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Every morning Beomgyu wakes with a gasp, like his lungs are suddenly remembering that he needs to breathe.
It's never a gentle thing, his chest burns, his eyes sting. Air rushing into his body like something had just let go of his throat, and even then the panic doesn't leave. For a moment he forgets where he is.
In his dreams there's bugs crawling all over him until they burrow under his skin, crawl into his lungs and make themself at home with the dirt and flowers that have already claimed him as their own.
He wakes before they finish, he always does, and then he has to learn how to breathe again without the thorns and mulch.
Breathing doesn't work the way it's supposed to, it's like he has to remember how to step by step—inhale, hold, exhale. His chest aches with a heaviness, like there’s still soil lodged somewhere behind his ribs.
“Gyu,” Soobin says his name softly, always speaks to him like he's a frightened animal.
Beomgyu turns his head.
Soobin is sitting at the edge of the bed, close enough that Beomgyu can feel the warmth of him before he even fully remembers what warmth feels like. The room is dim in the early light, everything washed pale and quiet.
“You’re okay,” Soobin murmurs, and it sounds like there's weight in those words, like they're completely true, or he'd even bend the fabric of existence to his will to make them so.
Beomgyu swallows, his throat raw, “Yeah.”
It tastes a lot like a lie on his tongue.
Soobin watches him for a second longer, then his arm lifts, his palm settles against Beomgyu’s chest in a practiced motion, right over where his heart should be, like he’s pressing something into place and making sure it stays.
“Breathe,” he says.
Beomgyu tries.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Breakfast tastes like glass going down his throat, but he doesn't say anything. He never does.
Soobin watches him while he eats. Not obviously, anyone else wouldn't have noticed it but after years of living under Soobin's light he feels his gaze like something physical, a warmth brushing gently against his skin.
“You’re quiet,” Soobin says after a moment, voice light.
Beomgyu shrugs a shoulder, swallows carefully, ignores the way it feels going down, “Had a weird dream.”
Soobin hums, leans back in his chair, pretends like it doesn't mean anything when he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
The words are carefully causal, too nonchalant for him not to be dying to know the answer, but afraid if he let on how much it mattered then he wouldn't get an answer.
“Not really.”
The words sit heavy between them, the following silence a thing with sharp teeth. It stretches long enough for Beomgyu to hear the rush of the wind outside, the slow steady flow of the creek, the distant chirping of birds—and beneath it, quieter but impossible to ignore, the bugs, always the fucking bugs.
“Okay.” Soobin says it with a small nod, like that settles it, and goes back to eating his own food, pretending not to stare.
He's good at pretending, he always has been.
Beomgyu looks back down at his plate.
He presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to get rid of the lingering taste of something sweet and metallic, but it clings stubbornly.
Across from him, Soobin shifts slightly.
“Eat,” he says, its soft and gentle but still with an air of authority.
Beomgyu picks up his fork, and breathes again, at least that's becoming easier now.
He doesn’t look up as he takes another bite, already bracing for it—the crunch where there shouldn’t be any, he chews carefully, slower now, like if he takes his time it might feel normal.
It doesn’t.
Across the table, Soobin relaxes, just slightly.
Beomgyu notices, he doesn’t think he’s supposed to.
“You’re doing better,” Soobin says, almost absently, there’s something threaded through it—relief, maybe.
“Am I?” Beomgyu mutters.
Soobin hums, not answering directly.
Beomgyu’s grip tightens around the fork.
“Soobin-hyung?” He hesitates in a way he never used to, “How—”
He pauses, decides that it would be better not to. That whatever answer waits on the other side of that question isn’t one he’s ready to hear.
His boyfriend is already looking at him when he glances up, a soft encouraging smile gracing his face like he's waiting for him to continue his question.
Beomgyu clears his throat, it still tastes like blood and sugar.
“How did I die?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, barely heard over the faint, constant buzzing of the bugs. “How did I come back?”
The smile doesn’t disappear, but it stills, freezes in place while his eyes go through every emotion they're capable of showing, and for a moment, Soobin doesn’t answer, doesn't move, doesn't do anything but sit and smile, like if he stayed still enough the last few seconds would cease to exist.
Then all too suddenly, he speaks, “You don’t need to think about that.”
Beomgyu stares at him, the buzzing doesn't stop. If anything, it gets louder, a low constant hum threading through his bones, settling somewhere deep in his chest where the heaviness never quite leaves.
“I do,” he says.
Soobin’s smile flickers,“You don’t,” he repeats, just as gentle and certain.
“It keeps happening,” he says, “The dreams. The—” He swallows, the taste of it still wrong, still clinging. “I can feel it. Like it’s not over.”
Soobin doesnt respond, smile slowly falling.
“In my chest,” he adds, pressing his palm there unconsciously, right over the place Soobin always touches. “It feels like there’s still something there.”
“There's not.” It sounds like a promise.
Beomgyu sucks in a shaky breath, his vision blurry with unshed tears, “There is.”
“I promise you, you're okay. You're here, just breathe.”
Beomgyu tries.