up — he did only end up there by chance the first time — but he understands the layout. He never wants to slip over the edge by accident again.

“Thing is though..better is subjective, not a specific way of life. And how are you supposed to even start making positive progress when all people are doing is weighing on your conscience? Whether it’s your family, the people who follow your music, your best friend..if everyone kicks you while you’re down then how do they expect you to get back up and start putting things right? All these other people are on your mind all the time when you should be thinking about yourself, too.” 

“Sorry.”

“No..” Kyungsoo only realises then that Chanyeol has started to turn back. “I’m not angry with you,” he clarifies, walking in a wide arc to follow Chanyeol down the footpath, “I’m angry with them. You need kindness, not shame.”

A few weeks ago — weeks in real time, not loop time, Chanyeol asked his mother if he could bring some laundry home. He’d do it himself, of course. Without realising he’d let it build up until he’d found himself buying cup ramen in pyjama pants. He didn’t tell her the part about his own apartment being strung up with laundry like they were Christmas decorations. She wouldn’t let him touch the bag he brought to the family home. Working my fingers to the bone for my children even at my age she’d laughed as she ran water into the kitchen sink. He sat beside her at the table, eyes fixed on her kneading soap through his t-shirts the way she used to before they could afford a machine, his chest too tight to breathe. That was what had started his tidying frenzy, what gave him a determined focus on leaving his home presentable. “As previously discussed, I’ve done nothing to deserve any.”

“And as previously discussed, you keep talking about needing to deserve these things and you don’t. You have a right to kindness, you shouldn’t need to earn it. Even if people don’t know what you’ve been through.” Kyungsoo’s mouth twists. It’s instinctive now that he reaches across to squeeze Chanyeol’s arm. “And I am sorry that you’ve been through it and so much hasn’t healed.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. The breath he blows out is thick mist. He’s late again. “I’m not a good person, Kyungsoo. I think and feel so many bad things and make people unhappy.”

“Things go wrong and other people are to blame too, it’s not just you.”

“You’re not getting what I’m saying, Kyungsoo.” 

“Explain it to me, then.” Kyungsoo leans back against the wall, and Chanyeol wonders when this started to become so familiar. That a bridge and its barriers and well-trodden path could feel so personally theirs.

“Ok. Ok.” Chanyeol’s heart and stomach lurch around like they’re trying to switch places. He hadn’t thought much further ahead than the part where he solved the problem. Spilled his guts and then the Kyungsoo he’d been wishfully imagining would be zapped back to his restaurant with no knowledge of Chanyeol until the news broke that evening, and then he’d forget that too. “It’s that..the problem is that I’d forgotten how it felt to have someone else in my life and for it to mean so much. I like meeting you every day. The thought of seeing you and talking and what we’ll find to do makes me look forward to getting out of the apartment. Like, shit, I think I’ve been taking better care of myself the past few days than I have done in months. I feel like I can do it— I want to do it, maybe kinda even enjoy it and seeing myself again, knowing you’ll be waiting.”

Kyungsoo’s mouth works silently for a moment. His frown is deep but his eyes are clear and shining in the low light. “And..is that a bad thing? You think that’s bad?”

“I’m the bad thing. This happened to you because you were kind.”

“But the thing is, Chanyeol..did you tell me all of that when you arrived because you want me to help you resolve any of it, or because you want me to agree that you’re beyond help?” Kyungsoo asks slowly, picking his words carefully after the last time. It still makes all of the air in Chanyeol’s lungs turn burning. “You said if you told me everything then maybe it would break the loop, but in what way?”

“So you could make your own decision about me. I listened to what you said, and I know I can’t just tell you how to feel.”

Kyungsoo cups a hand over his mouth and coughs lightly. Chanyeol looks away so he doesn’t have to watch his big eyes clogging up with tears. “And you think me seeing who you are and rejecting it will break the loop?”

Chanyeol nods. He bites down on his lip so hard, but it can’t stop the wounded sound leaking out. If Kyungsoo left him alone in the world now he would die. He knows he would die, whether it was jumping from the bridge or the sadness disintegrating him. “I asked the universe what I needed and you appeared. And now I like you so much.”

A tiny, surprised sound comes from Kyungsoo’s mouth and vanishes on the wind. He sniffles and dabs the edge of his eye with a sleeve pulled tight into his fist. “Then I think you already knew I wasn’t going to push you away for sharing all of that with me.”

“That’s why I never make plans for the future, ‘cause the present doesn’t tend to work out how I’d hoped.” Chanyeol laughs wetly. He presses his palms into his eyes until glowing colours fill the darkness. “I’m..I’m gonna go now. Thank you for listening for so long like usual.”

“Need a hand up? You struggle when you’re sad. I’ve seen you slipping climbing up before.” Kyungsoo, as always, has a terrible, morbid sense humour. It’s all part of Chanyeol’s fondness for him, even if he sort-of whines and sort-of sobs in response. 

“Turn around and don’t watch now you’ve made me self-conscious about it,” he says, waving Kyungsoo off, “It’s late, get home soon.” 

Kyungsoo nods. He hesitates, frozen in movement between turning away and stepping forward. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says eventually.

“If it works..” Chanyeol flattens his hands to the wall and gulps down the next wave of emotion. It’s sadness and joy and the hopelessness of resolutions that will only exist for the same few hours over and over, all balled up and hard to swallow. “Then I hope you live a good life, Kyungsoo, you’re a nice person.”

The hard mud at the bottom of the drop over the wall is as perfectly untrodden as always. Chanyeol leans his back to concrete, eyes closed to the view. This really, really does not get easier with practice.

From behind the wall there’s a crunch of gravel. Kyungsoo audibly inhaling to raise his voice. “It can’t work today. Because you told me everything and I still care about you.”

Chanyeol is not going to cry again; he must have cried all 29 years worth of repressed tears in the past few loops. “Go home, Kyungsoo. You know how fast it gets dark after this point.”

“I’m going,” he calls, “But you just gave me even more to be nice to you about, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

⇆

“Wow, you look even worse than usual.”

Chanyeol turns, caught off balance. The world briefly spins as his heavy head catches up with the movement. “Bad loop cycle. I felt so terrible I actually fell back asleep.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re late. I was wondering if I’d missed you going past.” When Kyungsoo smiles with his glasses on his cheeks touch the thick rim. He pushes his hands into his coat pockets and nudges Chanyeol as he overtakes him. “It’s good to see you. Even if you do look like you actually died.”

Chanyeol groans, clapping a hand over his face and then smoothing back his hair. “Is it that bad? It feels that bad.” He’d hurried out of the apartment with no time for teeth, lotion, or an apple. The shock of cool air was a relief; his skin all felt thin and tender and burning today. “Not enjoying this thing where I open up and then have to deal with it. Can we slow down? I’m fragile.”

“Soon,” Kyungsoo calls without turning his head, his backpack jogging up between his shoulder blades as he hurries along, “I ran out so quickly, I could tell Halmeoni was using her sixth sense on me. But so long as she doesn’t see us together it should be fine.” 

Alarmed, Chanyeol casts a quick glance back at the street and speeds up. 

Kyungsoo leads them to a bus stop a little way along from the entrance to the bridge. Something about it being his usual hide-out while the sirens rush past. Easier to be in plain sight and act shocked if they stop to ask questions, he explains. Some days they do, some they don’t, just depends on the time.

It consists of a single wooden bench, bright orange wood to match the painted strip on the side of the slanted roof. One wall panel is papered with timetables and the other is a thick perspex sheet showing overgrown bushes through it. Only the left side has a sheltering wall. There’s a poster there — no frame covering it, just paper that’s swollen in areas the paste was too thick.

“Come sit with me.” 

Chanyeol folds his hands behind his back like an old man to bend down and study the poster. The ending date on the promotion only passed a week ago, but it seems to have weathered for as many days as Chanyeol has been coming to the bridge. His sore spine feels the same, honestly. “I’ve lived here a while and had no idea there was a museum so nearby. Think there’s a gallery? That totally would have been on my bucket list.”

“Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo pats the bench encouragingly, then sidles along further like more space will be more welcoming.

“Did you see that they installed heated seats in the bus stops in Ansan? It was on twitter.” Just an enclosed waiting area would be good. The bus must take a direct route to the museum — if Chanyeol had known he’d have definitely gone. He wanders the small space, taking in all there is to see. It’s so close to his familiar spot yet is part of the loop he was unfamiliar with, same as Kyungsoo has never seen the other side of the barrier wall.

“Chanyeol, come sit,” Kyungsoo repeats, “I want to tell you something about myself. If I change my mind before you get here, then..”

Anything about Kyungsoo would be valued information. Sometimes Chanyeol figures it was only the shock that made Kyungsoo admit he works in the restaurant. “I’m there.” He scoots onto the bench beside Kyungsoo. Their thighs bump. “Really?” Chanyeol yanks his left ankle up to cross over his right knee, giving Kyungsoo the little space available.

“In the hope that either you or I will forget about it,” Kyungsoo replies with a pained expression, “But I think you’ve probably earned it after everything you said before. You deserve to know more about who I am, too.”

“Sounds sinister.” Chanyeol beams, suddenly completely cured of the loop induced hangover he’s been suffering from. 

“It’s not,” Kyungsoo says, then folds in on himself, elbows to knees and fingers cupped around his glasses. “Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe it is? I wouldn’t be nervous if it wasn’t weird.”

For once it’s Chanyeol’s turn to reach out. Unsure how much comforting contact Kyungsoo is tolerant of, he pats just above his backpack. Cautiously, like Kyungsoo might suddenly sprout claws. “Weird is fine. Have you ever known me not be weird?”

Kyungsoo snorts, lowering his hands from his face. “Not yet, no. Alright.” He sighs, stretching out again and decisively planting his hands on his thighs. “I’m..ok. I’m..”

“An alien? An FBI agent investigating time loops?”

“Quiet,” Kyungsoo says with a warning side-eye, but he does smile. With an audible inhale and sigh, he tries again. “This is..I don’t know how to say it so I’ll just..I’m really lonely, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol frowns, the upbeat tension that’s been thrumming through him immediately lowering.

“I’d like friends, but I’m a total introvert. Loud places make me feel all..I don’t know, unsettled inside. I can’t stand being in crowds, I don’t like plans that require too much effort. I’d like that casual companionship people have when they come to the restaurant and talk for hours, but I’ve never been able to maintain everything that comes with it.” Kyungsoo winces. “Haven’t been willing, maybe I should say. I don’t mean to be distant and cold to people, but I don’t want the investment so I just..get like that.”

There’s a lot of protests rushing around in Chanyeol’s mind, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about while we’ve been trapped like this. Before we met— when we did meet and I said the time had been helpful, this was what it gave me space to reflect on. I realised that for years I’ve poured all of my energy into my job so I don’t have to think about other people, then I go home and reason that I need to relax from work. And then another week has passed and I haven’t made any effort to stop being lonely. I guess after this long I’m scared of even figuring out where to start.”

“But you’re great,” Chanyeol blurts, “Sorry. But you are? That isn’t how you’ve come across to me at all.”

Kyungsoo rubs his fingers through the long stubble at the back of his neat haircut. “Ah, well..I think being in this situation made me more confident. It’s not like I really had time to doubt if you’d want to be approached by me, I couldn’t even think like that. I can’t lie and say I was sure of what I was doing, but it’s..this isn’t anything like normal life, is it. We haven’t gotten to know each other the way people usually do.”

“As far as I recall this has been nicer than a bunch of casual friendships with people you waste time with but barely know.” Chanyeol straightens his legs out, digging his heels into loose gravel. His feet stick out far beyond Kyungsoo’s. If anyone saw them they’d just look like two friends waiting for a bus, about to be taken away from here together. “So..I’m guessing you haven’t dated in all that time either?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned that much information.” Kyungsoo swats at him lightly. “Are you even surprised? Or was it obvious I had no idea how to talk to you.”

It’s the first time Chanyeol’s heard Kyungsoo sort of whine. It’s making him more animated than usual. Please, he begs his brain from the inside, still remember this moment tomorrow. “I’m surprised because you’re like, really easy to talk to and the most reasonable guy I’ve known. Me and all my friends are losers. Ah, my ex wasn’t, though, I wouldn’t speak bad of him. He was way too ambitious for the crowd he ended up in.” Chanyeol says it without thinking, hearing the pronouns coming from his mouth and seizing up for the brief moment before Kyungsoo nods thoughtfully.

“He move away?”

“I hope so. He was the kind of person who just wanted to do what he did for the love of it, you know? But he deserved to go places with it. And if he got out of here after we broke up I’m sure he is.” The thought hadn’t occurred to Chanyeol before. He hopes that’s what happened. Even if Jongin’s heart did break briefly, even if Chanyeol was unfair, at least the end result is that it led him somewhere better. He hums, pressing his lips in a tight line for a moment. “So..when we get out of the loop do you think you’ll start making friends? Now you know this turned out ok?”

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen, then droop low. He starts picking at the band aid around his finger. “Ah..no, I don’t want to. I don’t think anyone else would be as easy to talk to as you. I don’t think I’d want to hear what they have to say, either.” 

“You mean the thoughts you organised were that you’re happy staying as you are?

“Something like that. I’ve felt bad about it, with you not knowing this about me. I’m sure to you it must have just seemed like I was excessively kind, but I think it was..” Kyungsoo abruptly clears his throat, turning his head to the side. If Chanyeol reached and touched his cheek right now he’s pretty sure it would burn. “..maybe some neediness on my part, to an extent. The nightmares and calls to the police each day started seeming worth it for the time we got together. But it’s also like..I could only finally have a person in my life because you..well, you were kind of trapped there.” 

“Hold on.” Laughter hitches in Chanyeol’s chest, bursting up around his fluttering heart. He presses a hand to Kyungsoo’s knee. Kyungsoo startles, relaxes into it. Still scowls. “So wait, you thought I wouldn’t like you, and I thought you wouldn’t like me. And then I got upset because I didn’t want you to like me, and now..you’re sorry that I had no choice but liking you?”

“I think we should stop talking about this now,” Kyungsoo groans.

“If you want,” Chanyeol grins, almost dizzy with how ridiculous their situation is. A sobering thought follows, though, and his smile drops. “Ah, but..would it be wrong of me to say I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for so long? I mean, because I hate it. I don’t like that I shut myself off to work and when I feel down. Isolating is a way of hurting myself, I think. But we’re different types of people, so. Yeah. If you’re happy that way then..thank you for letting me into your life.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “You didn’t give me much choice, Chanyeol. Seems like the universe was fucking around with me too by summoning me up like that, huh.” He doesn’t sound annoyed about it. He stops fiddling with the band aid to drop his hands into his lap. His knuckles brush Chanyeol’s hand, and then he turns and opens and curls all of his fingers around Chanyeol’s thumb. “Believe it or not, even given the circumstances I find you pretty nice company. I’m glad that it was you. But you’d better have forgotten all of this by next time.”

The sky is already turning dusky, past Chanyeol’s usual time. He looks down towards the bridge and past it at the long stretch of road, like any minute now the bus will rumble into view. 

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. Three loops have passed and Chanyeol resolutely hasn’t forgotten a word Kyungsoo said to him.

“Ah, nearly, shit—” Chanyeol shoves his toothbrush in his mouth and races out to his desk. By the time he’s grabbed a pen the thought is gone. “Goddamnit. Come on. Come on,” he drums his palms against his head like it’ll summon the thought back up, but to no avail.

Something he has forgotten every word of is lyrics. They begun stringing together a few loops ago while he was pacing around in the mud, working up to the jump. The first three lines are safe. Each morning he’s noted them down again to ensure that they’re firmly embedded in his mind, but further than that gets foggy.

“Rusty,” he reasons to his reflection once he’s given up and traipsed back to his small bathroom. “Dunno when I even last wrote a song.”

⇆

Chanyeol is too early. He’s outside the restaurant shuffling his feet against the edge of the large grey slab leading to the door, on his second read through of the menu. The growl from his empty stomach feels like it’s pushing at his insides, angry that he’d keep filling it with apple instead of any of the delicious things Kyungsoo makes.

Between the menu sheets, hygiene certificates, and faded photos of cuts of meat, there isn’t much of the restaurant visible inside. The lights are already down and through the window glare Chanyeol can just make out rows of wooden stools all still set out for service. He ducks down to pick onion roots from the crate. They must be different ones, he realises, on account of the ones he gave Kyungsoo remaining on Kyungsoo’s desk. Would Kyungsoo have kept onion roots? Just for loop-figuring-out purposes, obviously.

Chanyeol frowns. Would the onions now belonging to Kyungsoo keep regenerating on his desk? Or are they ageing day by day? He should ask. He stands to peer through the window again and comes face to face with wide eyes staring out. Chanyeol’s stomach swoops and Kyungsoo startles, abruptly vanishing backward into the dim room. Oops.

“Yes, I know— thank you, I know,” Kyungsoo is saying over his shoulder as he pushes the door open, “I know, Halmeoni, I’ll..” he glares fiercely at Chanyeol, keeping himself situated firmly between the open door, his time loop buddy, and the eager old woman, “I’ll tell you who he is later. Please leave the floor for me to clean tomorrow morning, I’ll be in early.”

“Oh, you’re a liar,” Chanyeol says gleefully as Kyungsoo stomps down the stone slabs towards him. “‘I’ll tell you later.’ I mean, you’re the one that said she’d be happy if she thought you had a friend.”

“That was a hypothetical point. And before we were friends. Actually,” Kyungsoo’s pitch raises, and Chanyeol stifles a laugh, “Tolerating your company and friendship aren’t the same thing. I never agreed that you’re my friend now.”

“She won’t even know it happened by the time you see her again!”

“She’d better not, Park Chanyeol. On the one hand I’m proud of you for taking this step. Really, I never thought when I first started seeing you that we’d reach a point where you’d come and harass me at work,” Kyungsoo stresses, waving his hands. Only the tips of his fingers stick out from his coat sleeves. He doesn’t need to finish the thought - he seems to sense it would only make Chanyeol grin wider. 

They head for the bridge, Kyungsoo’s smaller steps faster than usual. By the time they reach the turning he’s still fussing over his short hair and how his shirt collar sits within his zipped up coat, like he has been since they set off.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” Chanyeol offers, not sorry at all. “But this is what happens if you’re nice to people. Maybe next time I’ll open the door and ask for you.”

“You can succeed today if you’re planning on that,” Kyungsoo mutters. He grabs Chanyeol’s wrist and tugs, turning him away from the footpath.

“Well, that’s always the goal,” Chanyeol says, but all he’s thinking about is the hour ahead with Kyungsoo, “Bus stop?”

“Better than sitting on the ground.” Kyungsoo doesn’t need to pull Chanyeol the entire way there but he doesn’t seem like he’s letting go. Chanyeol is happily tugged along by his arm, his clattering footsteps half the speed of Kyungsoo’s.

⇆

“I guess as friendships are topical right now you should tell me about the best friend who disowned you.”

Chanyeol wilts. “You remembered.”

“Mm, bits and pieces. It’s like remembering a dream.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “If you don’t mind me saying, I get the feeling it hurts you more than the breakup.”

“I don’t really..I dunno.” 

Kyungsoo joins him in slouching down on the bench. The timetables are held to the wall by a large frame that rattles under their backs. “Something you don’t want to tell me? Was it that bad?”

“More about telling it sensitively, I think,” Chanyeol grimaces. Not that Kyungsoo has been anything but understanding up until now, but.. “When I die, if by some chance you ever meet him, you have to promise you won’t let on that you knew anything.”

“I promise,” Kyungsoo says firmly, and that leaves Chanyeol figuring out where to start.

“To be honest I was angry with him at the point the loop started,” Chanyeol admits. After this long he can’t remember what he wrote in the note to Sehun, but it probably isn’t what he’d say now. That’s the problem with all of them — there’s nothing different he can say now he’s had space to think things through. “Like of course I was sad and I missed him, but part of the reason I assumed we’d never resolve it was because I didn’t want to say sorry like I was the only one in the wrong. But yeah, so. So it’s like..um. He isn’t out, but everyone who meets him knows he’s gay. I don’t..you know I don’t mean that in a bad way, he just..”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo offers, with feeling.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol agrees, “He thinks he hides it, but he..just can’t. But I’ve always defended him when he’s needed it, even if it’s obviously true. And he had this super huge crush, like, in love for a year crush, on this guy who came to his job to do some training thing. And Minseok- the guy, he’s really nice, and he was receptive to it. Like, he was fine? I got to know him and he couldn’t have been more obvious that he liked Sehun. But if I ever tried to raise the issue or even mention that I’d seen Minseok he’d go quiet on me for days. Anyway, Minseok’s time in that job was nearly up..”

“I think I can see where this is going,” Kyungsoo cuts in, giving Chanyeol a pensive look. Chanyeol winces in confirmation.

“You can. I encouraged Minseok to make the first move. I told him..I told him how strongly Sehun felt but that he’d need to be really careful. And he was, but it ruined everything.” Chanyeol sighs at the memory of it, slumping down further on the bench and folding his arms across his belly. “I didn’t want Sehun to have his heart broken by losing this guy, but he wasn’t ready. And I handled it badly when he confronted me. I thought I was being supportive by getting it all out in the open and making Sehun face up to who he is, but that wasn’t right. And then it put more pressure on Jongin — my ex — because I suddenly didn’t have anyone but him.”

“And now Sehun..? Sehun, won’t talk to you anymore.”

Chanyeol hesitates, then nods. “The thing is, Sehun got kind of..mean, I guess, when I started dating Jongin. Neither of us ever came out to each other. I mean, especially not him, but, I got the feeling he was upset that I had a boyfriend when it was so impossible for him. I’d dated girls before, it was like..I think he felt that I could choose to take the easy option if I wanted, so it was kinda like I was just. I don’t know how to put it.”

Kyungsoo hums lowly. “Sort of like you did it just to prove you could? When he couldn’t and it was only option.”

Just thinking it all through again makes Chanyeol’s insides simmer and churn. He’d been losing his best friend for months and everything he tried to resolve it was slippery and unpredictable. “I don’t like saying it like that, but..yeah, I think so. He could be so bitter about it, but he’s my very best friend. I knew he wouldn’t be unkind unless he was hurt, but he was hurting me too because he was scared. And really? It’s not like I was any better. I never told anyone about Jongin. I never even planned to tell any family. People on our social media..we both have small followings for what we do, and there was speculation. But we agreed to never confirm it.”

“Isn’t that just sensible?”

“Wish it didn’t have to be.” Chanyeol looks across to the poster for the museum. Since last time a tear has appeared in the corner most exposed to the weather. “I stopped texting because I figured it was making him hate me more. He lives pretty nearby, but it seemed a bad idea to visit. And then things got bad with Jongin, and..well, here we are.”

“Ah,” Kyungsoo offers after a pause, clearly hanging onto a thought he’s uncertain of.

“You can make a bridge comment, I set that one up.”

“No, it’s not that.” Kyungsoo presses his thumb knuckle to his mouth, holding the thought back for a moment longer. His annoyance from earlier is long gone. “That’s why you think you don’t deserve someone to be nice to you, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.” Congratulations, Kyungsoo wins the prize. “I had people who cared for me despite the way I am, and I hurt them and let them down. And it doesn’t matter if you can make some excuse for me — it still happened to them. They’re the ones who deserve someone kind.” Chanyeol lifts his arms just to emphatically drop them across himself again, a full body shrug. “This works between you and me while we’re in this loop, but that’s it. If we weren’t here..you wouldn’t want to talk to a guy like me, and I wouldn’t bother someone quiet like you. It’s not like you make friends just to have somewhere to dump your problems.”

Kyungsoo reaches for Chanyeol’s forearm and kneads so firmly Chanyeol flinches. “You tried not to bother me and I let myself be bothered. There’s no way I’d approach someone like you because I wouldn’t talk to anyone. You put me at ease, Chanyeol. You talking and me listening, it works for me. I like learning about you.”

“If that had been the arm with the tattoo I’d have pushed you off the bridge too.”

“I knew it wasn’t. But I mean it, it’s been a really long time for me. Maybe..I don’t know, maybe I never really have had an adult friendship. The friends you have in school are different,” Kyungsoo falters, letting up his hold so he can sink back down on the bench, “Not that I hung around until graduation.”

A Kyungsoo fact, at last. “No wonder you were talking about shaving your head and getting a tattoo.”

Kyungsoo gives Chanyeol a withering look. Kyungsoo to talk about is very different to Kyungsoo being a receptive listener. It’s the most fun Chanyeol’s had in the entire loop. “You wouldn’t be my first choice to talk to if this had happened organically, that’s true. But because I’d assume too much about how badly it would go, you know? Why would I just approach some big friendly looking guy. And then do what? I don’t even know how to start an interaction up, it’s not like you can just ask someone to be your friend and hope you’ll get along.”

Chanyeol hums agreement, amused. In normal times he’s always found socialising one of his better traits. His upbringing gave him the skill of always sensing the mood in a room. He finds it easy to read people, slip into whatever they respond to best and make what they see something they’ll like. “That’s funny. You’d be too scared to approach me just to talk, but we got talking fine after you flung yourself at me. Maybe that’s a good icebreaker.”

“Not scared,” Kyungsoo sighs, “Just..you’re changing the subject.”

“But, well, y’know. Even if you did somehow get talking to me in normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have wanted you to get involved with me. Feeling the way I was I’d have just shut it down, anyway.“ He omits the part about Kyungsoo having this strange charm to him. He isn’t what Chanyeol would consider his type, yet Chanyeol would have stared after Kyungsoo like a creep, wishing they could have talked. “I regretted that I’d never visited the restaurant, though. The first..and second and third times, the only thing I really felt sad about was that I’d spent all this time thinking how much I’d like to go there and never had. That’s why I ended up walking past and stopping to pick up the onions.” Chanyeol pats his pocket where the round roots have pretty much become a part of his outfit. It would feel wrong to not have the small weight of them with him now. “It upset me imagining her being disappointed that no one had taken anything that day.” 

The last of Kyungsoo’s prickly annoyance softens out. “You should come in. Really.” He pats Chanyeol’s arm, nearer his elbow this time even though it isn’t the arm with the tattoo. “This Sunday was a really quiet one. And Halmeoni has always liked fussing over bad kids.”

“Hey!” Chanyeol slaps the heel of his palm down on Kyungsoo’s knuckles in protest, then lays his hand across Kyungsoo’s to soothe any ache he caused. “Starting to think I’m probably a good kid compared to you, I just look like this.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Like what? You think one tattoo and bleached hair makes you scary? With those big pretty eyes?”

It’s being this tall and taking up this much space is what he’d have said, but Kyungsoo wiggles his hand from under Chanyeol’s and reaches for his hair. The strands sound dry between Kyungsoo’s fingers. It’s a curious touch to Chanyeol’s cheek that follows, like Kyungsoo is testing that he’s real flesh and blood. Chanyeol leans into it, letting Kyungsoo take the weight of his tired head.

“You think they’re pretty?” Chanyeol mumbles, “But I want people to be scared off and avoid me.”

Kyungsoo hums. He swipes his thumb across to Chanyeol’s upper lip, taking his time feeling the soft graze of stubble. Chanyeol doesn’t breathe until Kyungsoo’s hands are neatly joined in his lap again.

“I actually did shave my head once. Only half of it, though. My hair was red and I’d just dropped out of school. I was the bad influence in my relationship.” Kyungsoo stares resolutely at his feet as they walk, but Chanyeol keeps a purposeful focus on the bridge ahead anyway. “I figured I’d work while he studied and then we’d get our own place. I was that kind of stupid kid, thinking I’d get trained and earn us a living. To us it was that serious at the time. Neither of our families knew we considered ourselves a couple, of course, his just thought I was part of some wrong crowd he was involved in. So they did what they knew was best for him.”

Chanyeol’s palms are sticky and sweaty. He’s almost ashamed by Kyungsoo’s quiet confidence. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, don’t be. We were so young. He was just having a rebellious phase and I was willing to stick pins in his earlobe, it wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. He’s married now, two kids. And I’m still working in the same place, still looking after his grandmother. But I’m happy with that, you know?” Kyungsoo glances across, nudges Chanyeol with his elbow. “Halmeoni would like you the same way she likes me. She takes in kids like us so we have a family.”

Chanyeol swallows thickly. Those are feelings to be dealt with another time. Another loop when he’ll wake up knowing that he and Kyungsoo have both loved and lost men, and there’s some unattainable timeline where someone cares for them. “You only tell me the really interesting things, huh.” 

“Well, my life was only interesting for a few years,” Kyungsoo reasons. He slows as they reach the mouth of the bridge, his footsteps audibly scuffing. “Thanks..for coming to meet me. I’ve never had anyone do that for me before.” He rolls his eyes at himself. Chanyeol is gradually learning all of the funny ways Kyungsoo’s eyebrows move when he expresses himself. 

“If your Halmeoni could remember the loop the same way as us she’d have so many questions, huh.” Chanyeol grins. Kyungsoo raises a hand and he reflexively flinches, but no hits land. Instead Kyungsoo catches the tips of Chanyeol’s fingers, curls them up in his palm.

“I think your friend will really need you when he comes to terms with himself. And for the record, I think he’s probably avoiding you because he’s scared, not because he hates you. He’s scared because you can see him, but he’ll need you when he’s ready for other people to.”

Chanyeol nods solemnly, then shivers. The remnants of sunset are low and the night chill is already setting in. If it weren’t unfair on both of them he wouldn’t end the conversation yet, but he has no idea how far Kyungsoo has to walk to reach home from here. “Need my hand back unless you’re coming over with me,” he smiles, and Kyungsoo most definitely does the thumb thing across his knuckles before he lets go, and Chanyeol’s pretty sure his ears must be glowing hot. “Red hair though, huh?” he says to shift the embarrassment back to Kyungsoo.

“You— Ugh. You’d better forget that you know that,” Kyungsoo orders, but his scowl wrinkles up and smooths out into a smile.

Chanyeol waves and waits until Kyungsoo has walked out of sight before setting off down the path. Hopefully Sunday wasn’t a bad day for Sehun.

⇆

The scratches on the back of Chanyeol’s hand have faded to dull speckles. He sits on the living room rug with his phone balanced on his thigh and searches the healing process to get some idea of how many loops ago it happened. It takes him time to type. It’s hard to imagine that he could actually forget how to use his phone, but the lack of use has made him slow. It’s sort of like switching devices and the functions remaining the same but the shapes and sizes and buttons all slightly wrong.

Since the last time he called his mother Chanyeol has used his phone for nothing but confirmation that a drop from the bridge has no landing. Parting with it each day is a routine act amongst the rituals that make up a full loop. In the beginning it felt like it mattered.

If anything, Chanyeol has been progressively afraid of looking at it. The life paused inside his phone isn’t something he wants to be reminded of.

He traces a finger over one of the marks, faded from a distinct crescent to a pink blur. The poster at the bus stop looks as though it’s weathered for months, but cuts this shallow should have only taken a week or two to heal. The scrapes on Chanyeol’s knee come and go seemingly at random. His hair hasn’t grown at all. When Kyungsoo touched his skin it was in the exact same state as the first day he jumped. And that..that happened.

Hot faced, Chanyeol scoops up his phone and closes the browser. For a second he hesitates, thumb over the contacts icon, then locks and pockets it. He has somewhere to be, after all. 

⇆

“Give them to me,” is Kyungsoo’s reasonable solution at the end of Chanyeol’s extensive complaining.

“No,” he says immediately, hands stilling mid-gesture, “I can’t do that.”

“But the onions didn’t disappear when you gave them to me. So maybe these lyrics you’re writing would be the same, and if I have them then they won’t..” Kyungsoo props his chin on his hand and gives Chanyeol a searching look. There’s a little smirk there that Chanyeol is enjoying the view of but also, no, he shouldn’t have even started this conversation. “Didn’t you say you had a pretty big following online? What are you getting shy for.”

“Because,” Chanyeol says emphatically. He hasn’t used this part of his brain in a long, long time and has no idea if the words it’s stringing together are any good. Not that he can remember them for long enough to even try and reorder the lines into something cohesive. “That’s totally different to telling someone face to face.”

“Easier with a stranger than a friend is what they say,” Kyungsoo offers. He curls his fingers over his mouth and looks over his shoulder, like the sunset is anything new. “Seeing as that’s what you are, I guess.”

Chanyeol smiles. Leans back on the bench, joining Kyungsoo in watching small shreds of purple cloud drift across a pink sky. “You know, I’m not even sure myself. That we’re friends. We’re something, but..” It’s still kind of strange seeing Kyungsoo where Sehun used to be. Chanyeol isn’t smoking this time; he just wanted to see the view.

“Well, here, it’s worth a try.” Kyungsoo keeps his phone in his backpack, tucked into a pocket he has to free from a velcro strap before he can unzip. He unlocks it with his thumb and passes it over. “I don’t really use apps. There’s probably something you can write in though, right?”

“Yeah, like, the one that looks like notepaper. That’s called notes.” Chanyeol holds the phone up, prodding an icon on the home screen. It’s an old model of phone, small and thick compared to any Chanyeol has used in the past five years. “Try and remember, it might come in useful someday.” 

“I just keep a book in my bag. I prefer handwriting notes.”

“Alright, mister highschool dropout,” Chanyeol mutters, trying to get a comfortable hold on the narrow device so he can type with his thumbs. The home screen wallpaper is a default stock image of a beach. Despite Kyungsoo’s indifference there are two saved notes in the app: a list of ingredients, and a reminder to arrive early for opening. Both are dated 2017.

kyungsoo is stupid and i like him <3 Chanyeol types to start a new note, then swiftly deletes the line before it registers as the title.

⇆

The sky is white and blank through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. He closes his eyes against the bright glow, pressing his thumb and pointer finger to his temples to massage the ache he knows will be there. Squirming to situate his legs better and take the pressure off his spine, he breathes in deep, feeling his body flattening into the couch on the long exhale.

It’s already 1pm — 1:02pm, to be precise — and that gives him so little time. Too early for the bridge yet way too late for fitting in any significant work on the song. He still has his whole routine to get through, too, if he’s going to meet Kyungsoo. Which he is, because Kyungsoo likes meeting him.

The letter to his sister is easy to spot on the table; the one bulkier than all the rest, sticking up above them. Chanyeol handles that one gently, thumbing the edge of the envelope before setting it aside. The rest he shoves, pushing outward until there’s a big enough gap for his notebook. The lines he’d given to Kyungsoo have remained preserved in his phone, and each day Chanyeol remembers a little more to build on.

“I should do my roots,” Chanyeol tells his reflection through a mouthful of foam, then wedges his toothbrush between his teeth so he can lift his hair with both hands. He’d really let it get into a state. “Maybe I could dye it red next time,” he muses after rinsing his mouth. Red like the apple he’ll take from the counter. Red like Kyungsoo used to be. It would be funny to see his reaction.

⇆

There’s one thing Chanyeol always liked about Sundays, and that’s how nobody follows their usual routine. The world feels like a different place on Sundays. He liked how the world fell into peaceful quiet as everyone prepared for the week ahead. The eerie silence — he didn’t like that part. His weekday loneliness never compared to Sunday.

Chanyeol flips through his notebook just to be sure the lyrics aren’t there before he starts again. Weeks used to pass without much distinction to him, really, not for months. That’s why he enjoyed that Sundays were different - the rest of the world changed, just for one day, and it gave him a landmark. It’s hard to remember the initial Sunday now, or how it felt to wish the noise of Saturday away. 

Most mornings now Chanyeol finds himself torn between the things he wants to do at home and hurrying out to meet Kyungsoo. The wait to leave used to feel endless, but now each loop resets any progress he makes and forces him to repeat it. It’d be nice if his tattoo started healing and didn’t feel like a sensitive bruise under his sleeve all day long. He’d like to speak to his mother and for her to remember what he’s telling her.

“A..place, a what place. A place..” Chanyeol drifts between tasks and his notebook. The lyrics just won’t stick. In passing he nudges the stack of books beside the couch with his toe. “You piss me off the way you move back there every morning.” He wipes dust from the overlapping edges and sighs, settling on the arm of the couch. “Sorry. That’s my fault, not yours. It’s just frustrating,” he mumbles, then considers he’s talking to a stack of books and makes a move to leave.

⇆

It’s not as though they’ve really developed a routine for how this works, but some days Chanyeol likes to wait rather than make Kyungsoo come to him. The first time, yeah, he had kind of wanted to make Kyungsoo flustered as payback. Now he behaves, freezing his backside off on the stone steps where he can tuck in out of view until Kyungsoo joins him.

“Should have grown some of you while I was alive,” Chanyeol muses as he picks onion roots from the crate. They’d have looked nice in his kitchen, even if he rarely cooks. Chanyeol knows how he gets about things, though; he’d have undoubtedly ended up with more onion than kitchen counter. “I mean- I am alive still, but you know what I mean.” Great, now he’s talking to vegetables.

A..place. It nearly comes to him. Chanyeol sighs, rolls the roots around in his hand and drops them into his pocket. Kyungsoo had talked about viewing his day as a series of defined moments, where as Chanyeol’s seems to be composed of these repetitive rituals. It’s not a bad thing - if he’d applied it to his normal life maybe he’d have been able to move through it at a steadier pace. Like this it’s not so much about finding meaning in the actions, but the security of knowing that he’s settled into a rhythm where they’ll happen. A dismal place? No.

If all is as usual on days Kyungsoo doesn’t see Chanyeol and leaves at the end of his shift, the door should open any moment now. Chanyeol waits for the time to fade from his phone and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened screen. He offers himself a dimpled smile. Before standing Chanyeol readjusts the laminate sign in the crate, wonders if Kyungsoo is the one who drew the smiling face on it. It resembles an emoji from the prehistoric age of texting, so it’s likely.

Some days Chanyeol can’t even remember what the world felt like before Kyungsoo shared it with him. It had seemed so bleak and narrow. He wanted everyone to like him, wanted to make everyone happy at once. And to be successful, and to be a good son, and to appear normal, and now..now he thinks he’d be pretty content only doing average at those things so long as Kyungsoo was there to awkwardly hold his hand.

A dreary place? No.

⇆

“Do you think when the loop ends I’ll completely forget you?”

“Thanks for letting me know you’re wondering that.” It’s a fair question, but Chanyeol’s stomach sours. He summons up a smile and prods at Kyungsoo. “You done with me and want to forget about it?” 

“Shut up.” Kyungsoo shrugs his elbow to knock Chanyeol’s hand away. “You’ll be gone, so what does it matter to you what happens next.”

Yeah. He’ll be gone. None of this will look in the slightest different once he isn’t here. Chanyeol swallows thickly, feeling around in his pocket for the onion roots. They jump between his fingers and across his palm as he walks. Everyone’s lives will continue without him, and that’ll be..it can’t make too much difference. Like he was never here to begin with. But he was, and he won’t just vanish. The universe will have a little space in it where he once was, that everyone will have to navigate their way around.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”

“You warned me that you get cold and mean when you’re worried about having feelings.”

Kyungsoo’s mouth twists. “I don’t remember, but I’m sure I didn’t say it like that.” He starts fiddling with the clip on his backpack that’s supposed to hold the tension of the straps evenly. “Anyway, I’m not worried.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve already done the part that worries me, but I wonder if I’ll forget it happened. Or if I’ll know you’ve died and then just..have feelings,” Kyungsoo handles the word awkwardly, like he’s unsure what to do with it. It reminds Chanyeol of when the mouse he’d secretly kept as a child gave birth; he loved having mice but hadn’t wanted to see how terrifying and ugly they were in the beginning.

The reality of their situation makes Chanyeol’s heart sink, but Kyungsoo’s right - what happens beyond the ending of this is only about Kyungsoo. Recently it’s felt..different, like the whole suicide thing is kind of incidental to he and Kyungsoo sharing their own pocket in time. He rubs the bridge of his nose, fiddles with a stray section of hair, breathes deep to push down the ache rising in his throat. “Would..do you want me to stop meeting you from work?”

Kyungsoo just shrugs, his backpack sliding against his coat. His jaw is set so tight it takes him a moment to ask, “Bus stop or should we go straight across?”

⇆

Chanyeol kicks the barrier wall after rereading the note on Kyungsoo’s phone. He’s frustrated that the same word constantly eludes him, holding up any progress, and now he’s got a (potentially) broken toe to add to his woes (though he may be overplaying it because he was embarrassed by how loud his pained yelp was).

“If it hurts next loop maybe it’ll serve as a prompt,” Kyungsoo says. His sympathy is marginal for the consequence of Chanyeol’s outburst, but Chanyeol hopping around seems to amuse him. “You look like a flamingo.”

Chanyeol groans, falling back against the wall with enough force to jar his teeth. The sunset facing him is as predictably impressive as always. “It’s just frustrating when it feels like there’s more but I get stuck on the same few lines every time.” He exhales slowly and shuts his eyes, willing the anger bubbling up to disperse. This isn’t worth having a tantrum over, especially not in company. But he is angry. Angry that in half an hour he’ll open his eyes to his apartment ceiling and start all over again, and that a hundred things he’d tell his mother and Sehun repeat endlessly but all of ten words he actually wants in his mind won’t stay there. And then there’s Kyungsoo, probably more resentful than he’s letting on, doesn’t want Chanyeol—

“Try again.”

Kyungsoo’s voice is quiet, close. Chanyeol blinks his eyes open and his heart thuds. Kyungsoo is in front of him, toe to toe. 

“Try again,” he repeats, “When you’ve calmed down.”

“No,” Chanyeol mumbles, knowing he’s being petulant. He lowers his head so Kyungsoo will stop looking at him like that. Like he can see straight through him, like.. “No, I already forgot,” he protests, but it isn’t stopping Kyungsoo from getting closer still. Kyungsoo brackets Chanyeol in, determination on his face even if he has to look up at Chanyeol from almost under his chin.

“If you keep convincing yourself that you can’t do it then you won’t be able to. You can’t leave until you’ve tried.”

The first time Kyungsoo pinned him here it was with the intention of never letting him leave. The thought catches in Chanyeol’s throat. Even in his stupid worn out sensible coat, Kyungsoo is handsome and human and the heat of his body nearly touching Chanyeol’s is dizzying. Kyungsoo is a whole complex, normal human, and yet he cares for Chanyeol. And Chanyeol— Chanyeol is the first person that Kyungsoo has let care for him, and once he’s gone Kyungsoo will feel the loss of him. Kyungsoo will return to his restaurant as though nothing happened, just like Chanyeol wanted, with his days empty and alone, how Kyungsoo liked them.

“You’ve always been mean to me since the start. Always pushing me around and forcing me to say things I don’t want to.” Maybe it’s to break the tension, maybe it’s just because Chanyeol can’t stand keeping a distance when there’s so little of it left; he cups Kyungsoo’s face in both hands, chilled skin tingling against his palms. “I can’t, Kyungsoo, it’s already gone.

Kyungsoo tilts his head. His soft cheek presses into Chanyeol’s hand. “What kind of place is it?” 

“Dreamy.” 

“And what’s it full of?”

“Flowers,” Chanyeol replies, more focused on how Kyungsoo’s jaw moves against his hand than on the accomplishment of remembering. It feels so pointless to be so fond when Chanyeol has to leave. He’s not sure Kyungsoo has ever been as cold as he seems to think he is, but recently he’s lost the few prickles he had, and Chanyeol was already drawn to him despite those. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it. I haven’t done this in so long, Kyungsoo, I promise I was good bef..”

Kyungsoo presses his lips to Chanyeol’s palm. It isn’t a kiss, but Kyungsoo closes his eyes and leans his weight into it. His breath seeps out hot into Chanyeol’s palm. Whatever it is, Chanyeol’s never been more sure of why it is that he’s so eager to see Kyungsoo from the moment he wakes up.

When Kyungsoo pulls back Chanyeol curls his fingers to hold the warmth in, and Kyungsoo wraps both hands around Chanyeol’s. “It’s time already, huh. We’ve done this so often I’ve got an instinct for it now,” he says with one of those smiles that turns down at the edges like it shouldn’t be a smile. “Tell me once more before I go.”

Chanyeol leans down, bumping his forehead to Kyungsoo’s and squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. “A d..a dreamy place full of flowers. Blooming and dying and..and then we don’t know what yet.” He looks at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo is already looking at him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” Kyungsoo agrees. From this close Chanyeol sees the flush in his cheeks, his eyes growing glossy. Chanyeol should apologise for getting this close to someone he believed the universe sent to him out of spite, but all he wants to do is stay here to spite the universe that hates him. “Go safely, ok?” Kyungsoo gives his hand a final squeeze.

No matter how many times Chanyeol heaves himself over this wall he’s never any stronger, but today he’s weaker. He knows how to angle his body and how much force it takes to lift himself over, but he stalls. 

Kyungsoo has his back to him, squinting at his phone screen. He’d started to walk but paused again. “Blooming and dying,” he reads to himself, “And what..and blowing away, maybe? If they’re dead, the petals..”

It tugs at something deep inside Chanyeol. That’s exactly what the next line should be. Kyungsoo gets it. Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo.. His sneakers scrabble against the concrete like Kyungsoo’s had in the loop that they met in. He drops back to the path with a crunching thud that makes Kyungsoo startle, turning sharply on his heel.

“Chanyeol? I know I said I’d give you a hand up, but I’m not sure I actually..” he trails off as he shuffles closer. “Chanyeol?”

“I want..I want to write this song,” Chanyeol says. He feels cold and wrong all over, suddenly filled with that tremble that builds from the inside and makes his legs feel boneless and his teeth chatter. “I want to meet Halmeoni and come to eat with you and keep picking you up from work. And check that Sehun is alright. I was thinking about dyeing my hair and..how can I even start setting boundaries with my family if they’d disappear again the next day? I keep thinking about that museum nearby and that it’d be nice to see what’s there.”

When he looks at Kyungsoo he’s making that expression again. The bereaved one. He’s looking at Chanyeol with the kind of grief loved ones can never show to the person causing it in timelines where death is efficient.
 
Chanyeol presses his hands to his face and can’t feel a thing. He needs to get a grip. If he could have just done that in the first place they wouldn’t be here. “S-so, that’s me. What do you want to do when this ends?” 

Kyungsoo laughs tight and choked, eyes wet. “Nothing, Chanyeol, you know me well enough by now. I’ll just keep doing the same things I always do. I’m not ambitious like you. I’ll keep making the same meals we’ve served for twenty years and think about how I should have people in my life and never look for any.” He dabs under the edge of his glasses with his sleeve and offers Chanyeol a sheepish smile. “How about I promise to get a small tattoo one day?”

“No. I know you won’t do it if I’m not here,” Chanyeol protests, and it feels like he’s crumpling up from the inside out. There’s so much that can’t happen if he isn’t here. He could— They could.. “I haven’t felt this light in years. Does that make sense? I feel light inside. I usually feel so heavy. I don’t want to do those things and then just die. I don’t want what—whatever it this is that we are to each other to end with me not being here.”

Kyungsoo’s eye contact wavers. “I don’t want that, either.”

The sunset is beautiful and unsurprising as always. Chanyeol would know when it’s time from anywhere in the city by now just from how the light and shadows fall. He should be climbing. Trying harder, finding a way to see through his plan. But he’s stepping away from the wall and towards Kyungsoo. He’s failing.

“I want it to be tomorrow. I want it to stop being Sunday.”

Whether Chanyeol falls or Kyungsoo reaches, he doesn’t know, but he’s in his arms. He lets Kyungsoo take his full weight, and they stagger back a pace, but Kyungsoo holds him firm. Kyungsoo tucks Chanyeol in against his shoulder, not even registering that it’s pushing his glasses askew. 

“I can’t do it,” Chanyeol chokes into the darkness of Kyungsoo’s coat, pressing into Kyungsoo so hard. Everything feels wet and his panting breaths are hot like steam. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I can’t face it again. I don’t know how we’ll get out of this if I can’t do it but— and it mattered so much, but—”

Kyungsoo shushes him, strokes shaking fingers through his hair and over what he can reach of the broad plane of his back. Presses his mouth to Chanyeol’s shoulder, his neck. More kisses that aren’t. “I know you don’t want to give up on your plan, but..but sometimes even our best laid plans turn out to be wrong in the end. It’s ok to give up on them and start over again. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in living and learning.”

“But I failed. Again. At the one thing I thought was impossible to get wrong. I wanted to put things right.”

“Sometimes..sometimes failing is necessary. Helps you understand where you need to go.” Kyungsoo’s voice wavers. He takes a steadying breath. Chanyeol’s grip on him is so tight it’s bruising even through his layers of clothing. “It’s like..Like, what do you think would have happened to me if I’d landed the celebrity chef dream? With my personality? It would have been a public disaster. You’d have been the one talking me down from here. What if I’d really moved in with someone I already knew wanted kids when we were teenagers? Or stayed living in my own family’s pocket rather than moving here to be closer to Halmeoni?”

“Bad things,” Chanyeol says, then splutters. His nose and throat and even his ears feel clogged up.

Kyungsoo pats his back, resumes rubbing after the coughing has stopped. “Yeah. Pretty bad things, I think. I had to let a lot of people down to understand what was best for me, and what would make me a better person to be around. Surviving the harm and shame other people cause and having to constantly rebuild your life and who you are is really fucking unfair. It’s unfair,” Kyungsoo emphasises with a tight squeeze, “But you’re doing the opposite of failing if you can find your own way to live.”

In time Chanyeol calms, still unsteady but his legs can support him again. He’s just..lost for now, in time and between the beginning and end of his life. Kyungsoo guides him to the wall for support and sort of props him up against it, the way he does with his backpack some days. Usually it’s to hug Chanyeol. In retrospect maybe Chanyeol should have started realising that meant something sooner. 

In the dusky light the tired bruising under their eyes is gone. Kyungsoo’s warm and heavy and this time around he’s more gentle about holding Chanyeol so he can’t get away. “Stay with me and see the stars, Chanyeol. We’ll both stay here, ok? Stay and see the stars with me. You can’t have seen any in so long.”

The cold night draws in fast. They stay. Kyungsoo has been placidly holding Chanyeol’s hand while the sky darkened, trembling along with him from the chill in the air.

“You know, my plan actually failed from the start.” Chanyeol winces at the hoarse sound of his own voice. He recounts the discovery of netting at the first bridge, and how he’d stormed up here out of blind determination to succeed. How annoyed he’s always been at having to climb over a wall instead of the low iron fence.

“See? Necessity of failure.” Kyungsoo rests against Chanyeol’s shoulder. “I failed at stopping you from jumping, too. If it had worked either way the first time I would never have got to experience the humiliation of having a friend.”

Chanyeol makes a sound in his throat. “I didn’t accidentally survive, like, sixty suicide attempts just so you could learn how to not be a jerk to anyone remotely nice to you.”

“I think you did. I think you kept coming back over and over because you wanted to annoy me.”

Chanyeol glances down at Kyungsoo, but all he can see past his hair is the edge of his glasses. If things weren’t how they are he’d have learned exactly what Kyungsoo sounds like talking through a smile by now. “So where the hell are these stars,” he huffs. It’s night proper now, and they’ll probably both end up dying from exposure anyway if they keep standing around on the bridge. Above them the sky is purple with thick cloud and light pollution. The city lights reflected into what’s left of the river is a little twinkly, he supposes. “You knew there wouldn’t be any stars, didn’t you.”

“Might have done. But it’s still a beautiful night, isn’t it? Seemed unfair that I always see it alone.” Kyungsoo’s smirk drops into something blank with thought. He audibly swallows. “Annoying Park Chanyeol that the universe fucked us both over for, I like you so much, too. But we can’t stay in this loop forever just because we’ve both found a way to exist comfortably here. So..let’s go, ok? Let’s go back and get warm. I can take us as far as the restaurant and then you’ll have to lead the way.”

It’s all Chanyeol can do to agree. There’s nothing left for him up here. No sunset left to see, no prize at the bottom of the river. “I wish you could have known me at a better time. I swear, I do have good traits.”

The small movement of Kyungsoo tilting up to kiss Chanyeol’s cheek silences him. 

Chanyeol feels how he did on that first day. Raw from crying, moving along on a steady autopilot with his heavy head full of calm white noise. The warm body tucked in at his side is how he knows this isn’t the same as the beginning at all. It’s sort of surreal seeing all of the familiar buildings coming back into view, passing by store fronts and tubs of flowers that have closed their petals for the night. The crate is still outside the restaurant, emptied and propped against the door. 

He vaguely registers Kyungsoo talking about how he hasn’t visited anyone’s home since highschool. Not even the boy he wanted to build a foolish little life with as a teenager; his parents never would have allowed Kyungsoo to enter their home.

“And to be honest,” Kyungsoo casts a doubtful look at the building as they draw to a stop outside, “I’m not sure I should come all the way with you. It feels..I don’t know. You probably need to do this part alone.”

“There’s a lot of stairs,” is all Chanyeol can think to say. It makes Kyungsoo chuckle, and he realises that probably sounded like he’d wanted Kyungsoo to push him all the way up. “No, I didn’t mean..I don’t know what I mean. Don’t laugh, this is the longest I’ve been awake for a long time.” For some reason he feels self-conscious standing outside his home. The bridge is..it’s theirs, and here is only his. “Everything will be different.”

“It will,” Kyungsoo agrees, resting a gentle hand on Chanyeol’s arm. “It needs to be. You need to live to figure all this stuff out and move on to nicer things. I think your whole world will start looking different, and you’ll change, too. That’s what this is about, Park Chanyeol.” His tone drops playfully low. “Not just so we can be together without you having to jump and then work up to us being together all over again.”

“But I only feel like I can do this if we’re together.” 

“Didn’t you say I’m always mean to you and make you do things you don’t want to? I need to be mean to you now for real.” There are speckles of dried tears on Kyungsoo’s glasses. Chanyeol can’t tell if they’re on the inside or outside.

“What if you really are mean and cold to me. What if— what if this works and then when it’s Monday you’re really mad about it. What if I live and then you don’t like me?”

Kyungsoo can’t exactly take Chanyeol by surprise by kissing him — getting Chanyeol down to face level involves some grappling that gives Chanyeol a split second to make an embarrassing sound. Warmth pours into him, like standing in a ray of sun. Like— like the soup Kyungsoo brought him, but that thought makes Chanyeol break away to laugh. He goes back in at all the wrong angle and his nose nudges Kyungsoo’s glasses. Kyungsoo laughs, too, low and breathy against Chanyeol’s damp lips.

“If this works, if you live..we can start again in a timeline that won’t need to end. And if on Monday I’m mad with you, you’ll just have to keep annoying me until I warm up.”

“Can do.” For a moment Chanyeol is unsure if Kyungsoo is going to lean in again. It makes sense, what he’s saying. All this time he’s wondered if Kyungsoo has been resenting him for forcing him to overcome his aversion to people, and it..it was something else entirely. There was just no point acting on it in a timeline that had an inevitable, painful result. Chanyeol needed to be willing to stay to know what there is to stay for. “My head hurts so bad,” he mumbles, touching his nose to Kyungsoo’s and then straightening up, “If I just, if I drop dead from an aneurysm or fall down the stairs or something..” 

Kyungsoo winces. “If nothing changes then you can come and pick me up from work tomorrow, and I’ll let Halmeoni embarrass me. My treat for tricking you with the stars.” 

“Deal,” Chanyeol says quietly. The streets are so silent he wonders if Kyungsoo can hear the way his heart is thudding. It’s partly from the kiss, partly because he’s completely terrified, and sort of from anticipation. “I hope it works.” He means it, even if he can barely get the words out.

Kyungsoo takes Chanyeol’s wrist — tattoo arm; Chanyeol reflexively stiffens — and slips his cold fingers under Chanyeol’s sleeve. Over his pulse, his veins, the small pitted circular scars there, the tendon that stands out like a cord. “You need to get more of these,” Kyungsoo’s touch prickles along the fresh raised lines of his tattoo, “Disappoint your family some more. Be the worst Chanyeol you can be for them, then come and find people who’ll love you. After you’ve made up you can bring your friend, too.”

Chanyeol nods. He’s waved Kyungsoo off so many times with no idea if it’ll be the last, but if he’s honest with himself he’s not sure when he even last believed he’d succeed. For a while now the purpose of leaving has been the part where he tries again, not the end result. Just once more. Just one more time. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

“You will.” Kyungsoo smiles — a full smile, all turned down and wincing and strange and just for Chanyeol. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and clears his throat, levelling Chanyeol with a stern look. “Promise me you’ll get straight into bed and go to sleep.”

“I promise.” Chanyeol raises his hand to wave, and Kyungsoo catches his fingers in a tight squeeze. He doesn’t let it linger. Chanyeol waits until he’s walked out of sight, then turns to the imposing shadow of his apartment building. It won’t be so gloomy once he’s in his own home. His key will be in the lock where he left it. 

All that’s left is

↔︎

Rain patters against the balcony window. Chanyeol wakes slowly with a groan that’s muffled by the covers pulled up to his ears. He’s too hot. Way, way too hot, but also too cosy to really want to escape from the blankets. It takes a moment to register that the distant sound is rain. It takes a longer moment for Chanyeol to startle fully awake and scramble upright.

Chanyeol’s heartbeat pounds in his throat. He’s..at home. He’s safe. The longer he’s awake the more aches and pains are starting to bloom into awareness - his spine hurts as always, his knee is throbbing. His tattoo feels tight, and when he brushes his fingers over the fine lines of scabs he discovers a row of bright crescents across his knuckles. A sob catches Chanyeol’s breath. He doesn’t even know why, but he gives in to it. Sinks back into the covers, his soft pillow, and cries and cries and cries.

For the second time Chanyeol comes to the realisation that he’s awake, and that he’s hot buried under the covers. He evidently needed the sleep - he barely remembers the first time he woke today. He cautiously prods his puffy face and— ow, his skin is every bit as sore as his eyes.

Pushing the covers back, Chanyeol lays in the shock of cold air and breathes slowly. He focuses on his ribs and his body expanding and sinking. The familiar sound of the school kids shrieking and laughing as they pass by filters through from outside, and he frowns. His room feels..weird. It’s still, like a room loses all the energy from it if the occupant leaves for a week. He has no idea how long he’s slept in for.

But if the kids are on their way that narrows it down to..well, any day but Sunday. It could be morning or afternoon. Disoriented and groggy, Chanyeol crawls to the edge of the bed and scans his dimly lit room. Phone. Where did he leave his phone. When did he even get home last night? He was so cold, it must have been late, but..

Anyway, phone before anything else. Chanyeol plants his knees into the mattress and stretches, yanking his jacket up from the floor. His phone dropping out is the first thud, followed by many small ones. Chanyeol stares as tens of onion roots roll across his bedroom floor.

The first sight to greet Chanyeol in the apartment is his notes laid out neatly on the table, just as he arranged them on Saturday night. Nausea rushes up inside him. He gathers them up quickly - Sehun, Jongin, his grandmother, his former employer, a request to whoever can access his social media, and the bulkier envelope for his sister last so it sits evenly. Clutching them to his chest, he pauses at his window to look out at the dark wet sky, then unceremoniously stuffs the envelopes into his desk drawer.

It’d be nice to crack the window and let in some air, but unfortunately that would let rain in too. Right now that actually feels kind of appealing. Chanyeol’s itchy under his skin, sensitive and understimulated at once, like he needs to experience twenty things simultaneously but would be knocked down by one. He settles for pressing his forehead to the cold glass until it burns, and when he stumbles back his foot bumps something that scrapes on the floor.

It’s his ashtray. He has no recollection of how..when he would have destroyed the letter to his mother, but he empties the ashes into the sink and washes them away without hesitation. That’s probably for the best. There’s a lot he needs to say to her, and none of it is what he would have written down in the state he was in before.  

It’s probably common, he figures, to black out on some of the details of a..he doesn’t even want to think the word. How close had he been to an attempt? He went to the bridge, he knows that much. The wall, the flimsy metal barrier, the way the hard mud felt under his shoes. The smoking area, the bus stop, the vast space underneath the bridge..he must have wandered around the area for hours. He’d been far too close.

What had he been thinking. Sundays can be that way — particularly low days after a week of failing to have a good day. But not..not that bad. He’d been letting things get on top of him, yeah, but. But what, he’s not sure. 

Chanyeol decides he doesn’t want to be in the apartment on his own.

In the bathroom he scrubs his sore face with cold water, even though Sehun told him to never do that. Dries you out, he’d said. Chanyeol dips into the moisturiser left out on the side to remedy that, just in case. He brushes his teeth, rhythmically slow to give himself some grounding focus. It gives him time to consider that he desperately needs to do something about his roots.

When he’s as presentable as someone coming to terms with a failed suicide attempt can be, Chanyeol sinks back onto the couch. He spends a long moment with his head in his hands, taking steadying breaths. The dark pit that had been inside him when he’d set off yesterday afternoon has closed up. The plan had given him focus, but it was misdirected. There’s so much he needs to do, it’s overwhelming. On a bad day — a bad week, maybe it had even been a bad month — that had just been too much for him to carry alone. But today..today is a new day. It’s a new week. Nobody likes Mondays, but Chanyeol couldn’t be more relieved to find himself in one. 

He’d always told himself that if the day came and he woke up feeling differently he wouldn’t do it. The day has been and gone, and thankfully he felt differently at some point, at least, if not immediately.

For a little while he stays there and checks his phone, though there isn’t much to see. His tattoo artist has posted two new pieces since his. There’s one new sub on his youtube despite the fact he hasn’t uploaded anything for three months. Word on twitter is that nothing remarkable is going on in the local area, and Sehun has posted a photo of his dog asleep across his foot. It’s timestamped as 16 hours ago. Chanyeol hits Like and locks his phone.

In time Chanyeol realises the unsettled discomfort in his body is hunger, but of course there’s nothing in. He hadn’t expected to still be here — why would he have stocked up. He definitely doesn’t feel like eating an apple from the counter, so there’s even more reason to get going. 

Chanyeol navigates his home in a daze, searching for his key, an umbrella, and a bag to take out with him. It’s hard to comprehend that he nearly wasn’t here. That his months of planning are over, and he has no idea what to do next. Today is any other Monday for everyone else, but to him it feels like he’s just returned after months away. It makes him dizzy if he even tries to trace back what happened and why he’s still here. But he is here, and he’s starving. Food first, other decisions later.

He pulls on black and green sneakers that he bought as a serotonin boost and never wears because they pinch his toes. But they’re kinda fancy, and if there’s ever been an occasion it’s today. Chanyeol double, then triple checks that his apartment is all in order, then locks up and goes clattering down the cold stairwell.

“Yukgaejang?”

“Ah,” Chanyeol startles. In his efforts to quickly push his phone and notebook aside he knocks a tray of metal cutlery. He nearly shoved the laminated menu clean off the counter. “Sorry— sorry, I was a million miles away.” Chanyeol fumbles to get the cover of his ring bound notebook back in place, bent down across the stool beside him so he isn’t in the way, and when he’s back upright the food is in front of him. The smell alone kind of makes him want to cry. He’s really been going through it recently, huh. 

“I’m sorry,” comes a hesitant voice from beside him, “But..yesterday? You were outside..”

Chanyeol’s heart is suddenly in his mouth. A wave of heat sweeps down the back of his neck. Maybe it’s just because the guy is cute and Chanyeol has finally removed his head far enough from the storm clouds to notice these things again. “Kyungsoo?” the name pops into his mind before he’s certain of himself. “Uh— It was Kyungsoo, wasn’t it? Thank you for coming and talking to me.” He gives all he can of an apologetic bow from where he’s cramped into a small counter seat with hot food under his face. “And sorry for inconveniencing you. I really, um. I really needed it. It..yeah.”

Kyungsoo continues setting things on the table. A small dish of bean sprouts, some pickles that are as pink as Chanyeol thinks his hot cheeks must be right now. “Are..I mean, I hope you’re..” Hands now only occupied by the empty tray, Kyungsoo tucks it between his finger and thumb and folds them neatly. There’s parallel strips of fluff around one of his fingers where he must have recently removed a bandaid. “Sorry, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.”

Chanyeol’s mouth works silently. He wants to tell Kyungsoo that he hadn’t planned to still be here today, and it’s kind of alarming to be alive right now, but that isn’t the sort of thing you just blurt out to some kind stranger. “No, it’s ok. Um. I’m not sure either. About— about it, about yesterday. I think you kinda saved the day.” Chanyeol’s starting to feel damp with cold sweat and immense heat. He can’t remember what they actually spoke about, but, well, he’s still here. Maybe Kyungsoo is just being polite and pretending he can’t, either, because it wouldn’t have been anything Chanyeol is proud of today. “Thank you, really.” 

“Sure.” Kyungsoo nods curtly, then starts turning the circular tray around between his hands. “Sorry, I’m not much of a talker. I just recognised you and wanted to check you were alright now.” He winces. Chanyeol’s pretty sure it’s a smile.

“Ah..yeah. Yes. Doing way better.” Chanyeol beams. The familiarity of Kyungsoo clears a little of the fog in Chanyeol’s memory, in that it makes sense of where some of the time went yesterday. It’s not enough to tether to anything that makes sense. But he still feels like he would get kind of hysterical if he thought too much about just how close he’d been, so. “I’d wanted to come here and never got around to it, so coming back to thank you was the perfect motivation.”

It’s kind of a lie, because Chanyeol..isn’t sure he knew that the kind man who had held his hand when he needed it yesterday would be here. He’d walked this way pretty much on autopilot, but it is true that he’s always meant to come. 

“Well, enjoy your food.”

“Yes— Right, thank you.” Chanyeol startles back to reality, struck bashful at the memory of Kyungsoo’s firm grip on his hand. He busies himself with his notebook and phone again, stacking them neatly and repositioning his phone just-so. Everything feels muddled right now, but in the warm restaurant with food in his stomach Chanyeol figures things might just be ok. “I actually need to send some difficult messages after..things, because I’d kinda been avoiding some people. It seemed less scary doing it somewhere with other people.”

“Good luck,” Kyungsoo offers blandly. He’s angled towards the kitchen and clearly eager to retreat back there. “Please let us know if you need anything else.”  

“I’m Chanyeol. By the way, just—”
 
“Park Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo nods. He’s handsome despite the deep frown. Also irritated despite his gentle tone. “I didn’t forget. We spoke for a long while at the bus stop. I’m busy, so please excuse me.”

Kyungsoo leaves Chanyeol to process his embarrassment by himself. That could have gone better. Could have gone worse, too, he supposes. The person who came to his rescue is cute, Kyungsoo remembers his name, they definitely held hands, and Chanyeol is alive. Not too bad at all.

Chanyeol eats slowly, taking his time, and alternates drafting a text to Sehun with scribbling in his notebook. Yesterday put a lot of things into perspective. It’s going to take some time to fully organise his thoughts, but he wants to write a new letter to his mother. It still could be a suicide note, of sorts; whether she’ll still consider she has a son remains to be seen. She tells everyone that Yoora will be home when she finishes her studies, but the years stretch on. For now Chanyeol is just emptying his thoughts out as they come.

It feels good, being here and doing this. Makes Chanyeol feel almost like he’s a proper person again. He’s nibbling his way through the last of the pickles and debating his quiet twitter feed when he gets the feeling there are eyes on him. It’s just a sensation, but once he’s got it he’s pretty sure he’s featuring in the hushed conversation from over by the kitchen partition.

Kyungsoo has his arms folded tight around himself, like he’s trying to withdraw from whatever the old woman is animatedly discussing with him. It evidently doesn’t work — with a despairing look over his shoulder he’s nudged out of the shadowy corner and towards the counter.

Although initially alarmed to be approached again, Chanyeol wants to play this smoother this time. That is until he actually looks up and realises he’s the last one here. He’s been so absorbed in writing he hadn’t even noticed that Kyungsoo had begun stacking the wooden stools at the far end of the room. 3pm has long passed and he’s glad he obliviously missed it.

“Oh my god.” Chanyeol is hot and floundering again, great. He hurriedly stuffs his notebook into his bag. “You came to kick me out, I’m so sorry.”

Kyungsoo purses his lips, waiting for Chanyeol to stop fumbling with his phone and the tote bag handles before saying, “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little..” He gestures vaguely, waving a hand.

Yes. That’s exactly how Chanyeol feels. “Yes? But also not really. I don’t know. Everything is just kind of..different? But I’m sorry for disrupting you again, I didn’t intentionally come here to be a bother. Yesterday or today.” 

“You’re not a bother,” Kyungsoo replies immediately, then his eyes dull. “I mean, you are, but don’t worry about it.” 

If Chanyeol couldn’t still feel remnants of Kyungsoo’s kindness from yesterday he’d take the hint and leave as quickly as possible. But maybe Kyungsoo is just like this — prickly on the outside to hide the soft underneath. Ok, it’s hard to visualise that someone with a scowl like that is soft, exactly. But Chanyeol takes his words at face value, turns to him fully but doesn’t stand to leave.

“It’s..it’s good though, I think. I just kinda got a new perspective on things and now I’m all..” he repeats the hand gesture. “I have no food in, I need to start looking for a new job, I need to think of a really nice apology gift for someone..” On that list needs to be a new journal as a gift to himself, too. A really nice one. Moving forward is going to require a lot of unpleasant reflection, he knows that. “Trying to decide where to start.”

“I see.” Kyungsoo glances back to the kitchen. The elderly woman is sitting in a low chair that must be kept there specifically for her. She’s intently reading a pamphlet from the stack of local business advertisements on a wicker table next to the spare condiments, but if Kyungsoo were to take so much as one step away that would change.

“Like, no food,” Chanyeol continues, “So I guess I should start there. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’ve been living off of ‘til now. Just apples I think? I feel like I’ve eaten a hundred apples recently. I needed a good cooked meal today!” He would happily come back and eat his way through the menu here every day, but even in his addled state he knows that’s not an appropriate threat to make.

With his only escape route still blocked, Kyungsoo sways restlessly. “You know how to cook?” His eyes dart away uncertainly. “There’s some simple beginners stuff.. I feel like. Like I shouldn’t let you just..” He huffs, picking at the sticky track left on his finger from the band aid. “How did making sure you can fend for yourself turn into my responsibility suddenly?”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol bows his head, mostly to hide a grin. He’s barely sorry at all. “I’ve done nothing but be annoying since I got here.”

“You’re right about that,” Kyungsoo mutters loud enough for Chanyeol to hear, pulling up a stool beside him. “Get the notebook back out.”

“I can do it on..” Chanyeol’s hand hovers over his phone, and Kyungsoo stares so hard he swears he breaks into a fresh sweat on the spot. “Yeah, yes. Notebook.” A speck of the bright scarlet sauce from his meal has flicked onto his canvas bag. He picks at it, taking the dried top off and leaving an orange streak on the yellow pattern. Well, it kind of blends in.

Chanyeol nudges his empty bowl and dishes aside, placing the notebook down with the pen in the centre. It’s a PreCure pen he picked up dirt cheap because it’s unofficial, all pink with purple and yellow stars. He doesn’t know if Kyungsoo will want to write with it — guys get weird about things like that. Most guys do. Chanyeol’s happy to do the writing.

Kyungsoo isn’t paying attention to what Chanyeol is doing anyway. When Chanyeol looks to him expectantly he’s propped an elbow on the counter and has glazed over. He seems as far away as Chanyeol was earlier.

“Um. You’re sure I’m not holding you up or anything..?”

Kyungsoo blinks back to him, another deep frown setting in. “No. I had a feeling I was forgetting to do something, but it didn’t come to me.” He takes another long look out the window, at the meagre sunset that’s broken through the drizzle, then shrugs and swipes up the pen. “Is four enough to start? They share ingredients.”

“Four more than I already know,” Chanyeol says cheerfully, flipping through the book until he’s at a chunk of blank pages where there’s no chance Kyungsoo will see anything embarrassing. “Thank you again, this is—”

“I’ll explain what I’m writing.”

“Ok.” Chanyeol straightens up, prim and proper, so Kyungsoo can see he can totally behave and listen. It earns him an eye roll. He can’t remember the last time happiness felt so bubbly and fizzy inside him.

Aside from an initial pause when the ink unexpectedly comes out purple, Kyungsoo relaxes the more he writes. His tone softens and flows fast once he’s talking about something he knows. Chanyeol politely refrains from asking questions and leans close to try and absorb the parts Kyungsoo underlines. By the second page their shoulders are touching, and Chanyeol is so aware of it it’s a struggle to focus.

When Kyungsoo reaches the end of the second set of instructions he turns to Chanyeol, jolts slightly in surprise at just how close they are. “Does this make sense so far?”

“Total sense! You’re good at explaining in a way that makes it feel like I could actually figure it out myself.” Chanyeol takes the initiative to back up. He props on his elbows to put a little distance between them and his sleeve slips down. Something about Kyungsoo’s eyes tracing the edge of his tattoo makes his mouth feel sticky and weird when he talks. “I, uh. I watch cooking videos online but I’m not great at following them. And the music is usually lame and it distracts me. ‘cause I make..I make music sometimes, see, so I’m just like, aware..”

Kyungsoo nods. “No, I understand that. I don’t enjoy those kinds of videos usually, they’re not representative of the actual process. And..”

“We should team up!” Chanyeol blurts before his brain kicks in. It does that a second later, a full bodied cringe curling inside him for being too loud, too forward. It’s clear Kyungsoo doesn’t want any commotion within ten feet of himself. But it’s been a long while since Chanyeol had the energy to be obnoxious, and he figures it must be at least partly Kyungsoo’s fault. “I’ve been working on a song actually,” Chanyeol swiftly transitions the subject, “Trying to, at least. I’m so rusty, I haven’t written anything in forever.”

Kyungsoo is rubbing his thumb around one of the raised star designs on the pen. “You mentioned that yesterday. I think. I hope it..” They both startle at a sudden scraping sound from across the room. Kyungsoo places the pen down and plants a foot on the floor, half out of his seat instinctively, like he probably has to make these quick breaks across the room regularly. “Halmeoni, please leave the clearing up to me,” he calls, then looks back to Chanyeol with the same despairing expression he had when he came over. Poor Kyungsoo, stuck between two people’s attention when he wants neither. “Sorry, I should..” 

“You should,” Chanyeol nods eagerly and begins gathering his things up. He doesn’t want to be responsible for any old lady injuries. “I could just wait. Outside? Or not, sorry. I don’t wanna take up your time, you were just being nice.”

Kyungsoo pushes the stool back under the counter with his knee, and instead of rushing across the room he turns to face Chanyeol. With Chanyeol sitting on the high counter stool they’re exactly at eye level. For a long moment he silently looks at Chanyeol, like he can see right through him. Like he’ll remember what they talked about yesterday if he just focuses hard enough. He also looks like it’s physically paining him how desperately he wants to say no, which Chanyeol respects. He’s just something that happened to Kyungsoo because he was being kind, after all.

But Chanyeol is a new Chanyeol today, and he feels boisterously annoying along with it. He doesn’t want to just shrink away from a good feeling on the assumption he’ll ruin it. “I’ll give you my number? So you can just text me the rest.”

“I don’t really..” Kyungsoo looks like he’s having the worst day of his life. He heaves a sigh, fists clenched at his sides. “Fine. Hold on.” He walks across to a door beside the kitchen, having short words with the old woman in passing. “I don’t know my number,” he says as he heads back, phone in hand, “You’ll have to give me yours.”

Kyungsoo’s phone is small and old and he unlocks it with his thumb, then hands it over. Chanyeol apologises twice for the intrusion of navigating to the contacts by himself. There are so few in there, he realises his will be stored right at the top. Most start with Supplier. 

“No pressure though, really. Text me whenever you want, I won’t have your number until you do. Is that ok?” Chanyeol passes the phone back, gathers up his bag and coat. His legs ache from being bunched up under the counter. “Thank you and sorry again for..everything, I’ve disrupted your day twice now.” 

“It’s fine, Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo lingers over the new name in his phone. Presumably he’s never seen one with an emoji before. He raises his hand to wave, then seems struck with the same awkward embarrassment Chanyeol’s been feeling for the majority of the day and quickly drops it again. “Take care.”

“Will do. Promise.”

That was also a stupid thing to say, but Chanyeol grins through the heat flooding his face and scoots for the door. He will. He really, really will. 

Outside he fumbles with his jacket, bag and phone, double checking that he didn’t leave anything behind. Nope— Ok. All good. Chanyeol takes a deep breath of damp evening air, then shivers. Before he sets off he stoops down to pick an onion root from the crate on the weathered stone step.

→

The sun is blindingly bright and warm through the wire mesh in Chanyeol’s balcony window. So much so that he’s wearing a tshirt today, hair held up in a pink clip and the window open just an inch. To let some sweet chilly air in, and to let the smoke out.

Whenever Sehun replies to his texts again he’ll argue that there’s no way Chanyeol’s telling the truth about being up before noon to cook. He’s started reading them, at least. Chanyeol’s thought of telling his mother, but he’s already sent his single email for the month. He’s going to at least get good enough to be proud of himself before caring how she feels about him learning to cook.

Not that cooking is what Chanyeol is doing right now. He’s laying across the rug with his phone under his nose, tapping slowly.
[kyungsoo please help]
[i did everything you said and it still went wrong]
[it burned!!]

Chanyeol isn’t expecting a reply until tonight, if at all, but either Kyungsoo is on his break or he has some sixth sense for Chanyeol in distress. 

[Then you didn’t do everything I said.]
[I’m busy.]
[Stick to song writing.]

Grinning, Chanyeol wriggles to prop up on an elbow.
[youre so mean!!!]
[im a beginner be nice to me]
[ill come meet you after work and you can explain again :D]

[You will not.]
[If I see you here I’ll push you into the river.]

[cold!]
[(the river not you)]
[(but also you)]

Only the first two messages show up as read, so Chanyeol doesn’t send any further. If Chanyeol’s learned one thing about Kyungsoo, that means he’ll be ready and waiting at the door in his thick framed glasses with his silly neat backpack. Smiling at the thought, Chanyeol blindly reaches up to drop his phone on the coffee table and rolls onto his back. He stretches out in the chunk of sunlight, tensing from head to toe and letting the tension go with a sigh. It’s still too early for thinking about heading out — not quite 1pm, from the time stamp on the last message he sent. 

But that’s fine. His apartment is overflowing with mess and half-started, rapidly abandoned ideas that need attention. His hair dye arrived in the mail yesterday, he’s already behind on replies to the welcome back messages on youtube, and he hasn’t even opened any of the responses to the applications he sent off. But it’s fine — he has all the time in the world.