情不自禁，怨人忧 (Dew of Rain) [Chen/Lay, PG-13]
Title: 情不自禁，怨人忧 (Dew of Rain)
Pairing: Chen-centric, Chen/Lay
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU/Drama/Romance
Length: One shot
Disclaimer: I don't own them, SME does. Plot is mine.
Summary: Neither of them are very good at controlling themselves, but who's to blame?
Warning: Un-beta'd!
情不自禁，怨人忧 (Unable to control themselves, (they can only) blame it on sadness.)
He fell in love with a certain type of person. Or, a person of a certain type, really.
The type of person that overflows with emotions; the type that entirely absorbs all feelings-- and they pour into him, sometimes filling him up so much that they begin spilling from his eyes, crawling up his throat, and rolling past his lips as they form into a voice-- a voice made of sounds but not words, a voice of meaning and not song.
-
They tell him that the reason a certain someone was always unreachable, despite physically being there, was more or less just because he was too lonely and afraid.
If you put me in a foreign country, with no one else to speak to and no one else to rely on, I probably would have turned out the same, Xiumin tells him with a slight shrug and it’s funny, Chen thinks, because Xiumin was right there with him all along.
Chen looks beyond the crowd of bodies swarming around him, the people too busy to notice them, and a grimy coagulation weighs heavy in the pit of his stomach. He feels nauseous but, really, he tells himself, now is not the time. I’m fine, he stresses, patting Xiumin on the shoulders.
But Xiumin gives him this look-- the kind of look you give someone guilty, the look a driver gives a deer in front of headlights, before he panics, and Chen feels something else starting up inside him.
Anxiety.
I miss him, the old him, Chen attempts again. That’s all.
The older boy purses his lips, his eyes downcast. I know you do. We all do.
-
It might have been because he was so young, Chen tries to convince himself.
Vaguely, he remembers the scent of forest flowers and rain-- of the vast field of orange trees, the rose gardens, and the minty grass fields. He remembers waiting on the sun to rise with a still body beside him, fast asleep, the sun slowly rising high in the sky, but too many clouds and droplets of rain to truly see it.
These are all part of his young memories, the ones he kept dear to himself, afraid to let the world see because they were special-- they were special to him.
Often times he finds himself trying to forget them but even if the mind forgets, his heart does not.
Years passed before that boy returned home with a new appearance; he was taller, more masculine, and less talkative-- if that was even possible.
Everything about him was different, yet, nothing about him had truly changed. He was a contradiction to himself, Chen surmises as he smiles weakly at his childhood friend, but it’s not something he disliked.
Hyung, Chen had greeted him nervously.
The boy turns to stare in his general direction, the gaze held in the slot of his pearl-like eyes overwhelmingly empty.
Chen’s chest clenched tightly at the familiarity of the boy’s dreary eyes, and he doesn’t know why.
As the boys continue to stare at each other, admittedly sheepishly on Chen’s behalf, their parents take upon themselves the duty of familiarizing with each other again, after all the years of absence on the Zhang family’s behalf.
“Welcome back,” Mrs. Kim smiles warmly, draping an arm over Mrs. Zhang’s shoulders and pulling her close.
Mrs. Zhang inhales, the sweet aroma of mandarin and mint impaling her senses. “We’re back,” she sighs into Mrs. Kim’s shoulder. “We’re finally back.”
-
“Where’s Yixing?” Luhan asks when Chen throws his backpack over his shoulders and heads for the gym door.
Chen blinks slowly. “They say he only responds to being called ‘Lay’ now.”
“Okay then,” Luhan smiles, a bit too enthusiastically for Chen’s taste. “Where’s Lay?”
“He’s not allowed to leave his house without a guardian,” Chen says. “His parents didn’t have time to bring him to school this morning, they’ve only just moved back, and they didn’t want to bother my parents with the responsibility of seeing him to and from school.”
Luhan and Xiumin frowned. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to him?”
And though Chen wonders the same question, he doesn’t have an answer.
They had all grown up together, ever since they were merely in diapers, and none of them had remembered Yixing-- no, Lay to be the way he is today. Even if they were only seven by the time he left for medical purposes, the adults said, they like to think they were old enough to remember.
But perhaps they were still too young then, Chen muses; too young to understand that Lay’s silence wasn’t just because he was shy; too young to understand that the reason Lay always looked distant was not because he was apprehensive or scared.
There are too many possibilities, but Chen does not like a single one of them.
“Let’s drop by his place then,” Xiumin suggests. “It’s been too long since we’ve last seen him. I miss him, a lot.”
Luhan nods in agreement, but Chen shakes his head. “Don’t.” He says.
The other two boys furrow their brows in distaste. “Why not?”
“He’s not doing well.” Chen lies. “Maybe we should just let him take a break.”
Xiumin and Luhan want to argue that he’s already taken a break-- a long, thirteen year break away from them, but they hold their urges back. Chen had always been the closest to Lay, ever since they were children, and so he would know best when to leave Lay alone.
He knows Lay best-- doesn’t he?
-
Sometimes, Chen is too afraid to ask questions.
“Don’t be afraid to play with him, Chen.” Mr. Zhang tells him. “You never were afraid before, when you guys were still just peas in a pod.”
Chen laughs awkwardly and looks at Lay, who is staring down at the Rubik’s cube in his hands. He lifts it at an odd angle and twists it around, narrowing his eyes as if he’s seeing right through the small squares, and smiles to himself.
Mr. Zhang pets Lay’s hair gently, affectionately.
“Does Yixi--, Lay remember?” Chen finally asks, breaking the silence.
Lay looks his way and his smile is still there, still radiating so beautifully.
His father chuckles and scratches the stubbles of his beard on his chin. “Of course he does!” He exclaims proudly. “Lay has excellent memory, Chen. You wouldn’t believe half of the things this child remembers!”
For a moment, Chen feels hopeful.
“He remembers numbers, words, alphabets in different languages! He learns very quickly and it’s no surprise, really,” Mr. Zhang continues, “because he’s always been such a bright kid.”
Chen smiles and nods along, feeling the burden of Lay’s eyes on his side profile.
He had meant to ask Mr. Zhang whether or not Lay remembered the past. The past they shared together involved many people, many events, many places, and Chen wanted to know if any of the various memories were treasured by Lay, whom Chen had thought of often over the course of time he was absent.
Chen wanted to know if anything here was significant to Lay-- if Lay found anything in the world of his own exceptionally significant to himself-- but the answer he receives is not what he anticipates.
Minutes screen by and Chen becomes more afraid of the question itself as time passes. He doesn’t want to hear that Lay may not remember him; he does not want to know that Lay does not remember.
“Can I bring some friends over to visit Lay?” Chen dares himself to ask.
Mr. Zhang takes a moment to smile, a moment to nod, and another moment to really absorb the question that’s been asked. “Not too many, though,” he stresses, “too many people might make Lay uncomfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Zhang,” Chen grins.
Still, Chen feels Lay’s glassy eyes staring his way.
A small click catches his full attention and he turns to see Lay holding up the solved Rubik's cube in the air with a victorious grin. He solved the confusion of a multidimensional puzzle; if only he could solve the confusion of a multidimensional question.
-
The first time Luhan and Xiumin visit, Lay doesn’t have the best control over his emotions. He threw little fits, growing frustrated when he heard too many voices or voices too loud-- Xiumin had always been a better speaker than the rest.
Mrs. Zhang eventually had to console him, hugging him to her chest and pinning his arms to his side, preventing him from tugging at his hair.
Xiumin and Luhan, needless to say, were very surprised by his reactions but did a considerable job masking their expressions.
“He just wants to understand,” Mrs. Zhang smiles at them apologetically. “I think he’s remembering the past, fragments of it at least, but can’t hold a solid grasp on what he’s seeing and hearing. It frustrates him, and Lay can’t really deal with frustration on his own.”
“We understand, Mrs. Zhang, there’s no need to explain or feel apologetic,” Luhan tells her.
Xiumin nods, yet, he slowly starts to see Lay in a different light. “Chen,” he whispers, “has Yix-- Lay... Has Lay always been... sick?”
At the mention of his name, Lay releases his iron hold on the strap of Luhan’s backpack that’s been abandoned on the sofa and looks in Xiumin’s direction. His brows furrow as his eyes narrow slightly, but then they relax and he smiles a little.
He takes a step towards him, his eyes ever so empty.
“I think you finally got his attention,” Chen laughs.
Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how Xiumin feels at the moment. His shoulders tense and his hands curl into fists-- it isn’t as if he’s afraid of Lay, per say, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to control himself around him.
Xiumin doesn’t want to scare him, neither does he want to hurt him, so, he just stands there, a silly grin stamped onto his face and he looks Lay in the eyes, doing his best not to edge away from the hand outstretched towards his cheek.
Luhan can only watch in envy, wanting so bad to be the one that Lay remembers first.
Just before Lay’s fingers graze over Xiumin’s skin, Chen grabs his wrist and leads him back to the sofa. He resists a little, struggles a little, but eventually gives in.
“You can’t touch other people like that,” Chen tells him, slowly and patiently. Lay’s eyes are trained on Xiumin and his smile is still there.
“I think he likes your chubby cheeks,” Luhan teases.
Xiumin pouts. “He did that a lot when we were younger, too. I guess he hasn’t changed after all.”
They laugh and joke, more often about each other than of Lay, not because they find it inappropriate to do so, which it might have been, but because they realize there’s really not much about Lay that they are certain of.
That evening, Lay watches them with a gaze filled with amusement. His eyes are expressive, but they are bottomlessly deep-- so dark and so empty that it more or less scares Chen to look him directly in the eyes.
When they look into Lay’s eyes, they are reminded somewhat of the dew of morning, always present and always so mysterious.
Always so untouchable.
-
Chen dreams that Lay kisses him.
It’s not a romantic occurrence, but a rather violent one. So harsh, in fact, that it leaves bruises on his reddened and swollen lips, marks of fingers on the bridge of his neck.
In his dream, his lips are cut and blood spills from the wound but Lay does not care; he continues kissing him, until they are both covered in blood, numb and no longer breathing-- until they are no longer real.
When Chen wakes up, he is sweating and sticky and it takes him a little too long to return to a normal breathing pace.
And he realizes that he wishes the kiss was real, that Lay would kiss him senseless. That’s when he knows something is off and it’s not with Lay, but with himself.
-
Their families are having dinner together and the rain is pouring from the skies. After they finish eating, Chen awkwardly leads Lay into the living room, where Lay stares out into the streets, watching as the rain falls heavily on the cemented grounds.
Chen reasons that Lay is very much like rain.
The dream still haunts him; the warmth of Lay’s lips on his own, the pain of Lay’s teeth drawing blood from his mouth, the strong grip of Lay’s fingers on his neck, his throat, his arms.
But Lay is, in reality, fragile.
He’s like someone fallen from heaven-- not quite an angel, because an angel would walk this Earth with the radiance of beauty and confidence and not apprehension and fear. Lay is like a droplet of rain, made up of too many particles that cause him to fall, dousing the Earth with its moisture and leaving a mark but dissipating from the surface once it touches the grounds, the dirt, disappearing from too much heat, freezing from too much cold.
Chen reasons that he, himself, is very much like dew.
He originates from the ground, formed at night from condensation-- that’s very much what he is, actually; a condensation of too many feelings, too many confusions, too many misunderstandings of things he can’t understand.
Lay is too pure; as clear as water and as light as rain.
And Chen is too complicated, hanging on to things and not letting go.
“When the dew is on the grass, rain will never come to pass; When grass is dry at morning light, look for rain before the night.”
Lay catches the phrase that leaks from Chen and they are both surprised-- Chen not knowing that he spoke aloud and Lay not knowing the true meaning behind Chen’s words. Then Lay makes a sound of sorts, and Chen just knows it’s a reply to what he just said.
But when he asks Lay to repeat himself, Lay closes up and reclines into the sofa, turning to the window and watching after the falling rain.
And it’s true, Chen thinks, that dew and rain do not cross paths. Maybe it’s a sign, he concludes-- a foreshadowing of sorts.
-
It’s one of those days-- the days when the sun casts over the grounds and everyone is out half-naked, the city bustling with noise and the countryside as lively as ever.
Chen takes Lay on a short walk and Mrs. Zhang reminds him to keep an extra eye on Lay, to not let him slip away. “He doesn’t like holding hands,” she tells him, “but if it comes down to it, teach him to like it.”
With a nod and a smile, Chen and Lay set off for the afternoon daylight.
As they walk, Chen a step behind Lay, various memories flood back to him. He remembers evenings in the playground, hiding under trees on rainy days, running through the rain to settle under building shelters.
There’s so much to remember because they were so little, and to little kids just about everything was fascinating.
Chen liked how fascinated Lay was with everything-- and by everything, he means everything. He really doesn’t remember Lay being so dissociative, this afraid to open himself up.
Then again, there’s probably much more he doesn’t remember.
“Do you remember when we waited for the sun to rise?” He asks aloud.
Although he knows Lay will not reply, he wants to ask, none the less.
“It was somwhere around here, I remember.” Chen says, to no one in particular, to Lay. “We were just sitting there and you kept staring at the changing colors of the sky. I think you fell asleep, though, right here,” he continues, pointing at his own shoulder, “and I felt so sore the next day.”
Lay stops walking and locks eyes with Chen, his expression blank but Chen can tell that he’s confused.
He walks up to Lay, holding out a hand. “If you can’t remember, that’s okay.”
Only blinking, Lay stares at Chen motionlessly.
“We can watch the sunset this time, without the rain.”
His voice is gentle, every word coming out as nearly pleading.
Chen doesn’t know when it started, when his feelings had overwhelmed him so much, but he knows that this is a moment he wants to make up for in their past-- that despite not remembering, not knowing, not understanding Lay in the past, he hopes to now.
If Lay was willing to give him the chance-- if Lay remembered, or even if he just understood, Chen would be willing to invest all he had into this evening.
From a distance, they hear the chattering crowds of children and adults. Chen thinks it’s too noisy, too loud, too much for him; his brain feels suffocated and he begins doubting himself. Is this what he wanted? Is this what Lay would want?
But Lay extends his hand and holds it over Chen’s, wrapping his soft fingers around the boy’s and intertwining them, locking them together.
He tugs Chen along with him, onto the grass and down the hill. Somewhere midway he drops onto the ground and pulls Chen with him, scooting up to his side and lifting their hands midair as he observes the way they feel together-- look together.
To Chen, it looks like perfection.
-
(And it’s kind of beautiful, the way the sun dangles in the sky above them, far away in the expanse of the sky, without so much as a dew of rain.)
END
A/N1: Lay's disorder: Autism. When Lay spaces out in interviews, it reminds me of one of my autistic younger cousins that I lived with for a year. They have that same blank expression and it makes me feel kind of nostalgic. I based a lot of actions/interactions on my experience with my cousin ^-^ So cute!!
A/N2: My first EXO-M fanfic! My first Chen/Lay! I've tried so hard to write a Chen/Lay for the past, I don't know, two weeks or so? But I've scrapped so many ideas... and then I was listening to "届カナイ愛ト知ッテイタノニ抑エキレズニ愛シ続ケタ…" by Gackt today and this happened. I hope it's alright! ^-^;;;
Pairing: Chen-centric, Chen/Lay
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU/Drama/Romance
Length: One shot
Disclaimer: I don't own them, SME does. Plot is mine.
Summary: Neither of them are very good at controlling themselves, but who's to blame?
Warning: Un-beta'd!
情不自禁，怨人忧 (Unable to control themselves, (they can only) blame it on sadness.)
He fell in love with a certain type of person. Or, a person of a certain type, really.
The type of person that overflows with emotions; the type that entirely absorbs all feelings-- and they pour into him, sometimes filling him up so much that they begin spilling from his eyes, crawling up his throat, and rolling past his lips as they form into a voice-- a voice made of sounds but not words, a voice of meaning and not song.
-
They tell him that the reason a certain someone was always unreachable, despite physically being there, was more or less just because he was too lonely and afraid.
If you put me in a foreign country, with no one else to speak to and no one else to rely on, I probably would have turned out the same, Xiumin tells him with a slight shrug and it’s funny, Chen thinks, because Xiumin was right there with him all along.
Chen looks beyond the crowd of bodies swarming around him, the people too busy to notice them, and a grimy coagulation weighs heavy in the pit of his stomach. He feels nauseous but, really, he tells himself, now is not the time. I’m fine, he stresses, patting Xiumin on the shoulders.
But Xiumin gives him this look-- the kind of look you give someone guilty, the look a driver gives a deer in front of headlights, before he panics, and Chen feels something else starting up inside him.
Anxiety.
I miss him, the old him, Chen attempts again. That’s all.
The older boy purses his lips, his eyes downcast. I know you do. We all do.
-
It might have been because he was so young, Chen tries to convince himself.
Vaguely, he remembers the scent of forest flowers and rain-- of the vast field of orange trees, the rose gardens, and the minty grass fields. He remembers waiting on the sun to rise with a still body beside him, fast asleep, the sun slowly rising high in the sky, but too many clouds and droplets of rain to truly see it.
These are all part of his young memories, the ones he kept dear to himself, afraid to let the world see because they were special-- they were special to him.
Often times he finds himself trying to forget them but even if the mind forgets, his heart does not.
Years passed before that boy returned home with a new appearance; he was taller, more masculine, and less talkative-- if that was even possible.
Everything about him was different, yet, nothing about him had truly changed. He was a contradiction to himself, Chen surmises as he smiles weakly at his childhood friend, but it’s not something he disliked.
Hyung, Chen had greeted him nervously.
The boy turns to stare in his general direction, the gaze held in the slot of his pearl-like eyes overwhelmingly empty.
Chen’s chest clenched tightly at the familiarity of the boy’s dreary eyes, and he doesn’t know why.
As the boys continue to stare at each other, admittedly sheepishly on Chen’s behalf, their parents take upon themselves the duty of familiarizing with each other again, after all the years of absence on the Zhang family’s behalf.
“Welcome back,” Mrs. Kim smiles warmly, draping an arm over Mrs. Zhang’s shoulders and pulling her close.
Mrs. Zhang inhales, the sweet aroma of mandarin and mint impaling her senses. “We’re back,” she sighs into Mrs. Kim’s shoulder. “We’re finally back.”
-
“Where’s Yixing?” Luhan asks when Chen throws his backpack over his shoulders and heads for the gym door.
Chen blinks slowly. “They say he only responds to being called ‘Lay’ now.”
“Okay then,” Luhan smiles, a bit too enthusiastically for Chen’s taste. “Where’s Lay?”
“He’s not allowed to leave his house without a guardian,” Chen says. “His parents didn’t have time to bring him to school this morning, they’ve only just moved back, and they didn’t want to bother my parents with the responsibility of seeing him to and from school.”
Luhan and Xiumin frowned. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to him?”
And though Chen wonders the same question, he doesn’t have an answer.
They had all grown up together, ever since they were merely in diapers, and none of them had remembered Yixing-- no, Lay to be the way he is today. Even if they were only seven by the time he left for medical purposes, the adults said, they like to think they were old enough to remember.
But perhaps they were still too young then, Chen muses; too young to understand that Lay’s silence wasn’t just because he was shy; too young to understand that the reason Lay always looked distant was not because he was apprehensive or scared.
There are too many possibilities, but Chen does not like a single one of them.
“Let’s drop by his place then,” Xiumin suggests. “It’s been too long since we’ve last seen him. I miss him, a lot.”
Luhan nods in agreement, but Chen shakes his head. “Don’t.” He says.
The other two boys furrow their brows in distaste. “Why not?”
“He’s not doing well.” Chen lies. “Maybe we should just let him take a break.”
Xiumin and Luhan want to argue that he’s already taken a break-- a long, thirteen year break away from them, but they hold their urges back. Chen had always been the closest to Lay, ever since they were children, and so he would know best when to leave Lay alone.
He knows Lay best-- doesn’t he?
-
Sometimes, Chen is too afraid to ask questions.
“Don’t be afraid to play with him, Chen.” Mr. Zhang tells him. “You never were afraid before, when you guys were still just peas in a pod.”
Chen laughs awkwardly and looks at Lay, who is staring down at the Rubik’s cube in his hands. He lifts it at an odd angle and twists it around, narrowing his eyes as if he’s seeing right through the small squares, and smiles to himself.
Mr. Zhang pets Lay’s hair gently, affectionately.
“Does Yixi--, Lay remember?” Chen finally asks, breaking the silence.
Lay looks his way and his smile is still there, still radiating so beautifully.
His father chuckles and scratches the stubbles of his beard on his chin. “Of course he does!” He exclaims proudly. “Lay has excellent memory, Chen. You wouldn’t believe half of the things this child remembers!”
For a moment, Chen feels hopeful.
“He remembers numbers, words, alphabets in different languages! He learns very quickly and it’s no surprise, really,” Mr. Zhang continues, “because he’s always been such a bright kid.”
Chen smiles and nods along, feeling the burden of Lay’s eyes on his side profile.
He had meant to ask Mr. Zhang whether or not Lay remembered the past. The past they shared together involved many people, many events, many places, and Chen wanted to know if any of the various memories were treasured by Lay, whom Chen had thought of often over the course of time he was absent.
Chen wanted to know if anything here was significant to Lay-- if Lay found anything in the world of his own exceptionally significant to himself-- but the answer he receives is not what he anticipates.
Minutes screen by and Chen becomes more afraid of the question itself as time passes. He doesn’t want to hear that Lay may not remember him; he does not want to know that Lay does not remember.
“Can I bring some friends over to visit Lay?” Chen dares himself to ask.
Mr. Zhang takes a moment to smile, a moment to nod, and another moment to really absorb the question that’s been asked. “Not too many, though,” he stresses, “too many people might make Lay uncomfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Zhang,” Chen grins.
Still, Chen feels Lay’s glassy eyes staring his way.
A small click catches his full attention and he turns to see Lay holding up the solved Rubik's cube in the air with a victorious grin. He solved the confusion of a multidimensional puzzle; if only he could solve the confusion of a multidimensional question.
-
The first time Luhan and Xiumin visit, Lay doesn’t have the best control over his emotions. He threw little fits, growing frustrated when he heard too many voices or voices too loud-- Xiumin had always been a better speaker than the rest.
Mrs. Zhang eventually had to console him, hugging him to her chest and pinning his arms to his side, preventing him from tugging at his hair.
Xiumin and Luhan, needless to say, were very surprised by his reactions but did a considerable job masking their expressions.
“He just wants to understand,” Mrs. Zhang smiles at them apologetically. “I think he’s remembering the past, fragments of it at least, but can’t hold a solid grasp on what he’s seeing and hearing. It frustrates him, and Lay can’t really deal with frustration on his own.”
“We understand, Mrs. Zhang, there’s no need to explain or feel apologetic,” Luhan tells her.
Xiumin nods, yet, he slowly starts to see Lay in a different light. “Chen,” he whispers, “has Yix-- Lay... Has Lay always been... sick?”
At the mention of his name, Lay releases his iron hold on the strap of Luhan’s backpack that’s been abandoned on the sofa and looks in Xiumin’s direction. His brows furrow as his eyes narrow slightly, but then they relax and he smiles a little.
He takes a step towards him, his eyes ever so empty.
“I think you finally got his attention,” Chen laughs.
Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how Xiumin feels at the moment. His shoulders tense and his hands curl into fists-- it isn’t as if he’s afraid of Lay, per say, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to control himself around him.
Xiumin doesn’t want to scare him, neither does he want to hurt him, so, he just stands there, a silly grin stamped onto his face and he looks Lay in the eyes, doing his best not to edge away from the hand outstretched towards his cheek.
Luhan can only watch in envy, wanting so bad to be the one that Lay remembers first.
Just before Lay’s fingers graze over Xiumin’s skin, Chen grabs his wrist and leads him back to the sofa. He resists a little, struggles a little, but eventually gives in.
“You can’t touch other people like that,” Chen tells him, slowly and patiently. Lay’s eyes are trained on Xiumin and his smile is still there.
“I think he likes your chubby cheeks,” Luhan teases.
Xiumin pouts. “He did that a lot when we were younger, too. I guess he hasn’t changed after all.”
They laugh and joke, more often about each other than of Lay, not because they find it inappropriate to do so, which it might have been, but because they realize there’s really not much about Lay that they are certain of.
That evening, Lay watches them with a gaze filled with amusement. His eyes are expressive, but they are bottomlessly deep-- so dark and so empty that it more or less scares Chen to look him directly in the eyes.
When they look into Lay’s eyes, they are reminded somewhat of the dew of morning, always present and always so mysterious.
Always so untouchable.
-
Chen dreams that Lay kisses him.
It’s not a romantic occurrence, but a rather violent one. So harsh, in fact, that it leaves bruises on his reddened and swollen lips, marks of fingers on the bridge of his neck.
In his dream, his lips are cut and blood spills from the wound but Lay does not care; he continues kissing him, until they are both covered in blood, numb and no longer breathing-- until they are no longer real.
When Chen wakes up, he is sweating and sticky and it takes him a little too long to return to a normal breathing pace.
And he realizes that he wishes the kiss was real, that Lay would kiss him senseless. That’s when he knows something is off and it’s not with Lay, but with himself.
-
Their families are having dinner together and the rain is pouring from the skies. After they finish eating, Chen awkwardly leads Lay into the living room, where Lay stares out into the streets, watching as the rain falls heavily on the cemented grounds.
Chen reasons that Lay is very much like rain.
The dream still haunts him; the warmth of Lay’s lips on his own, the pain of Lay’s teeth drawing blood from his mouth, the strong grip of Lay’s fingers on his neck, his throat, his arms.
But Lay is, in reality, fragile.
He’s like someone fallen from heaven-- not quite an angel, because an angel would walk this Earth with the radiance of beauty and confidence and not apprehension and fear. Lay is like a droplet of rain, made up of too many particles that cause him to fall, dousing the Earth with its moisture and leaving a mark but dissipating from the surface once it touches the grounds, the dirt, disappearing from too much heat, freezing from too much cold.
Chen reasons that he, himself, is very much like dew.
He originates from the ground, formed at night from condensation-- that’s very much what he is, actually; a condensation of too many feelings, too many confusions, too many misunderstandings of things he can’t understand.
Lay is too pure; as clear as water and as light as rain.
And Chen is too complicated, hanging on to things and not letting go.
“When the dew is on the grass, rain will never come to pass; When grass is dry at morning light, look for rain before the night.”
Lay catches the phrase that leaks from Chen and they are both surprised-- Chen not knowing that he spoke aloud and Lay not knowing the true meaning behind Chen’s words. Then Lay makes a sound of sorts, and Chen just knows it’s a reply to what he just said.
But when he asks Lay to repeat himself, Lay closes up and reclines into the sofa, turning to the window and watching after the falling rain.
And it’s true, Chen thinks, that dew and rain do not cross paths. Maybe it’s a sign, he concludes-- a foreshadowing of sorts.
-
It’s one of those days-- the days when the sun casts over the grounds and everyone is out half-naked, the city bustling with noise and the countryside as lively as ever.
Chen takes Lay on a short walk and Mrs. Zhang reminds him to keep an extra eye on Lay, to not let him slip away. “He doesn’t like holding hands,” she tells him, “but if it comes down to it, teach him to like it.”
With a nod and a smile, Chen and Lay set off for the afternoon daylight.
As they walk, Chen a step behind Lay, various memories flood back to him. He remembers evenings in the playground, hiding under trees on rainy days, running through the rain to settle under building shelters.
There’s so much to remember because they were so little, and to little kids just about everything was fascinating.
Chen liked how fascinated Lay was with everything-- and by everything, he means everything. He really doesn’t remember Lay being so dissociative, this afraid to open himself up.
Then again, there’s probably much more he doesn’t remember.
“Do you remember when we waited for the sun to rise?” He asks aloud.
Although he knows Lay will not reply, he wants to ask, none the less.
“It was somwhere around here, I remember.” Chen says, to no one in particular, to Lay. “We were just sitting there and you kept staring at the changing colors of the sky. I think you fell asleep, though, right here,” he continues, pointing at his own shoulder, “and I felt so sore the next day.”
Lay stops walking and locks eyes with Chen, his expression blank but Chen can tell that he’s confused.
He walks up to Lay, holding out a hand. “If you can’t remember, that’s okay.”
Only blinking, Lay stares at Chen motionlessly.
“We can watch the sunset this time, without the rain.”
His voice is gentle, every word coming out as nearly pleading.
Chen doesn’t know when it started, when his feelings had overwhelmed him so much, but he knows that this is a moment he wants to make up for in their past-- that despite not remembering, not knowing, not understanding Lay in the past, he hopes to now.
If Lay was willing to give him the chance-- if Lay remembered, or even if he just understood, Chen would be willing to invest all he had into this evening.
From a distance, they hear the chattering crowds of children and adults. Chen thinks it’s too noisy, too loud, too much for him; his brain feels suffocated and he begins doubting himself. Is this what he wanted? Is this what Lay would want?
But Lay extends his hand and holds it over Chen’s, wrapping his soft fingers around the boy’s and intertwining them, locking them together.
He tugs Chen along with him, onto the grass and down the hill. Somewhere midway he drops onto the ground and pulls Chen with him, scooting up to his side and lifting their hands midair as he observes the way they feel together-- look together.
To Chen, it looks like perfection.
-
(And it’s kind of beautiful, the way the sun dangles in the sky above them, far away in the expanse of the sky, without so much as a dew of rain.)
END
A/N1: Lay's disorder: Autism. When Lay spaces out in interviews, it reminds me of one of my autistic younger cousins that I lived with for a year. They have that same blank expression and it makes me feel kind of nostalgic. I based a lot of actions/interactions on my experience with my cousin ^-^ So cute!!
A/N2: My first EXO-M fanfic! My first Chen/Lay! I've tried so hard to write a Chen/Lay for the past, I don't know, two weeks or so? But I've scrapped so many ideas... and then I was listening to "届カナイ愛ト知ッテイタノニ抑エキレズニ愛シ続ケタ…" by Gackt today and this happened. I hope it's alright! ^-^;;;