Lightless (3/3)
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Everything goes from white to black. It feels like he’s falling, falling, but he also feels small and weightless.
When he finally stops, it’s dark. Pitch dark. This is already reminiscent of his encounter with Jack in that locked, lightless classroom, and then a strong smell hits him.
Pumpkin. Everything smells of pumpkin. He takes one step, and when he doesn’t hit anything, he takes another. Four steps later his hand touches something, like a barrier, but it’s not really a wall. When he scrapes his nails on it, some of it comes off, and now his fingertips smell of pumpkin, too.
It can’t be. It can’t be.
He walks around, and soon realizes his steps are taking him in a circle, or as circular as the shape of a ripe pumpkin might be. The air leaves him or he forgets to breathe as a feeling of terror sets in his gut and spreads through his body. Either he’s inside a giant pumpkin or he’s become small enough to fit a regular pumpkin, but both explanations seem absurd to him. Or would have, considering everything he’s gone through in less than forty-eight hours.
Whatever this is, it means he died and took Jack’s place. He died. He died. But how? Why? He shouldn’t have really died. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was expecting a small death, la petite mort, or as close to dying as an intense orgasm would take him. He went through the eight stages. He killed eight small parts of himself. But he was supposed to be alive.
“You’re not dead.”
Junho nearly jumps out of his skin. A big candle has been lit inside the pumpkin, tall enough to reach his waist, half that much in its width. The flame seems to dance slowly, but it’s impressive from where he is, casting shadows on the inside of the pumpkin, including his own shadow. When he finally remembers to breathe, it doesn’t feel like there is air coming in and out of his lungs. At the same time, it feels like he has just run a marathon. And the heat from the candle doesn’t help. He might be suffocating, but in reality he’s just having a really hard time comprehending what exactly is going on.
“You’re not dead,” the voice repeats, and Junho realizes it comes from the flame. When he looks closer, daring to take a step ahead, and then two, he sees the ghost of a face there.
Jack’s face. Sneering at him.
“I warned you, boy. You tried to trick me, but you also gave me a treat.”
Chansung--
“He’s fine.”
Junho swallows, berating himself for having such intense feelings Jack can see right through him.
“I can still read your thoughts. You’re not in a church anymore. But I knew what you intended to do as soon as you got out of there.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”
Jack’s expression changes slightly, he looks angry for a second but then his face is unreadable, his voice flat. “Because that damn priest flicked holy water at you.”
Junho bites his lips so he won’t laugh. After he confessed and prayed to repent for everything, the priest had blessed him. He wouldn’t have thought that might get in Jack’s way, but he can’t exactly commemorate yet. And it’s not that hard to keep a straight face when he knows Jack’s probably got the upper hand now.
The trickster clicks his tongue at him as if to dismiss that notion. “I’m not free. Your plan worked, in a way, because you still got yourself killed, and that happened at midnight, and now it’s All Souls’ Day. You know what that means, right?”
Junho racks his brain and he hears it in his mother’s voice: the sacred holiday two days after Halloween, the day when Christians pray for the dead, for those suffering in purgatory, for souls languishing in the darkness. He recalls going to the cemetery with his mom to grieve for his grandparents.
“You’re going back,” Junho says, biting back “to hell.” Jack probably knows that’s what he’s thinking anyway. His stare remains icy, those huge black orbs not as creepy as they could be since now he’s just an appearance in the flames. Or so Junho hopes.
“This pumpkin is my own private hell,” Jack says, no emotion in his voice. “And now I have company.”
The words hit Junho like a bullet. He can’t move.
“Oh dear lord-- and by lord I mean Satan, of course-- oh the teenage drama,” Jack sighs. “You’re not dead, for fuck’s sake.”
Junho tries to collect his thoughts and pretend he’s not still under shock. Hearing he’s not dead is not a relief because he doesn’t know what happened. How else can this be explained?
“I’m not here to coddle you. But, well, I do have to explain the rules, so.” He heaves a long-suffering sigh as if that were the most boring thing he’s ever done. He’s probably still making fun of Junho though. “You did kill parts of yourself, but they were bad ones. They’re all here, in this pumpkin. They’re not completely gone-- you have to prove you’ve changed, or that you’re changing, whatever.”
Junho doesn’t ask what that means. He knows, but Jack still has more to say.
“This candle will last for a year-- as long as you follow the rules. If you behave like your old self, if you lie to your mother, if you fight your feelings or anything like that, this flame will go out before the next Halloween. If that happens, you die.”
“So... this part of me is still alive?”
Jack nods slowly. “Right now, it is both alive and dead. You’ll keep being tempted by this part of yourself, because you’ve behaved like this for a long time. But you know how la petite mort works, so you know what you have to do.”
“And you’ll be watching my every step.”
Jack’s twisted smile is despicable. “Of course. You’ll keep me company and I’ll keep you company. If you follow the rules, and I’ll be so sorry if you do, you’ll be free, and I’ll remain trapped. But if you don’t...”
Junho is not surprised when Jack laughs as if he had already won. He disappears in the flames, but Junho doesn’t find comfort in being alone.
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The first time Chansung slept in Junho’s house, they had already been friends for two years, and Junho had spent the night at Chansung’s too many times. That was one of his arguments-- he just didn’t understand why Chansung refused to sleep over. He didn’t sleep at anybody else’s house either, so at least Junho didn’t have to feel jealous about that, but it still bothered him.
He loved going to Chansung’s house, he had to reassure the other of that when Junho threatened not to go there if Chansung didn’t return the visit. With time, Junho had learned to appreciate the advantages of having a friend whose yard included a pool where they spent long summer afternoons-- and some chilling winter days too, to the distress of both their mothers. There were the stray cats that sometimes showed up and both of them would get attached to, only to have the felines disappear a few days later. When they knew it would rain, they would purposefully play in the yard till the drops fell and then got harder and heavier, they would sometimes get one another all muddy or find both of them rolling around, soaked and dirty, yelling at each other and laughing uncontrollably. When the other guys came over, they would play soccer, have swimming competitions, talk about school and parties and girls, and fill their bellies with the awesome food Mrs. Hwang prepared when she was around, and the still great food the maid cooked when Chansung’s mother was absent.
Junho was persistent though. And damn curious about what the reason was for Chansung to avoid sleeping anywhere but home. He eventually got what he wanted-- more than he wanted-- when his mother also decided it was time to have Chansung as their guest. Chansung couldn’t say no to her, Junho would have made sure to guilt-trip him if he so much as tried to refuse, but that hadn’t been necessary. When his mother made the invitation, Chansung accepted it. That annoyed Junho a little because, even though he loved his mother and was thankful she helped him with that, how dare Chansung play hard to get with Junho but be the sweetest little angel to his mom?
He didn’t exactly regret it when night came and Chansung thrashed and turned ceaselessly. He didn’t. No matter how much noise the other made, Junho wouldn’t interfere with his sleep. He wouldn’t. He asked for this, and now he was paying for it.
“Is it that uncomfortable?” he muttered, and then all noise stopped.
Oh oh. Junho mentally smacked himself and his big mouth. If Chansung had heard that, he might have taken it the wrong way.
“Are you awake?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and soothing so that the other wouldn’t wake up if he were still sleeping. Turning fifteen proved to be a pain in the ass then because his voice came out croaked and heavy, but at least Chansung chuckled.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he added after a pause, and Junho groaned. Chansung did take that the wrong way. “I really am, I thought you were sleeping--”
“Stop-- stop apologizing, god damn it! It’s okay. You couldn’t sleep. I got that.”
There was silence, and Junho had the sinking feeling he was making this worse. So he decided to get up-- careful not to step on the futon and the pile of blankets they had managed to fit right next to the bed in his already cramped room-- and turn on the light. Chansung didn’t even try to shield his eyes, whereas Junho felt blind for a second.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, and when he took a step he heard a yelp and then he screamed too. “God damn it! I’m sorry, was that your foot?”
“Ankle,” Chansung said, and he was laughing. “It didn’t hurt.”
“Shhhh.” Junho frowned at him, and whispered, “We have to be quiet or my mom will wake up.”
“I’m sorry,” Chansung whispered back, sounding like he really meant it.
“It’s okay,” Junho said. He was about to turn the light off again when he remembered why he turned it on in the first place. “Are you worried about something?”
Chansung shook his head, and though he believed him, Junho also believed there was still something amiss here.
“We have a test on Monday, but it’s English and you’ll do fine. I should be worried, but I’m already used to failing that stupid class.” Junho was mostly talking to himself, so when Chansung opened his mouth to protest, he just put a hand up to shush him. “Why can’t you sleep?”
Chansung took a deep breath and then sat up on the futon, pushing the pile of blankets off his body so he could cross his legs Indian style. “Can I ask you to leave the light on and this conversation for tomorrow?”
Junho looked at him for a few long seconds. “No. And you’re already sitting down. I’m joining you,” and he did just that, choosing Chansung’s pile of blankets as his spot, imitating his stance. “Seems pretty comfortable to me,” he said.
Chansung smiled at his attempt of a joke. “It’s not-- I’m used to the futon. I did tae kwon do for a few years, remember? We’d sleep on places worse than this when we had championship trips.”
“Worse than this...” Junho echoed, but then he shrugged. “Okay, so your spoiled ass is not the problem. What is it, then?”
Chansung didn’t answer straight away. He just looked at him, his smile lingering, his eyes warm and-- dreamy?--
Junho blinked. “Are you sleeping with your eyes open?” He asked, even though his insides clenched and burned with the knowledge that what he saw in Chansung’s eyes was something else. Something he recognized in himself, and even though he could not label it, would not label it, should not label it, he knew what it was.
“No, I’m just--” Chansung paused, seemed to be looking for the right words, and then shook his head. Junho let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “I’m not used to sleeping in the dark.”
Junho opened his mouth to say something, but he realized he didn’t know what to say, and then shut it. And then he laughed because that’s what guys do when they’re caught falling for a joke, isn’t it? “You’re kidding, right?”
Chansung shook his head again, slowly and deliberately. Then he breathed in deeply and exhaled heavily, and Junho understood why he asked to leave this conversation for the next day. It would be Sunday-- it was Sunday already, if he could trust his senses, they didn’t have to wake up early, but it might not be the best topic to lead a conversation into the night. “You know how my parents have been traveling ever since I was a kid...”
Junho nodded, and that was all. He would let Chansung do the talking while he felt like it-- if he felt like it.
Another deep breath, but then Chansung smiled briefly as he looked down at Junho’s hands folded in his lap. Junho didn’t comment on that, and maybe Chansung wasn’t really looking at him-- he might be recalling something that would justify the smile. It was fleeting though, and his features grew serious as he went on. “I used to have a lot of nightmares. About... my parents leaving me, or something happening to them.” Chansung paused, a frown settling on his forehead. Junho wanted to touch it and make it go away, which surprised him-- that was the kind of thing Chansung would do, were the situations reversed. Chansung always found a way to make him feel better through physical contact, something that Junho had had to grown used to, but that now was a part of their friendship-- so much so that Junho would miss it if Chansung stopped doing it. He wasn’t willing to admit that out loud though.
At that moment, however, he wanted to hold Chansung-- the kid, the small boy who had grown without the constant warmth he was so willing to share with everyone. He couldn’t do that, but he could do something for the teen who was in front of him now, the boy who was seventeen days younger than Junho but who often seemed seventeen years wiser. He could listen.
“Whenever my mother was home and I woke her up with my screaming,” his voice dropped and his brows furrowed further. “She would come to my room and put me back to sleep. She would also leave my bedroom door open so I could see the light in the corridor. That was all I needed to go back to sleep in case I woke up-- see the light in the corridor, and I knew she was there.”
Junho only spoke because Chansung’s pause seemed to prompt him to do it. “And your dad?”
Chansung tensed up and looked into his eyes for a second as if asking whether it was okay to talk about this. He seemed to think he shouldn’t talk about his dad as much because Junho didn’t have one, but in his hesitance he actually annoyed the other.
“Spit it,” Junho said, which both stated it was more than okay for Chansung to say the rest and that he was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. That thing he had thought about Chansung being wiser than their years? Bullshit.
“My dad is a heavy sleeper,” Chansung said, his voice low and soothing, and Junho found himself thinking he could fall asleep to Chansung’s voice, maybe right there and then, though that would be rude and heartless of him. He really should have agreed when Chansung suggested they talk about this later. “It’s rare for him to wake up because of me, and even when he does, my mom always gets up and takes care of me. Mothers have a special hearing ability.”
Junho nodded. Chansung had already told him about that before, at school, when they were studying how the human senses work. Chansung always had some extra information to add, which more often than not would find them in trouble because the teachers punished them if they spoke during an explanation. It didn’t matter if what Chansung had to tell him also helped Junho understand the subject better; he sometimes had to kick Chansung under the desk so that he would shut up. Junho already got enough detentions for himself, he didn’t need help with that.
“My dad complained when he saw the light was still on the next day, but I got into the habit of waking up before him and turning it off so he wouldn’t argue with my mom. They spend so much time together, but a lot of it is work, and I didn’t want to cause them stress. My dad still knew what my mom was doing, and that I was covering for her, but that didn’t annoy him. He even winked at me sometimes, when he got down to have breakfast and I’d already be at the table.”
That made Junho smile, especially because Chansung’s face had softened as he told that last bit. “But that was before you moved here, right?”
Chansung nodded. “Yeah. This house is bigger, I have my own bathroom, and I leave the light on there.”
“Every night?” Junho asked, unable to conceal the surprised tone in his voice. When Chansung shook his head and smiled as if to reassure him, Junho let out a sigh of relief despite himself. “Sometimes, then?” he whispered, and hoped he hadn’t raised his voice before. He knew he could be loud without realizing.
Chansung hummed in agreement. “I don’t have the nightmares so often anymore, but it’s a hard habit to get rid of. Now it’s usually the first night my parents are out only... But not always, I mean, even when they’re out, I try to be reasonable and turn the light off. But when I do that it takes me a long time to fall asleep.”
“Oh...” Junho wanted to smack himself again. “This is the first time you’re sleeping over, and I was being an ass.”
“You’re always an ass.”
“Shut up, asshole.”
“Talking to yourself?”
Junho shoved at his shoulder, and Chansung laughed. Junho tried to cover his mouth but Chansung pushed his hands away, and when Junho insisted on that, Chansung simply held him, arms down, stifling a laugh as Junho writhed to try and get rid of him. “Let go, you giant prick!” He was still whispering though, so his words didn’t come out as cutting and menacing as he wanted.
Chansung simply snorted, annoyingly amused. When he was like this, there was no undermining his good sense of humor. For once Junho was glad of that, though it didn’t mean he would just let Chansung have his way-- he fought him off and stood up, walking back to the light switch. He willed his heart to stop beating so fast as he took a deep breath and turned to look at Chansung.
“Move that ass and make some room for me.”
“What--”
Junho turned off the light. He hoped the look on Chansung’s face before it all went dark was just momentous surprise and not a sign that he would be kicked and/or punched away once he approached the younger one.
“What are you doing, Junho-yah,” Chansung whispered, not really a question, as if he were wondering out loud about Junho’s actions but also wanted to find out for himself what would happen next. So Junho kept quiet, and lied down next to him, pushing against his side until Chansung moved so that they would fit together under the covers. The futon was something else-- only if one lied on top of the other would they be able to occupy that space together, but that was a line Junho would not cross. Not that they had never been in that position, but-- shit, he was getting hard, damn teenage hormones-- but. What was he thinking again? Oh right. Futon. Chansung had the futon for himself and Junho wouldn’t try to get that away from him; his mom had already made an extra stretch of space with old blankets so Chansung could roll around on the floor without his body going straight on the wood-- and Junho had to find better words with which to form his thoughts.
“I’m here,” Junho said, and reached for Chansung’s hand, gently sliding their fingers together. If Chansung could do that naturally without freaking out, he could try and do that for him too. “You’re in my house, and you’re not alone. You can’t see me-- I think we just need to get used to the dark-- but I’m here. You can feel that, right?”
Although Chansung didn’t answer, they were so close that Junho heard the sharp intake of his breath, and the way he swallowed. His breathing calmed down gradually, and he squeezed Junho’s hand once. “It’s not uncomfortable,” he said, as if they had just picked up from the point where Junho couldn’t sleep because Chansung couldn’t sleep either.
“You’re a lying prick,” Junho said, “a giant, apple polisher prick.”
“Ass licker.”
“I’m not--”
“You’re saying I am, dumbass. But if the cap fits--”
“It doesn’t!”
“Shhh.”
“How dare-- I’m the only one who can shush people around here!”
“It would help if you weren’t screaming.”
“I’m not!”
Chansung laughed breathlessly, and let go of their hands as he rolled on his side. His breathing pricked at Junho’s skin, but it wasn’t a bad sensation. “Since we’re sleeping together, I proclaim myself the Big Spoon.”
“You what!”
Chansung laughed in his face. Literally. “Come on, you’re the one who started this, so don’t act all offended now. Just turn on your side and let me hug you.”
“Chansung--”
“Shut up and let me cuddle you, Little Spoon.”
Junho sighed. He had started this, so maybe next time he should be more careful about the risks he took. However, he couldn’t complain-- he didn’t feel like it-- when he moved to lie on his side and Chansung pulled them together, fixing the covers around them before settling his arm around Junho’s middle. It was Junho’s turn to swallow words he might regret, and try to keep his breathing steady. He found it was almost too easy to relax into Chansung, to find the arm so well placed around him and squeeze his fingers as they drifted off to sleep.
There was a whisper before Junho went off to dreamland though.
“Junho-yah?” Chansung breathed against his neck, voice thick and heavy despite its softness.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Chansung said.
Junho squeezed his fingers, because words would not do.
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The light in the bathroom is still on when Junho opens an eye, knowing very well where he is, and whose breathing that is against his neck. He fights the will to close his eyes and stand still, but he has things to do. Things that need to be said.
First, he gets up and walks to the bathroom, turning the light off. He will pay attention to his reflection in the mirror tomorrow, that is, later today, after he gets to sleep for good. He wonders if what he feels are the remains of his wrecked soul, if the exhaustion comes from fighting his demons, be them psychological or real.
Not all the aches are from that though. He smiles as he walks back to the bed, his eyes on Chansung. He’s sleeping on his belly, now that Junho got up and left him temporarily without a human pillow. The rain has subsided and it falls gently against the window and everywhere outside, the sound like a lullaby. Junho knows how much Chansung enjoys the rain, and that he likes sleeping to it. Now he also knows that beneath the tenderness there’s a fire strong enough to keep his skin burning long after it has been consumed.
He sits on the bed, and ruffles Chansung’s hair. At the moment, he looks more like an angel than a ghost, and the thought has Junho smiling to himself. His fingers pull softly at the bleached locks; even though he likes the color, he wonders when he will get to run his hands through Chansung’s dark hair. He had longed to do that for such a long time, he could barely grasp the fact that he could do it whenever he wanted now.
“Chansung,” he calls softly, and the other hums, his lips tugging up at the corners even if he doesn’t lift his face from the mattress, not yet. Junho’s own smile turns proud at the realization that he did get the bottom sheet off the bed; they both did. “Chansung-ah,” he calls again, and the other peeks at him from under his fringe. Junho’s immediately filled with warmth that comes so suddenly, hitting him like a strong wave, that he feels he might have fallen if he were not sitting. Chansung’s eyes are filled with love and happiness, and Junho is the one responsible for that. Chansung is as equally responsible for those same feelings gathering within Junho and threatening to well up in his eyes.
He takes a deep breath, which comes out shaky, and that’s enough for Chansung to sit up and take him in his arms. Junho doesn’t resist him. He might have done that before, but he can’t do that now-- no, he doesn’t want to. He’s not being controlled by those rules alone. He still has a will, and he loves Chansung. The latter would want him to share his pain instead of putting on a strong façade all the time, and Junho’s tired of holding it all in. So he lets it all out.
Chansung holds him and whispers words of comfort and keeps him warm with his hands and his body all around Junho. They stay like that for a long time, until Junho’s eyes and head seem to ache more than his chest ever did-- probably a good sign.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he clings to Chansung’s back, and the other just strengthens his hold. Junho’s face is on his shoulder and one of Chansung’s hands is on his hair, Chansung’s other hand climbing up and down Junho’s back, slowly and continuously. Junho might be apologizing for so many things, but right now what pains him is that he could have given Chansung and himself all this joy before, he just didn’t know how, nor was he willing to learn.
“I don’t want to hear you apologizing,” Chansung says, so calm and collected Junho just waits for him to elaborate. “I just want you to be with me. That’s all I want, Junho. When I say I’ve missed you, I mean that in so many ways... the only thing that can make up for that is your presence.”
Junho tries to take a deep breath but it sounds like a sniff. He exhales slowly, and his next intake of air works better. He looks up at Chansung and hopes his eyes are clear, he hopes Chansung will read him past this rare display of vulnerability-- he’s not doing this because he feels sorry or weak. He’s doing this because he means it and he wants it as much as Chansung does. “I’m staying with you. I am with you, do you understand?”
Chansung nods almost imperceptibly, but his fingers, all gentle on Junho’s hair and down his spine, are enough of a reassurance. “We’re together,” he states, and Junho echoes him. They’re savoring the words. The taste is amazing. It’s even better when they share a kiss, slow and lingering.
“I don’t wanna hide anymore,” Junho says. Chansung’s eyes are patient, willing him to continue. “I need to tell my mom the truth. And your parents--”
“They know.”
Junho’s mouth hangs open for a second or two, but Chansung’s smiling at him, so he shuts it before asking, “Did you tell them?”
He sees and hears it as Chansung’s Adam’s apple goes up and down his throat. “I was... I couldn’t handle it, when you left. I got really sad.” He shakes his head once, and caresses Junho’s features, his gaze following the fingers that trace the cheekbones and then the jawline before settling on the crook of his neck. Though soft now, Chansung’s hold still feels like a mark, the skin sensitive to the touch. Junho also feels a pleasant shiver running down his spine, and he knows Chansung will notice that. “I kind of blurted out how I felt at some point, I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it did contain the words, ‘I love him!’”
Junho’s breathy chuckle at the way he said that earns him a smile from Chansung, who rests their foreheads together, his eyes constantly sliding down Junho’s face and neck but always finding their way back to Junho’s own gaze.
“Don’t worry about my parents,” Chansung says, his confidence enough that Junho feels it’s okay-- they can talk about how that went another time, since Chansung sounds as if whatever turmoil had taken place had also been taken care of. “One thing at a time,” he adds, as if reading Junho’s thoughts. He doesn’t need that, considering he knows Junho so well-- trying to embrace all problems at once was partly the cause for all the trouble Junho had faced by himself.
“I want you to come with me. When I talk to my mom. She’s been asking for you, and if she reacts badly, at least I’ll have given her a few moments of comfort before that.”
Chansung shakes his head, and then seems to decide he prefers nuzzling Junho’s nose. “You don’t give your mom enough credit. She’s had to put up with you for so long, I’m sure she’ll be glad she has someone else to handle your temper.”
Junho’s nostrils flare, his ears going red as he holds back a response that would only justify Chansung’s remark. And he knows, Chansung knows that’s what he would do, and he’s grinning at Junho as if the latter had just handed him the big prize.
“I suppose you don’t wanna go to your mom’s right now...?”
Junho shakes his head slowly. He won’t wake his mother up at this ungodly hour to have an even more ungodly conversation with her. But he will have it. In the morning, after resting and eating. He’s starving, but he will survive a few more hours without food. He has Chansung, his overly comfortable bed, and a long time of much needed sleep to look forward to. Thus, he gets up again-- just to fetch the blankets they had thrown on the floor earlier, neither of them bothering to fix up the sheets while Chansung makes sure there are still at least two pillows left on top of the bed.
“Come,” Chansung says, extending a hand to him. Junho can’t help the smile spreading on his face as he recalls what that single word had led to just a few hours before. Chansung has made him come and go, and come back again. Junho will make sure he always comes back now. He’s still smiling as he takes his place back in Chansung’s arms, Chansung welcoming him, their bodies sharing heat as skin meets skin. Chansung still pulls the blankets over them, his chest heaving slowly under Junho’s head. Junho can hear his heartbeat, and he thinks he might fall asleep to that.
Junho says, “I have a long story to tell you. A really, really long story.”
Chansung hums in response.
“This one can wait until tomorrow though.” He waits, listening to the soft thump thump underneath the skin. When the heartbeat picks up, he knows Chansung remembers.
“Junho...” his voice is barely audible. Junho doesn’t look up, certain that Chansung hasn’t opened his eyes from the moment they were comfortably settled in bed. “You turned the light off again.”
Junho nods, and though Chansung can feel it, he still says, “Yeah, I did. You don’t need that anymore.”
Chansung doesn’t answer straight away. Junho strains to hear his next words. “Because you’re here.”
“Because I’m here,” Junho repeats, just as softly. “And we just need to get used to the dark.”
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