[exo] honey&lightning - i

[printedapples]

Title: Honey&Lightning
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: total ~50k
Pairing: BaekYeol
Genre: hurt/comfort, heavy melodrama
Summary: Lightning never strikes the same place twice.
Warnings: Highlight for full list mentions of past domestic violence, illness, animal death



The storm starts with an electric charge. A blinding bolt thrown through the clouds, piercing heavy air with a metallic shimmer. Chanyeol lifts his visor to glance at the skyscrapers behind him, coated glass walls dominating the Seoul skyline, tips hidden in the shelves of thick, dense storm clouds. His grip on the handles of his bike is terse, leather gloves pulled stretched and taut over knuckle and bone.

This is the city as Chanyeol knows it - petrichor laced with the bitter smell of exhaust and grease, swathed in amber and scarlet mist as the rain starts falling in a light drizzle. He feels the thunder rumble in his chest when he reaches for the zipper of his jacket to cover up. Chills skitter down his spine and he feels the tar and concrete beneath his tires shiver.

A subsequent clap of thunder brings with it a cold that creeps and clings to his skin, and Chanyeol braces himself for the raindrops that pelt the fibreglass of his helmet, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust as things fracture into discs and spectrums. He nudges his visor back down and kicks off onto the empty highway, speeding down the bridge leading out of city centre.

Lightning flickers overhead as he takes a sharp turn into an exit, chasing tail lights and running from storms.

*

Blue and gray hues stain his sight lines as silver flashes behind him and reflects off the handlebars, smooth hull and circular meters of his bike. The road is starting to flood, drains clogged and overflowing, and Chanyeol winces at the cumbersome weight of his rain soaked boots. It’s getting difficult to ride, the tarmac slick and slippery, and his vision blurred by the onslaught of droplets. Coupled with the refracted streetlights, he wonders if this is what it’s like when corneas misalign.

He’s only got another quarter of an hour to go but Chanyeol can feel his head spinning so he steers himself into a quiet alley. It’s too far out of the city to seek shelter in 24-hour convenience stores and far too late for casual cafes. Slowing down, he passes rows of closed shops, their pulled down blinds and screens intimidating and unfriendly. The lit signboard of a barbershop flickers as the fluorescent neon buzzes behind brightly coloured plastic and smoke wafts out of a solitary pub at the end of the street, but Chanyeol finds himself rounding the corner, engine humming as he accelerates for the turn.

Finally, he comes to a stop at an offbeat multi storey car park another half a kilometre or so away. Wires dangle haphazardly off the sides of walls and radiators cling to concrete with rusted bolts. The silhouette of the building stands solitary against the moody skyline, out of place amongst low-rise rooftops. Its pockets of empty space reek of loss and disquiet. The ground is dusty with patches of oil and puddles of stale water littering the plain concrete, paint on the walls peeling off like scabs, crumbling to the ground in polygonal pieces.

A stray cat comes curling around his ankles when he dismounts, mewling happily when the rider squats down to play with it. The stray’s salt and pepper coat is matted from the rain, fur clumped together in chunky patches. It blinks at him and purrs when he scratches under its chin.

“Are you cold?” he asks when the cat sneezes, picking the feline up with firm hands, letting it back down onto the leather seat, near the lingering heat of his cooling engine and away from the pooling raindrops. His own hair is dripping wet when he removes his helmet. Dark auburn locks frame his face, strands plastered to his cheeks from where they’ve come free from the elastic band he usually uses to pull his hair back with.

Hanging his helmet on one of the handlebars, Chanyeol stuffs his keys into the back pocket of his jeans before he glances at the stairs and slope at the other end of the building. Thunder claps distantly, like an afterthought, and the stray naps peacefully on his bike. The storm won’t let up anytime soon.

He might as well explore.

*

Chanyeol doesn’t expect what, or rather, who he finds when he trudges up the slope to the fifth floor. He passes by a couple of cars on the way, their numbers sparse at best, dwindling as he makes his way to the upper floors, which is empty at the top. In the furthest lot, in the driest corner, a man sits resting with his back to the wall. Chanyeol can’t tell if he’s unconscious or only sleeping, but he looks out of place, and curiosity drives him forward. Heavy footsteps echo with a thud, thud, thud as he steps on painted white arrows.

“Hey,” he calls out as he nears, not wanting to surprise the stranger. “Are you okay?”

Chanyeol doesn’t get an answer.

The unconscious man is young, early or mid twenties is Chanyeol’s guess, close in age to himself. He’s dressed neatly in a deep navy turtleneck sweater that seems a little hasty for early autumn, paired with once pressed black trousers now covered in pale patches of dust, dirt and grime. A set of knobbly ankles peek out from under folded hems. His feet are covered in worn out trainers, scuffed and tattered from overuse.

When Chanyeol’s close enough to make out facial features he begins to take in details he wishes he didn’t see, wincing at the mere thought of what could have possibly happened to him.

The left side of his face is swollen, eye swelled shut and circled with rings of speckled dark purples and yellows - the very same colours creeping out from under his collar, imprinted onto his neck in finger tipped shapes. The soft pink flesh of his bottom lip is split in a painful red sliver and the few cuts on his forehead are scabbed over, barely covered by his ruffled but neatly trimmed brown bangs.

What catches his attention though, is the man’s bandaged left hand. Wrapped up in strips of tightly bound white fabric, Chanyeol thinks it looks like any other injury; maybe a sprain, perhaps a cut or a burn, but when he reaches out to nudge the unconscious man awake he notices the odd spacing between his fingers, sees the multiple casts holding indexes and pinkies up in a rigid, straight posture.

Between the two casts, his middle finger curls awkwardly towards his palm. There’s only blank space where his ring finger was meant to be.

The night passes with Chanyeol sitting by the injured man, close enough to notice if the man stirs, but sufficiently far enough to remain distant. His socks and boots lay by his feet drying. His leather jacket is draped carefully over the other’s small form, keeping him warm. Chanyeol had seen him shivering when chilly winds crept past pillars and into their corner, eyes fluttering open, if only momentarily, before heavy lids fell shut once more. Chanyeol wonders what his name is. How old he is, how he ended up here, out of town, alone and like he’s been through hell and back. He looked like a straight laced guy in comparison to himself, with his unruly long hair and piercings. Chanyeol chuckles softly when he peers down at his own crumpled flannel shirt. He can’t remember the last time he ironed his clothing. Chanyeol dozes off in short cycles, the stray from before nestled comfortably in his lap, purring contentedly when he scratches behind its ears, tail brushing against his thigh.

He awakens, a couple of hours later, to a morning glow, pinkish and still as the world prepares to breathe. The air is damp, smelling of dew and fresh air. Chanyeol inhales deeply as he stretches the stiffness away, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he yawns. A quick peek at his cell phone tells him that it’s 7:04 in the morning: he has little under an hour before he needs to get to work.

“I’ve got to go,” Chanyeol says, voice husky from sleep, as he lifts the cat off his lap and onto the ground. It mewls at him disgruntledly before climbing onto the other man’s leg. He feels his spine re-aligning when he gets up to dust off his jeans, hopping awkwardly while he tries to get his socks and boots back on without falling over.

Chanyeol leaves, but not without a few backward glances. His jacket is still draped over the stranger’s sleeping form.

*

Sometimes Chanyeol feels like he lives two lives.

He earns his keep working as a mechanic in an auto and bike workshop on weekdays. Night falls and he becomes Park Chanyeol, bassist of the indie rock band Wolf, basking in the pulsing heat of halogen stage lights in the packed live houses of Hongdae. Park Chanyeol of Wolf: the one who fixes and modifies bike parts for his speed junkie friends; who hangs out with the wild ones, burning rubber through the streets of Seoul.

Sometimes he feels like it still is not enough.

His flat is one of four on the tenth floor of a quiet, plain building sitting on the border between two suburban neighbourhoods, hidden behind layers and twists of chicken shops and street stands, uphill from a dingy little real estate office. It is an eyesore to the housewives of the surrounding households, who have petitioned time and again for its demolition, much to the chagrin of the oddball collective of residents who occupy the complex; the broken families and hard workers for whom the cheap rent is a godsend.

Chanyeol parks his bike just off the road and walks the last bit of the way. Chorong, his eleven year old German Shepherd, barks in welcome when he pushes past the door and into the living room. The interior of the flat is minimalistic and practical. The walls are whitewashed and bare with the exception of a simple clock, which faced the kitchen. A worn but clean sofa sits across from a small television set, and a balcony, barely a meter and a half wide, extends from the common area. Chorong lifts her head when he walks by, blinking at him drowsily before settling back down to sleep. “I’m sorry we’ll have to skip your walk today,” he apologises, bending down to ruffle her fur.

Chanyeol’s own bedroom is adjacent to the kitchen. A double mattress lies on the floor, duvet left in a crumpled pile near the bottom. His two bass guitars are in their stands alongside the amplifiers he has stacked up against the wall. A simple wardrobe stands by the door leading to the bathroom, and a solitary square window faces the bed.

He changes into his work clothes once he’s done showering, shrugging on a loose hoodie over his tank top before hopping over the low table to turn on the radio that is sitting by the television. Chanyeol refills Chorong’s food and water bowls while he waits for the kettle to boil. Spinning around on the kitchen stool, he tries not to let his thoughts drift back to the stranger from the night before.

He leaves later than he usually does that morning, speeding through lights and riding on road shoulders, breaking speed limits, hoping the adrenaline would help numb the sinking feeling in his chest, help to erase the hues of purple, the pasty off whites and the navy of his sweater so vivid in his mind -

but it does not.

*

“You’re distracted,” Kyungsoo says to him with an exasperated sigh. He swirls his drink and raises the glass to his lips. Chanyeol’s ears perk at the tinkling sound. “You have that look on your face again.”

“What look?” Chanyeol asks with a raised brow, confused. The silhouette of casted fingers dissipates quickly behind his irises.

“That look you get when you’re about to do something stupid.” He puts the glass down. Chanyeol watches the drops of condensation skitter onto the table. “What type of animal is it this time? Another starving cat? A three legged dog? A beat up rabbit? An abused kitten? If you give Jongin another poodle I will end you.”

Chanyeol laughs nervously in reply. “Not quite.”

Kyungsoo eyes him when he stands, after he’s done replacing the side panels and belly pan of the bike. Chanyeol tucks the wad of cash that’s handed to him safely into his wallet.

“Don’t take in strays you know you can’t keep.”

*

He’s barely conscious the next time Chanyeol sees him. He looks different, alive, caught between daylight and darkness.

“You’re still here,” Chanyeol speaks when their eyes meet. The words roll off his tongue hastily.

“I don’t,” the man starts, wincing in pain when he tries to sit up. His voice is gravelly, strained and thin. “Have anywhere to go. Are you here for your jacket?” He offers Chanyeol a weak smile, slowly shrugging off the leather, struggling to get his arm out of the sleeve.

There’s something in the way he moves so gingerly that makes Chanyeol wonder just how hurt he is, how many wounds lie under the knitted polyester and cotton.

Chanyeol shakes his head, dismounting. “You can keep the jacket. But I’d like your name, at least.”

“Baekhyun,” he replies quietly. His gaze on Chanyeol is unfocused, and he blinks several times when Chanyeol approaches.

“Baekhyun, do you think you can stand?”

“Mm.”

Chanyeol crouches low as the other tries to manoeuvre himself upright, gliding one arm under Baekhyun’s shoulder and curling the other firmly around his waist, supporting his weight while the smaller framed man hobbles towards Chanyeol’s bike. He notices the way Baekhyun flinches slightly at the physical contact, but brushes it off as a reaction to pain.

“Where are you taking me?” Baekhyun mumbles into his back once they’re settled, curious but intrepid.

“Is there someplace you want to go?” Baekhyun shakes his head no. “Home then. Is that okay?”

Baekhyun nods. “Okay.”

“Can you promise that you’ll hold on tight? It would be dangerous if you fell on the way.”

Baekhyun nods again. “I’ll try.”

The engine thrums beneath them when he twists the keys in the ignition. A loud mewling sound catches his attention then, and Chanyeol spares a look over his shoulder. It’s the cat from before, padding it’s way over to them. It looks up at Chanyeol expectantly from the ground, meowing pitifully when it realises it’s being left behind.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol apologises, feeling Baekhyun’s grip tighten around his torso. He locks his arms as best he can when Chanyeol twists the handlebars and accelerates. “Not today.”

Kyungsoo’s words haunt him the entire way back home.

*

He manages to get Baekhyun as far as the elevator before he passes out again, knees buckling under his own weight and arms going limp while Chanyeol hurries to support him. He carries him the rest of the way on his back - cautiously, gingerly, still wary of hurting him. Chorong trails after them, limping, when he pushes past the door and heads straight for his bedroom, watching, curious as he lowers Baekhyun gently onto the bed, propping his head up with the pillow and tugging the blanket over his shivering form.

“Watch him for me, okay?” He smiles at Chorong, squatting to scratch behind her ears. She barks softly in reply and settles down by the door, resting her head on her paws with a yawn.

*

Chanyeol spends the next fifteen minutes pacing back and forth in the small space of his living room, constantly peering out the window into the street below for any sign of a familiar red Suzuki bike pulling in.

Chorong barks just when he sees headlights ghosting over concrete walls and he hops swiftly back to his room to find Baekhyun stirring, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“...Where..?” He trails off, blinking confusedly at Chanyeol.

“You’re in my room. You passed out on the way up.” Chorong rests her head on the mattress, glancing at Baekhyun. The bell on her collar tinkles in the silence.

He hands the mug by the bedside to Baekhyun just as the doorbell rings. “Water. Drink it.”

Baekhyun grips the handle weakly with his right hand, looking up at him anxiously, frowning. He keeps his left hidden under the blanket. “Who’s that?”

Chanyeol rests his hand over Baekhyun’s, reassuringly. He gives it a light squeeze. Baekhyun flinches. “His name is Yixing. His family runs a clinic and he’s a doctor. You can trust him.”

Baekhyun nods softly and diverts his gaze, taking a tentative sip. “I’ll be right back.”

Chanyeol greets his friends wordlessly as he lets them in. The shorter one, Yixing, brushes past him politely in haste, heading towards the bedroom. He has a larger suit jacket draped over his doctor’s coat, and a motorcycle helmet still over his head. Chanyeol lingers in the quiet darkness with Kris, letting himself relax a little when he hears the bedroom door click shut behind Yixing, knowing Baekhyun is in safe hands.

They sit stiffly next to each other on the sofa while they wait. Chorong comes limping towards them, having been chased out by the doctor. She growls softly when she catches sight of Kris, posture tensing until Chanyeol gestures for her to come closer, and Kris scoots over, resting awkwardly on the arm of the sofa. Chanyeol helps her up onto the seat, lifting her weaker hind legs so she can settle comfortably in his lap. She calms down when he pets her head, stroking behind her ears and down her back the way he knows she likes, until the tension in her muscles eases.

“She still doesn’t like me, huh?” Kris sighs with a shrug, laughing hollowly. Chanyeol glances at his old ...friend? He hesitates at the definition. He takes in Kris’s side profile, notices the holes where his multiple piercings were, the half loosened silk tie and slightly wrinkled white button down. He looks the same, familiar despite the slicked back blond hair and the remnants of his lawyer getup.

Kris is the drummer for Wolf, and paired with himself on the bass they formed the heartbeat, as Jongdae, their vocalist called it, of the band. They are the thrumming pulse, a binary that is steady and implicitly compatible.

It is an analogy, Chanyeol finds, dyed heavily in bittersweet sentiment.

“It’s been a while since you’ve called,” Kris’s voice is tinged with barely disguised surprise.

Chanyeol hmms in reply. “Yeah, yeah it has.” He has not been alone with Kris in a while either.

“The last time you called like this was when you were trying to get Wolf back together.”

“That went pretty well, didn’t it?” Chanyeol laughs lightly, shrugging.

He tries not to meet Kris’s eyes through the blank screen of the television.

*

“Chanyeol?” Yixing pokes his head round the door, beckoning to him. He lowers his voice to a hush when Chanyeol nears, speaking in whispers. “Do you have spare clothes for Baekhyun?”

Yixing peeks over Chanyeol’s shoulder to make sure Kris is out of earshot, tugging him further into the corner before he begins properly. Chanyeol nods in reply to the first question.

“He isn’t in critical condition, thankfully, so we won’t need to get him hospitalised, at least.” Yixing sighs, countenance appearing more vexed as he continues. “He’s malnutritioned and has a bad cold right now but that’s… that’s not the main issue here.” Yixing sighs, distressed. “He’s covered in bruises, Chanyeol. His back, torso, abdomen, I’m surprised he doesn’t have any broken ribs. I talked to him and he said he was discharged from the hospital about a week ago.” Chanyeol swallows thickly. “That was just for his hand, the rest of his injuries were untreated. They are also long term. It’s not my place to be telling you my suspicions but I think you can put two and two together even if I don’t.” Yixing looks him in the eyes, pleading.

Chanyeol glances away briefly, in the direction of his room. Yixing catches his hesitance, his lingering gaze. He clears his throat softly and continues.

“I’ve done all I can for now. I’ll be back tomorrow but you’ll need to monitor him at least until his fever is gone. I left the painkillers by the bedside, he’ll have to take them thrice a day.” Chanyeol nods. “And when he wakes up make sure you give him proper food and plenty of water.”

“Got it.” He offers Yixing a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Be careful, Chanyeol.”

Kris comes over to them then, arm drifting to a rest around the doctor’s waist. Chanyeol watches the familiar way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he speaks. “You still have my helmet on, Yixing,” Kris chuckles fondly, rapping his knuckles lightly on the fibreglass. Yixing blinks in surprise and scowls in annoyance when Kris taps the visor with his fingers, but leans in to his touch nonetheless.

“We should go or you’ll be late for your night shift,” Kris slips his hand into Yixing’s. “I’ll drop you off.”

Chanyeol shows them out when they make to leave, thanking them both again, waiting in the doorway until their voices fade away and all he is left with is quiet. When he shuts the door the lock clicks with finality in the silence. Chorong is asleep in her spot by the couch, torso rising and falling. He makes his way back to his room, knocking quietly so he won’t startle Baekhyun. He’s still awake - albeit barely - when Chanyeol slips in, looking up at him curiously when he shuffles past the bed to the wardrobe. He pulls out a baggy t-shirt, spare boxers and a pair of sweatpants, placing them on Baekhyun’s lap.

“Change into these,” Chanyeol prompts, turning so his back faces Baekhyun, giving him some privacy. “They might be a little loose on you but they’re clean, at least.”

He waits patiently while the other struggles with the clothes, facing him again only when Baekhyun tells him to. He’s settled back under the blanket, propping himself up with the elbow of his good hand. Chanyeol kneels by the bed and refills the mug while Baekhyun pops the painkiller pills out of their foil casings, letting them roll around his palm. He flinches again, by reflex, when their fingers brush.

“Thank you, Chanyeol.” Baekhyun curls up on his side, and Chanyeol moves to sit, tiled floor cold against his bare feet. He watches Baekhyun fidget, playing with the handle of the now empty mug.

“Are you cold?”

Baekhyun shakes his head lightly, settling on his right, facing Chanyeol. “Why - ” he pauses to yawn “ - are you helping me?” His question is soft, curious.

Chanyeol meets his gaze, shrugging, words caught in his throat. “I don’t know.”

*

Baekhyun always sleeps on his side. Curled up in a foetal position, he huddles under the covers with his knees to his chest in a fitful slumber, bangs plastered to his forehead in cold sweat. Sometimes he tosses and turns until his shirt rides up to the ridges of his ribcage, exposing the splotches of stained colour on his torso, back and abdomen. Chanyeol tries to stay mindful, making sure to tug down on the fabric, pulling the puffy blankets safely back up to his shoulders.

He sleeps extensively, deeply, at first, lost in a feverish world of dreams. He recovers the most over the first two weeks, warm colour replacing pasty complexions, hues of pink tinting his cheeks. The swelling around his eye subsides and the discolouration fades to reveal a set of drowsy eyes and pretty lashes. Chanyeol watches day by day as Baekhyun’s body heals itself, reclaiming each wound, cut and bruise a little bit at a time. Soon enough the violent split in his lip dissipates into a healthier pink, a mischievous cupid’s bow, a gentle pout.

The bruises are still spread extensively over his body from what Chanyeol has seen, and he recalls Yixing having mentioned something about long-term injuries. It worries him, and he wonders if Baekhyun is still bleeding inside.

He wakes up to the heavy scent of warm honey and bread on a Friday morning, squinting in annoyance at the bright rays of sunshine that leak through the gap in the curtains. There’s a plate on the table in front of the couch stacked high with slices of French toast. Chanyeol rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he rises from his makeshift bed with a tired groan. He’s about to get up when he notices Baekhyun snoozing at the other end of the couch, feet slipped beneath the spare blanket Chanyeol has been using, head pillowed by the arm rest. Chanyeol cringes when he catches sight of the last shadows of the finger marks on his neck, almost reaching out instinctively to brush over them with a comforting touch. He catches himself in time and uses the toast as a distraction. The bread is still warm and moist - Baekhyun must have fallen asleep not too long ago, just before he awoke.

He picks up a slice and chews eagerly on a corner, relishing the taste and texture on his tongue in the stillness of the morning, casting sideway glances at Baekhyun, listening to him breathe. He leaves for work swallowing honeyed bites, finishing all four slices easily. Chanyeol places the dish in the sink and leaves a note and money for Baekhyun on the table before he goes.

The sweetness lingers on his tongue throughout the rest of the day.

*

Sleep begins to elude Baekhyun when colder winds slip through the gaps under Chanyeol’s doors.

He has long insisted on Chanyeol moving back to his own bed, forcing his way onto the couch, where he’s since become fast friends with Chorong, who sits by him calmly most of the time, occasionally prodding him for eagerly given affection. Sometimes Chanyeol comes home from work to find Baekhyun cuddled up with his dog on the couch, dozing off together, watching the television side by side, or Chorong sprawled across Baekhyun’s tummy while he props his head up with a pillow and the armrest reading one of the books Chanyeol had lying around. It is puzzling how comfortable she is with him, having problems with Kris, Jongdae and Kyungsoo even now, two years after he first picked her up off the street, whining and in pain. He had been taken aback the first time he found them together like that, worried at first, until he heard the light snores coming from Baekhyun. He had to muffle his laughs after that, tempted to climb over and join them, glad that he has found an unexpected friend not only for himself, but for her too.

Most of the time they spend together falls between magic hour and the bewitching darkness of the night, eating late night take out meals with their elbows and knees bumping awkwardly as they try to manoeuvre chopsticks and hot food without spilling anything and making a mess. Chanyeol finds Baekhyun’s personality to be rather pleasant, and his presence in the apartment is comfortable. Baekhyun doesn’t flinch nearly as much now when skin meets skin, reflex not as prominent as before.

Chanyeol tries not to think of what could have made him that way.

Baekhyun is lying idly on his side when Chanyeol comes home on a Saturday night after a performance, tired and hungry. He’s staring at his own reflection in the glass of the little balcony, moonlight casting a ghostly glow over his features, serene and luminescent. The television plays a documentary in the background, on the news channel, colourful and busy. He glances at the clock on the wall, and then back at Baekhyun. It’s three AM.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, hushed, sliding the strap of his bass carry case off his shoulder. “Can’t sleep again?”

“Sorry,” Baekhyun sits up, replying with a nod. “I’ll turn down the volume, I hope I’m not bothering you."

Chanyeol cringes at Baekhyun’s formality. “You don’t have to speak so politely to me, Baekhyun. Use Banmal, you sound so stiff." He laughs. “We’re probably about the same age anyway.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles softly, head bowed. Chanyeol follows his gaze downwards, to where the ends of Chanyeol’s baggy sweatpants are pooled around Baekhyun’s ankles. It’s kind of cute, he thinks.

“Don’t apologise,” Chanyeol smiles, heading for the kitchen in search of food.

“But I’m being such a burden and you’ve only ever been kind,” Baekhyun frowns, trailing after him.

“You make me sound like some kind of saint,” Chanyeol laughs lightly. “Which I definitely am not. In any case, I am the one who brought you here on the back of my bike so, technically I kidnapped you or something.”

“But - ” Baekhyun shrinks into himself, shoulders hunched, chin down.

“My door is always open for you. Leave, if you ever want to. But like you said, you don’t have anywhere else to go. So stay for a while, keep Chorong company,” Chanyeol pats him on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Keep me company.”

There’s a short pause before Baekhyun speaks up again. He answers simply, just a short “okay” but he gives Chanyeol the brightest smile he’s ever seen, one that says thank you, a twinkling sincerity in his eyes. Chanyeol isn’t prepared for it in the slightest, hurriedly hiding behind the cabinet to mask his startled reaction. Baekhyun laughs when Chanyeol drops the bag of chips he’s holding, a hearty little giggle slipping past his lips, and Chanyeol pauses his search for food, flustered. He gawks, a little awkwardly, and Baekhyun hides his face behind his hands in protest.

“Stop staring!” Baekhyun whines weakly, pushing Chanyeol away.

“You were being all apologetic a few minutes ago and now you’re shoving me, eh, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol chuckles, nudging him gently. “We’re out of ramyeon, and I’m hungry,” he says, just as his stomach emits a loud dissatisfied rumble.

“I have an idea,” Chanyeol starts, giving Baekhyun a once over. He’s dressed lightly in Chanyeol’s older, worn clothes, the thin cotton clinging to his bony frame. Baekhyun shies away from Chanyeol’s roaming eyes, tilting his head slightly to the right.

“Wait here,” he says before disappearing into the bedroom, leaving Baekhyun puzzled in the kitchen. He comes back with one of his flannel shirts, a nice, thick sweater with the graphic print of the logo of one of Chanyeol’s favourite skate brands on the front, and a pair of denim trousers, placing them in Baekhyun’s arms before steering the other through the door.

“You’re going to catch a cold dressed like that.” Chanyeol mumbles something about how he’s only just recovered, shutting the door behind him so Baekhyun can change. “I really meant it when I said you could wear whatever you wanted from the closet."

Baekhyun replies softly again, another quiet okay, and Chanyeol rambles on while he waits.

"How does a walk to the convenience store sound to you? It’s been quite a while since you’ve gone outside, it must be boring being holed up here all the time," Chanyeol laughs, casually scratching the back of his neck.

Baekhyun’s reply is muffled, but certain nonetheless. “I like it here. But that would be nice."

Baekhyun gives him a sheepish look when he’s done changing, opening the door quietly and poking his head through the gap. Baekhyun holds up the overlong sleeves and laughs.

“Ready?” Chanyeol grins.

Baekhyun nods eagerly with a big, bright smile.

*

The walk to the store is hushed and chilly. They take the side streets and narrow lanes that Chanyeol navigates with practiced eased, their only company the occasional swaying of headlights, the steady sound of their feet and the whispers of wind that drive Baekhyun closer to his side, hands withdrawn into sleeves.

Chanyeol laughs at Baekhyun’s posture, stiff and awkward from the cold. He scowls in return and walks ahead, only to have Chanyeol catch his sleeve at the elbow to stop him from taking a wrong turn.

From a distance the bright fluorescent lights of the store bleach the edges of their sight, seeping into the street, and they blink to adjust to the white light as they enter through glass doors. Baekhyun tails Chanyeol as he walks through the aisles, basket in hand, grabbing packets of ramyeon and chapaghetti, snacks and bread.

“This blueberry one’s the best,” he tells Baekhyun as he dumps four of the buns into the basket. “It’s like some sort of wonder bread. Two for you and two for me. Do you have anything you want to get?”

“Is that okay?” Baekhyun replies, tentative, embarrassed. “I’ll pay you back somehow.”

Chanyeol smiles. “Don’t worry about it, just grab whatever you need.”

He waits by the news stand with the basket by his foot, flipping through a copy of a pet care magazine. The cashier shoots him an annoyed look but refrains from speaking out, probably intimidated by his appearance and physique. Chanyeol catches sight of his reflection in the glass - his hair is up in a loose, messy bun, and his silver piercings glimmering under the light. He does look kind of scary.

Baekhyun is done pretty quickly, returning with toothbrushes, other hygiene items, some fruit and a box of hair dye balanced in his arms.

“Ooh,” Chanyeol peers curiously at the box. “What colour did you get?”

“Red,” Baekhyun replies. “I thought a change would be nice. I’ve never done anything other than brown.” He lets the items fall into the basket gently. He makes sure to thank Chanyeol again once he’s done paying and they leave with the bags hanging from their elbows, plastic rustling restlessly in the wind.

Baekhyun hands him an apple, taking a bite of his own. “You eat too much crap, Chanyeol.”

“Tch,” Chanyeol grumbles in feigned annoyance, eating the apple anyway. He slows down a step to let Baekhyun catch up, lightly catching hold of Baekhyun’s left hand through his sleeve.

“It’s cold. Let’s go home.”

*

They spend the night talking and eating on the couch after Baekhyun insists on cooking for them both, asking cautious questions about each other while they ate. Chanyeol learns that Baekhyun hasn’t seen his family in years, that his mom was a hairdresser and that he used to work as a pianist in hotels, playing for lounges and fancy restaurants. Chanyeol tries to steer away from that topic, guessing instinctively that it was a sensitive one, redirecting the flow of their conversation back to himself, answering whatever questions Baekhyun asked him.

He tells Baekhyun about his job, about the motorcycles he modifies and fixes, and EXO, the live house Wolf played at, promising to bring Baekhyun along the next time they have a performance, in a little over two weeks' time. He'd also admits his liking for sweet foods, much to Baekhyun's amusement, who laughs and said he'd figured as much from that one time he made him toast with eggs and honey.

"I bet you have your tea sweet too," he chuckles while they wash the dishes, helping to dry and put away the bowls.

Eventually the topic switches to Chorong, who's been sleeping soundly the entire time. Baekhyun asks about her legs and her limp, worried if she's got an injury or hurt herself somehow. Chanyeol tells him about how he'd found her two years ago, abandoned in a parking lot, and explains how she has a degenerative disease.

Baekhyun also asks if Chanyeol keeps all the strays he picks up, to which he laughs lightly and replies no, of course not. The animals usually stay with him a while, until they're well enough for him to leave at the shelter.

Chanyeol falls asleep around dawn, sprawled across one side of his mattress. Baekhyun had squeaked and fled to the other side of the room when he'd started undressing, sliding off his pants and hanging his shirt up on the hook behind the door.

"Chanyeol! What are you doing?"

"What?" Chanyeol replies calmly. "I'm getting comfortable and ready to sleep." He wiggles his way under the blanket with a contented sigh, enjoying the feel of the soft duvet on his skin.

"Pants!!" Baekhyun yelps, still looking away.

"You don't like my boxers? Even though you’ve been wearing them for a month?" Chanyeol jokes, sitting up to fluff up his pillow. "Relax, Baekhyun. I'm not going to flash you or anything. Speaking of which, we should go get you some new clothes soon," He lets out a loud yawn. "Maybe when we wake up."

The last thing he remembers before losing himself to sleep is Baekhyun sitting next to him with his back against the wall, knees propped up while he does the newspaper crossword puzzle, socked feet sneaking under the covers in search of warmth.

When Chanyeol awakes the bed is empty, cold on the other side, the duvet bunched up around his own body. It's a little past noon, and Chorong's looking at him from the floor, moving closer when Chanyeol finally decides to roll out of bed.

"You hungry?" He scratches behind her ears, ruffling her fur and giving her a hug. "Oppa's sorry he overslept."

She crawls onto his lap and nudges his face with her snout. Her nose is ticklish on the skin of his cheek, and Chanyeol squirms when she licks him affectionately.

"Yah, don't eat me," he protests groggily, lifting her heavy body off his torso. She fumbles, climbing back onto the floor, waiting patiently for him while Chanyeol hops off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He grabs a rubber band on the way to the kitchen to tie his hair back with. Retrieving her food bowl from the shelf, Chanyeol pours her a portion of dog food and carries it to where her water bowl is, refilling that too. He gives her a couple of extra dog treats to make up for missing her meal time, then heads back to the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee.

Baekhyun is asleep on the couch, huddled in the blanket, tossing and turning. He's covered in a sheen of cold sweat, brows furrowed in discomfort, mumbling half words Chanyeol can't make out. He contemplates trying to wake Baekhyun up for a while, but decides against it. Baekhyun hardly ever manages to sleep, and sleep plagued by nightmares is still better than none at all.

Chanyeol places a glass of water on the table for when Baekhyun wakes up, retrieving the newspaper from where it's fallen onto the floor. He leaves it with the previous days' issues on the counter. Just like all the days before, the crossword puzzle on this issue is complete. Splotches of ink colour the newsprint from where old ballpoint pen nibs leaked, scratched out blobs mark where Baekhyun struggled with finding the right letters. For all his prim and properness, Chanyeol thinks his handwriting is oddly unkempt.

*

The next two weeks pass by swiftly with the end of autumn, the last of the amber and red leaves speckling the ground with their colour, crushed under tires and tireless feet. Chanyeol doesn't go out much, with the exception of rehearsals and work, cooped up in his room practicing and trying to arrange and refine bass parts for a couple of possible new songs Jongdae had sent him, looping the demos over and over until he’s got them memorised down pat. His bedroom was a mess, scattered sheets scribbled with tabs lay on the floor around him in miniature piles.

Baekhyun had taken it upon himself to do the housework Chanyeol had been neglecting, tidying up and doing the laundry, helping to feed Chorong and take her out for her walks.

He'd also tried reducing the amount of instant food they ate, deviating from Chanyeol's list when he goes grocery shopping in his stead. Eventually Baekhyun gets Chanyeol to acquiesce into eating proper meals, using cooking as a way to occupy himself and pass the time. Chanyeol doesn't protest much to this, seeing how Baekhyun is slowly but steadily putting some meat back onto his bones. It isn't that Chanyeol can’t cook - in fact he is pretty good at it, and he used to cook all the time back in university for himself and for Kris, who often came over to study - it's just that he never quite found the time to start again, once he'd fallen out of habit when he moved into his current apartment, eating convenience store packed lunches at work, too tired after to really bother.

Tonight though, for the first time in a while, they’re having take out. They’d just been to Yixing’s family clinic earlier in the evening to have the casts on Baekhyun’s fingers removed. Baekhyun has been quiet ever since, concealing his hand in the sleeve of his shirt, giving short, distracted answers despite Chanyeol’s jovial attempts at conversation.

The grip he had around Chanyeol’s torso was awkward on the ride home, loose and distant compared the way he had previously held on tightly, firmly, always comfortably. Chanyeol tried not to think too much of it when he had pulled up by a side street to get them ice cream and black bean noodles, leaving Baekhyun to wait on his bike.

He puts his bass back in its stand when he hears the timer on the microwave ping, lazily flicking the power switch on his amplifier off with his big toe. Chanyeol gets up just as the scent of black bean begins to tickle his nose. He opens the door to find Baekhyun on the other side, right hand raised and poised to knock, left hand hidden behind his back.

They eat together, sharing two portions of black bean noodles from a large plate, silver chopsticks occasionally bumping while they watch the humourless weekday sitcom on TV. Chorong rests her head in Baekhyun’s lap when she’s done with her own food, nudging him affectionately with her nose and earning the only smile from Baekhyun that day, small as it may be.

Chanyeol waits by the bathroom door while Baekhyun showers, as was their routine, just in case Baekhyun needs help. He’s never asked for assistance before though, throughout the past two months or so that he’s been living here, but Chanyeol sits idly by the door out of habit anyway. He fiddles with his phone when he hears the familiar hissing shower and the sweet smell of soap fills the air, playing a couple of rounds of Anipang while he mulls over Baekhyun’s distant behaviour that day.

It comes as a surprise when Baekhyun unlocks the door and opens it a crack, asking for him.

“Chanyeol?” His voice is shaky through heavy air, muted by the weight of the steam. Chanyeol looks up from his spot on the ground. Droplets of water fall from Baekhyun’s hair onto the floor.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Could you - ” Baekhyun starts, looking away. He revises his sentence when he speaks again. “- I need your help.”

“Sure,” Chanyeol’s still a little confused but he stands quickly, tossing his phone onto the mattress. Baekhyun lets the door swing open the rest of the way, catching Chanyeol’s hand and tugging him into the still damp bathroom.

His senses are overwhelmed all at once, the moisture in the air stifling, and he doesn't know where to look, trying not to let his eyes roam too much.

Baekhyun is in nothing but one of Chanyeol’s navy boxer shorts, elastic band clinging to his hips. His skin is pale and moist from his shower, slightly flushed and pink from the hot water, and Chanyeol forces himself to turn away when his eyes trail down his abdomen, following the faint shadow of hair on his pelvis that slips downwards, under the navy cotton fabric. He feels his blood rush to his ears and cheeks, and air escapes him, leaving his lungs petrified and heavy like stone. Chanyeol tries to convince himself otherwise, but he knows it isn’t because of the heat.

Baekhyun slides the towel off from round his neck, wrapping the cloth gingerly around his left hand. “It’s okay,” he says, almost a whisper, reaching for Chanyeol’s hand again. “You can look. I don’t mind, if it’s you.”

When he raises his eyes his gaze meets Baekhyun’s for a fleeting moment, and it hits him all at once, just how close he was to Baekhyun right then, how intimate they are, how much Baekhyun must trust him, trembling and vulnerable, and he’s tempted to pull him closer, wrap him safely, warmly in his arms, comb fingers through his matted hair. Instead he swallows thickly, trying to take a steady breath.

The bruises on Baekhyun’s skin are mostly just sheer ghosts of what they were before. Their edges are soft and diffused, fading into the milkiness of the rest of his skin. Baekhyun places a small tub of ointment in Chanyeol’s palm, and the iciness of the metal lid brings Chanyeol back to the matter at hand.

“It’s the ointment for my bruises,” Baekhyun speaks, voice soft. “It’s a new tub and I can’t open it, with my hand and all,” He tries to laugh it off casually, and Chanyeol nearly winces at how forced it sounds.

“I also - ” He takes a deep breath, turning around so his back faces Chanyeol. “ - I can’t reach those bruises on my own. I haven't been able to rub them so they aren't healing quite as fast as the rest. Could you…?” He trails off, gesturing at the area around his shoulder blades, where bruises like scattered blossoms area markedly deeper plum than the others on his back.

Chanyeol tries to ignore the red that tinges the tips of Baekhyun’s ears when he nods, fumbling with the ointment, small tub clumsy and awkward in his large hands.

Baekhyun doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince one bit when Chanyeol presses the calloused pads of his fingers to his bruised skin, firm but gentle. He stands still, only shivering when the cool ointment meets heated skin and Chanyeol holds his breath, trying desperately not to drown in the intoxication of Baekhyun’s skin, soft and pliant under his fingertips.

He gives Baekhyun’s shoulder a soft squeeze when he’s done, leaving the ointment by the sink. Chanyeol reaches for Baekhyun’s left hand when he turns back around, nose brushing against Chanyeol’s collarbone. Chanyeol doesn’t quite know what he’s doing at this point, acting entirely on instinct. He lifts Baekhyun’s hand, gripping his wrist but making sure not to hurt him.

"Can I look, Baekhyun? At your hand?" he asks quietly.

“Chanyeol I -” Baekhyun panics when he realises what the taller one is trying to do. His pupils dart quickly from Chanyeol’s eyes to his hand and back.

“Don’t, Chanyeol, it’s vile, Chanyeol, you’re going to be so revolted, please,” He squeezes his eyes shut when Chanyeol tugs the towel off his hand, revealing the tender flesh, pink, disfigured and scarred. Chanyeol feels his heart hurt when he hears Baekhyun whimper, still looking away.

"I don't want you to look at me with disgust,"

“Baekhyun,” he breathes, holding Baekhyun’s hand between both of his, marvelling at how they fit together. “Baekhyun, it’s okay,”

Baekhyun glares back at him, eyes hard and full of fear, but not of fear for him. It’s a look so sharp and hollow Chanyeol hopes he’ll never have to see again as he raises Baekhyun’s hand to his lips.

“Chanyeol? What - ” Baekhyun tries to tug his hand away, eyes wide.

“There is absolutely,” Chanyeol says confidently, pausing to kiss the space where Baekhyun’s ring finger used to be. “Nothing disgusting about this. Your hand, your bruises.”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” He laughs gently, even when Baekhyun slaps him hard with his right hand, glowering up at him defiantly with red-rimmed eyes, and Chanyeol glimpses, just for a second, Baekhyun’s tough facade crumbling to pieces as wetness comes to his eyes and his pursed lips quiver.

“You are, possibly, the loveliest person I know.”

He hits Chanyeol once more, weak and less than half hearted this time, before falling forward against Chanyeol’s chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck, clinging desperately to him, crying, loud and unashamed.

Chanyeol holds him firmly as he cries, rubbing comforting patterns down Baekhyun’s back as he shakes and hiccups.

"Thank you," he says later, when he's done crying, cheek pressed against Chanyeol's collarbone. He raises his left hand, now cold, and touches the bruise forming on the taller one's cheek tenderly.

"Thank you."

*

Baekhyun doesn’t hide his hand from Chanyeol again after that night.

He reaches for affection more overtly than before, grasping Chanyeol’s right hand tentatively at first, shy but wanting when Chanyeol reciprocates warmly, clasping Baekhyun’s left in return. Baekhyun’s fingers are thin and delicate in comparison to his own, tips pointed elegantly and nails neatly trimmed, unlike Chanyeol’s round, curved uneven ones. His own hands are rough and calloused from years of bass playing and manual work, and he wonders if they feel coarse to Baekhyun, because Baekhyun’s hand feels pleasant and natural in his.

When Chanyeol wakes up with his face swollen after the incident in the bathroom Baekhyun rushes to the kitchen to get ice, cold pressing his cheek with an unspoken apology. Chanyeol reassures him that it’s nothing some make-up can’t hide, but he holds an icepack to his face every night until it’s time for Wolf’s next gig on Friday night.

Baekhyun gapes a little when Chanyeol slips into his performance clothes: a loose tank top with a wolf’s head graphic that hangs off his frame, and heavy denim that clings snugly to his hips, a leather belt, studded boots and a host of accessories. He’s particularly fascinated by Chanyeol's lip ring, watching curiously as he switches it with his usual stud until Chanyeol shoos him out of the room, embarrassed under Baekhyun’s scrutiny. He slips on his favourite baggy hoodie after, pocketing the eyeliner pencil he’ll have to use later.

Baekhyun’s putting on his socks and trainers when Chanyeol closes the door behind him, bass packed safely in the padded carry case on his back, cables wound neatly in loops in the front pouch. He smiles when he sees the food Baekhyun had already left out for Chorong, grateful for the kind gesture. Baekhyun has on the leather jacket Chanyeol had given him the first time they met, and a pair of warm denim jeans folded thickly at the hems so they end just above Baekhyun’s ankles. His hair is a dark gingery red now, from the boxed hair dye. He thinks the colour suits Baekhyun well, bringing out the subtle rebellious sparkle in his eyes and complementing his milky skin.

They take the bus into town, standing amidst high school students and a scattering of random adults. Chanyeol notices how visibly uncomfortable Baekhyun seems in the crowd of strangers, fidgeting and glancing over his shoulder occasionally, making sure his left hand is tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His posture is tense and withdrawn, anxiety tugging at his lips. Chanyeol guides Baekhyun over to an empty seat when an old lady gets off at one of the stops before the bridge, standing by his side the rest of the way.

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow when they step through the doors together, Baekhyun trailing just behind Chanyeol, hiding in his shadow. He watches when they greet each other awkwardly, Baekhyun flinching when Kyungsoo’s arm brushes against his by accident.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” he asks Baekhyun later, concerned. “It’s going to get packed and rowdy later on. It’ll be dark too, and people might be drunk. There’s going to be quite a bit of jostling.”

Baekhyun nods firmly. “I’m sure - I want to see you play. I could just stand further back where there’s more room to breathe.”

Chanyeol frowns. He doesn’t quite want to risk Baekhyun getting injured again, remembering how jittery he was on the bus. “I’ll ask Kyungsoo and Jongin if it’ll be okay to let you stand behind the bar. It should be alright as long as you stay out of the way.”

“Okay,” Baekhyun smiles amiably. “I think your band mates are here. You should go rehearse.” He takes Chanyeol’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“If you need to leave or if anyone bothers you just let Kyungsoo know and he’ll take you backst - ”

“ - Go, shoo! Don’t worry about me.” Baekhyun nudges him away with a light laugh. “I’ll be fine, and I’m sure you guys will be great!”

*

Chanyeol leaves Baekhyun reluctantly, forcing himself to focus on wiring up the amplifiers and tuning his bass, placing it on the stand when he’s done. He’s had this particular bass for close to a decade now, bought with the money he’d saved up while working part time in middle and high school. It’s a solid, earthy Fender Jazz model with an elegant, pale maple neck and headstock, with clover shaped tuning heads made of brass. A dark burgundy wine finish colours the Alder wood body, and a black pick guard rests atop the lacquer. It’s Chanyeol’s favourite instrument: one that grew up with him and came to be a reliable, loyal friend. He’s never ever had any issues with it, and he used to cringe at the large scratch (from an accident in the practice room) near the bridge, but he’s come to accept it as a natural part of the bass’ character and age. He gives his instrument one last wipe down before heading over to centre stage to help set up Jongdae’s effects pedals and guitar.

He sees their vocalist and drummer climbing onto stage from the corner of his eye, microphone and drum sticks in hand respectively. Kris is still in one of his usual dress shirts with his aviator sunglasses on. Chanyeol never quite understood how he manages to see in the dim lighting, but Kris had insisted that he looks cool in them and always has them on at every show. Jongdae looks very much like the college student he is, dressed in casual slacks, sneakers and a sweater. They both preferred getting changed closer to show time, performance clothes packed into backpacks and tossed backstage. Xiumin, the resident sound engineer signals at Jongdae from the back of the venue, fingers fiddling with knobs on the soundboard as they go through trebles, basses and mid tones.

Their last member Luhan has a penchant for turning up late, bursting through the heavy doors with his guitar on his back, ginger mop of hair a mess but eyeliner absolutely perfect, blurting out apologies that everyone ignores simply because it happens so often that they’re all used to it by now. Luhan is a part time model blessed with a pixie face and gentle eyes, innocent flower boy image popular with ladies and gents young and old. He gives Xiumin a not so discreet wink that has the other rolling his eyes in exasperation. Chanyeol chuckles quietly to himself - it is no secret that Luhan is infatuated with Xiumin, and he thinks they look cute together.

“Hyung, calm your boner won’t you?” Jongdae quips when Luhan takes his place next to him on stage. He’d forgotten he was still holding on to the microphone though, and Xiumin’s face was burning red in the shadows, eyes wide as Jongin’s laughter rings freely from the bar. Chanyeol doesn’t miss the small quirk of Xiumin’s lips when Luhan attacks Jongdae with a muttered curse and loud whine.

*

The lights are blacked out as they take the stage. They move in the darkness, manoeuvring through stacked amplifiers and hopping over wires that ran across the panelled parquet floor. White noise amplifies into excited cheers mingled with shouts and applause. The crowd quiets to a hush when Kris counts them down, and all of Wolf take a deep breath before the silence is assaulted by the heavy shuffling of the drums, the piercing riffs and the steady thrum of the bass.

Chanyeol relaxes once he's eased into the rhythm, feeling his pulse quicken when he shifts into his groove, hands expertly coaxing heart lines out of frets and pickups as the stage is bathed in the heat of flashing halogen lights.

There's nothing quite like performing to Chanyeol. The anticipation, adrenaline and excitement pulse through his veins and he finds himself back in a familiar headspace when Jongdae leads them into the second song, vocals soaring through the dark air, crystal clear. But there's something else now, another feeling creeping into his mind as his body suddenly remembers how Baekhyun's skin had felt, soft and supple under roaming, cautious fingertips, and Chanyeol tries to quell the urge to look up and search for Baekhyun where he knows he will be, standing in the glow of the light from the bar.

He plays harder, harder, driving calloused skin over strung metal strings, jumping and spinning, to rid himself of the images that plague his mind: Baekhyun, half naked and trembling, whimpering under his touch. Baekhyun, sweet and playful, curled up on the sofa with his dog. Baekhyun and his fierce, fierce pride, and the painful sting of being hit. His chest swells with a feeling that hits him in waves, pulling him under as he struggles to keep his composure and breathe.

Chanyeol looks up when they've transitioned into a ballad, and his eyes lock with Baekhyun's across the room. He's beautiful, teeth showing as he smiles brightly, waving back eagerly while he bops to the music, and all of a sudden metal strings become dead and dull, incomparable to the smooth heat of flesh. He feels his heart catch in his throat - and for the first time in a long, long while, Park Chanyeol misses a beat.

part: ii/vi