Chapter Text
chenle clad two faces, two sides on opposing sides, a clear wall separating both personas from each other.
one side was brash, impulsive, loud. his voice resonated wherever he stood. friends and acquaintances alike surrounded him, bonds connecting deep enough through his happy personality.
chenle previously only had said persona, turning to actions than words, friends than self. people kept him flourishing and thriving, basking in the attention like it was his own personal sunlight.
being one who cherished connections no matter how small, he had ever stopped foot into what he considered uncharted territory too trivial to be ever given a single thought to — love.
cheeky and almost harsh comments flooded the air when his clique queries his opinions on the topic.
“you’re fucking joking,” he jested, much to the chagrin of his friends. “as long as i have you all, i don’t need to care about some non-existent boyfriend waiting for me on the other side.”
as much as he adored his best friends, they were too engrossed in the idea of love as they grew up beside him.
being more or less his opposite, jisung was a very lovelorn man, yearning and waiting patiently for renjun to speak up even though it would probably never happen without some intervention in the form of chenle threatening to expose his secrets.
the others were not far apart either, obsessed with their significant others, glued to the hip forever. it was almost disgusting to witness their chemistry from afar.
chenle will never understand.
and he does not want to.
love sounds far too much of a burden, a growing commitment that would extend beyond the universe, maybe as disgustingly handsy as his friends.
but all good times must come to an end, and so did his stance of emotional wellbeing.
chenle let himself fall alone, the bridge of his beliefs burning right beneath his feet. his heart had no more weight, fluttering freely like it has attained carte blanche, breaking the shackles of denial.
he got a taste of the feeling he thought he’ll never comprehend and now he was addicted.
holding the pages in trembling pages just shaky enough to leave slight creases on the paper, he wrote and wrote, letting his feelings dictate every stroke, every line, every curve, every mark.
those very same pages formed his new persona, one he keeps close to his heart, locked in a little cupboard invulnerable and solitary.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
it was a day like any other, holding hands with his best friends and frolicking around during their holidays. scrambling to find a table, they settled down to munch on their snacks, squabbling over the next dumb topic they crossed paths with.
their discussions wrapped up into a familiar cadence by the time the food had disappeared from their table. mark stood up to pay but the others were not happy as they started discussing who should pay.
snickering at the slowly growing squabble, chenle turned back to the table to give no attention at the noise. noticing a piece of paper, its free corners fluttering in the strong wind, he tried to reach out, ending up with the paper in his face.
immediately realising it was a written page, he quickly held it in his fists, hiding behind as his friends wrapped up the conversation.
something in him, a voice maybe, spoke quietly, resonating in the empty corners of his mind, to look at the page and read its contents like it has something to offer.
it felt like pure childish curiosity of wanting to know an unknown thing that does not belong to you, but it itched at his brain, his fingers turning sore as it grazed the grainy surface. he wanted to know, he yearned to know.
chenle unfolded the crumpled paper to see it was writing, a half written paragraph in english with a few lingering sentences that stay unfinished that took him a while to decipher, yet most remain completely untranslated.
…shanghai.
dear le…
i hope this letter finds you well.
i do not think this would work out, i’m not taking any chances and i hope you understand my take…
these are my conditions if you are not accepting…
thank you.
it did not take chenle more than a second to understand that this was someone’s unfinished letter that was somehow curling around his table, flapping its corners like a bird about to take flight.
the itch grew again. the whispers grew persistent, clawing into his skin. his heart raced as he reasoned his options.
he could always dispose of the letter, pretending and forgetting that it was a letter in the first place, but the mere thought makes his skin crawl.
he could keep it with him like a small trinket but that would render him a creep. it did not work well with his moral compass.
it did not take long for him to break and fall into his inner subconscious desires as he grabbed a pen and paper with trembling hands, writing his explanation of finding the letter to this person who he was never seen in his life, nor will he ever see in the first place.
shanghai is a vast place after all. what could go wrong with writing a letter?