Þú kveikir mig for everyone
For: EVERYONE
Title: Þú kveikir mig
Pairing(s): Chanyeol/Lay, slight!D.O/Sehun
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): [warnings]blood, injury, minor character death, some potentially frightening imagery/events, implied smut, implied xenocide, implied wearing of the skin of sentient beings
Length: 5k
Summary: When the siren sounds, pull on your mask.
Author's note: Thank you to the prompter for such amazing prompts; I literally opened the email and almost jumped up and down in excitement-I know you didn't want too much angst so I tried to make this as happy as possible. Thank you so much to my beta for being the best beta ever and I'm really sorry for everything. *cries a little on your shoulder* Thank you so much to R and A and R and everyone for sprinting with me and R for propping me us and R for the advice about the section spacers and of course you know who for being you. Please be you forever.
The title is taken from the song Kveikur by Sigur Rós.
Yixing disappears on a Monday.
"Maybe he just got lost," Kyungsoo says. He's writing something in his book; he's always writing something in his book. The lines of text are small and squiggly and no one can read what he writes. No one bothers with handwriting anymore. No one except Kyungsoo.
"I'm serious," Chanyeol says, and his voice trembles a little over the last line. "He didn't go home for the weekend. I already checked with his mom." Kyungsoo sets down his pen.
Just then there's a clatter at the door and they hear two loud voices, whispering giggles to each other-
Kyungsoo and Chanyeol look up as two gangly boys spill through the doorway, scattering mud and pine needles on the floor, fresh from clean up duty. The taller one stops when he sees the expression on Chanyeol's face.
"What's wrong Chanyeol?" Sehun asks, brow furrowing slightly. There's a blob of grey mud on his face, dried into a crackling skin, and for some reason Chanyeol wants to pick it off. He doesn't.
"Yixing disappeared," Kyungsoo says from where he's still sitting at the table, and Chanyeol feels a touch of warmth because Kyungsoo has acknowledged his worry, and validated it with his firm tone.
"What?!" Jongin exclaims, and the expression flickering across his face reminds Chanyeol of when Jongin's sister disappeared. The knot that's just started to twist around his gut tightens its grip. We never found her. All of a sudden the nervous energy that's been building in his chest escapes from his mouth in one painful rush and he sags against the table, holding himself up by his arms.
"I-" he starts, but doesn't finish, interrupted by the siren going off on the intercom.
Amber alert! Amber alert! Yellow dust warning! the voice that isn't a human voice at all screams over the wailing sound. It grates through his head and scratches at the insides of his ribcage. Begrudgingly, they all pull the thin silver films out of their pockets and stretch them over their mouths and noses. Chanyeol wrinkles his nose at the feeling-it's like trying to breathe through a sheet, his body protesting even though he knows he's getting the oxygen he needs.
Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he ignored the warning.
<<
"Do you ever wonder," Yixing asked, as they both lay, curled up on the sweat-sticky sheets of Chanyeol's bed, "what would happen if you didn't put on your silver?"
Chanyeol pulled away, frowning, from where he'd been trying to nuzzle his nose along Yixing's neck since they couldn't kiss with the silvers on. Stupid cock-blockers.
"Have you done it?" he asked, eyes flicking along the soft curves of Yixing's lips, shimmering slightly under the silver film. He longed to run his tongue over the surface, taste Yixing through the silver. I wonder what you'd taste like?
Yixing shook his head, "I guess I'm too scared." And Chanyeol knew with a sudden stab of fear that this was a real question. Yixing was actually considering it. He opened his mouth, pulling against the silver film that fought to expand with his parted lips. But just then the sirens stopped, and Yixing reached over to pull the film off Chanyeol's face before covering his protesting mouth with his lips. Chanyeol sank into his warmth and tried to forget the question.
<<
Now he wishes he hadn't.
Sitting in a chair, resting his head in his hands, he whispers to the table, "Yixing mentioned once, talked about what would happen if he didn't wear his silver." The grains of the wood don't react to his statement, but he can hear the sudden stillness in the room, under the wailing of the siren that's already so ingrained in their lives-from before they were even born, kicking in their mothers' wombs to the the pulse of the electronic cries.
The silvers have always been a part of their lives. Like gravity, like the forest outside the city, like the shimmering yellow mists and the darker red mists that cover the ground and every surface with thick carmine dust, the silver film just is. Questioning it is like questioning the fact that the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. That's just the way things are, ever since their ships landed lifetimes ago.
"Do you think. . .?" Sehun asks, his voice trailing off into the echoing alarm. Chanyeol shrugs, looks at Jongin.
"What do you think?"
Jongin and Yixing have been in the same crew since they were barely out of diapers, their parents neighbours and their mothers both high-ranking heli-porters. Even though Chanyeol might know Yixing more intimately, Jongin has known him longer.
"I think," Jongin says quietly, and Chanyeol's throat tightens, because he can already tell what Jongin is going to say, "I think it's something that has been bothering him for a while." He dares to lift his gaze, eyes meeting Jongin's. There's a sadness lingering in them, making him look older than his 21 years. A sadness that shouldn't be there. "He talks sometimes," Jongin continues, swallowing, and it's obvious how much the admission is costing him, "He talks about, how her heli-porter went down over. . ." Jongin stops talking, but his eyes tell the rest of the story.
Chanyeol knows for sure now.
He lets his head fall forward to rest with a dull thud on the table top. Yixing has gone after Jongin's missing sister. Am I ever going to see you again?
"You don't know that," Sehun says, but he's grasping at straws and his voice rings false. "Maybe he's just, I don't know, maybe something came up." He flaps with long arms helplessly, abruptly ungraceful in the face of something larger than his comfortable small life, apart from a friend's sister disappearing, apart from a world that's sometimes too shadowed to comprehend.
"Have you checked the range of his screen?" Kyungsoo asks, his voice calm and reassuring. "Let's begin with that." There are soft slipping sounds, fabric over plastic, as they pull their screens out of their pocket and ping Yixing. Chanyeol isn't ashamed to cross his fingers, an old childhood superstition that he'd abandoned, along with sucking his thumb, after his seventh birthday, please please please. . .
the device is currently out of range
The sound of frightened disappointment-of four people sighing as they let go of the breath they've been holding in desperate hope-fills the room, and Chanyeol can almost feel the air swirling, along with the nearly invisible yellow dust, as the siren keeps wailing.
"He's in the forest," Chanyeol says, and no one disagrees this time. When the siren cuts out after a moment, the sudden silence almost more shocking than the noise, they just keep sitting.
■
With Yixing gone everything feels like he's taken a step too far to one side, he's still moving but everything is a little crooked. Chanyeol wants to ask for help, but there's no one to ask.
"Why didn't anyone ever send a search party after your sister?" he doesn't ask Jongin, because he already knows the answer. He already knows that no will look for Yixing. The forest isn't a part of here. It's over there, and anyone who crosses the treeline is in effect signing one those release of liability forms. Chanyeol can't remember how many he's had to sign, over the years. No one even reads the words anymore.
I hereby release XXXX from all liability in the event of my. . .
Chanyeol sits in his room and looks out the window at the forest. All the stories run through his head-the bogey man, monsters, ghosts, so many stories that it's a forest of nightmares more than trees. He lifts his palms to the sockets of his eyes; he feels the rough skin nestling into the hollows of his eyelids. I can't sleep without you. The light through his skin is faint, red, traced with veins.
We're going out, want to come?
Chanyeol looks at his screen, tossed crooked on the bed. It's nice of Jongin to try. Chanyeol grabs his bag and heads out, not in the direction of the pub but rather the archery range, a composite bow slung over one shoulder. There's nothing in his head at all, just a numb void, the repeated actions of notching the arrow, pulling back the string. He looks straight ahead and lets go.
He never even hits the target, and finally Junmyeon, today's supervisor, sends him home.
"Get your head straight before coming back, okay?" His eyes are sympathetic but Chanyeol just wants to hit him. He wants someone to feel something. He thinks about the silver film in his pocket, thinks about taking it between his fingers and tearing it into shreds of starlight, but when the alert sounds he puts it on anyway.
I'm such a coward.
<<
"Sometimes I think about being a hero," Yixing said once, sitting on the wall, heels kicking concrete. The repetitive thudding of their boots against the surface scraped small clumps of moss loose, moss tinged red by the other dust no one ever talked about.
"Evacuate if necessary," Chanyeol whispered, looking at the red particles staining the ground. Yixing's fingers crept over the crumbling concrete, warmth covering the cold skin of his hands. Chanyeol didn't talk about his parents if he could help it.
"I think I want to be a hero at least once," Yixing said, eyes flickering to meet Chanyeol's gaze as his fingers squeezed, reassuring and yet so terrifying, the thought that he could lose that warmth forever. Don't, he didn't say, because he couldn't. It was impossible to stop people from leaving.
Boots echoed over the dusty ground, mostly yellow rising, sharps slung over the shoulders of the outer patrol. Chanyeol watched their backs fade around the bend of the street, and thought about where they were headed.
"Don't worry," Yixing had said, just before he waved goodbye. "My mom didn't let me join the scouts." Chanyeol felt his knees go weak at the thought that it had been a possibility; stumbling back a step in the gathering crimson of afternoon, light staining the dust red and reminding him of things he wanted to forget.
A bell sounded in the distance, another scout back from pilgrimage, another silver to keep them safe. A silver from what? Chanyeol never asked either, just spreading a grin over his face and letting Yixing go.
Letting his parents go.
"We'll be back soon," they'd said, but reality made them liars.
Don't go.
>>
Chanyeol only finds out that Kyungsoo's joined the runners after he's already gone, his heli-porter gliding over the forest.
"Why didn't he tell me!" he shouts at Jongin. He's being irrational, he knows that, but it's fucking Kyungsoo who's not supposed to do stupid things. He's supposed to be Kyungsoo. Not someone who makes decisions to do dangerous things without telling people.
"Stop," Jongin says, and his eyes flash with something that makes Chanyeol step back a moment, blinking into the dusty air. It smells damp today, the air heavy with something he doesn't want to understand. "Why do you think he's doing this?" Chanyeol blinks again. He doesn't want to think about the answer, but the knowledge fills his mouth with bitter truth anyway. Jongin nods curtly when he sees the change in his expression.
"Yes," Jongin says, and turns away.
When Chanyeol sees Sehun later, he swallows at the bruised puffiness of Sehun's eyes and the way he's chewing his mouth-his teeth gnawing at his lower lip. It tastes like rust. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.
When the siren starts wailing, even though he still spreads the silver film over his mouth and nose, Chanyeol walks out of his house, blinking through the yellow dust at the forest. The trees sway with the wind, dust piling and swirling off the leaves, as though the forest and the yellow dust are one. For the first time, Chanyeol lets himself wonder what's actually in the forest.
Afterwards, in the bathroom, he washes off the yellow that's caked onto his eyelids. As the dust clogs the sink, clotting in dark lumps on the floor, he thinks about Yixing.
Why did you go? he wonders, What pushed you through the door for real this time?
Maybe it's time to find out.
■
The only people who go into the forest and come back again are the scouts. But everyone knows they're not allowed to talk. Chanyeol watches the way they walk down the street and out into the flat space before the trees like a death sentence, eyes too wide, breathing too heavy even as they grin, flashing white teeth in staccato with the darkness of the sharp they wear strapped to their back.
They come back with a silver or they don't come back at all, and none of them will say anything.
He's sitting on the wall, where he used to sit with Yixing except Yixing is gone, heels no longer kicking against the wall in counterpoint to his own. It's too quiet. There's a weak spot at the back of one shoe and as he keeps dropping the foot against the stone, the weak spot wears away until there's a tear, and his foot lifts away red. Chanyeol looks at it for a while. Blinks.
The siren starts sounding, Amber alert! Amber alert! Yellow dust warning! and his fingers are reflexively reaching into his pocket when he sees the scout. Staggering out from the cover of the woods, his arm is trailing and there's something wrong-his arm is broken, Chanyeol realizes with a kind of knot gathering in his throat. He wonders if, out in the forest somewhere, Yixing is hurt like that, and that's the only reason he can justify later for why he jerks forward, fingers slipping out and leaving the silver in his pocket. His feet stir up latent dust as he takes off running towards the flatness-towards the yellow dust billowing up on the wind.
The scout. Chanyeol doesn't know him and that's strange, because he knows almost everyone in town. He blinks wide eyes that are filmy with a kind of haze. Eyes are windows to the soul, Chanyeol remembers hearing-somewhere in a memory he can't recall, with the strange heavy taste of what he later realizes is dust settling on his tongue. But the stranger's eyes are open onto nothing. He staggers, slips, and falls sideways, the silver on his back catching on the sharp and pulling around, shimmering in the fading light as the yellow dust is almost upon them. Chanyeol reaches out to catch the stranger on his arm and the stranger opens his mouth.
"We were wrong," he whispers, and shudders as he slips silently to the ground. Chanyeol kneels there, frozen as the double siren begins to wail.
Red dust.
Everything goes crimson, and the silver on the ground looks like it's dipped in blood.
<<
"Have you ever wondered what dust is?" Yixing asked. They were all crowded around the table, and the room is filled with the aroma of greens cooking in the broth and fish roasting over the grill, the thick sweet smell of marinated flesh cooking. Chanyeol looked up, mouth full of bones.
"Yeah I guess," Sehun said, and then shrugged, taking another bite of cooked grain folded into leaves. "But it's not like we can change anything." He grinned around a mouthful of food, and Kyungsoo shook his head at him.
"I think the researchers know more," Kyungsoo said, and Jongin nodded.
"My mom knows stuff-" Jongin stopped, looked at his hands for a moment. "My mom knows stuff, and I know because of the way she acts when she's at home for an Amber alert." He stared out the window, where the forest was invisible in the dark, only the thin light of the moon and flickering shadows.
"Sometimes," Yixing said, setting his glass down on the table with a glass clink that was startlingly loud in the sudden silence, "sometimes I think they don't want to know. Or they learned something and forgot it on purpose."
Chanyeol looked at him, across the table, the way the light from the lamp seemed to pool under his eyes, drip off his cheekbones.
Amber Alert! Amber Alert! Yellow Dust Warning! They all reached into their pockets, smoothing the silver films over their noses and mouths and watching the food overcook, and then cool and congeal while the dust streamed by outside, whirling angrily through the sky.
"Red dust can kill you," Sehun said, after the sirens had faded away, the smell of the burning fish they hadn't noticed before filling the room as they peeled off the films. "Why would they forget about that?"
Yixing didn't answer, and Kyungsoo kicked Sehun under the table, or at least that's what Chanyeol assumed, because Sehun didn't say anything for the rest of the evening.
>>
Red dust can kill you are the words on Chanyeol's mind as everything swirls yellow. His eyes are shut and there's stuff in his lungs, fingers groping for the silver in his pocket but it's too late. He can't see anything; the body of the scout crumpled on the ground is gone from sight.
Did you do this? he thinks, and the thought is strange, sluggish, drifting through dust, as he thinks about Yixing, standing in the swirling, and Chanyeol doesn't know what to expect. It feels like waiting to die, except he's not really thinking. Dust is brushing over his skin, crawling down his throat because he can't help but breathe. And it feels like choking as the thoughts twist around his head; it feels like they're being tugged and tangled-finally seeping out his ears. Red stains his vision, and he says goodbye.
I'm sorry.
Except. . .a black veil doesn't descend over his vision; Chanyeol doesn't know what it's like to die but he doesn't think it's like this.
Chanyeol?
And then he hears Yixing's voice.
Not in his ears, but in his head.
"Chan-" he tries to say, but his mouth fills with yellow dust, streaks of red on his lips and he doubles over coughing. Even though it's not killing him, his body isn't used to it.
Don't talk, just think.
Chanyeol doesn't understand, but he closes his mouth and tries to breathe through his nose, wincing at the dust slipping down his airways. It doesn't hurt, even though his body is screaming that it should.
Where are you? Why can't I see you?
Dust rises from his eyelashes as he blinks-turning his head this way and that as though expecting to see Yixing step out from behind a corner, even though swirls of yellow dust cloud his vision, red twining through the gold. There's red dust glistening on his skin, and Chanyeol knows he should be terrified, evacuate if necessary, but he's. . .not.
I'm in the forest, Yixing says, the words taking shape like billows of yellow in the wind, spelling out a confirmation to the question Chanyeol had already answered.
He doesn't look back, as he crosses the flat space before the trees.
■
The dust swirls in his chest, or maybe it's just Chanyeol's imagination. But as he keeps walking, ducking beneath a branch, the pine needles scraping gently against his face, the feeling in his chest is light. . .like he's floating. Everything is shimmering, here in the forest, and he's not sure if it's his eyes or the dust in his mouth.
His feet, falling on the forest floor, crunch lightly as they land on dry pine needles. Even the ground is dusted with gold and he's not sure if it's because of the yellow cloud that just blew by or if this is how the forest always is.
How did I ever think the forest was dark? he wonders, but there's no answer.
Yixing? he thinks, and there's a kind of affirmation that slips into his head, not words or thoughts shaped into words but just a feeling.
Suddenly, now that he might actually see Yixing again, Chanyeol feels almost sick with anticipation, as his feet start tripping up over himself, fingers tingling with the sensation of Yixing's skin under his fingers. He slips on a patch of mud, losing his footing and sliding to one knee, as his arm grates along the bark of a tree and the skin shreds, red dripping onto the yellow dust still settled in clumps between pine needles and the soft green undergrowth of leaves.
The dust stains red, dark, and Chanyeol blinks at it as he slowly climbs to his feet. Wrapping his other hand around his arm, he keeps going.
<<
"Will you miss me if I die?" Chanyeol wasn't sure why he asked the question, not even quite aware of the words slipping out of his mouth, lying side by side on the sticky sheets, his fingers tangled with Yixing's.
"Is something wrong?" Yixing asked, rolling over to drape himself over Chanyeol's chest, and Chanyeol felt himself unwinding a little under the warm weight of Yixing's body.
"Sometimes I just feel scared," Chanyeol whispered into the warm darkness of Yixing's hair. "I don't know why."
Yixing didn't answer, just pressed his ear to Chanyeol's chest, listening to his heart beat. Just hold me close so I can drown in you. Chanyeol fell asleep wrapped up in Yixing, slipping into the shadowy forest of dreams before he spoke.
He was only half-lucid when he felt the words whispered into the skin between his ribs, and couldn't tell if it was real or only a dream.
"Will you miss me?"
>>
It's hard to walk with one hand wrapped around his forearm, but Chanyeol doesn't really notice it. I'm going to see Yixing, he thinks, and that's somehow enough, even when there's warm wetness seeping slowly between his fingers. It's okay.
The wind slips between the trees, whispers in his ear; Chanyeol doesn't know if he's walking in the right direction but it feels good in his head, like Yixing is holding his hand.
He keeps walking, branches brushing his face. It's cool under the trees, light filtering in through the canopy. It's not as dusty as he thought; it's not anything like he thought.
After a while the thoughts start to trickle out of his head, as he just opens his mind and feels. It's like being quiet after a long time, the swirling mess of confusion in his head quietly draining away until he can hear the sweet sound of a bird, somewhere in the distance, the way the leaves brush against each other, the silvery whispers of small pockets of yellow dust being stirred up by the wind. Chanyeol takes a deep breath, and it doesn't hurt.
The silver in his pocket, under the absentminded brush of his fingers, feels cold, wrong. His arm twinges, and the sway of his hips as he walks jars his grip on the wound-but it's a small pain. The forest is glorious and Chanyeol doesn't understand.
The dapples of light through the forest canopy are painting the leaves pink now, shades of red and cranberry that filter over his skin. And the quiet presence in his head is bigger now, like the subconscious equivalent of loud.
Chanyeol.
And suddenly Chanyeol is running, as the sun beyond the forest slips below the horizon and everything begins to glow. As his hand slips away from the grip on his arm and crimson dots seep out over his skin, he can feel the anchor that is Yixing tugging him forward.
And there he is, standing under what would be the shadow of a tree except the tree is aglow, tiny sprinkling lights glittering in the texture of its bark, leaves and branches as winking stars surround Yixing, hovering in the air.
Chanyeol feels like his heart will explode. . .is exploding in shards of stars as the world lights up and dusk finally falls.
Yixing.
"Why-" Chanyeol doesn't know if he's angry or happy or sad or confused or maybe a mixture of all the feelings, as he stumbles forward, tripping over an exposed tree root into Yixing's arms.
It's warm, wrapped up in his skin, like it always has been, the comforting echo of Yixing's heartbeat against his chest, and Chanyeol doesn't have to say anything at all.
"I'm sorry," Yixing whispers into the skin of his neck, as Chanyeol realizes that he's crying.
■
"But why didn't you come back?" Chanyeol says, after breathing in the smell of Yixing's skin, grounding himself in his physical presence, no longer just a memory but something tangible. He's confused, then, the gradually creeping chill of nightfall becoming more noticeable as Yixing pulls away. "Why-?"
"Look," Yixing says, and Chanyeol stops and actually looks at Yixing. His heart stutters, fluttering against his chest, as a dark terrible thought starts to form in his head.
Yixing is glowing, like the trees, like the forest, like the tiny stars floating in the air. Fireflies, the word floats into his head, and Chanyeol looks at Yixing and can't find any words.
"What do I look like?" Yixing asks, and Chanyeol feels the words tumbling out of his mouth without a conscious thought attached.
"You look kind of like the silvers-" and then Chanyeol's brain catches up with his mouth and the words die on his tongue, an acrid taste filling his mouth.
You look like the silvers the scouts bring back from the forest.
Chanyeol looks around, but he can't see anyone here in the woods, here where everything is aglow.
"They're scared of us," Yixing says, and he looks sad, it's such a loud feeling in his head that Chanyeol shivers, and then winces. Yixing catches the movement, eyes drawn to the red mess on Chanyeol's arm as he reaches out.
■
Eyes covered by Yixing's warm hand, Chanyeol follows him blindly, a light breeze caressing his cheek as his feet follow. They wind around trees, Yixing supporting Chanyeol’s arm supported so that he doesn't trip over the exposed roots of trees protruding from the soft ground. The pine needles sigh under his feet, and Yixing reassures him.
"Just a bit more," he murmurs, Chanyeol's eyelashes brushing the palm of Yixing's hand. "Don't open your eyes, okay?" he warns and Chanyeol nods, because he trusts Yixing.
They come to a stop. Chanyeol can't see anything, but the air around him feels different-warm and soft and nothing like the cool air of nightfall in the forest, or the dry chill of the town, where the air is sharp.
And then Yixing is pulling him down, gently, kneeling on the forest floor. It’s not soft here but dry and cushioned with dry pine needles, clouds of dust rising as he settles down. Chanyeol can tell by the sensation of the air rushing into his mouth, nose, but it's not a bad feeling. The dust glows in his chest as he waits, Yixing's hand warm on his shoulder.
There's something that's not a sound, not quite, but not a feeling either. Chanyeol wants to open his eyes but he doesn't, as something approaches, and then there's warm air-thick almost, viscous-running over his arm like a liquid but not wet. Only the smooth skin of Yixing's grip stops him from opening his eyes in response to the sensation that he can't quite process.
And then it's gone, and Yixing is pulling him gently up and leading him away, but not before Chanyeol's eyes flicker open for just a brief moment. There's something flickering in the shadows just past the first ring of trees, silvery bright like a flame, in the form of a person. Then Chanyeol closes his eyes again.
Silver.
■
He doesn't know where they're going now, and he wants to open his eyes and ask but before he gets the chance, Yixing stops.
"You can open your eyes now," he says, and his voice sounds strange. When Chanyeol opens his eyes, blinking at the brightness, he understands why.
There's a mound of earth in the clearing, under the overhanging canopy of trees, leaves dripping silver and the stars sparkling far overhead; his skin prickles and Chanyeol's fingers tighten around Yixing's hand.
"That's a grave, right?" he asks, and Yixing nods. There's a glint in the soft light, something dark on the top of the hill, surrounded by blossoms glowing in the light of the moon. Stepping forward, Chanyeol can see that it's a propeller blade from a heli-porter.
"They tried but she was scared," Yixing whispers, and the air draws sad around him. Jongin's sister.
Chanyeol looks down at his arm, the red is is gone and the skin glows softly in the dimness. It's whole. His eyes dart over to Yixing, tracing the silvering tone of his skin, the glistening dips of his collarbone, and he knows now why Yixing didn't come home.
But it feels wrong.
The slip of silver in his pocket is burning in his thoughts, Chanyeol feels sick knowing that he has it. He thinks about town, the scouts, the lies everyone whispers about the forest, the dark stories he's grown up with.
The fear and dark and the dust, hiding behind shutters and doors and skin.
"You said once that you wanted to be a hero," Chanyeol says, eyes moving from the dark twisted propellor blade to meet Yixing's eyes.
Yixing looks surprised, for a moment, before his face flickers bright with a small smile, eyes set aglow.
"I'm tired of being scared," Chanyeol says quietly, squeezing Yixing's hand as he leans over to rest his head on a faintly glittering shoulder.
■
Walking back towards town, Chanyeol knows that this might go horribly wrong-how did things end up this way? He can't help but be angry at the thought-and as they slowly draw near the town, he pauses under a towering pine, bark and needles sparkling in the dark.
Pulling the silver out of his pocket, his fingers almost feel like they're burning, as he slips it into the ground and covers the sad, silvery shred of torn skin with warm earth and pine needles.
"I'm sorry," Chanyeol whispers to the air, and it feels like the air forgives him, as he reaches once again for Yixing's hand and they pause for a moment at the beginning of the flat space, watching as the red glow of dawn streaks the night over the darkness of the town before they start walking again.
■
And we can be heroes
Just for one day
☆
Final author's note:
The final quote is from David Bowie's Heroes.
Title: Þú kveikir mig
Pairing(s): Chanyeol/Lay, slight!D.O/Sehun
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): [warnings]blood, injury, minor character death, some potentially frightening imagery/events, implied smut, implied xenocide, implied wearing of the skin of sentient beings
Length: 5k
Summary: When the siren sounds, pull on your mask.
Author's note: Thank you to the prompter for such amazing prompts; I literally opened the email and almost jumped up and down in excitement-I know you didn't want too much angst so I tried to make this as happy as possible. Thank you so much to my beta for being the best beta ever and I'm really sorry for everything. *cries a little on your shoulder* Thank you so much to R and A and R and everyone for sprinting with me and R for propping me us and R for the advice about the section spacers and of course you know who for being you. Please be you forever.
The title is taken from the song Kveikur by Sigur Rós.
Yixing disappears on a Monday.
"Maybe he just got lost," Kyungsoo says. He's writing something in his book; he's always writing something in his book. The lines of text are small and squiggly and no one can read what he writes. No one bothers with handwriting anymore. No one except Kyungsoo.
"I'm serious," Chanyeol says, and his voice trembles a little over the last line. "He didn't go home for the weekend. I already checked with his mom." Kyungsoo sets down his pen.
Just then there's a clatter at the door and they hear two loud voices, whispering giggles to each other-
Kyungsoo and Chanyeol look up as two gangly boys spill through the doorway, scattering mud and pine needles on the floor, fresh from clean up duty. The taller one stops when he sees the expression on Chanyeol's face.
"What's wrong Chanyeol?" Sehun asks, brow furrowing slightly. There's a blob of grey mud on his face, dried into a crackling skin, and for some reason Chanyeol wants to pick it off. He doesn't.
"Yixing disappeared," Kyungsoo says from where he's still sitting at the table, and Chanyeol feels a touch of warmth because Kyungsoo has acknowledged his worry, and validated it with his firm tone.
"What?!" Jongin exclaims, and the expression flickering across his face reminds Chanyeol of when Jongin's sister disappeared. The knot that's just started to twist around his gut tightens its grip. We never found her. All of a sudden the nervous energy that's been building in his chest escapes from his mouth in one painful rush and he sags against the table, holding himself up by his arms.
"I-" he starts, but doesn't finish, interrupted by the siren going off on the intercom.
Amber alert! Amber alert! Yellow dust warning! the voice that isn't a human voice at all screams over the wailing sound. It grates through his head and scratches at the insides of his ribcage. Begrudgingly, they all pull the thin silver films out of their pockets and stretch them over their mouths and noses. Chanyeol wrinkles his nose at the feeling-it's like trying to breathe through a sheet, his body protesting even though he knows he's getting the oxygen he needs.
Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he ignored the warning.
<<
"Do you ever wonder," Yixing asked, as they both lay, curled up on the sweat-sticky sheets of Chanyeol's bed, "what would happen if you didn't put on your silver?"
Chanyeol pulled away, frowning, from where he'd been trying to nuzzle his nose along Yixing's neck since they couldn't kiss with the silvers on. Stupid cock-blockers.
"Have you done it?" he asked, eyes flicking along the soft curves of Yixing's lips, shimmering slightly under the silver film. He longed to run his tongue over the surface, taste Yixing through the silver. I wonder what you'd taste like?
Yixing shook his head, "I guess I'm too scared." And Chanyeol knew with a sudden stab of fear that this was a real question. Yixing was actually considering it. He opened his mouth, pulling against the silver film that fought to expand with his parted lips. But just then the sirens stopped, and Yixing reached over to pull the film off Chanyeol's face before covering his protesting mouth with his lips. Chanyeol sank into his warmth and tried to forget the question.
<<
Now he wishes he hadn't.
Sitting in a chair, resting his head in his hands, he whispers to the table, "Yixing mentioned once, talked about what would happen if he didn't wear his silver." The grains of the wood don't react to his statement, but he can hear the sudden stillness in the room, under the wailing of the siren that's already so ingrained in their lives-from before they were even born, kicking in their mothers' wombs to the the pulse of the electronic cries.
The silvers have always been a part of their lives. Like gravity, like the forest outside the city, like the shimmering yellow mists and the darker red mists that cover the ground and every surface with thick carmine dust, the silver film just is. Questioning it is like questioning the fact that the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. That's just the way things are, ever since their ships landed lifetimes ago.
"Do you think. . .?" Sehun asks, his voice trailing off into the echoing alarm. Chanyeol shrugs, looks at Jongin.
"What do you think?"
Jongin and Yixing have been in the same crew since they were barely out of diapers, their parents neighbours and their mothers both high-ranking heli-porters. Even though Chanyeol might know Yixing more intimately, Jongin has known him longer.
"I think," Jongin says quietly, and Chanyeol's throat tightens, because he can already tell what Jongin is going to say, "I think it's something that has been bothering him for a while." He dares to lift his gaze, eyes meeting Jongin's. There's a sadness lingering in them, making him look older than his 21 years. A sadness that shouldn't be there. "He talks sometimes," Jongin continues, swallowing, and it's obvious how much the admission is costing him, "He talks about, how her heli-porter went down over. . ." Jongin stops talking, but his eyes tell the rest of the story.
Chanyeol knows for sure now.
He lets his head fall forward to rest with a dull thud on the table top. Yixing has gone after Jongin's missing sister. Am I ever going to see you again?
"You don't know that," Sehun says, but he's grasping at straws and his voice rings false. "Maybe he's just, I don't know, maybe something came up." He flaps with long arms helplessly, abruptly ungraceful in the face of something larger than his comfortable small life, apart from a friend's sister disappearing, apart from a world that's sometimes too shadowed to comprehend.
"Have you checked the range of his screen?" Kyungsoo asks, his voice calm and reassuring. "Let's begin with that." There are soft slipping sounds, fabric over plastic, as they pull their screens out of their pocket and ping Yixing. Chanyeol isn't ashamed to cross his fingers, an old childhood superstition that he'd abandoned, along with sucking his thumb, after his seventh birthday, please please please. . .
the device is currently out of range
The sound of frightened disappointment-of four people sighing as they let go of the breath they've been holding in desperate hope-fills the room, and Chanyeol can almost feel the air swirling, along with the nearly invisible yellow dust, as the siren keeps wailing.
"He's in the forest," Chanyeol says, and no one disagrees this time. When the siren cuts out after a moment, the sudden silence almost more shocking than the noise, they just keep sitting.
■
With Yixing gone everything feels like he's taken a step too far to one side, he's still moving but everything is a little crooked. Chanyeol wants to ask for help, but there's no one to ask.
"Why didn't anyone ever send a search party after your sister?" he doesn't ask Jongin, because he already knows the answer. He already knows that no will look for Yixing. The forest isn't a part of here. It's over there, and anyone who crosses the treeline is in effect signing one those release of liability forms. Chanyeol can't remember how many he's had to sign, over the years. No one even reads the words anymore.
I hereby release XXXX from all liability in the event of my. . .
Chanyeol sits in his room and looks out the window at the forest. All the stories run through his head-the bogey man, monsters, ghosts, so many stories that it's a forest of nightmares more than trees. He lifts his palms to the sockets of his eyes; he feels the rough skin nestling into the hollows of his eyelids. I can't sleep without you. The light through his skin is faint, red, traced with veins.
We're going out, want to come?
Chanyeol looks at his screen, tossed crooked on the bed. It's nice of Jongin to try. Chanyeol grabs his bag and heads out, not in the direction of the pub but rather the archery range, a composite bow slung over one shoulder. There's nothing in his head at all, just a numb void, the repeated actions of notching the arrow, pulling back the string. He looks straight ahead and lets go.
He never even hits the target, and finally Junmyeon, today's supervisor, sends him home.
"Get your head straight before coming back, okay?" His eyes are sympathetic but Chanyeol just wants to hit him. He wants someone to feel something. He thinks about the silver film in his pocket, thinks about taking it between his fingers and tearing it into shreds of starlight, but when the alert sounds he puts it on anyway.
I'm such a coward.
<<
"Sometimes I think about being a hero," Yixing said once, sitting on the wall, heels kicking concrete. The repetitive thudding of their boots against the surface scraped small clumps of moss loose, moss tinged red by the other dust no one ever talked about.
"Evacuate if necessary," Chanyeol whispered, looking at the red particles staining the ground. Yixing's fingers crept over the crumbling concrete, warmth covering the cold skin of his hands. Chanyeol didn't talk about his parents if he could help it.
"I think I want to be a hero at least once," Yixing said, eyes flickering to meet Chanyeol's gaze as his fingers squeezed, reassuring and yet so terrifying, the thought that he could lose that warmth forever. Don't, he didn't say, because he couldn't. It was impossible to stop people from leaving.
Boots echoed over the dusty ground, mostly yellow rising, sharps slung over the shoulders of the outer patrol. Chanyeol watched their backs fade around the bend of the street, and thought about where they were headed.
"Don't worry," Yixing had said, just before he waved goodbye. "My mom didn't let me join the scouts." Chanyeol felt his knees go weak at the thought that it had been a possibility; stumbling back a step in the gathering crimson of afternoon, light staining the dust red and reminding him of things he wanted to forget.
A bell sounded in the distance, another scout back from pilgrimage, another silver to keep them safe. A silver from what? Chanyeol never asked either, just spreading a grin over his face and letting Yixing go.
Letting his parents go.
"We'll be back soon," they'd said, but reality made them liars.
Don't go.
>>
Chanyeol only finds out that Kyungsoo's joined the runners after he's already gone, his heli-porter gliding over the forest.
"Why didn't he tell me!" he shouts at Jongin. He's being irrational, he knows that, but it's fucking Kyungsoo who's not supposed to do stupid things. He's supposed to be Kyungsoo. Not someone who makes decisions to do dangerous things without telling people.
"Stop," Jongin says, and his eyes flash with something that makes Chanyeol step back a moment, blinking into the dusty air. It smells damp today, the air heavy with something he doesn't want to understand. "Why do you think he's doing this?" Chanyeol blinks again. He doesn't want to think about the answer, but the knowledge fills his mouth with bitter truth anyway. Jongin nods curtly when he sees the change in his expression.
"Yes," Jongin says, and turns away.
When Chanyeol sees Sehun later, he swallows at the bruised puffiness of Sehun's eyes and the way he's chewing his mouth-his teeth gnawing at his lower lip. It tastes like rust. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.
When the siren starts wailing, even though he still spreads the silver film over his mouth and nose, Chanyeol walks out of his house, blinking through the yellow dust at the forest. The trees sway with the wind, dust piling and swirling off the leaves, as though the forest and the yellow dust are one. For the first time, Chanyeol lets himself wonder what's actually in the forest.
Afterwards, in the bathroom, he washes off the yellow that's caked onto his eyelids. As the dust clogs the sink, clotting in dark lumps on the floor, he thinks about Yixing.
Why did you go? he wonders, What pushed you through the door for real this time?
Maybe it's time to find out.
■
The only people who go into the forest and come back again are the scouts. But everyone knows they're not allowed to talk. Chanyeol watches the way they walk down the street and out into the flat space before the trees like a death sentence, eyes too wide, breathing too heavy even as they grin, flashing white teeth in staccato with the darkness of the sharp they wear strapped to their back.
They come back with a silver or they don't come back at all, and none of them will say anything.
He's sitting on the wall, where he used to sit with Yixing except Yixing is gone, heels no longer kicking against the wall in counterpoint to his own. It's too quiet. There's a weak spot at the back of one shoe and as he keeps dropping the foot against the stone, the weak spot wears away until there's a tear, and his foot lifts away red. Chanyeol looks at it for a while. Blinks.
The siren starts sounding, Amber alert! Amber alert! Yellow dust warning! and his fingers are reflexively reaching into his pocket when he sees the scout. Staggering out from the cover of the woods, his arm is trailing and there's something wrong-his arm is broken, Chanyeol realizes with a kind of knot gathering in his throat. He wonders if, out in the forest somewhere, Yixing is hurt like that, and that's the only reason he can justify later for why he jerks forward, fingers slipping out and leaving the silver in his pocket. His feet stir up latent dust as he takes off running towards the flatness-towards the yellow dust billowing up on the wind.
The scout. Chanyeol doesn't know him and that's strange, because he knows almost everyone in town. He blinks wide eyes that are filmy with a kind of haze. Eyes are windows to the soul, Chanyeol remembers hearing-somewhere in a memory he can't recall, with the strange heavy taste of what he later realizes is dust settling on his tongue. But the stranger's eyes are open onto nothing. He staggers, slips, and falls sideways, the silver on his back catching on the sharp and pulling around, shimmering in the fading light as the yellow dust is almost upon them. Chanyeol reaches out to catch the stranger on his arm and the stranger opens his mouth.
"We were wrong," he whispers, and shudders as he slips silently to the ground. Chanyeol kneels there, frozen as the double siren begins to wail.
Red dust.
Everything goes crimson, and the silver on the ground looks like it's dipped in blood.
<<
"Have you ever wondered what dust is?" Yixing asked. They were all crowded around the table, and the room is filled with the aroma of greens cooking in the broth and fish roasting over the grill, the thick sweet smell of marinated flesh cooking. Chanyeol looked up, mouth full of bones.
"Yeah I guess," Sehun said, and then shrugged, taking another bite of cooked grain folded into leaves. "But it's not like we can change anything." He grinned around a mouthful of food, and Kyungsoo shook his head at him.
"I think the researchers know more," Kyungsoo said, and Jongin nodded.
"My mom knows stuff-" Jongin stopped, looked at his hands for a moment. "My mom knows stuff, and I know because of the way she acts when she's at home for an Amber alert." He stared out the window, where the forest was invisible in the dark, only the thin light of the moon and flickering shadows.
"Sometimes," Yixing said, setting his glass down on the table with a glass clink that was startlingly loud in the sudden silence, "sometimes I think they don't want to know. Or they learned something and forgot it on purpose."
Chanyeol looked at him, across the table, the way the light from the lamp seemed to pool under his eyes, drip off his cheekbones.
Amber Alert! Amber Alert! Yellow Dust Warning! They all reached into their pockets, smoothing the silver films over their noses and mouths and watching the food overcook, and then cool and congeal while the dust streamed by outside, whirling angrily through the sky.
"Red dust can kill you," Sehun said, after the sirens had faded away, the smell of the burning fish they hadn't noticed before filling the room as they peeled off the films. "Why would they forget about that?"
Yixing didn't answer, and Kyungsoo kicked Sehun under the table, or at least that's what Chanyeol assumed, because Sehun didn't say anything for the rest of the evening.
>>
Red dust can kill you are the words on Chanyeol's mind as everything swirls yellow. His eyes are shut and there's stuff in his lungs, fingers groping for the silver in his pocket but it's too late. He can't see anything; the body of the scout crumpled on the ground is gone from sight.
Did you do this? he thinks, and the thought is strange, sluggish, drifting through dust, as he thinks about Yixing, standing in the swirling, and Chanyeol doesn't know what to expect. It feels like waiting to die, except he's not really thinking. Dust is brushing over his skin, crawling down his throat because he can't help but breathe. And it feels like choking as the thoughts twist around his head; it feels like they're being tugged and tangled-finally seeping out his ears. Red stains his vision, and he says goodbye.
I'm sorry.
Except. . .a black veil doesn't descend over his vision; Chanyeol doesn't know what it's like to die but he doesn't think it's like this.
Chanyeol?
And then he hears Yixing's voice.
Not in his ears, but in his head.
"Chan-" he tries to say, but his mouth fills with yellow dust, streaks of red on his lips and he doubles over coughing. Even though it's not killing him, his body isn't used to it.
Don't talk, just think.
Chanyeol doesn't understand, but he closes his mouth and tries to breathe through his nose, wincing at the dust slipping down his airways. It doesn't hurt, even though his body is screaming that it should.
Where are you? Why can't I see you?
Dust rises from his eyelashes as he blinks-turning his head this way and that as though expecting to see Yixing step out from behind a corner, even though swirls of yellow dust cloud his vision, red twining through the gold. There's red dust glistening on his skin, and Chanyeol knows he should be terrified, evacuate if necessary, but he's. . .not.
I'm in the forest, Yixing says, the words taking shape like billows of yellow in the wind, spelling out a confirmation to the question Chanyeol had already answered.
He doesn't look back, as he crosses the flat space before the trees.
■
The dust swirls in his chest, or maybe it's just Chanyeol's imagination. But as he keeps walking, ducking beneath a branch, the pine needles scraping gently against his face, the feeling in his chest is light. . .like he's floating. Everything is shimmering, here in the forest, and he's not sure if it's his eyes or the dust in his mouth.
His feet, falling on the forest floor, crunch lightly as they land on dry pine needles. Even the ground is dusted with gold and he's not sure if it's because of the yellow cloud that just blew by or if this is how the forest always is.
How did I ever think the forest was dark? he wonders, but there's no answer.
Yixing? he thinks, and there's a kind of affirmation that slips into his head, not words or thoughts shaped into words but just a feeling.
Suddenly, now that he might actually see Yixing again, Chanyeol feels almost sick with anticipation, as his feet start tripping up over himself, fingers tingling with the sensation of Yixing's skin under his fingers. He slips on a patch of mud, losing his footing and sliding to one knee, as his arm grates along the bark of a tree and the skin shreds, red dripping onto the yellow dust still settled in clumps between pine needles and the soft green undergrowth of leaves.
The dust stains red, dark, and Chanyeol blinks at it as he slowly climbs to his feet. Wrapping his other hand around his arm, he keeps going.
<<
"Will you miss me if I die?" Chanyeol wasn't sure why he asked the question, not even quite aware of the words slipping out of his mouth, lying side by side on the sticky sheets, his fingers tangled with Yixing's.
"Is something wrong?" Yixing asked, rolling over to drape himself over Chanyeol's chest, and Chanyeol felt himself unwinding a little under the warm weight of Yixing's body.
"Sometimes I just feel scared," Chanyeol whispered into the warm darkness of Yixing's hair. "I don't know why."
Yixing didn't answer, just pressed his ear to Chanyeol's chest, listening to his heart beat. Just hold me close so I can drown in you. Chanyeol fell asleep wrapped up in Yixing, slipping into the shadowy forest of dreams before he spoke.
He was only half-lucid when he felt the words whispered into the skin between his ribs, and couldn't tell if it was real or only a dream.
"Will you miss me?"
>>
It's hard to walk with one hand wrapped around his forearm, but Chanyeol doesn't really notice it. I'm going to see Yixing, he thinks, and that's somehow enough, even when there's warm wetness seeping slowly between his fingers. It's okay.
The wind slips between the trees, whispers in his ear; Chanyeol doesn't know if he's walking in the right direction but it feels good in his head, like Yixing is holding his hand.
He keeps walking, branches brushing his face. It's cool under the trees, light filtering in through the canopy. It's not as dusty as he thought; it's not anything like he thought.
After a while the thoughts start to trickle out of his head, as he just opens his mind and feels. It's like being quiet after a long time, the swirling mess of confusion in his head quietly draining away until he can hear the sweet sound of a bird, somewhere in the distance, the way the leaves brush against each other, the silvery whispers of small pockets of yellow dust being stirred up by the wind. Chanyeol takes a deep breath, and it doesn't hurt.
The silver in his pocket, under the absentminded brush of his fingers, feels cold, wrong. His arm twinges, and the sway of his hips as he walks jars his grip on the wound-but it's a small pain. The forest is glorious and Chanyeol doesn't understand.
The dapples of light through the forest canopy are painting the leaves pink now, shades of red and cranberry that filter over his skin. And the quiet presence in his head is bigger now, like the subconscious equivalent of loud.
Chanyeol.
And suddenly Chanyeol is running, as the sun beyond the forest slips below the horizon and everything begins to glow. As his hand slips away from the grip on his arm and crimson dots seep out over his skin, he can feel the anchor that is Yixing tugging him forward.
And there he is, standing under what would be the shadow of a tree except the tree is aglow, tiny sprinkling lights glittering in the texture of its bark, leaves and branches as winking stars surround Yixing, hovering in the air.
Chanyeol feels like his heart will explode. . .is exploding in shards of stars as the world lights up and dusk finally falls.
Yixing.
"Why-" Chanyeol doesn't know if he's angry or happy or sad or confused or maybe a mixture of all the feelings, as he stumbles forward, tripping over an exposed tree root into Yixing's arms.
It's warm, wrapped up in his skin, like it always has been, the comforting echo of Yixing's heartbeat against his chest, and Chanyeol doesn't have to say anything at all.
"I'm sorry," Yixing whispers into the skin of his neck, as Chanyeol realizes that he's crying.
■
"But why didn't you come back?" Chanyeol says, after breathing in the smell of Yixing's skin, grounding himself in his physical presence, no longer just a memory but something tangible. He's confused, then, the gradually creeping chill of nightfall becoming more noticeable as Yixing pulls away. "Why-?"
"Look," Yixing says, and Chanyeol stops and actually looks at Yixing. His heart stutters, fluttering against his chest, as a dark terrible thought starts to form in his head.
Yixing is glowing, like the trees, like the forest, like the tiny stars floating in the air. Fireflies, the word floats into his head, and Chanyeol looks at Yixing and can't find any words.
"What do I look like?" Yixing asks, and Chanyeol feels the words tumbling out of his mouth without a conscious thought attached.
"You look kind of like the silvers-" and then Chanyeol's brain catches up with his mouth and the words die on his tongue, an acrid taste filling his mouth.
You look like the silvers the scouts bring back from the forest.
Chanyeol looks around, but he can't see anyone here in the woods, here where everything is aglow.
"They're scared of us," Yixing says, and he looks sad, it's such a loud feeling in his head that Chanyeol shivers, and then winces. Yixing catches the movement, eyes drawn to the red mess on Chanyeol's arm as he reaches out.
■
Eyes covered by Yixing's warm hand, Chanyeol follows him blindly, a light breeze caressing his cheek as his feet follow. They wind around trees, Yixing supporting Chanyeol’s arm supported so that he doesn't trip over the exposed roots of trees protruding from the soft ground. The pine needles sigh under his feet, and Yixing reassures him.
"Just a bit more," he murmurs, Chanyeol's eyelashes brushing the palm of Yixing's hand. "Don't open your eyes, okay?" he warns and Chanyeol nods, because he trusts Yixing.
They come to a stop. Chanyeol can't see anything, but the air around him feels different-warm and soft and nothing like the cool air of nightfall in the forest, or the dry chill of the town, where the air is sharp.
And then Yixing is pulling him down, gently, kneeling on the forest floor. It’s not soft here but dry and cushioned with dry pine needles, clouds of dust rising as he settles down. Chanyeol can tell by the sensation of the air rushing into his mouth, nose, but it's not a bad feeling. The dust glows in his chest as he waits, Yixing's hand warm on his shoulder.
There's something that's not a sound, not quite, but not a feeling either. Chanyeol wants to open his eyes but he doesn't, as something approaches, and then there's warm air-thick almost, viscous-running over his arm like a liquid but not wet. Only the smooth skin of Yixing's grip stops him from opening his eyes in response to the sensation that he can't quite process.
And then it's gone, and Yixing is pulling him gently up and leading him away, but not before Chanyeol's eyes flicker open for just a brief moment. There's something flickering in the shadows just past the first ring of trees, silvery bright like a flame, in the form of a person. Then Chanyeol closes his eyes again.
Silver.
■
He doesn't know where they're going now, and he wants to open his eyes and ask but before he gets the chance, Yixing stops.
"You can open your eyes now," he says, and his voice sounds strange. When Chanyeol opens his eyes, blinking at the brightness, he understands why.
There's a mound of earth in the clearing, under the overhanging canopy of trees, leaves dripping silver and the stars sparkling far overhead; his skin prickles and Chanyeol's fingers tighten around Yixing's hand.
"That's a grave, right?" he asks, and Yixing nods. There's a glint in the soft light, something dark on the top of the hill, surrounded by blossoms glowing in the light of the moon. Stepping forward, Chanyeol can see that it's a propeller blade from a heli-porter.
"They tried but she was scared," Yixing whispers, and the air draws sad around him. Jongin's sister.
Chanyeol looks down at his arm, the red is is gone and the skin glows softly in the dimness. It's whole. His eyes dart over to Yixing, tracing the silvering tone of his skin, the glistening dips of his collarbone, and he knows now why Yixing didn't come home.
But it feels wrong.
The slip of silver in his pocket is burning in his thoughts, Chanyeol feels sick knowing that he has it. He thinks about town, the scouts, the lies everyone whispers about the forest, the dark stories he's grown up with.
The fear and dark and the dust, hiding behind shutters and doors and skin.
"You said once that you wanted to be a hero," Chanyeol says, eyes moving from the dark twisted propellor blade to meet Yixing's eyes.
Yixing looks surprised, for a moment, before his face flickers bright with a small smile, eyes set aglow.
"I'm tired of being scared," Chanyeol says quietly, squeezing Yixing's hand as he leans over to rest his head on a faintly glittering shoulder.
■
Walking back towards town, Chanyeol knows that this might go horribly wrong-how did things end up this way? He can't help but be angry at the thought-and as they slowly draw near the town, he pauses under a towering pine, bark and needles sparkling in the dark.
Pulling the silver out of his pocket, his fingers almost feel like they're burning, as he slips it into the ground and covers the sad, silvery shred of torn skin with warm earth and pine needles.
"I'm sorry," Chanyeol whispers to the air, and it feels like the air forgives him, as he reaches once again for Yixing's hand and they pause for a moment at the beginning of the flat space, watching as the red glow of dawn streaks the night over the darkness of the town before they start walking again.
■
And we can be heroes
Just for one day
☆
Final author's note:
The final quote is from David Bowie's Heroes.