Work Text:
Baekhyun is eight the summer he moves into the quiet neighborhood at the edge of town — the one where the streetlights hum like old radios and the nights feel a little thicker, a little more alive. His parents call it “peaceful,” but to Baekhyun, it feels like the world is holding its breath.
On his second night there, when the boxes are still half-unopened and his bedroom smells like tape and dust, he sees Kyungsoo for the first time.
Not in daylight.
Kyungsoo doesn’t come out for that.
The cicadas are buzzing, and Baekhyun is poking at the grass with a stick when a soft knock taps against the wooden fence—too purposeful to be the wind.
He pauses.
Tap.
Tap.
“Uh… hello?” he calls, voice wobbling a bit.
No answer.
He stands on his toes and tries to peek over, but the fence is too tall. So he shuffles toward the small gap near the gate — the one his mom told him not to squeeze through — and presses his eye to it.
There’s a shape in the dark.
And then the boy steps into the moonlight.
Baekhyun startles backward so fast he almost falls. He was expecting maybe a stray cat or a neighbor adult.
Instead there’s a boy about his age standing very still, like he’s afraid to take up space. The moon paints a soft glow on him, making his skin look almost blue, like he belongs in a storybook more than a street.
Baekhyun opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
“…Hi?”
The boy blinks. Slowly.
“I’m Kyungsoo.”
His voice is small but steady, like someone who’s had practice speaking quietly.
Baekhyun wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts. “I’m Baekhyun. I just moved here. Like, yesterday.”
Kyungsoo nods, as if that explains something important.
Baekhyun fidgets, unsure what comes next. “Um… do you always come out at night?”
Kyungsoo thinks for a second. “Mostly.”
“Why?”
“Because the sun hurts.”
Baekhyun’s eyes go wide. “Like… sunburn?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Worse. It makes me dizzy. And my skin gets red really fast. And I feel… sick.” His voice gets even softer. “So I stay inside.”
“Oh.” Baekhyun swallows, feeling strangely protective already. “That sounds awful.”
Kyungsoo shrugs one shoulder. “I’m used to it.”
There’s a pause, the kind that would feel awkward if Baekhyun wasn’t already fascinated.
“So,” Baekhyun tries again, “do you… wanna play?”
Kyungsoo’s eyes lift, surprised — like he wasn’t expecting the invitation at all.
“Now?”
“Yeah, now.” Baekhyun points at his flashlight lying in the grass. “I don’t know where anything is yet. You could show me stuff?”
Kyungsoo’s mouth twitches — not a smile, but the ghost of one.
“Okay.”
Baekhyun squeezes through the fence gap without hesitation. Kyungsoo steps back as if giving him space, watching him with careful curiosity.
Up close, Baekhyun notices little things:
How big Kyungsoo’s eyes are.
How he stands like he’s not sure he’s allowed to take up room.
How the long sleeves look too warm for summer but he doesn’t complain.
Baekhyun doesn’t realize this is the most important moment of his life. He just grins back.
From there, they become inseparable within hours.
Kyungsoo shows him the best hiding spots behind the hydrangea bushes, the perfect angle to bounce a flashlight beam like a signal to aliens, the secret gap in the fence where neighborhood kids squeeze through when they want to feel brave.
They draw chalk circles on the pavement and pretend they’re summoning anime heroes, Baekhyun shouting dramatic lines while Kyungsoo deadpans the spell words. They play flashlight tag until their batteries die and the world goes dark around them. They race through yards like wild shadows, bare feet slapping grass, breathless, free.
Kyungsoo is always a beat quieter, a step gentler—never the first to shout, never the one to demand. But when Baekhyun laughs, Kyungsoo laughs too, the kind of soft giggle that startles out of him like it slipped past his guard. And when Baekhyun smiles, Kyungsoo smiles back, small but real.
School starts, and Kyungsoo’s sun allergy becomes official.
Forms. Meetings. Indoor-only P.E. A teacher assigned just to walk him between buildings on sunny days.
Kids stare.
Some argue he’s faking it.
Some whisper “vampire” whenever he passes.
Baekhyun becomes the first—and fiercest—to defend him.
“No, he’s not a vampire,” he snaps, hands balled into fists he’s too small to use. “He’s just sensitive to the sun. Leave him alone.”
Sometimes Kyungsoo watches him with a look Baekhyun doesn’t understand yet—wide, stunned, almost grateful. Like no one has stood beside him before.
Their world forms in the dark.
Anime marathons on Kyungsoo’s bedroom floor, the curtains drawn tight, the glow of the screen painting their faces blue. Mango candy wrappers piling up between them.
Trading manga under desk lamps past midnight, trying to whisper even when they’re too excited to keep quiet.
Falling asleep to the flicker of old DVDs and the soft sound of their giggles melting into dreams.
Somewhere in those nights, Baekhyun starts thinking of Kyungsoo as something lunar—a boy made of nighttime and quiet wonder, pulled by tides Baekhyun can’t quite see.
Someone who belongs more to the moon than the sun.
And Baekhyun, without realizing it, begins to orbit him.
A soft pull.
A gentle gravity.
The beginning of everything that comes after.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Middle school bends them both out of shape, stretching and twisting pieces of who they were as kids.
Kyungsoo grows quieter.
Not shy — quiet. Like someone gradually turning the volume knob down on himself.
He sits on the swing set after school, not swinging, not fidgeting, just staring at the moon even when it’s too early for it to be fully visible. He watches it like it’s whispering something only he can hear. Baekhyun sometimes watches him from the monkey bars, trying to guess what he’s thinking, but Kyungsoo’s expression has started carrying shadows Baekhyun doesn’t know how to name.
Baekhyun fills the emptier space by talking more.
He rambles about homework, about weird kids in class, about new anime episodes. He cracks jokes — some terrible, some actually funny — just to keep something warm between them.
Kyungsoo will smile.
Softly.
Briefly.
Enough to make Baekhyun feel like everything is still okay.
But then Kyungsoo starts missing whole days of school.
Then two in a row.
Then more.
The first time it happens, Baekhyun texts him three times:
You okay?
Are you sick?
Do you need notes?
Kyungsoo replies that night, past midnight:
I’m fine. Just tired.
But over the next few months, his late-night texts begin to change.
They shift from excited paragraphs about anime theories and character ships to short, cryptic lines:
Do you ever feel like you’re fading?
I wish I could sleep forever.
Sorry. Ignore me.
Every “ignore me” feels like a bruise.
Baekhyun doesn’t ignore a single one.
He stays up past midnight to reply, even on school nights, even when his eyes burn.
He tries to be lighthearted without sounding dismissive, comforting without sounding scared.
Sometimes Kyungsoo responds.
Sometimes he doesn’t.
And the silence between them begins to feel heavier.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
By the time high school begins, Baekhyun is nervous and restless, half-missing the boy who used to giggle into the glow of anime screens.
Then Kyungsoo shows up on the first day.
And Baekhyun almost doesn’t recognize him.
His hair is blonde — not bright, but soft, like wheat catching late sunlight. It frames a sharper jawline, a face that looks older, more closed off. There’s a cold, cool aura around him now, something distant and measured.
He still wears long sleeves.
He still walks like he’s saving his energy for something that matters.
But he’s… beautiful.
Undeniably.
Baekhyun stands in the hallway staring, mouth slightly open, books clutched too tightly. It hits him like a physical shove — how much he’s changed, how much Baekhyun hasn’t.
Kyungsoo glances over, catches him looking.
For a split second, Baekhyun thinks Kyungsoo will tease him, or smile, or ask why he’s staring.
Instead, Kyungsoo just looks away.
Cool.
Unbothered.
Like he didn’t see anything at all.
Or like he saw everything and chose not to comment.
Baekhyun feels heat rush to his face. He ducks his head, tries to busy himself with his zipper, his sleeves, anything.
And in that awkward, heart-thudding moment, Baekhyun realizes — with a jolt so embarrassing he wants to hide inside his locker — that his best friend is beautiful.
Not pretty like a kid.
Beautiful like someone the world would notice.
And Baekhyun suddenly doesn’t know how to look at him the same way he used to.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
At first, Baekhyun tells himself the distance between them is just first-day weirdness. Everyone is awkward on the first day of high school. Everyone is busy figuring out classrooms, lockers, new teachers, new crowds.
But the second day is the same.
And the third.
Kyungsoo moves through the halls like a ghost no one else knows how to see — hands in his pockets, earbuds in, posture relaxed but unreachable. He doesn’t walk with anyone. He doesn’t talk to anyone unless forced.
Baekhyun tries to close the gap.
“Hey,” he says one morning, jogging up behind him. “You dyed your hair. Looks good.”
Kyungsoo takes out one earbud.
“Thanks.”
Just that. No smile. No teasing. No follow-up.
But his voice is soft.
Still Kyungsoo’s.
Still familiar in a way that makes Baekhyun’s stomach tighten.
Baekhyun wants to say more. He wants to ask if Kyungsoo is sleeping better, if middle school wasn’t too hard on him, if something happened over the summer that made him shave off half his softness and replace it with armor.
Instead he just walks beside him for a few steps.
Kyungsoo puts his earbud back in.
Not rudely.
Just… removing himself again.
And Baekhyun learns to walk a half-step behind.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
After a week of circling each other in hallways and exchanging stiff nods that felt like ghosts of what they used to be, Baekhyun decides he’s done waiting for things to fix themselves.
He spots Kyungsoo sitting alone at the far end of the cafeteria — same corner every day, like he’s chosen the furthest point from existing noise. His lunch tray is small, almost empty, just a sandwich and a carton of milk he hasn’t opened.
Baekhyun inhales, steels himself, and walks over.
When he slides into the seat across from Kyungsoo, the scrape of the chair makes Kyungsoo flinch before he looks up.
He looks… startled.
Like he wasn’t expecting anyone.
Like he definitely wasn’t expecting Baekhyun.
“Hey,” Baekhyun says, forcing brightness into his voice. “Why do you look like I’m a stranger? We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
Kyungsoo’s lashes flicker. He swallows, sets his sandwich down, and blinks at him slowly — as if trying to confirm Baekhyun is real.
“I didn’t think you’d sit here,” he murmurs.
Baekhyun frowns. “Why not?”
Kyungsoo’s gaze drops to his tray. His fingers twist at the crust of the bread.
“Thought you’d want to be with… people.”
The tiny pause before people hits Baekhyun low and cold, like a bucket of ice water poured straight onto his ribs.
A dozen responses rush through his head — What does that mean? Who do you think I came here for? Why are you pushing me away? — but he swallows all of them, choosing the safest one he can laugh through.
“What — you’re not people?” He lets his voice go playful, like he can warm the table just by teasing.
Kyungsoo huffs a laugh.
Small. Barely a breath.
But real.
And Baekhyun’s whole body unclenches with relief he tries not to show.
They eat in silence for a while — Kyungsoo taking mouse-sized bites, Baekhyun pretending not to notice that Kyungsoo’s hands shake slightly when he lifts the carton to drink.
Baekhyun stabs at his rice with his fork.
Overthinks every motion.
Wonders if he should talk or stay silent or ask something or pretend everything’s normal.
It isn’t normal.
Nothing has been normal for a long time.
The late-night texts echo behind Baekhyun’s eyes like ghosts:
Do you ever feel like you’re fading?
I wish I could sleep forever.
Sorry. Ignore me.
Baekhyun hasn’t ignored a single one.
His fingers hovered over replies for minutes — sometimes hours — choking on words he didn’t know how to give.
He looks up at Kyungsoo now, wanting to finally ask.
Instead, what comes out is:
“So… do you still like that anime? The one with the magic swords?”
Kyungsoo’s eyes lift — barely, but enough.
Enough to soften something in his face.
Enough to show a flicker of middle-school Kyungsoo, the one who stayed up with him until sunrise debating which character had the coolest power-up.
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “I still watch it.”
His voice is small but warm. Familiar in a way that tugs painfully at Baekhyun’s memories.
Baekhyun smiles. Too wide. Too relieved. He knows he looks eager but can’t help it.
“Then come over this weekend? We can binge it. Eat junk. Complain about the animation quality together.”
Kyungsoo’s hand freezes midway to his sandwich.
He doesn’t pull back — he doesn’t shut down — but he pauses.
It’s tiny.
Barely visible.
But Baekhyun feels it like a hand closing around his heart.
Kyungsoo looks at him for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression — longing? fear? guilt?
Then he nods once.
“Maybe,” he says softly.
It’s such a small word.
Barely a promise.
Barely anything at all.
Baekhyun holds onto it like it’s everything.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Then Baekhyun starts noticing everything.
It happens gradually at first — one stray glance, one unconscious observation — and then suddenly it’s everywhere, like his brain has decided to catalog Kyungsoo without permission.
He notices the way Kyungsoo runs his hands through his fingers when he’s concentrating, fingers brushing the blonde strands back with a delicate flick, always pushing them behind the same ear like a small ritual of focus.
He notices the way he bites the inside of his cheek when someone calls his name out of nowhere, like the world startled him and he’s grounding himself with the smallest, quietest act he can manage.
He notices the way his shoulders relax when Baekhyun starts talking about something dumb — a class joke, an overdramatic retelling of his morning, a rant about homework.
Kyungsoo listens, face softening almost unconsciously, like Baekhyun’s voice smooths out the static in his mind.
Then the noticing shifts.
Worsens.
Deepens.
He catches himself watching Kyungsoo’s profile during lunch — the curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his nose, the almost unfair prettiness of his mouth.
He sees how the blonde catches sunlight and glows like something warm, even though Kyungsoo himself always seems a little cold these days.
He notices the stupidest, smallest things:
The way Kyungsoo’s eyelashes look too long for a boy.
The way the vein in his wrist shows when he pushes his sleeves up, pale skin pulled tight over bone and tendons.
The way his fingers tremble sometimes around pens or chopsticks.
Every new detail feels like a secret Baekhyun shouldn’t be allowed to know.
And God, he hates himself for staring.
For letting his eyes linger too long.
For looking away too fast when Kyungsoo glances over, pretending he was focused on his food or his notes or the wall behind him.
But what he hates even more is this awful uncertainty:
Kyungsoo never reacts.
Never calls him out.
Never blushes or frowns or asks why Baekhyun keeps looking at him like that.
And Baekhyun can’t tell which possibility hurts more:
That Kyungsoo doesn’t notice at all.
Or that he does notice — and simply doesn’t care.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Some days, Kyungsoo is almost normal.
He shows up to school with his hoodie half-zipped and his hair sticking up at the crown like he slept on it wrong. His eyes are less shadowed. His voice isn’t as quiet.
He’ll make a dry joke at Baekhyun’s expense — something like, “Your handwriting looks like it’s trying to escape the page,” and Baekhyun will shove him with a huff, and Kyungsoo will nudge him back, shoulder to shoulder, like muscle memory.
There are mornings where Kyungsoo talks about a song he rediscovered, or a weird midnight movie, or a dream where he floated above school like a lost balloon. His hands move when he talks on those days, like he’s forgetting to hide himself.
On those days, Baekhyun breathes easier.
On those days, he lets himself imagine things might actually be getting better.
But then the next day comes.
And Kyungsoo is gone.
His desk in homeroom is empty — no backpack, no hoodie, no half-finished doodles in the margins of his notebook. Just a cold, scraped plastic chair that feels like an accusation.
Baekhyun checks his phone before first period.
Then during.
Then after.
His skin prickles at every buzz, every vibration, every phantom vibration he swears he feels against his thigh.
Most times, nothing comes.
Just a growing heaviness in his chest.
Sometimes — hours later — a single text appears:
Sorry. Not feeling it today.
Other times, the colder version arrives:
Don’t worry about me.
As if Baekhyun could simply turn the worry off like a light switch.
And Baekhyun does worry.
He worries so much his stomach twists into knots. His appetite disappears. His chest feels tight enough to crack.
He sits in math class tapping his pencil so fast the girl next to him inches her chair away. His leg bounces, heel drumming the floor.
Every time he imagines Kyungsoo alone in his curtained room, lying in the dark like he’s trying to disappear into it, Baekhyun’s vision goes a little blurry.
And one day — sitting in homeroom, staring at Kyungsoo’s empty seat — the thought slips into Baekhyun’s mind uninvited:
Why do I worry so much?
He has other friends. Other classmates miss school all the time. He doesn’t check his phone for them. He doesn’t feel that tug.
The more he tries to answer himself, the worse it gets.
Because the truth is there — just out of reach — like a shape behind fog.
A possibility too big, too sharp, too terrifying.
And thinking about it — even approaching it — makes Baekhyun’s stomach churn. He swallows hard, twice, trying to breathe through a nausea that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with fear.
Fear of what he’s feeling.
Fear of what it means.
Fear that he already knows.
He squeezes his eyes shut.
He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.
He swallows hard and straightens, as if shaking the thought off physically.
It’s fine, he tells himself.
It’s normal. Kyungsoo’s my closest friend. That’s all.
Of course I worry.
He nods to himself, settling the thought with a small exhale.
He worries so much because he’s a close friend.
Because Kyungsoo matters.
Because that’s just what best friends do.
And he leaves it at that.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Baekhyun notices the changes long before he understands them.
In middle school, Kyungsoo used to sit with him every lunch — always at the same table, always with the same quiet routine. They ate side by side, trading jokes about anime, griping about classmates, comparing test scores. Sometimes Kyungsoo didn’t talk much, but he stayed. He was constant. Solid. A quiet moon in Baekhyun’s orbit.
But by sophomore year, those constants start slipping.
At first, Kyungsoo just skips lunch. Says he’s tired. Says he needs to finish homework. Baekhyun believes him without question.
Then one day Kyungsoo is sitting with a group of upperclassmen, laughing — actually laughing — at something someone said.
The next week, he isn’t in the cafeteria at all.
Then suddenly, he’s going to parties.
And the changes don’t stop there.
Kyungsoo seems to float through school on the kind of effortless brilliance people pretend not to envy. Honor roll without studying. Presentations he writes the morning of and somehow delivers like a pro. Teachers adore him. Upperclassmen invite him places without even knowing him well. After school, he drifts into whatever crowd is interesting that week: rooftops, basements, candle-lit apartments with incense burning, house parties where everyone pretends they’re older than they are.
He smokes sometimes — leaning back, half-closing his eyes as if the world finally slows to match him.
Baekhyun is the opposite.
Average grades he works way too hard for. Glasses he adjusts when he’s nervous. A stomach that twists at even the mention of weed. He hates the smell of it, hates the way people zone out after, hates the idea of Kyungsoo slipping into a scene that feels unstable and far away.
But he tolerates it.
For Kyungsoo, he tolerates everything.
And maybe that’s why it stings so sharply when Kyungsoo starts hooking up with people casually. Not dramatically — just with a shrug, like intimacy is a skill he picked up along the way. Party corners, stairwells, empty classrooms after school. Kyungsoo always returns with flushed cheeks and mussed hair, and Baekhyun pretends he didn’t notice.
Because Kyungsoo never treats him differently.
Never looks at him like that.
Never lingers on him the way he lingers on strangers.
Baekhyun watches all this quietly, pretending it doesn’t hurt, pretending he isn’t trying to keep track of which Kyungsoo he’ll get each day: the quiet one, the reckless one, the flirty one, or the one who still smiles at him like he’s the only person in the room.
But the biggest shift — the strangest one — is how Kyungsoo becomes more talkative around him again.
Not with everyone.
Not with his party friends.
Just Baekhyun.
He rambles the way he used to when they were twelve — fast, expressive, unfiltered. His sarcasm softens. His teasing warms. He bumps Baekhyun’s shoulder in the hallway, tugs at his hoodie strings, complains about tests, about the weather, about the price of bubble tea.
He leans in close to whisper something stupid in Baekhyun’s ear, then shoves him playfully.
He calls Baekhyun “dramatic” with a grin.
He says Baekhyun’s shampoo smells “weirdly nice.”
It’s familiar in a way that knocks Baekhyun off balance — like Kyungsoo is reaching backwards in time, grabbing the boy he used to be and pulling him closer.
And Baekhyun feels idiotic for how much it matters.
Their anime nights continue through it all — the one ritual untouched by the rest of the world. Blankets, snacks, arguments about plot holes, the comfort of sitting on the floor inches apart. Baekhyun clings to those nights more than he will ever admit.
He realizes he’s in love on a Wednesday.
They’re halfway through a movie Kyungsoo swears is the best thing ever made, though Baekhyun can barely follow the plot because Kyungsoo is leaning on him — actually leaning — head on Baekhyun’s shoulder, breath warm against his collarbone. Somewhere between a dramatic monologue and a sword fight, Kyungsoo falls asleep.
Soft.
Heavy.
Trusting.
His cheek presses warm against Baekhyun’s shoulder, his lips parted, his hand loosely curled near Baekhyun’s thigh.
Baekhyun stops breathing for a full minute.
He doesn’t dare move.
Doesn’t dare think.
Doesn’t dare acknowledge the way something in his chest breaks quietly open and spills everywhere.
The warmth of Kyungsoo’s weight feels criminal.
Like holding something forbidden, something precious he was never supposed to want.
He stays perfectly still until the credits roll, until his arm goes numb, until his heart aches with something sharp and real and impossible to name.
Except — he knows what it is.
He just refuses to say the word out loud
because he’s terrified that saying it
will mean losing Kyungsoo altogether.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
A weekend later, Kyungsoo corners him at his locker, leaning against the metal door like he owns the whole hallway.
“You’re coming out with me this weekend,” he announces, tone casual but eyes bright in a way that Baekhyun can’t resist.
Baekhyun snorts. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Kyungsoo says, poking Baekhyun’s cheek. “You need to stop rotting in your room.”
“I do not rot,” Baekhyun protests, pushing his glasses up. “I… simmer.”
Kyungsoo laughs — a real one, soft and breathy, the kind Baekhyun hasn’t heard in forever.
“Come on. Just one party. I won’t let anyone feed you anything weird. You can stand next to me the whole time.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise,” Kyungsoo says, nudging their shoulders together. Then softer: “Please? For me?”
Something folds inside Baekhyun at that.
Because it sounds like middle school Kyungsoo — the one who leaned on him during class, stole his fries, and looked at him like he was the safest person in the world.
Baekhyun swallows. “Fine. But if I die, tell my mom it was your fault.”
Kyungsoo grins, triumphant. “Gladly.”
The party is packed and loud, the air thick with smoke and sweat and cheap perfume.
Baekhyun stays close to Kyungsoo like he promised — half because he’s nervous, half because the lights keep hitting Kyungsoo’s hair in a way that makes Baekhyun’s pulse trip over itself.
Kyungsoo is unusually affectionate tonight.
He drapes an arm over Baekhyun’s shoulders.
Teases him about the music.
Leans close to whisper jokes only he can hear.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Like they’re orbiting back toward the version of themselves Baekhyun misses so painfully it makes his throat tight.
At one point Kyungsoo hands him a soda, fingers brushing Baekhyun’s knuckles in a slow, deliberate slide.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
Baekhyun nods too quickly. “Yeah. You?”
Kyungsoo gives him a small, secret smile — the one Baekhyun used to catalog like a treasure.
“Better now.”
For a few minutes, it feels like the world has dissolved to just the two of them, the party fading into a meaningless blur. Kyungsoo leans in close enough that Baekhyun can feel every breath against his cheek, and Baekhyun lets himself believe — stupidly — that maybe, maybe there’s something here.
Then someone calls Kyungsoo’s name from across the room.
A guy — older, confident, smirking.
Kyungsoo straightens. “I’ll be right back.”
Baekhyun forces a smile. “Sure.”
He expects Kyungsoo to return in a minute.
He doesn’t.
Baekhyun wanders through the crowd, trying not to look like he’s looking for him.
But after several minutes, anxiety twists in his chest, and he slips into the kitchen to breathe—
And stops cold.
Kyungsoo is pressed against the counter, lips locked with the older guy, hands sliding up under his shirt.
Kyungsoo laughs into the kiss — breathy, easy, beautiful in a way that slices Baekhyun open.
It feels like something inside Baekhyun breaks with an audible snap.
The heartbreak is instant.
Icy.
Physical.
Like he swallowed something sharp.
He leaves the room without a sound.
He isn’t sure how he gets to the front door, only that cold night air hits his lungs like punishment when he steps outside.
He waits on the curb until the party dies down. Kyungsoo comes out laughing with someone else, waving at Baekhyun casually — like the kiss meant nothing, like it wasn’t a knife in the ribs.
They walk home separately for the first time.
Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to notice the space between them.
Doesn’t seem to notice anything at all.
Baekhyun keeps his eyes glued to the cracks in the pavement so he doesn’t have to watch Kyungsoo’s shadow drift farther and farther away.
He feels the distance like a fracture he caused simply by wanting too much.
And the worst part comes the next morning.
Kyungsoo smiles at him like nothing happened.
Like nothing could happen.
Like Baekhyun is just his friend.
Only his friend.
And Baekhyun tells himself that’s all it is —
that the reason he worries so much
hurts so much
breaks so easily
is because he’s a close friend.
Nothing more.
Even though the lie burns all the way down.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
After the party, the distance between them stretches in ways Baekhyun hadn’t thought possible.
Kyungsoo still smiles at him at school, still nudges him in the hall, still leans casually against him during lunch — but there’s a hollowness behind the movements, a faint pause before the laughter, a weight behind the smiles that Baekhyun can’t reach.
The nights they once spent sprawled on the floor with anime blaring feel shorter, quieter. Kyungsoo drifts in and out of his orbit more than ever, disappearing for hours, sometimes even a whole day. When he’s around, he talks — but the words feel coated, distant, like he’s holding something back.
Baekhyun wants to pull him closer, to tether him somehow, but the harder he tries, the further Kyungsoo seems to drift. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tone of his words starts to shift. What used to be teasing, sardonic, or casual becomes something heavier, darker, as though Kyungsoo is wrapping his pain in jokes and sighs.
Kyungsoo’s comments start changing before Baekhyun even realizes it.
At first they sound like offhand remarks — the kind of dry, sardonic humor Kyungsoo’s always had.
But then they start sounding… wrong.
Like they're too light for how heavy they actually are.
“Sometimes I think I’m not supposed to be here,” Kyungsoo says one night as they walk to the convenience store, hands in his pockets, shoulders curled slightly inward like he’s bracing for a storm Baekhyun can’t see.
Baekhyun scoffs, tries to elbow him lightly.
“Wow, dramatic. Did you fail your math quiz or something?”
Kyungsoo doesn’t laugh.
Just shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just… stop?”
The words hit Baekhyun in the chest, sharp and cold.
He tries to turn it into a joke — because jokes are what he uses when he’s scared.
“Stop what? Walking? Breathing? Thinking? I vote for thinking, honestly.”
But Kyungsoo only gives him a ghost of a smile.
“Yeah. Thinking.”
Another night, they’re sprawled on Baekhyun’s couch after a movie, half-asleep, half-listening to the hum of the refrigerator.
Kyungsoo murmurs into the cushion:
“Sometimes I feel broken, Baek.”
Baekhyun pretends he didn’t hear it at first.
He wants to — needs to — because acknowledging it makes everything too real.
But it sits in his ribs, cold and tight.
A marble he can’t swallow.
He becomes protective.
Not in a loud way — never in a way Kyungsoo would notice and push against.
But Baekhyun starts checking in.
“You home?”
“You okay?”
“Eat something today?”
He starts steering Kyungsoo away from rooftops when they hang out on campus, casually placing himself between Kyungsoo and the edge as if it’s accidental.
He starts counting Kyungsoo’s breaths when Kyungsoo falls asleep on his couch during anime marathons — watching the slow rise and fall like the slightest pause might mean something catastrophic.
And then there’s the night everything shifts.
They’re walking back from the convenience store again.
Kyungsoo is quieter than usual, head tilted toward the dark sky like he’s listening for something only he can hear.
“Hey,” Baekhyun says, nudging him. “Your brain is loud again.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t deny it.
He just asks, softly:
“Do you think some people are born defective?”
Baekhyun stops walking.
The streetlamp above them flickers — dim, buzzing, unreliable.
His voice cracks when he answers.
“No.”
He swallows hard.
“You’re not defective. Don’t say stuff like that.”
Kyungsoo looks away, jaw tensing.
“Then why does everything feel wrong?”
Baekhyun doesn’t have an answer.
He pretends he does — he always pretends — but inside, fear coils tight.
After that, emotional distance blooms like a bruise.
Baekhyun throws himself into school.
Studies harder, takes on more work, pushes himself as if perfect grades might somehow earn him the right words — the right version of himself — to help Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo, meanwhile, disappears into nights that stretch longer.
Parties.
Crowds.
Smoke curling from balconies.
Laughter that never reaches his eyes.
He comes back to Baekhyun smelling like alcohol and winter, dropping onto the couch like he’s exhausted from pretending.
They barely talk about the heavy stuff anymore.
They barely talk about the light stuff, either.
But they still return to each other through anime.
Every weekend, no matter how chaotic the week has been, they sit cross-legged on the floor, sharing snacks and blanket corners.
It’s the last thread.
A fragile little ritual that keeps them tied together — but the tension on it is growing.
And even Baekhyun can feel it:
Something between them is glimmering still…
but it’s cracking.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
More parties.
More wounds.
Baekhyun watches from across the room as Kyungsoo slips into a bedroom with someone whose name he probably won’t even remember in the morning. The door closes behind them with a soft click that echoes in his chest.
Something inside Baekhyun shatters. A splintering noise he feels in his ribs, not his ears.
He waits, trembling, until Kyungsoo emerges. Casual. Smiling. Unbothered.
And it makes Baekhyun mad. Furious. Hot and sharp.
When the confrontation comes, it comes raw, loud, trembling on the edges:
“Why do you treat yourself like you’re disposable?”
His voice cracks halfway through, and for a moment he wants to take it back, wants to soften it, apologize, pretend he’s not asking. But he can’t. Not entirely.
Kyungsoo hears only accusation.
“You’re judging me,” Kyungsoo snaps, eyes icy. “You think I’m a whore.”
“That’s not— Kyungsoo, I’m worried about you!” Baekhyun blurts, voice catching again.
“Stop pretending you know what’s best for me,” Kyungsoo hisses.
The fight swallows the room. Words slam against walls like fists.
Baekhyun wants to step back, to breathe, to let Kyungsoo go. His anger claws at him — a shield he’s never needed before. He thinks: Maybe I should just let him be. Maybe I’m too much. Maybe I can’t keep doing this.
He imagines walking away, slamming the door on this mess of feelings. I’ll survive. He’ll survive. It’s not my responsibility.
But even as he tries to rationalize, the worry digs in deeper than the anger. The protective shell he wraps around himself only makes the ache underneath sharper.
Even in his chest, he knows it: pulling away doesn’t erase the fear.
It doesn’t erase the longing.
Baekhyun storms out shaking.
Kyungsoo collapses inward, certain he contaminates everyone he cares about with disappointment.
And then — Kyungsoo disappears.
Three days.
No calls. No texts.
Day one begins with him sitting on his bed, phone in hand, replaying the argument like a broken record.
Maybe he’s mad. Maybe he’s ignoring me. Maybe I ruined everything.
He types a message, deletes it. Types again.
Kyungsoo, are you okay?
He stares at it for ten minutes before finally hitting send.
No reply.
He paces the room.
Checks the window.
Peers at the street below.
Imagines Kyungsoo walking home, alone, laughing with someone else, happy without him.
Night comes, thick and oppressive.
Baekhyun lies awake, staring at the ceiling.
Every creak of the house makes him sit up.
Every vibration of the phone makes his stomach plummet.
Day two.
He tries to focus on school, but every moment is fractured.
In class, his pencil shakes as he doodles Kyungsoo’s face on the margin.
Every text notification — even the wrong number alerts — makes him jump.
Lunch feels impossibly long.
He checks his phone five times in ten minutes, then texts again:
Please text me. Just say you’re okay.
Still nothing.
By afternoon, he tells himself he’s angry now, that he’ll survive this, that Kyungsoo brought this on himself.
I’m mad. I shouldn’t be worrying like this. He’s making his own choices.
But as soon as he says it, his chest tightens.
The thought of Kyungsoo somewhere, maybe lonely, maybe hurt, maybe… worse, twists him inside out.
He can’t stop worrying.
He comes back to it again, like a tide he has no control over.
Day three.
Exhaustion claws at him, but he can’t sleep.
He paces the room, phone clutched, hoodie half-off, glasses crooked.
He texts again, leaves a voicemail:
Kyungsoo, please. Just tell me you’re alive. I can’t— I can’t not know.
Hours pass.
The silence stretches, a living thing pressing down on him.
He imagines the worst.
Imagines finding Kyungsoo somewhere broken.
Imagines feeling his own helplessness, having no one to protect the person he cares about most.
By midnight, Baekhyun sits on the floor, back against the wall, knees to his chest, phone dead from overuse.
He whispers to himself, voice cracking:
I just want him to be okay. I just want him to be here. Please.
Even when he tries to shield himself with anger or reason, the worry is relentless.
It loops back around, every pulse, every heartbeat a reminder: Kyungsoo isn’t just someone in his life anymore.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
On the third night — when Baekhyun is finally too exhausted to keep pacing — his phone buzzes.
4:02 a.m.
One message.
From Kyungsoo.
sorry.
alive.
Two tiny words.
But Baekhyun’s lungs unlock like someone cut invisible strings binding them.
He stares at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, a thousand questions burning under his ribs.
Where were you?
Are you hurt?
Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?
Do you hate me?
Do you need me?
Instead he types only:
Okay.
Come back soon.
He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night.
Kyungsoo shows up at school the next morning like a ghost drifting back into the world.
He’s wearing long sleeves again — too long, too heavy for the weather — and his face is pale, expression wiped clean. His eyes flick around the hallway like he’s relearning how to be among people.
Students whisper.
Teachers look concerned.
But Kyungsoo walks through all of it like he’s underwater.
He doesn’t approach Baekhyun at first.
Instead he leaves small offerings in his path:
A pack of the strawberry gummies Baekhyun used to steal from him.
A print-out meme taped to his locker with crooked tape.
A sticky note reading “ur still dramatic” — one of their old jokes.
Tiny apologies.
Apologies without the courage to be spoken.
And Baekhyun takes every one, carefully, like they’re made of blown glass.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Over the next weeks, Kyungsoo’s moods shift like weather patterns.
Some days he’s bright, buzzing with energy, dragging Baekhyun to fast-food runs at midnight, laughing at jokes that aren’t funny.
Other days he’s sunken and silent, eyes empty, disappearing for hours without warning.
He stays out later.
Parties more.
Drinks sometimes.
Smokes more than he used to.
He walks into danger like it’s a warm bath.
And Baekhyun — despite everything — can’t stop watching him, can’t stop feeling like he’s holding the strings of someone who might float away at any second.
Half terrified.
Half helpless.
Wholly his.
It happens on a Wednesday night when Baekhyun forgets his math binder and goes back to school.
The halls are dark and echoing, every footstep amplified. When he passes the music room, he sees a faint shape inside — still, alone.
He pushes the door open quietly.
Kyungsoo is sitting on the floor, back against the piano bench, moonlight pouring through the tall window and washing over him in silver. He looks unreal — cold around the edges, soft in the middle, like something carved out of loneliness.
He’s wearing long sleeves again. They hang past his wrists, brushing against the floor and the edges of the piano. Every time his sleeves make contact with the cold metal of the bench or the floor, he flinches ever so slightly — a subtle wince, a twitch of his fingers.
Faint lines are visible on his forearms, glimpses of pale scars peeking from beneath the fabric. Baekhyun notices them, a flicker of unease stirring in his chest.
“Kyungsoo?” Baekhyun whispers.
Kyungsoo doesn’t turn. He just stares at the window, shoulders rising and falling with slow breaths.
“You okay?” Baekhyun asks.
A long silence.
“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo murmurs.
Baekhyun’s heart twists, but he sits down beside him anyway, legs brushing. Kyungsoo doesn’t move away. He doesn’t move at all.
They sit like that — two shadows on the music room floor — saying nothing, but feeling everything.
They’re orbiting again.
Close.
Too close.
But afraid to touch.
Two days later, Baekhyun’s phone buzzes at 1:14 a.m.
rooftop. please.
No punctuation. No explanation. Just a plea.
He moves before thinking, hoodie half-on, shoes laced haphazardly, heart hammering in his chest.
When he reaches the rooftop, Kyungsoo is already there. Moonlight drips around him like liquid silver, catching on the strands of his blonde hair and the folds of his long sleeves.
He’s standing near the edge, body slightly tense, shoulders drawn in as if bracing against the night.
Kyungsoo turns, and Baekhyun sees the fragility in him all at once: the hollow look in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the way he clutches the fabric at his wrists. He looks like he could shatter with a single word.
“Baek…” His voice is thin, trembling. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be loved.”
Baekhyun steps closer, instinctive, grounding. “You..” He pauses, searching. “Everyone deserves love, especially.. You.”
Kyungsoo’s chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. He twists his sleeves around his hands, brushing against his palms, curling them like shields.
“I push people away before they see how fucked up I really am.”
“I’m terrified of losing you,” Baekhyun says, reaching out, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
Kyungsoo swallows, eyes glistening in the moonlight. “I don’t feel like you should be. You know how this will end.”
A gust of wind ruffles the edges of his sleeves, and he shivers. Baekhyun wants to wrap an arm around him, hold him tight, keep him from breaking.
Then something loosens inside Baekhyun, snaps clean open.
He can’t hold it anymore.
“I love you,” he says.
It comes out raw.
Bare.
Years of swallowed feelings breaking free.
Kyungsoo inhales shakily, eyes glossing with tears.
“Yeah, but you’re.. You.”
Baekhyun freezes. “I… I’m me. What does that even mean?”
Kyungsoo swallows hard, voice catching. “You… you’re the one who loves me. And I… I can’t…”
Baekhyun’s throat tightens, but he steps closer, voice urgent. “It’s more than that. I’ve always— I’ve always loved you. Not just as a friend. Not just… this.” He gestures between them, between hearts. “I love you. All of you. Even the pieces you hate.”
Kyungsoo’s eyes glisten, blink rapid. “Baekhyun..” He leans slightly toward him, fragile, trembling.
Baekhyun doesn’t push him to finish. He just sits close, shoulder against shoulder, letting the quiet stretch between them.
The moon hangs low and full, spilling silver across the rooftop. Its reflection glints off Kyungsoo’s hair, softens the sharp edges of his face, and for a second, the world outside the rooftop — the parties, the nights of absence, the panic — falls away.
“The moon…” Kyungsoo murmurs finally, softer, quieter. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Baekhyun freezes.
His heart stops for a second.
He knows the phrase.
Him and Kyungsoo have read it.
They’ve heard it.
They know what it means.
But hearing Kyungsoo say it—
like a confession disguised as a meteor—
hits him so hard he feels dizzy.
“I…” Baekhyun swallows, throat tight. “Yeah. I can die happy.”
Kyungsoo’s eyes flick to him, shining wet in the moonlight. Something breaks open in his expression—fear, longing, disbelief.
And before Baekhyun can overthink it, before he can talk himself out of wanting more, Kyungsoo whispers:
“ I wish… I wish time could stop right now.”
Baekhyun’s breath catches.
Not from fear.
Not from panic.
But from the weight of it—the raw, trembling truth in Kyungsoo’s voice.
“Don’t—” Baekhyun’s voice cracks and he wipes at his eyes harshly. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it in the pretty way. The… the poetic way.”
Kyungsoo lets out a wet, broken laugh. “I do. God, Baek… I do.”
Baekhyun turns toward him fully, tears spilling despite him trying to hold them back. Kyungsoo’s eyes are glossy, confused, full of hurt and want and everything he’s been choking down for years.
“Kyungsoo…” Baekhyun whispers, voice trembling. “Please don’t disappear on me. Please don’t do stupid stuff anymore. Please don’t… don’t leave.”
Kyungsoo’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t know how to stay.”
“Then let me help you try,” Baekhyun says, breath shaking. “Just stay here. With me. Right now.”
Kyungsoo blinks, and a tear slips down his cheek.
And then another.
Baekhyun reaches out—
hesitant,
gentle,
shaking—
and brushes his thumb across Kyungsoo’s cheek.
Kyungsoo leans into it like it hurts.
Baekhyun whispers, “I love you. I love you so much it feels like it’s killing me.”
Kyungsoo chokes out a broken sound—half-sob, half-laugh. “You can’t. You can’t love me like that. I’m not someone people stay for.”
“You are,” Baekhyun says, voice breaking entirely. “I’m right here.”
Kyungsoo stares at him, breathing unevenly, trembling all over.
Then he leans forward—
slow,
uncertain,
like he’s afraid Baekhyun might disappear if he moves too fast.
Their foreheads touch first.
Then their noses brush.
Both of them crying.
And when Kyungsoo whispers, barely audible—
“Baek… please…”
Baekhyun kisses him.
It’s not perfect.
It’s not clean or practiced.
It’s messy.
Wet.
Shaking.
Full of gasps and tears and years of swallowed feelings.
Kyungsoo clutches Baekhyun’s hoodie like he’s drowning. Baekhyun cups Kyungsoo’s jaw with both hands, thumbs trembling against damp skin.
They kiss again, softer this time, both of them crying quietly into each other.
A cracked, desperate, tender thing.
And when Kyungsoo finally pulls back, breathless, he whispers against Baekhyun’s lips:
“Please don’t stop loving me.”
And Baekhyun, equally destroyed, whispers back:
“I couldn’t stop if I tried.”
They collapse onto the rooftop floor, legs tangled awkwardly, shoulders pressed together, both too exhausted to move. The city hums below them, distant and indifferent, but up here, under the moon, the world has shrunk down to the two of them.
Kyungsoo buries his face in Baekhyun’s shoulder, silent at first, letting hot tears soak through the fabric of his hoodie. Baekhyun freezes for a second, heart hammering, then wraps an arm around him, careful, protective, like holding a bird with broken wings.
“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo whispers, voice muffled. “I’m… such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” Baekhyun says gently, kissing the top of his head. “You’re… you. And I love you. Every piece of you.”
Kyungsoo trembles against him, and more tears fall. “I just… I don’t know how to stop…”
“You don’t have to stop,” Baekhyun murmurs. “You just… have to let me stay. That’s enough. You don’t need to fix anything right now. Just… be here. With me.”
They sit like that for hours, taking turns talking, or sometimes just breathing in each other’s presence. Kyungsoo admits fears he’s never voiced, things that make him feel broken, invisible, like he doesn’t deserve air. Baekhyun admits how much it hurts him to see Kyungsoo hurt, how long he’s waited to hold him when he’s like this.
Kyungsoo’s voice breaks a few times. He promises he’ll try therapy, that he’ll reach out, that he’ll fight the darkness instead of disappearing into it.
Baekhyun, fingers threading through his hair, promises something just as hard: that he’ll support him, stay with him, never try to force him to be “fixed,” but always be a shoulder, a hand, a presence.
Moonlight drifts across them like a fragile blessing, pale and protective, wrapping around their bent forms. Every tear, every shudder, every word spoken into the night feels sacred.
When they finally lean back against the cold rooftop, exhausted and raw, Kyungsoo murmurs softly, “I think… I think I might be okay… as long as you’re here.”
Baekhyun tightens his hold, whispering back, voice thick with tears of his own: “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for a few hours, nothing else matters except the warmth of each other, the soft steady presence of someone who refuses to leave, and the quiet blessing of the moon overhead.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Dating is messy.
Kyungsoo can be impossibly close one week, draping himself over Baekhyun’s shoulder, laughing so hard his nose scrunches, then vanish the next, leaving unread messages and a trail of silence that makes Baekhyun’s stomach twist into knots.
Baekhyun loses sleep. He stares at his phone at 2 a.m., scrolling through messages he sent hours ago, wondering why there’s no reply, imagining every terrible possibility. He debates calling, texting again, stopping himself, then calling anyway. And every time Kyungsoo finally responds, he feels relief so sharp it almost hurts.
One evening, curled on the couch with a blanket around both of them, Baekhyun hesitates, then blurts, “Do… do you ever think about… the other people? The hookups?”
Kyungsoo stiffens, pulling back slightly. “Why do you care so much? You think I’m… I don’t know… some whore?”
“No! I— It’s just… I don’t know. I just—” Baekhyun’s voice cracks. “It makes me… uneasy.”
Kyungsoo’s eyes flash, defensive. “I told you—those are my choices. I don’t need a lecture, Baek. I’m not even doing that shit anymore.”
Baekhyun swallows, cheeks burning. “I know. I just—” He stops, realizing he’s walking into a fight he doesn’t want. “Never mind.”
Kyungsoo exhales sharply and mutters, “Good. Just… leave it.”
Baekhyun sits back, silent, heart pounding. He doesn’t bring it up again.
And yet… there are nights that feel like they belong to no one else but them.
Rooftop ramen, steam curling into the night air as they talk about nothing, everything, and nothing at all. Kyungsoo’s shoulder warm against Baekhyun’s, his hand brushing Baekhyun’s when he reaches for the soup.
Anime marathons sprawled across Kyungsoo’s bedroom floor, blankets tangled around them both, laughter muffled by soft pillows, the quiet moments between scenes filled with stolen glances and fingertips brushing.
Soft jokes whispered in the dark. Kyungsoo’s lips curve up in that half-smile that always makes Baekhyun’s chest ache.
“Sunlight,” Kyungsoo murmurs one night, cheeks pink, voice softer than the moonlight spilling across his hair.
Baekhyun pretends his heart isn’t exploding, pretending it’s casual, like he doesn’t want to melt entirely under the weight of that word.
But the crashes always come.
Kyungsoo disappears for a full day. No replies. No check-ins. His location is unknown.
Baekhyun spirals. Every unread message becomes a hammer against his ribs. He imagines rooftops, dark corners, mistakes, vanishings. Every worst-case scenario spins in his mind until the room feels like it’s tilting, like gravity itself has betrayed him.
He paces, sits, scrolls. He mutters under his breath. He writes texts and deletes them. He wonders how someone so important to him can also be the source of such unbearable fear.
And when Kyungsoo finally reappears, disheveled, tired, hair falling into his eyes, Baekhyun feels relief so overwhelming it almost breaks him—but the memory of the day’s panic lingers, a quiet warning that loving Kyungsoo isn’t simple.
It's messy. Chaotic. Exquisite.
And terrifying.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Baekhyun wakes early, the sky still bruised with pre-dawn blues. Something feels… off. A hollow pit gnaws at him. He checks his phone again—no messages. Nothing from Kyungsoo. His stomach knots tighter than ever, but this time it’s different. He doesn’t just worry; he feels a pulse of dread he can’t shake.
He finds himself walking toward the park almost on autopilot, shoes crunching on gravel, breath puffing in the cold morning air. The swings sway lightly in the breeze. Baekhyun sees him before the sun even rises, hoodie pulled tight, small and hunched on the swing.
He freezes for a moment, chest tight, stomach twisting. Then he notices it—dark streaks on the sleeve, crimson soaking through. A cold spike hits his ribs.
“Oh… shit,” Baekhyun whispers, voice shaking. “Kyungsoo… we need to—please, we need to get you inside.”
Kyungsoo shifts but doesn’t look up, stiff as if bracing himself. A razor blade rests on his lap, catching the faint pre-dawn light. The sight makes Baekhyun’s stomach flip, panic clawing at him.
Baekhyun’s hands are trembling as he reaches for him. “We can’t just… stay out here. You’re bleeding. Let me help you. Just—come on, okay?”
Kyungsoo shifts slightly, avoiding his eyes. “I… I’m fine,” he mutters, voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t need help.”
“No. You’re not fine,” Baekhyun snaps, the panic sharp in his chest. “Look at your sleeve! And… god, you need to get cleaned up, Kyungsoo. Please. I can’t just leave you here.”
Kyungsoo flinches, twisting his sleeve in his hands, trying to cover it. Baekhyun’s stomach drops, but he can’t think about anything else. The world narrows to urgency: get him somewhere safe, get him cleaned, make the bleeding stop.
Baekhyun steps closer, gently resting a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “We can fix this. Together. Okay?”
Kyungsoo laughs, a sound that’s half sob, half breath. “Fix… me?”
You don’t have to be fixed,” Baekhyun says quickly, dropping to one knee beside the swing. “You just need to… get somewhere else. Away from this”
Kyungsoo exhales shakily. “I don’t want to—ugh… I don’t know. I don’t want someone to see me like this.”
“Kyungsoo, I’ve seen you like this,” Baekhyun says softly, voice trembling.
Kyungsoo’s fingers tighten on the swing. A slight shiver runs through him. He’s trembling, small, fragile,
“Come on,” Baekhyun says, voice breaking, pulling gently but firmly. “You can’t stay here. My place—just for now. We’ll get you cleaned up. I promise, I’ll do it carefully.”
Slowly, Kyungsoo lifts his head. He hesitates, eyes glossy, mouth opening and closing like he wants to argue, but the cold fear in Baekhyun’s tone seems to anchor him. Finally, he nods, barely, and allows Baekhyun to guide him off the swing.
At Baekhyun’s apartment, he moves quickly but gently, helping Kyungsoo sit on the bathroom edge. His hands shake as he rolls up the sleeve, sees the dark streaks. He doesn’t question; he doesn’t ask. He just works, letting fear and instinct dictate his movements.
“Stay still,” Baekhyun says, voice urgent, low, almost a growl. “We need to get this cleaned. Don’t move, okay? You’re not alone. We’ll fix this.”
Kyungsoo flinches slightly at the cold water and disinfectant, but lets him. Baekhyun’s own hands are trembling as he carefully washes, wipes, cleans. The silence between them is heavy, filled with breaths, shivering, and quiet sniffs.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” Baekhyun whispers. “We’re just getting you cleaned up. That’s all.”
Kyungsoo sits on the edge of the tub, staring at his hands. “I feel… stupid,” he murmurs. “I keep… hurting myself. I don’t know how to stop.”
Baekhyun sits beside him, shoulders brushing. “We’ll figure it out together,” he says. “We’ll set some boundaries. Therapy. Medication if you need it. I’m not trying to fix you, Kyungsoo—I can’t—but I can stay.”
Kyungsoo’s lips tremble. “I… I don’t know if it’ll work, if anything will work,” he admits.
“You don’t have to know right now,” Baekhyun says, voice shaking. “You just… have to try. Step by step. I’ll be here. You won’t be alone.”
Kyungsoo leans against him, letting the tears come, finally allowing the rawness he’s been holding back for weeks to spill. Baekhyun wraps an arm around him, fingers threading into Kyungsoo’s hair.
For a long while, they sit like that, tangled in blankets and quiet, letting the first light of dawn filter through the window. The razor is put away. The blood cleaned. The apartment smells faintly of soap and reassurance.
Kyungsoo whispers, voice tiny, “I… I’ll try.”
Baekhyun presses his forehead gently to Kyungsoo’s. “That’s all I need. That’s everything.”
The weight lifts slightly—not gone, not cured, but a fragile, trembling start. And for the first time in days, Kyungsoo allows himself to simply be, leaning on Baekhyun and letting someone else hold him when he can’t hold himself.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Months pass.
The days start to feel lighter. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, Kyungsoo stabilizes. He still has shadows—moments when his eyes flicker down, when his hands curl too tightly around a cup, when his voice catches—but those moments grow shorter. He smiles more easily now, a little brighter each time, and Baekhyun catches it and feels the weight in his chest ease, just slightly.
Anime nights become sacred rituals again. Blankets pulled over knees, bowls of snacks shared between them, the familiar hum of their favorite soundtracks filling the room. Kyungsoo laughs at the dumbest jokes Baekhyun makes, and sometimes, when a scene hits just right, he leans in closer, lets his head rest lightly on Baekhyun’s shoulder. Not out of habit, not out of fear, but because he chooses to be there.
Baekhyun notices the small changes—the way Kyungsoo sits without wincing when brushing against the table, how he rolls his sleeves back without tension, the way he keeps his gaze steady on Baekhyun during conversations instead of darting away. These things make Baekhyun’s chest swell in relief, make him believe, really believe, that they are moving forward, that the worst might be behind them.
They spend hours on the rooftop sometimes, talking in low voices while the city sleeps below. Kyungsoo still hesitates before sharing too much, but he shares. He lets Baekhyun hold him when he shivers from exhaustion or the wind, letting him be held without guilt.
And then one night, it feels like the world is small and warm enough to hold them both.
They lie on Kyungsoo’s bedroom floor, blankets tangled around their legs, the faint hum of an old anime soundtrack playing from the speakers. Stars glitter through the windowpane, the moon a steady, pale sentinel above them. Kyungsoo shifts slightly, propping himself on an elbow, eyes fixed on the sky.
“The moon…” he murmurs, softer, quieter than usual. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Baekhyun rolls his eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Cheesy,” he says, nudging Kyungsoo lightly. “You always say that line. You know, the one you used when—”
Kyungsoo gives him a mock glare, but his lips twitch. “Shut up.”
Baekhyun laughs softly, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. But I mean it anyway. The moon’s beautiful. And…” He brushes a stray lock of hair from Kyungsoo’s forehead, voice catching slightly. “…it always has been.”
Kyungsoo turns to look at him then, eyes glistening in the moonlight, cheeks flushed, a tentative smile brushing across his lips. He swallows, and for the first time in months, he lets himself feel safe.
Baekhyun reaches out, fingers finding Kyungsoo’s. Their hands curl around each other naturally, without words, without pressure, just the quiet acknowledgment that they are here. Together.
The music hums softly, the stars watch silently, and for a while, the world narrows to the two of them, lying tangled in blankets, hands intertwined, hearts tentatively healing.
Eventually, Kyungsoo closes his eyes, resting his head against Baekhyun’s chest. Baekhyun tightens his hold just slightly, careful not to disturb him, letting the rise and fall of his friend’s breath be a quiet rhythm against the night.
And then, with the moonlight spilling across the room like a gentle blessing, they drift to sleep, hands still clasped, two people fragile and battered but moving forward, leaning on each other in a way words could never fully capture.
🌙⋅⋆∘✧∘⋆⋅🌙
Baekhyun wakes to sunlight spilling across the floorboards. For the first time in months, he had been able to sleep without the gnawing knot of worry in his stomach. Kyungsoo had been getting better. Therapy every week. Small victories—laughing at silly jokes, sketching in his notebook, dragging Baekhyun to rooftops for ramen again. He smiled easier now. Days felt lighter.
Baekhyun had believed in him. He really had.
He stretches, expecting the familiar weight beside him, expecting Kyungsoo’s quiet warmth, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the faint smell of shampoo and blankets.
But Kyungsoo isn’t there.
The spot on the floor is cold. Blankets lie twisted and empty. His shoes are gone. The window is cracked open, letting in a morning breeze that does nothing to calm the panic rising in Baekhyun’s chest.
On the pillow, small, neat, and deliberate, a note:
“You were my sunlight.
But you know I can never stay in the sun for too long.”
Baekhyun collapses, knees hitting the floor. His fingers clutch the paper, trembling. The room, once a refuge, feels suddenly claustrophobic, suffocating. The light, once comforting, now burns through him.
His mind races. Therapy sessions. Laughing on the floor during anime marathons. Sketches of moonlit streets and rooftops. The small milestones that had felt like pieces of life returning. Every moment he had allowed himself to hope—shattered.
He runs. Out the door, down the stairs, into streets that feel simultaneously familiar and alien. Alleys, parks, corners of the city where he and Kyungsoo had walked together, traced lines in chalk, whispered secrets in the dark—he checks them all. Each place is empty. Every echo returns only his own ragged breathing, his own sobs.
His mind flashes to the feel of Kyungsoo against him, the warmth of his weight on the floor during anime nights, the brush of fingers through hair, the way his laugh had sounded like it was meant just for him. Every memory is a shard, piercing him, burning him, making him stumble and gasp.
He yells Kyungsoo’s name into the empty streets, hoarse and breaking: a sound that carries no comfort, no response. His legs are weak, heart hammering, lungs screaming, but he cannot stop. He cannot accept that he has lost him.
Everywhere he looks, he sees fragments: a shadow of Kyungsoo in a doorway, the glint of sunlight on a rooftop where they had sat together, the way a breeze moves a curtain like Kyungsoo’s hair. Each time it turns out to be nothing. Each time it tears him open again.
He falls to his knees in a quiet alley. Hands gripping the note, fingers pressed to the neat handwriting, trying to anchor himself with its reality. But it only confirms the nightmare. The orbit has collapsed. The gravitational pull that had held them through years of darkness, of fear, of fragile hope—gone.
The sun climbs higher, and the world continues unaware. Cars pass. People walk by. Life carries on. But Baekhyun is trapped in a silence heavier than the city around him. The warmth he associated with hope now feels like a cruel joke. The space beside him, once filled with life and light, is now infinite, empty, echoing.
He curls into himself on the pavement, sobs wracking his body. Each breath is jagged, uneven, catching like broken glass. He tries to recall the sound of Kyungsoo’s laughter, the small secrets they shared in whispers, the weight of him pressed against Baekhyun’s shoulder—but even those memories ache with pain now.
Somewhere, somewhere quiet, moonlit, Kyungsoo is gone. Somewhere Baekhyun cannot reach.
The orbit is gone.
And Baekhyun, alone in daylight, feels the sky fall silent.