On This Planet Spinning (9/23)
On This Planet Spinning
aka post-apocalypse au, aka painfic
Pairings:[Spoiler (click to open)]Baekxing, Xiuhan, Chansoo (+Chanyeol/Plant)
Genre: post-apocalypse, fantasy, drama, romance
Rating: R
Length: 137K total
Warnings: mature themes, violence/injury, some possibly disturbing imagery, threat of death, poor mental health, very brief mentions of suicidal ideation(?), sad times
Summary: Over a century after meteors destroyed Earth, making the surface uninhabitable, communities are returning from their bunkers and attempting to recolonize the planet. But resources are scarce, tensions are high, and neighbouring communities X-22 and Q-16 are fighting tooth and nail over the Valley, a rare patch of fertile land. Add to that a controversial group of humans with special abilities, and people will start to realize it's not the coming winter that's humanity's biggest obstacle-it's humanity itself. But that doesn't mean hope doesn't exist.
Chapter links: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
*****
Since the beginning of his night shifts guarding Chanyeol's workshop, Kyungsoo has played around with his sleep schedule a lot. He’s not used to sleeping during the day and staying awake until 5 in the morning, especially with X-22's fairly strict work-and-sleep schedules, so he had to train his body militantly in the beginning. Basically all he did was work and try to sleep, because despite how exhausted his body was, it didn't want to sleep when the sun was out.
Now, though, after over a month of it, it's finally getting into the swing of things. Kyungsoo's work shift is ten hours long, and he usually needs a nine-hour stretch to sleep (because Sehun occasionally wakes him up in the middle of it), which leaves him with five hours of free time. One hour is spent getting ready for his shift and eating his first meal of his day, and another is spent preparing and eating his last meal of his day, when all the cooks are just waking up to make breakfast.
Those remaining three hours he's been shifting around constantly over the course of his night shift career, trying to decide if it's better to be awake after or before he works. Now, finally, he's settled on before. Everyone's working then, but at least they're awake.
He spends time with Sehun, sometimes, visiting his unit brother in the fields and doing his duty as older brother-asking Sehun invasive questions, making sure he's eating well, masking his concerns with a layer of sarcasm and teasing. He pesters Sehun about Jongin, demanding friendship progress updates and chastising Sehun when he grumbles about not needing more friends. While being a very comfortable and sweet kid with people he knows well, Sehun is terrible with making new friends, always awkward and unsure and coming off as cold. He requires constant prodding if he's ever going to get anywhere. And Kyungsoo is more than willing to be the prodder. Sehun has a lot of love and nowhere to direct it.
Today, though, Kyungsoo visits Seulgi on her shift instead. He and Seulgi have been close friends for years, even before they became comrades in arms-Seulgi was a firecracker of a kid, which is just what quiet, sullen younger Kyungsoo had needed. They probably would have lived together when they came of age, if Seulgi hadn't had a brother to live with, and then a partner. And he barely gets to see her anymore, apart from a few shared words when they switch shifts. So he goes early today, furtively picking a few small, ripe cucumbers as he passes a field of them on his way.
"Hey, Prince Charming," she calls as soon as she spots Kyungsoo approaching, smiling wide. "What are you doing out here?"
"Came to rescue my favourite damsel in distress," Kyungsoo says, handing her a cucumber. Seulgi punches him. Hard.
"I never played that role and you know it," she says, crunching into the snack. "If anyone was in distress, it was you."
Kyungsoo chuckles, unable to deny it. Seulgi was bigger than him for quite a while when they were kids, as girls often are. She beat him up easily.
They stand there, chatting quietly and catching up on what’s been going on in their lives while they sleep at completely opposite times, until Kyungsoo suddenly picks up on another voice in the background. He stops, frowns. “What’s that?”
Seulgi blinks in surprise. “What?”
As soon as they’re both quiet, Kyungsoo recognizes the voice. “Is that Chanyeol?”
“The Sixer? Of course, he’s the only one around here, isn’t he?” Seulgi snickers.
Kyungsoo tries to peer through the barred door without being seen-he came here to visit his friend, not to spy. “Who is he talking to?”
“Uh, I don’t know. He’s always just talking. I think he’s a little nuts.” Seulgi gives Kyungsoo a look like he might be nuts, too.
“He just talks to no one?” Kyungsoo feels a pang in his chest.
“All day,” Seulgi says, nodding. “Well, on and off. You’ve never noticed?”
Kyungsoo just shakes his head mutely, stepping closer to the door to look inside. It takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative dimness inside the storehouse, but when they do, he can make out Chanyeol limping around the room, one crutch tucked under his arm to support himself. His leg’s been improving rapidly, and he doesn’t complain about the pain anymore, but it’ll be a while until it’s fully healed.
“-know I put it somewhere around here,” Chanyeol is saying, his voice filtering through the door. “Can’t have just wandered away, you know? No legs. I know the feeling. Just kidding, I have legs. It’s just that they prefer I stay in one place. But ah, no time for that, my friends. Things to do, killing machines to fix. Fucking wrenches to find. Where is it?” He mutters quietly for a minute, shoving around bits of rusted metal and broken electronics with the bottom of his crutch. Then he brightens. “Aha! There you are, you little bugger. Thought you could get away with doing no work today, did you? Not on my watch. Come on, you piece of shit, we have bolts to unscrew. And if they don’t unscrew, well, we’ll just have to find another way to get in there. That’s where my friend sledgehammer comes in handy.” He bends over at the waist, balancing carefully, and picks the wrench up before hobbling over to a large, black, oily contraption. “I’m just kidding, big guy, I wouldn’t do that to you. Mustn’t upset the balance of...life. Or whatever.”
Kyungsoo watches, swallowing hard, as Chanyeol continues chattering aimlessly, narrating his work, responding to his own questions. He laughs at his own jokes, chastises himself for mistakes, argues his own points. It makes Kyungsoo’s chest ache.
He watches Chanyeol bend a flap of metal back and forth for a minute straight as he explains to his pliers why he likes his bed-blanket in this spot on cloudy nights but that spot on clear ones, back and forth and back and forth, and then Kyungsoo clears his throat and says, “Hey hot stuff.”
The flap of metal finally breaks off as Chanyeol jolts in surprise, and one razor-sharp edge catches on the palm of his hand. “Shhhhhit,” Chanyeol hisses, and dark blood begins to drip onto the floor within seconds.
“Holy fuck!” Kyungsoo says loudly, eyes widening. He wheels around, sticks out his hand. “Seulgi, keys!”
Seulgi stares at him dumbly for a moment, then fumbles at her waist for the heavy padlock key for the door. Kyungsoo all but yanks it out of her hands the second it’s unlatched from her belt, shoving it into the lock. A few clumsy seconds later, he stumbles through, already reaching for Chanyeol’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks, yanking Chanyeol’s hand towards his roughly. It’s wrapped in dirty, oily cloths-they’re already soaking through with blood. “Fuck, Chanyeol.”
“I’m fine,” Chanyeol says quietly, but his hand is shaking in Kyungsoo’s grasp.
“Seulgi, go get some clean cloths or bandages or something,” Kyungsoo calls over his shoulder. “And some water, please. We can ask later if we have any antiseptic.”
She doesn’t respond, so Kyungsoo assumes she’s left. Hissing, he focuses his attention on Chanyeol’s bleeding hand-when he peels the cloth away, he sees a long gash from between his thumb and first finger all the way to the heel of his palm. It looks deep, too, enough that it's oozing blood at an alarming rate. He knows, in the back of his mind, that it's not that serious. Chanyeol has moved all of his fingers, so the metal didn't tear through any ligaments, and it's not like the wound is gushing. But there's blood all over his hand, dripping down his arm and onto the floor, and it looks gory and awful.
The rags Kyungsoo peeled away were filthy even before they got soaked with blood, and he's not sure whether he should try to use them to staunch the flow or burn the things.
"Don't you have anything cleaner than this?" he asks, pressing down on the inside of Chanyeol's wrist in a futile attempt at slowing down the blood flow. "God, this looks nasty. Where the hell is Seulgi? How long does it take to run there and back? I should have just told her to grab something from my house, it's way closer."
"I'm okay," Chanyeol says again.
"You're literally dripping blood all over me," Kyungsoo says, shaking his head. "Fuck, sorry, this is going to hurt like hell."
Chanyeol doesn't make a sound as Kyungsoo gives in and presses the dirty cloth to his palm, trying to stop the bleeding. Kyungsoo bites his tongue not to whimper himself.
They stand there in silence for a minute, with Kyungsoo holding Chanyeol's hand, holding the rag against it, until Kyungsoo quietly says, "I'm sorry for startling you. This is my fault.”
Chanyeol huffs out a breathy laugh. "It's okay. I'm just clumsy."
Kyungsoo shakes his head, but doesn't bother arguing. He knows it won't get them anywhere.
Seulgi turns up a few moments later, bearing the soft white cloth and compression bandages they keep for dressing battle wounds. Kyungsoo hasn't participated in a skirmish since the one where they took Chanyeol. He's always sleeping through them. "Here," she pants, handing them over. "But you're explaining this to Victoria."
"Sure," Kyungsoo mutters, already uncapping the tin flask of water she brought with. Chanyeol reaches for it with his uninjured hand, but Kyungsoo just knocks it away. "I got you," he says, trickling the water over Chanyeol's palm carefully. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he repeats, rubbing away the grit and rust and oil that had transferred to the wound. Chanyeol doesn't make a sound through it, even as his hand twitches and flinches away from his touch. As soon as it's as clean as it'll get-he's out of water and not about to send Seulgi back for more-he gentles his touch, folding a square of cloth over the oozing wound and securing it in place with careful fingers. When he's finished, he looks up at Chanyeol with anxious questions on his tongue.
Chanyeol stares back down at him, eyes wide and watching, his face just a few feet away, and the questions die in Kyungsoo's throat.
"Sorry," he whispers again, rubbing at the unmarred skin under Chanyeol's thumb under the pretext of wiping away blood or dirt or...something. He doesn't know. He just does it.
Chanyeol's throat clicks audibly as he swallows. "I'm alright," he says, voice thick.
"Okay," is Kyungsoo's soft reply.
"So, um," Seulgi says, and Kyungsoo jumps-he'd completely forgotten she was even still here. "I'm just gonna assume you're taking over my shift early. I'll bring you supper, okay? Cheers."
Chanyeol cracks a half smile, then gently pulls his hand out of Kyungsoo's. "I should get back to work."
"Will you be okay?" Kyungsoo asks, glancing over his shoulder to watch Seulgi leave. "I can't believe you're injured again, right after your leg was just healing."
"It's fine, Kyungsoo," Chanyeol insists, smiling a little wider this time. "Who needs two hands, anyway?"
"Um, everyone?" Kyungsoo shakes his head. "It's gonna be hard to do much fixing with one hand."
Chanyeol just shrugs. "Whatever. But I might ask you to help if I need extra hands with my puzzle box."
Kyungsoo snorts. "Shouldn't you be more concerned with your main task?"
"Ehhhh, who cares about that anyway." Chanyeol waves a dismissive hand. "Big piece of shit."
Kyungsoo bites his tongue. "Don't think you'll be able to fix it?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I don't know. Maybe." He pauses, and his little grin falters. "I don't- I don't know."
He gets a look on his face, distant and conflicted, and Kyungsoo hates it. He hates that it reminds him of what Chanyeol really is. A prisoner of war. A man fighting for his survival.
“So,” Kyungsoo exhales. “Looks like I’m starting my shift earlier than usual today.”
“Oh, shoot,” Chanyeol says, smiling again. “What a bummer.”
Kyungsoo’s lips turn up automatically in response. “Yeah.”
“I guess I should get back to work, too,” Chanyeol sighs, lifting his bandaged hand to wiggle his fingers tentatively. He winces immediately. “I do love pain.”
Kyungsoo sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Chanyeol peers at him through his over-long, limp fringe. “Kyungsoo. It’s fine. You’ve already done a lot for me.”
It hurts to hear him say that. What has Kyungsoo really done for him? Saved him from certain death just to hold him captive, to force him to complete an impossible task? He’s sure Chanyeol knows that, too.
“Keep the wound clean,” he says at last, avoiding Chanyeol’s heavy gaze. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure,” Chanyeol says, and then Kyungsoo retreats to his usual seat to watch.
The next morning, just before Kyungsoo heads to bed, Victoria seeks him out. “Kyungsoo,” she says, in a tone of voice that makes him want to shrink away. “I’m not trying to imply anything, but I think it’d be best if you spent less time in the building with the prisoner. You should only be going through that door to feed him and for emergencies.”
Kyungsoo has no idea how his commanding officer even knows how much time he spends inside Chanyeol’s workshop, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over that. A bubble of panic swells in his chest, and he tries to force it down. “With all due respect,” he says carefully, weighing his words, “I think he’ll go insane if I don’t. And it’d take him significantly longer to get anything done without help.”
Victoria levels him with a hard stare. “He could be dangerous, Kyungsoo. He’s a soldier. And an enemy.”
“He’s never acted out in a way I would call dangerous before,” Kyungsoo says, trying not to sound like he’s arguing.
“I do not want you to trust him.” Victoria lifts one eyebrow slightly. “And I do not want you to form an attachment, either.”
Kyungsoo swallows hard. “No, ma’am.”
Victoria holds her stare for a moment longer, as if to drive her point home, and then she shifts and says, “How’s progress on the Machine?”
“Slow,” Kyungsoo admits. “It looks messy at this point. But he says a lot of essential parts are still usable.”
His commanding officer hums and nods. “I’ll tell Boa. Make sure you keep a close eye on him, Kyungsoo. His leg is healing up.”
Kyungsoo bites his lip and nods. Victoria begins to turn, dismissing him silently, and he quickly speaks up. “Could we-” He fidgets. “Could we get the poor man some scissors? He can barely see through his hair.”
Victoria’s lips twitch, and for a moment, she looks disappointed. “You did your entire shift without your blaster on you, soldier.”
“What?” Kyungsoo blinks, fumbles at his waist. His holster isn’t there. Of course it isn’t-he’d gone yesterday to visit Seulgi, not to start his watch. “I-”
Victoria shakes her head. “I’ll ask Seulgi to deliver some scissors while Joohyun’s on shift. Get some rest, Kyungsoo. Don’t forget what I said.”
Kyungsoo gulps and nods, and when she dismisses him this time, he scampers back to his house guiltily.
He knows she’ll expect him to stay out of the storehouse from now on. But how can he be expected to follow those orders?
And yet, at the same time, can he really afford to get into anymore trouble?
***
Yifan has no idea what the hell he’s doing. A month ago, he left his community, his home, to go after his best friend. And now he’s, what, homesteading? How did this even happen to him? He knows, in his heart of hearts, that he can’t stay here. He has to do something. Luhan still hasn’t returned, and Yifan’s all but given up hope-if he’s honest with himself, Luhan is probably either dead or taken captive. But at the same time, that thought is so fucking depressing that Yifan is kind of just...avoiding it altogether. And even if Luhan is alive, he has no clue where Yifan is. If he returns-or has returned-and Yifan isn’t where Luhan left him, what then? What is he supposed to do?
And in the meantime, he’s living with Zitao, who turned out to be a pretty sweet kid, if a little wishy-washy. He expects Yifan to do his fair share of work, but as it turns out, there’s not all that much work to be done. They tend Zitao’s garden, they mend minor tears in their clothes, they do the washing with water Zitao brings in from the well in X-22’s fields. They do the cooking together, they try to figure out solutions to little problems they have around the house. It’s...quiet. It’s peaceful. And Yifan learns a lot.
“How long were you a rogue before you ended up here?” Zitao giggles, pulling Yifan’s jacket out of his hands to sew on a loose button himself after Yifan jabs himself with the needle multiple times. “How did you survive on your own?”
Yifan huffs, sucking on his smarting fingertip. “I just let my life fall to ruin before I came here,” he mutters.
“Clearly,” Zitao says with a matronly tsk. “What did you eat? Your first cooking attempts were terrible. I can say that now, because they’ve improved. A little.”
Yifan makes a face at him. “I just ate whatever.”
“Raw? I hope so, for the sake of your taste buds.” Zitao grins at him.
Yifan jostles him with his elbow, grinning as Zitao laughs and falls over into the grass. He’s honestly...grown to like Zitao a lot in the past three weeks. Things were awkward in the beginning, stilted and forced, with neither of them quite trusting the other, never able to relax around each other and yet always in close contact. But things have changed a lot in the past weeks. Yifan has never had a little brother-Chanyeol was the closest thing he ever had to a brother at all-but that’s what Zitao has turned into.
It’s kind of worrying, especially considering Yifan’s been lying to the kid nonstop since he met him. The more Zitao asks after his past, his background, the more Yifan has to make stuff up, layers upon layers of lies. He’s constantly worried he’s going to forget something he’s said and Zitao will call him out. But what is he supposed to do now? He’s already set all the traps for himself. Now he just has to be careful not to step into any of them by accident.
“You okay?” Zitao asks later that evening, handing back Yifan’s jacket, its loose button sewn back on and the fraying seam repaired.
Yifan swallows hard and nods, tearing his gaze away from X-22’s fields. This is the problem-he can’t even worry about his friends without having to make up a reason why he’s being quiet. “Fine,” he says. “Just...thinking.”
“About your family?” Zitao asks, soft and sad.
Yifan nods slowly. He’s made up tons of stuff about his fictional family recently. He’s starting to think he knows more about them than his real, biological family at this point.
“Do you think you’ll recognize them?” Zitao asks him. Always asking questions. “Do you remember what they looked like?”
Yifan offers a vague shrug. “Maybe I’ll recognize them when I see them. They probably won’t recognize me, right?”
“But they’ll know you by name,” Zitao says.
“Yeah. I hope so.”
They fall silent for a few moments, and then Zitao says, “I guess, when you leave, I’ll finally join X-22 like I’ve been planning.”
“Yeah, you think so?” That, Yifan has learned, is why Zitao continues to farm such a large plot of land-much larger than one person needs. He’s hoping to buy his way into X-22, using food that’ll be scarce as they head into cooler months. He’s been trading already, small amounts of vegetables for things like solar units and supplies.
Zitao nods. “I can’t stay here all winter. The tent won’t hold out the cold, and we have no idea what the weather will be like. I need thicker walls, more stability. More support.” He looks sad.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you,” Yifan assures him, nudging him with his shoulder. He wants to say join Q-16, they’ve taken in the needy before, they know how to treat them right. But Zitao never lets him forget what they did-or rather, what he believes they did-to his sister. “There are no other communities you’d rather join?” he asks anyway, hopeful. He’s grown attached to the younger man. He doesn’t want him to become an enemy.
But Zitao shakes his head. “No. I think I’d like it here. I mean, in an ideal world, I could stay where I am, but...I’ll be lonely.” He shoots Yifan a small smile. “I was lonely before you came. I’ll be even lonelier once you leave.”
Yifan swallows hard and ruffles his hair.
“I think I’ll like it here, though,” Zitao says again, looking out at the community before them. “They seem nice.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Yifan can’t help but say, venom sneaking into his voice. You think Q-16 took someone from you, but X-22 took more from me.
“That’s true,” Zitao says, looking at Yifan, and Yifan quickly looks away.
That night, Yifan falls asleep wondering anxiously if he’ll have to attempt a double rescue on his own, and wakes up to Zitao shaking his shoulder.
“What?” he says immediately, sitting bolt upright. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
Zitao is kneeling at his side, eyes wide in the slice of moonlight that falls in through the open tent flap. His voice is unsteady, unsure as he says, “I was thinking about what you said.”
Yifan squints at him, puzzled. “What did I say? In my sleep?”
“No, earlier.” Zitao taps his knee nervously. “About appearances being deceiving.”
Yifan feels like his stomach has turned to lead. “O-oh, oh yeah? What about it?”
Zitao’s gulp is audible in the following silence. “I just. I have something to tell you. That I was hiding, I guess, before.”
“What?” Yifan can feel panic rising, anxiety pulsing through him.
Zitao twists the edge of his shirt in his hands. “Promise me you won’t hate me?”
“I promise,” Yifan says quickly. What’s one more lie?
Zitao’s gaze is piercing even in the darkness. “I’m a conjurer.”
Yifan stops short. “A...what?”
“A conjurer. I’m paranormal.”
Yifan just...stares. “What are you talking about?”
He almost feels bad, because Zitao looks like he’s about to cry. “I know you said you’re neutral, but I was worried about what you would say. I was worried you would hate me. So many people hate us, so I was worried. My sister, she-she wasn’t my sister. She was my sorcerer partner. She was killed because-” His face crumples. “I was just scared.”
Yifan doesn’t respond, still busy trying to process. He doesn’t know what all the terms Zitao uses mean, but he’s catching the general gist of it. He understands what Zitao is.
“You don’t hate me, do you?” Zitao asks desperately. “I know I lied to you, but I’m being honest now. I want to be honest. Are you going to leave now?”
“I- Tao-”
“I just wanted to be honest,” Zitao says quietly, ducking his head.
Yifan shakes his head, takes a moment to take it all in. Zitao is...paranormal. He’s one of them. He’s one of the people Community Leader has been warning them about since the beginning, calling them freaks, calling them dangerous. Calling them self-serving and supremacist. That’s the image Yifan has of paranormals.
But Zitao is none of those things. Yifan has been living with him for three weeks, and all he has seen from the younger man is compassion, and kindness, and understanding. Zitao has offered Yifan a home and food, has trusted him in the bed next to his as he sleeps-and Yifan has trusted him in return. Zitao says things like all beings are born equal and life is hard enough without people fighting to be better than each other.
“I won’t say I’m not surprised,” Yifan says slowly, deliberately. “But I don’t...hate you.”
“But you’re still leaving?” Zitao says, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Yifan barely even pauses before he says, “No.”
“Really?” Zitao’s face lights up.
Yifan seeks out his face in the dark, offers his best smile. “No. Not yet.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Zitao laughs, flops down on his bed mat. “I didn’t like keeping it a secret from you. It’s just who I am, you know? It’s not something I can change, and it doesn’t change who I am. I didn’t like lying to you.”
Yifan lies down slowly, turning away to squeeze his eyes shut. Shit. “Thanks, Tao,” he says softly.
“I knew you wouldn’t hate me,” Zitao says, sounding pleased. “You’re not like them.”
Yifan exhales a long breath. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Shit.
***
Most mornings, Baekhyun wakes up to the sound of voices. Liyin’s, asking how he’s feeling. Yixing’s, telling him what they’ll be working on that day. Jongdae’s, with his usual cheerful, “Got any important secrets for me today?” He likes waking up to voices. Anyone’s really. If people are talking to him, he doesn’t have time to sit and brood. He doesn’t have time to think about how much he hates being awake.
But some days, inevitably, he wakes up to silence.
The sun streams in through his window, filtering through the leaves of Chanyeol’s plant to dapple his floor and the end of his bed. Baekhyun draws a few breaths, stretching his aching ribs. For a few minutes, everything is still and peaceful. For a few minutes, everything is good.
And then he struggles to sit up, arms weak and trembling, breaths coming short, and his still-healing ribs protest, and everything feels so jumbled and fuzzy in his head, and in the end he just slumps against the wall behind him and blinks back tears, miserable. He’s like a fucking child and he hates it.
Wiping his eyes roughly, he reaches out for the cup next to his bed, half-full of water. His hand shakes no matter how hard he tries to keep it steady, but he gets his fingers around it and tightens his grip as much as he can manage, concentrating hard. He’s exhausted by the time he lifts it off the side table, his arm tired and his entire body aching, but he tries hard, he doesn’t give up.
He gets the cup three-quarters of the way to his mouth, and then it slips out from between his fingers, bouncing off his bed mat and clattering to the floor loudly in a mess of spilled water. Baekhyun chokes on his own frustration, wanting so badly to hit something, or throw something, but incapable of even doing that much. So he just sits in his bed and bites back a scream.
“Baek?” comes a soft, familiar voice. Yixing pokes his head in, looking concerned. “I didn’t know you were awake. What happened?”
Baekhyun grinds his teeth together. “Cup,” he spits, gesturing.
Yixing hums, frowning. “Not a good start to the day.”
Baekhyun crosses his arms with some effort and angles his body away, towards the wall, so Yixing won’t see his how hard it is for him not to burst into tears. It’s just...so fucking hard sometimes. He’s healing, he’s getting better, but everything is moving so slowly. Everything still hurts, day in and day out. Physical therapy is torture, and while he’s starting to remember things, piece by piece, nothing seems important or useful or whole. He has to constantly ask questions, ask if he’s remembered to take care of Chanyeol’s plant, ask if Jongdae’s already been by that day, ask for help, ask to be fed. He cries too easily, has temper tantrums too quickly. Things are getting better, but it’s too slow.
And through it all, he feels like he’s so alone. Everyone is busy, working hard to keep the community afloat-they don’t have time for him. Jongdae can only stop by so often. Liyin has other patients. His mother is a hardworking Caretaker for young children. His father pretends Baekhyun isn’t even his son. And his friends are...gone, dead.
How can he be expected to do this on his own?
“I’ll get this cleaned up, no worries,” Yixing says, entering the room fully to pick up Baekhyun’s tin cup and set it on the table again before finding a rag to mop up the spill. “You thirsty? I’ll get you more water, one second.”
Baekhyun doesn’t respond until he returns, the cup only halfway refilled in case of another spill, and hands it to him carefully, hovering so he can assist if needed. Baekhyun drains it as quickly as he can, then hands it back as he says, “Where’s Liyin?”
“Tending to some fevers, I think. Nothing serious, I’m guessing, but people are antsy after the plague and all.” Yixing shrugs. “I’m not sure how much she’ll be able to be in here today.”
Baekhyun sighs softly, staring at his hands as they tremble uncontrollably in his lap. “No physio, then, I guess.”
“You still have to do your stretches, though,” Yixing says, shaking a finger at him. “No slacking.”
His tone of voice is teasing, like he expects Baekhyun to whine childishly in response. But Baekhyun just sighs again, shrugs. “When is Jongdae coming in?”
“You slept through breakfast, so he should be in for lunch in about...four hours?” Yixing disappears briefly, returns with a tray of cold food. “Here, you’re probably hungry.”
Baekhyun shrugs, listlessly picking up a spoonful of congealed oatmeal. He rarely has an appetite, and the food he’s served doesn’t help, but he shoves it into his mouth anyway.
“Joonmyun is still sleeping, too,” Yixing says, sitting down in the chair next to Baekhyun’s bed. “He’s not feeling very well, either. He just ate and went back to bed.” He fiddles with Baekhyun’s blankets as he talks. “It’s hard for us to work when we’re sick, same as if we’re tired. They’re closely related. So the more he rests, the faster he’ll get better.”
Baekhyun just nods, keeps eating.
“So it’s just me and you for a while. But that’s alright. Right? We can spend some time together, just us two.” Yixing smiles at him, pats his leg through the blanket.
Baekhyun stares into his bowl. “I’m not a child,” he says finally.
“What?”
“You always...treat me like a baby. I hate it. Stop.”
Yixing stares at him, blinking wordlessly. “I’m-”
“I already know that I’m like a fucking...infant. You don’t have to remind me...constantly.” God. Sometimes the words come to Baekhyun easily, just there and rolling off his tongue, and then other times he has to search for each and every one.
Yixing is quiet for a few moments, and Baekhyun expects him to deny it, to say that’s not what he’s doing. But instead, when he speaks, it’s to say, “What do I do that you don’t like?’
Baekhyun shrugs, stabs his spoon weakly into his bowl. “You’re always lying to me. Telling me things are going to be great, soon. But I know they’re not. I have a brain, even if it’s shit.”
“So what should I say instead?” Yixing asks, patient, soft, like always.
“Be honest.” Baekhyun huffs. “Be...brutally honest with me. Don’t...sugarcoat. Instead of saying You’re fine, everything’s going to be fine, just...straight-up tell me Things are going to fucking suck today, Baekhyun. Just tell me.”
Yixing laughs a little. “That’s what you want to hear?”
“Of course not. But it’s the truth.”
When Baekhyun looks at Yixing, he’s smiling. “Alright,” he says. “I can try. But correct me, in the future, when I mess up. Okay?”
Baekhyun shrugs. “Sure.”
“What else do I do?”
“You…” Baekhyun pauses, feels his attention start to slip, and forcefully pulls it back. “You use that tone of voice. Like my mother uses with the children. All...light, and soft.”
Yixing laughs. “That’s just my voice, Baekhyun. I can’t change that.”
“Well, don’t use it with me,” Baekhyun says stubbornly, frowning. “Like, get angry sometimes, you know? You’re a fucking...prisoner. Act like it. Act like Joonmyun. Swear sometimes. Call me a...fucking spoiled brat. Throw things.”
Yixing smiles, propping his elbow on the edge of Baekhyun’s bed mat and settling his chin in it. “I don’t want to.”
“Why? You’re...being kept here against your will. You should be furious.”
“Things aren’t ideal,” Yixing relents. “And there is one person I miss and worry about back home. But things weren’t ideal there, either. It doesn’t feel very different, to be helping you here, and to be helping them in X-22. It’s equally fulfilling work, even if it was by choice out there. Watching the plants grow, and watching you heal. I’m not exactly...happy, here. My freedom is limited and I’m not always treated well. But I’m here with my sorcerer, and I’m doing what I can to help.”
Baekhyun stares at him. “You’re...insane,” he says, shaking his head.
Yixing smiles. “That’s what Joonmyun tells me.”
A few moments of silence stretch between them, and then Baekhyun sighs and says, “Your optimism is...infuriating.”
“Joonmyun tells me that, too,” Yixing says, chuckling. “But he needs it. And I need it. We can’t both be miserable and broody. We’d die.”
Baekhyun just shakes his head and looks away. “No more babying,” he says, just so they’re clear.
“I’ll do my best,” Yixing agrees.
An hour drags by, mostly in silence. Joonmyun is still asleep, Liyin is still busy, and Yixing reads quietly, although he does offer to read to Baekhyun once. Baekhyun declines; he always gets the names mixed up and zones out and gets lost. He begrudgingly appreciates the offer, though.
“Stop ruminating,” Yixing says out of nowhere, without even bothering to look up from his book. Baekhyun realizes abruptly how generous it was of Liyin to give the paranormals something to do. But then, it’s her job as a healer to keep people sane.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Baekhyun asks. He doesn’t even try to pretend that’s not what he was doing. He’s been silent for ages, frowning into space.
Yixing looks up at him. “I know things are really bad for you right now, Baek,” he says. Baekhyun wonders when he started using that nickname with him, like they’re friends. Chanyeol used to call him that. “But you won’t feel better by sitting there thinking about how bad they are. You’re just letting your unhappiness fester. It’s not healthy.”
“Well, what do you suggest,” Baekhyun growls. “Don’t tell me to...entertain myself and then not give me any ideas. People aren’t exactly…” He closes his eyes, grasps for the word. Yixing waits, patient as always, but doesn’t intercede. “Piling up to distract me.”
“Lining up,” Yixing says gently. It’s not mocking or superior. It’s just a correction, to help Baekhyun connect the phrase to the meaning he’d been aiming for. “And I’m right here.”
“You’re lining up to distract me?” Baekhyun asks.
Yixing smiles. “Hold on a second.” He stands up, puts his book down, and disappears into the attached room.
A moment later he returns, holding a deck of cards. “Fold your legs.”
“What?”
Yixing gestures at Baekhyun’s blanket. “Scoot. I can’t fit if you have your legs stretched out like that.”
Baekhyun feels completely baffled, but he works on folding his legs in front of him, using his hands to pull them into place when they refuse to do as he tells them to. Yixing waits until he’s made enough room to sit down on the end of his bed, mirroring his position across from him. He slaps down the deck of cards in front of him-it’s really just a stack of paper cut into card-sized rectangles, with numbers and pictures drawn onto them with pencil. They look unfamiliar. “We don’t have these kinds of cards,” he says uncertainly.
“I figured. Joonmyun had never seen them before, either. I think we just had them in our bunker.” Yixing laughs.
Baekhyun frowns. “Wasn’t Joonmyun in your bunker?”
Yixing shakes his head, sorting out the deck into piles. “No, I came from Gamma. Our bunker was close to Delta’s. I came of age while we were still underground, but didn’t find a matched sorcerer among my group. There were three of us-two conjurers and a sorcerer-who couldn’t find a match among Gamma, so we were sent over to Delta to try our luck there. I met Joonmyun there, and we matched up really well, so I joined Delta Group. The sorcerer found a match, too. The other conjurer didn’t, so I think he went over to Beta. That was, hmm, five years ago?”
“Oh,” Baekhyun says, looking over the cards. “So there’s like...a paranormal...matchmaking system?”
“Magical Matchmaking,” Yixing says, nodding. “Kind of, I guess. It’s pretty important to find a match, so we do what we need to. Romantic matches just happen the usual way,” he adds with a laugh.
“But you found both in Joonmyun?” Baekhyun asks.
Yixing blinks at him, then snorts. “A magical match has nothing to do with romantic compatibility, and especially not attraction.”
Baekhyun fidgets. “You’re not…?”
“You non-paranormals are always asking that,” Yixing says with a smile. “He’s my sorcerer partner, not my husband. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be close. We’re still partners. We need to be.”
Baekhyun huffs, reaching out to pick up a card just so he has something to do with his hands. “I don’t...know much about paranormals.”
“Yeah, I get the feeling all of Q-16 is like that,” Yixing says with a slight smile. Then he straightens, plucking the card from Baekhyun’s fingers. “Alright, listen, I’ll explain this really well.”
Baekhyun sighs, slumping where he sits. “I don’t want to play...memory games, Yixing. Liyin plays them with me...enough. They make me feel like shit. Not better. I thought you were trying to...distract me, or whatever.”
“This isn’t a memory game,” Yixing says. “It’s just a game. Mostly of luck, but also strategy. Listen.”
Baekhyun sniffs crankily, but it’s not like he has much else to do, so he stays silent and listens as Yixing describes each card class and value, and then how to match them, how to use the cards he’s handed, how to trade them in for others. Baekhyun has to ask a lot of questions, has to have the rules repeated to him time and time again, but Yixing doesn’t act annoyed or frustrated. He just explains again, over and over.
“So, before we play, you have to offer something.”
Baekhyun frowns. “Offer something?”
“Yeah. You offer something, I offer something. Whoever wins gets both things.” Yixing smiles winningly.
“You mean…gambling?” Baekhyun asks incredulously. “We don’t gamble in Q-16. It’s against the rules. Everyone shares everything.”
Yixing’s grin doesn’t waver. “No one’s looking, are they?”
“What would I...wager?” Baekhyun asks. “What would you wager?”
“Hmmmm.” Yixing taps his chin. “We used to use smooth stones to gamble with. Or marbles. Do you have anything like that?”
Baekhyun shakes his head slowly.
“Huh. You’re making this difficult for me.” Yixing frowns for a few moments, then brightens. “Ah!” Out of his shirt, he pulls a string of what look like polished black and grey beads. He unclasps it carefully, then yanks the two ends apart so that the string snaps, allowing a shower of beads to fall to the blanket. “This is mine and Joonmyun’s Partners Necklace,” he says with a chuckle.
“Won’t he be...mad you broke it?” Baekhyun asks, eyes wide.
“No,” Yixing says simply. “Here, divide the beads up between us.”
There are sixty beads total, giving them thirty each to start off with. Yixing puts two of his beads in the center after he deals them each five cards, and so Baekhyun puts in two as well. Then they start playing.
Baekhyun is...honestly terrible. He constantly forgets the rules and has to ask Yixing to repeat them, thus giving himself away. And Yixing is surprisingly ruthless when it comes to gambling. He doesn’t make fun of Baekhyun, but he doesn’t take it easy on him, either. He plays to win, and he does. Within half an hour, Yixing has fifty-four beads, and Baekhyun has six.
“Should we just give me this round and start fresh, thirty-thirty?” he asks, peeking at his cards and then at their current wagers.
Baekhyun growls, glares at his shaking hand of cards. “No,” he says resolutely. “I’ll play to the end.”
He loses magnificently, and lets loose a colourful stream of curses. Yixing laughs and gathers the cards Baekhyun threw to the floor in a fit of rage, then divides their beads up again. They start another round without question.
This time, Baekhyun does slightly better. It lasts a full hour and a half before he loses all his beads and throws his cards again, accusing Yixing of cheating. He was sure he remembered all the rules these last few hands, but Yixing still manages to beat him easily. “You just have more practice,” he argues, shuffling the deck clumsily. “I’ll win this time.”
“Sure,” Yixing says with a smile. “I believe you.”
At lunch, they place their trays on the side table and on the bed next to them and keep playing, and Jongdae walks in to see Baekhyun crankily smoothing out a card he crumpled in his fist. “Jongdae,” he says. “Sit down. Ever gambled before?”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows at him. “You look chipper today.”
“No time for your...sass. You have a game to learn. I need to be better than someone.”
Jongdae learns the rules in five minutes, and beats Baekhyun during his first hand, grinning.
“I thought you said you...never played before!” Baekhyun protests.
“I haven’t. But we played a similar card game in Q-17,” Jongdae says, smirking.
“I hate you,” Baekhyun says, and deals the cards again.
Twenty minutes later, Joonmyun steps into the room, looking pallid and tired. “What are you doing?”
“Gambling,” Yixing says with a smile.
“Is that our Partners Necklace?” Joonmyun asks, squinting at the beads on the bed.
“Yes,” is Yixing’s simple reply.
Joonmyun rolls his eyes and sighs. “Alright,” he says, and starts to unclasp his own. “Where’s another chair? I think Yixing cheats, I’ll keep him in line.”
“I knew it,” Baekhyun grouses.
“I don’t cheat,” Yixing sniffs. “I’m just a very good bluffer.”
“He’s got that kind of face,” Joonmyun agrees.
“Are we just gonna stand around or are we gonna play?” Jongdae asks, gesturing with his cards. “I have to go back to work in a bit.”
They play hand after hand, round after round, until Jongdae has to leave, and Joonmyun goes back to the other room to rest some more. Baekhyun has good rounds and bad rounds-Yixing was right, it’s mostly about luck, and just a little strategy when you’re playing with amateurs. He never wins an entire round, though. He refuses to give up until he has.
“We can keep playing,” Yixing says, watching Joonmyun through the doorway as he lies down in his bed. “I can stand to win a few more times.”
“That’s what you think,” Baekhyun says, counting out beads again.
They play three rounds in quick succession; Yixing wins them all with minimal effort. Baekhyun throws more cards, because Yixing always has to get up to retrieve them. He also throws a couple beads, and Yixing says that means he starts out with less, now. Which puts him at an automatic disadvantage. Baekhyun starts to give up hope of ever winning this fucking game.
And then, suddenly, during their fourth round, everything just kind of...clicks. Baekhyun wins hand after hand, high on victory, and Yixing watches in silent astonishment as he loses his beads rapidly. Yixing starts insisting on dealing the cards himself, but Baekhyun continues his winning streak. Yixing doesn’t win a single hand that entire round.
“What the hell?” Yixing says, staring at his cards and then Baekhyun’s pile of beads.
Baekhyun grins, preening.
“How did you do that?” Yixing asks seriously. “At first I thought it was luck, but that’s impossible.”
“It was easy,” Baekhyun laughs. “I figured it out. I just have to...pay attention to which cards we’ve already put down. That way I know which ones are still in the deck.”
Yixing gapes at him. “You…remember that?”
“What?”
“How do you remember that?” Yixing shakes his head in disbelief. “Baekhyun, that’s...that’s incredible.”
Baekhyun blinks. “I...I remembered. I just remembered.”
“That’s amazing,” Yixing breathes.
A grin breaks out across Baekhyun’s face, threatening to split it in half. “I remembered!” he says, too loudly. “Yixing, I remembered! I just...I just remembered! I saw it and it stayed there!”
Yixing beams back, holding out his hand for Baekhyun to slap it weakly. “That’s great, Baek! That’s really great. I’m so happy for you.” And he looks it.
Baekhyun feels himself tearing up, and he wipes it away with a laugh. “I remembered,” he says, sniffling. “I just looked and I didn’t forget.”
Yixing gets up on his knees and leans in to loop an arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, and Baekhyun’s beads roll wildly as Yixing’s knee upsets them but he doesn’t care. Yixing’s hug is gentle, but warm. “I’m proud of you,” he says, and it sounds like he means it.
“Thank you,” Baekhyun says, and he can’t stop laughing, or crying.
He doesn’t remember everything. Not even close. None of his old memories are back, or at least nothing life-changing or significant. But he absorbed information and retained it. A lot of information, detailed information. It’s a start.
The next day, Yixing walks into Baekhyun’s room in the morning with a smile and says, “Things are going to fucking suck today, Baekhyun.”
Joonmyun gapes at him, Liyin looks somewhat affronted, and Baekhyun just laughs.
He starts the day off laughing. That means more to him than any false optimism ever would.
*****
NEXT>>
A/N: A couple people asked, so I'll just mention it here: no one either than Kyungsoo and the other guards and leaders, plus Sehun, know anything about Chanyeol. Yixing and Joonmyun don't know, Minseok doesn't know, etc etc.
Find me on twitter, tumblr, and ask.fm!
See a handy-dandy character profile cheat sheet for this chapter here!
aka post-apocalypse au, aka painfic
Pairings:[Spoiler (click to open)]Baekxing, Xiuhan, Chansoo (+Chanyeol/Plant)
Genre: post-apocalypse, fantasy, drama, romance
Rating: R
Length: 137K total
Warnings: mature themes, violence/injury, some possibly disturbing imagery, threat of death, poor mental health, very brief mentions of suicidal ideation(?), sad times
Summary: Over a century after meteors destroyed Earth, making the surface uninhabitable, communities are returning from their bunkers and attempting to recolonize the planet. But resources are scarce, tensions are high, and neighbouring communities X-22 and Q-16 are fighting tooth and nail over the Valley, a rare patch of fertile land. Add to that a controversial group of humans with special abilities, and people will start to realize it's not the coming winter that's humanity's biggest obstacle-it's humanity itself. But that doesn't mean hope doesn't exist.
Chapter links: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
*****
Since the beginning of his night shifts guarding Chanyeol's workshop, Kyungsoo has played around with his sleep schedule a lot. He’s not used to sleeping during the day and staying awake until 5 in the morning, especially with X-22's fairly strict work-and-sleep schedules, so he had to train his body militantly in the beginning. Basically all he did was work and try to sleep, because despite how exhausted his body was, it didn't want to sleep when the sun was out.
Now, though, after over a month of it, it's finally getting into the swing of things. Kyungsoo's work shift is ten hours long, and he usually needs a nine-hour stretch to sleep (because Sehun occasionally wakes him up in the middle of it), which leaves him with five hours of free time. One hour is spent getting ready for his shift and eating his first meal of his day, and another is spent preparing and eating his last meal of his day, when all the cooks are just waking up to make breakfast.
Those remaining three hours he's been shifting around constantly over the course of his night shift career, trying to decide if it's better to be awake after or before he works. Now, finally, he's settled on before. Everyone's working then, but at least they're awake.
He spends time with Sehun, sometimes, visiting his unit brother in the fields and doing his duty as older brother-asking Sehun invasive questions, making sure he's eating well, masking his concerns with a layer of sarcasm and teasing. He pesters Sehun about Jongin, demanding friendship progress updates and chastising Sehun when he grumbles about not needing more friends. While being a very comfortable and sweet kid with people he knows well, Sehun is terrible with making new friends, always awkward and unsure and coming off as cold. He requires constant prodding if he's ever going to get anywhere. And Kyungsoo is more than willing to be the prodder. Sehun has a lot of love and nowhere to direct it.
Today, though, Kyungsoo visits Seulgi on her shift instead. He and Seulgi have been close friends for years, even before they became comrades in arms-Seulgi was a firecracker of a kid, which is just what quiet, sullen younger Kyungsoo had needed. They probably would have lived together when they came of age, if Seulgi hadn't had a brother to live with, and then a partner. And he barely gets to see her anymore, apart from a few shared words when they switch shifts. So he goes early today, furtively picking a few small, ripe cucumbers as he passes a field of them on his way.
"Hey, Prince Charming," she calls as soon as she spots Kyungsoo approaching, smiling wide. "What are you doing out here?"
"Came to rescue my favourite damsel in distress," Kyungsoo says, handing her a cucumber. Seulgi punches him. Hard.
"I never played that role and you know it," she says, crunching into the snack. "If anyone was in distress, it was you."
Kyungsoo chuckles, unable to deny it. Seulgi was bigger than him for quite a while when they were kids, as girls often are. She beat him up easily.
They stand there, chatting quietly and catching up on what’s been going on in their lives while they sleep at completely opposite times, until Kyungsoo suddenly picks up on another voice in the background. He stops, frowns. “What’s that?”
Seulgi blinks in surprise. “What?”
As soon as they’re both quiet, Kyungsoo recognizes the voice. “Is that Chanyeol?”
“The Sixer? Of course, he’s the only one around here, isn’t he?” Seulgi snickers.
Kyungsoo tries to peer through the barred door without being seen-he came here to visit his friend, not to spy. “Who is he talking to?”
“Uh, I don’t know. He’s always just talking. I think he’s a little nuts.” Seulgi gives Kyungsoo a look like he might be nuts, too.
“He just talks to no one?” Kyungsoo feels a pang in his chest.
“All day,” Seulgi says, nodding. “Well, on and off. You’ve never noticed?”
Kyungsoo just shakes his head mutely, stepping closer to the door to look inside. It takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative dimness inside the storehouse, but when they do, he can make out Chanyeol limping around the room, one crutch tucked under his arm to support himself. His leg’s been improving rapidly, and he doesn’t complain about the pain anymore, but it’ll be a while until it’s fully healed.
“-know I put it somewhere around here,” Chanyeol is saying, his voice filtering through the door. “Can’t have just wandered away, you know? No legs. I know the feeling. Just kidding, I have legs. It’s just that they prefer I stay in one place. But ah, no time for that, my friends. Things to do, killing machines to fix. Fucking wrenches to find. Where is it?” He mutters quietly for a minute, shoving around bits of rusted metal and broken electronics with the bottom of his crutch. Then he brightens. “Aha! There you are, you little bugger. Thought you could get away with doing no work today, did you? Not on my watch. Come on, you piece of shit, we have bolts to unscrew. And if they don’t unscrew, well, we’ll just have to find another way to get in there. That’s where my friend sledgehammer comes in handy.” He bends over at the waist, balancing carefully, and picks the wrench up before hobbling over to a large, black, oily contraption. “I’m just kidding, big guy, I wouldn’t do that to you. Mustn’t upset the balance of...life. Or whatever.”
Kyungsoo watches, swallowing hard, as Chanyeol continues chattering aimlessly, narrating his work, responding to his own questions. He laughs at his own jokes, chastises himself for mistakes, argues his own points. It makes Kyungsoo’s chest ache.
He watches Chanyeol bend a flap of metal back and forth for a minute straight as he explains to his pliers why he likes his bed-blanket in this spot on cloudy nights but that spot on clear ones, back and forth and back and forth, and then Kyungsoo clears his throat and says, “Hey hot stuff.”
The flap of metal finally breaks off as Chanyeol jolts in surprise, and one razor-sharp edge catches on the palm of his hand. “Shhhhhit,” Chanyeol hisses, and dark blood begins to drip onto the floor within seconds.
“Holy fuck!” Kyungsoo says loudly, eyes widening. He wheels around, sticks out his hand. “Seulgi, keys!”
Seulgi stares at him dumbly for a moment, then fumbles at her waist for the heavy padlock key for the door. Kyungsoo all but yanks it out of her hands the second it’s unlatched from her belt, shoving it into the lock. A few clumsy seconds later, he stumbles through, already reaching for Chanyeol’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks, yanking Chanyeol’s hand towards his roughly. It’s wrapped in dirty, oily cloths-they’re already soaking through with blood. “Fuck, Chanyeol.”
“I’m fine,” Chanyeol says quietly, but his hand is shaking in Kyungsoo’s grasp.
“Seulgi, go get some clean cloths or bandages or something,” Kyungsoo calls over his shoulder. “And some water, please. We can ask later if we have any antiseptic.”
She doesn’t respond, so Kyungsoo assumes she’s left. Hissing, he focuses his attention on Chanyeol’s bleeding hand-when he peels the cloth away, he sees a long gash from between his thumb and first finger all the way to the heel of his palm. It looks deep, too, enough that it's oozing blood at an alarming rate. He knows, in the back of his mind, that it's not that serious. Chanyeol has moved all of his fingers, so the metal didn't tear through any ligaments, and it's not like the wound is gushing. But there's blood all over his hand, dripping down his arm and onto the floor, and it looks gory and awful.
The rags Kyungsoo peeled away were filthy even before they got soaked with blood, and he's not sure whether he should try to use them to staunch the flow or burn the things.
"Don't you have anything cleaner than this?" he asks, pressing down on the inside of Chanyeol's wrist in a futile attempt at slowing down the blood flow. "God, this looks nasty. Where the hell is Seulgi? How long does it take to run there and back? I should have just told her to grab something from my house, it's way closer."
"I'm okay," Chanyeol says again.
"You're literally dripping blood all over me," Kyungsoo says, shaking his head. "Fuck, sorry, this is going to hurt like hell."
Chanyeol doesn't make a sound as Kyungsoo gives in and presses the dirty cloth to his palm, trying to stop the bleeding. Kyungsoo bites his tongue not to whimper himself.
They stand there in silence for a minute, with Kyungsoo holding Chanyeol's hand, holding the rag against it, until Kyungsoo quietly says, "I'm sorry for startling you. This is my fault.”
Chanyeol huffs out a breathy laugh. "It's okay. I'm just clumsy."
Kyungsoo shakes his head, but doesn't bother arguing. He knows it won't get them anywhere.
Seulgi turns up a few moments later, bearing the soft white cloth and compression bandages they keep for dressing battle wounds. Kyungsoo hasn't participated in a skirmish since the one where they took Chanyeol. He's always sleeping through them. "Here," she pants, handing them over. "But you're explaining this to Victoria."
"Sure," Kyungsoo mutters, already uncapping the tin flask of water she brought with. Chanyeol reaches for it with his uninjured hand, but Kyungsoo just knocks it away. "I got you," he says, trickling the water over Chanyeol's palm carefully. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he repeats, rubbing away the grit and rust and oil that had transferred to the wound. Chanyeol doesn't make a sound through it, even as his hand twitches and flinches away from his touch. As soon as it's as clean as it'll get-he's out of water and not about to send Seulgi back for more-he gentles his touch, folding a square of cloth over the oozing wound and securing it in place with careful fingers. When he's finished, he looks up at Chanyeol with anxious questions on his tongue.
Chanyeol stares back down at him, eyes wide and watching, his face just a few feet away, and the questions die in Kyungsoo's throat.
"Sorry," he whispers again, rubbing at the unmarred skin under Chanyeol's thumb under the pretext of wiping away blood or dirt or...something. He doesn't know. He just does it.
Chanyeol's throat clicks audibly as he swallows. "I'm alright," he says, voice thick.
"Okay," is Kyungsoo's soft reply.
"So, um," Seulgi says, and Kyungsoo jumps-he'd completely forgotten she was even still here. "I'm just gonna assume you're taking over my shift early. I'll bring you supper, okay? Cheers."
Chanyeol cracks a half smile, then gently pulls his hand out of Kyungsoo's. "I should get back to work."
"Will you be okay?" Kyungsoo asks, glancing over his shoulder to watch Seulgi leave. "I can't believe you're injured again, right after your leg was just healing."
"It's fine, Kyungsoo," Chanyeol insists, smiling a little wider this time. "Who needs two hands, anyway?"
"Um, everyone?" Kyungsoo shakes his head. "It's gonna be hard to do much fixing with one hand."
Chanyeol just shrugs. "Whatever. But I might ask you to help if I need extra hands with my puzzle box."
Kyungsoo snorts. "Shouldn't you be more concerned with your main task?"
"Ehhhh, who cares about that anyway." Chanyeol waves a dismissive hand. "Big piece of shit."
Kyungsoo bites his tongue. "Don't think you'll be able to fix it?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I don't know. Maybe." He pauses, and his little grin falters. "I don't- I don't know."
He gets a look on his face, distant and conflicted, and Kyungsoo hates it. He hates that it reminds him of what Chanyeol really is. A prisoner of war. A man fighting for his survival.
“So,” Kyungsoo exhales. “Looks like I’m starting my shift earlier than usual today.”
“Oh, shoot,” Chanyeol says, smiling again. “What a bummer.”
Kyungsoo’s lips turn up automatically in response. “Yeah.”
“I guess I should get back to work, too,” Chanyeol sighs, lifting his bandaged hand to wiggle his fingers tentatively. He winces immediately. “I do love pain.”
Kyungsoo sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Chanyeol peers at him through his over-long, limp fringe. “Kyungsoo. It’s fine. You’ve already done a lot for me.”
It hurts to hear him say that. What has Kyungsoo really done for him? Saved him from certain death just to hold him captive, to force him to complete an impossible task? He’s sure Chanyeol knows that, too.
“Keep the wound clean,” he says at last, avoiding Chanyeol’s heavy gaze. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure,” Chanyeol says, and then Kyungsoo retreats to his usual seat to watch.
The next morning, just before Kyungsoo heads to bed, Victoria seeks him out. “Kyungsoo,” she says, in a tone of voice that makes him want to shrink away. “I’m not trying to imply anything, but I think it’d be best if you spent less time in the building with the prisoner. You should only be going through that door to feed him and for emergencies.”
Kyungsoo has no idea how his commanding officer even knows how much time he spends inside Chanyeol’s workshop, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over that. A bubble of panic swells in his chest, and he tries to force it down. “With all due respect,” he says carefully, weighing his words, “I think he’ll go insane if I don’t. And it’d take him significantly longer to get anything done without help.”
Victoria levels him with a hard stare. “He could be dangerous, Kyungsoo. He’s a soldier. And an enemy.”
“He’s never acted out in a way I would call dangerous before,” Kyungsoo says, trying not to sound like he’s arguing.
“I do not want you to trust him.” Victoria lifts one eyebrow slightly. “And I do not want you to form an attachment, either.”
Kyungsoo swallows hard. “No, ma’am.”
Victoria holds her stare for a moment longer, as if to drive her point home, and then she shifts and says, “How’s progress on the Machine?”
“Slow,” Kyungsoo admits. “It looks messy at this point. But he says a lot of essential parts are still usable.”
His commanding officer hums and nods. “I’ll tell Boa. Make sure you keep a close eye on him, Kyungsoo. His leg is healing up.”
Kyungsoo bites his lip and nods. Victoria begins to turn, dismissing him silently, and he quickly speaks up. “Could we-” He fidgets. “Could we get the poor man some scissors? He can barely see through his hair.”
Victoria’s lips twitch, and for a moment, she looks disappointed. “You did your entire shift without your blaster on you, soldier.”
“What?” Kyungsoo blinks, fumbles at his waist. His holster isn’t there. Of course it isn’t-he’d gone yesterday to visit Seulgi, not to start his watch. “I-”
Victoria shakes her head. “I’ll ask Seulgi to deliver some scissors while Joohyun’s on shift. Get some rest, Kyungsoo. Don’t forget what I said.”
Kyungsoo gulps and nods, and when she dismisses him this time, he scampers back to his house guiltily.
He knows she’ll expect him to stay out of the storehouse from now on. But how can he be expected to follow those orders?
And yet, at the same time, can he really afford to get into anymore trouble?
***
Yifan has no idea what the hell he’s doing. A month ago, he left his community, his home, to go after his best friend. And now he’s, what, homesteading? How did this even happen to him? He knows, in his heart of hearts, that he can’t stay here. He has to do something. Luhan still hasn’t returned, and Yifan’s all but given up hope-if he’s honest with himself, Luhan is probably either dead or taken captive. But at the same time, that thought is so fucking depressing that Yifan is kind of just...avoiding it altogether. And even if Luhan is alive, he has no clue where Yifan is. If he returns-or has returned-and Yifan isn’t where Luhan left him, what then? What is he supposed to do?
And in the meantime, he’s living with Zitao, who turned out to be a pretty sweet kid, if a little wishy-washy. He expects Yifan to do his fair share of work, but as it turns out, there’s not all that much work to be done. They tend Zitao’s garden, they mend minor tears in their clothes, they do the washing with water Zitao brings in from the well in X-22’s fields. They do the cooking together, they try to figure out solutions to little problems they have around the house. It’s...quiet. It’s peaceful. And Yifan learns a lot.
“How long were you a rogue before you ended up here?” Zitao giggles, pulling Yifan’s jacket out of his hands to sew on a loose button himself after Yifan jabs himself with the needle multiple times. “How did you survive on your own?”
Yifan huffs, sucking on his smarting fingertip. “I just let my life fall to ruin before I came here,” he mutters.
“Clearly,” Zitao says with a matronly tsk. “What did you eat? Your first cooking attempts were terrible. I can say that now, because they’ve improved. A little.”
Yifan makes a face at him. “I just ate whatever.”
“Raw? I hope so, for the sake of your taste buds.” Zitao grins at him.
Yifan jostles him with his elbow, grinning as Zitao laughs and falls over into the grass. He’s honestly...grown to like Zitao a lot in the past three weeks. Things were awkward in the beginning, stilted and forced, with neither of them quite trusting the other, never able to relax around each other and yet always in close contact. But things have changed a lot in the past weeks. Yifan has never had a little brother-Chanyeol was the closest thing he ever had to a brother at all-but that’s what Zitao has turned into.
It’s kind of worrying, especially considering Yifan’s been lying to the kid nonstop since he met him. The more Zitao asks after his past, his background, the more Yifan has to make stuff up, layers upon layers of lies. He’s constantly worried he’s going to forget something he’s said and Zitao will call him out. But what is he supposed to do now? He’s already set all the traps for himself. Now he just has to be careful not to step into any of them by accident.
“You okay?” Zitao asks later that evening, handing back Yifan’s jacket, its loose button sewn back on and the fraying seam repaired.
Yifan swallows hard and nods, tearing his gaze away from X-22’s fields. This is the problem-he can’t even worry about his friends without having to make up a reason why he’s being quiet. “Fine,” he says. “Just...thinking.”
“About your family?” Zitao asks, soft and sad.
Yifan nods slowly. He’s made up tons of stuff about his fictional family recently. He’s starting to think he knows more about them than his real, biological family at this point.
“Do you think you’ll recognize them?” Zitao asks him. Always asking questions. “Do you remember what they looked like?”
Yifan offers a vague shrug. “Maybe I’ll recognize them when I see them. They probably won’t recognize me, right?”
“But they’ll know you by name,” Zitao says.
“Yeah. I hope so.”
They fall silent for a few moments, and then Zitao says, “I guess, when you leave, I’ll finally join X-22 like I’ve been planning.”
“Yeah, you think so?” That, Yifan has learned, is why Zitao continues to farm such a large plot of land-much larger than one person needs. He’s hoping to buy his way into X-22, using food that’ll be scarce as they head into cooler months. He’s been trading already, small amounts of vegetables for things like solar units and supplies.
Zitao nods. “I can’t stay here all winter. The tent won’t hold out the cold, and we have no idea what the weather will be like. I need thicker walls, more stability. More support.” He looks sad.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you,” Yifan assures him, nudging him with his shoulder. He wants to say join Q-16, they’ve taken in the needy before, they know how to treat them right. But Zitao never lets him forget what they did-or rather, what he believes they did-to his sister. “There are no other communities you’d rather join?” he asks anyway, hopeful. He’s grown attached to the younger man. He doesn’t want him to become an enemy.
But Zitao shakes his head. “No. I think I’d like it here. I mean, in an ideal world, I could stay where I am, but...I’ll be lonely.” He shoots Yifan a small smile. “I was lonely before you came. I’ll be even lonelier once you leave.”
Yifan swallows hard and ruffles his hair.
“I think I’ll like it here, though,” Zitao says again, looking out at the community before them. “They seem nice.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Yifan can’t help but say, venom sneaking into his voice. You think Q-16 took someone from you, but X-22 took more from me.
“That’s true,” Zitao says, looking at Yifan, and Yifan quickly looks away.
That night, Yifan falls asleep wondering anxiously if he’ll have to attempt a double rescue on his own, and wakes up to Zitao shaking his shoulder.
“What?” he says immediately, sitting bolt upright. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
Zitao is kneeling at his side, eyes wide in the slice of moonlight that falls in through the open tent flap. His voice is unsteady, unsure as he says, “I was thinking about what you said.”
Yifan squints at him, puzzled. “What did I say? In my sleep?”
“No, earlier.” Zitao taps his knee nervously. “About appearances being deceiving.”
Yifan feels like his stomach has turned to lead. “O-oh, oh yeah? What about it?”
Zitao’s gulp is audible in the following silence. “I just. I have something to tell you. That I was hiding, I guess, before.”
“What?” Yifan can feel panic rising, anxiety pulsing through him.
Zitao twists the edge of his shirt in his hands. “Promise me you won’t hate me?”
“I promise,” Yifan says quickly. What’s one more lie?
Zitao’s gaze is piercing even in the darkness. “I’m a conjurer.”
Yifan stops short. “A...what?”
“A conjurer. I’m paranormal.”
Yifan just...stares. “What are you talking about?”
He almost feels bad, because Zitao looks like he’s about to cry. “I know you said you’re neutral, but I was worried about what you would say. I was worried you would hate me. So many people hate us, so I was worried. My sister, she-she wasn’t my sister. She was my sorcerer partner. She was killed because-” His face crumples. “I was just scared.”
Yifan doesn’t respond, still busy trying to process. He doesn’t know what all the terms Zitao uses mean, but he’s catching the general gist of it. He understands what Zitao is.
“You don’t hate me, do you?” Zitao asks desperately. “I know I lied to you, but I’m being honest now. I want to be honest. Are you going to leave now?”
“I- Tao-”
“I just wanted to be honest,” Zitao says quietly, ducking his head.
Yifan shakes his head, takes a moment to take it all in. Zitao is...paranormal. He’s one of them. He’s one of the people Community Leader has been warning them about since the beginning, calling them freaks, calling them dangerous. Calling them self-serving and supremacist. That’s the image Yifan has of paranormals.
But Zitao is none of those things. Yifan has been living with him for three weeks, and all he has seen from the younger man is compassion, and kindness, and understanding. Zitao has offered Yifan a home and food, has trusted him in the bed next to his as he sleeps-and Yifan has trusted him in return. Zitao says things like all beings are born equal and life is hard enough without people fighting to be better than each other.
“I won’t say I’m not surprised,” Yifan says slowly, deliberately. “But I don’t...hate you.”
“But you’re still leaving?” Zitao says, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Yifan barely even pauses before he says, “No.”
“Really?” Zitao’s face lights up.
Yifan seeks out his face in the dark, offers his best smile. “No. Not yet.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Zitao laughs, flops down on his bed mat. “I didn’t like keeping it a secret from you. It’s just who I am, you know? It’s not something I can change, and it doesn’t change who I am. I didn’t like lying to you.”
Yifan lies down slowly, turning away to squeeze his eyes shut. Shit. “Thanks, Tao,” he says softly.
“I knew you wouldn’t hate me,” Zitao says, sounding pleased. “You’re not like them.”
Yifan exhales a long breath. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Shit.
***
Most mornings, Baekhyun wakes up to the sound of voices. Liyin’s, asking how he’s feeling. Yixing’s, telling him what they’ll be working on that day. Jongdae’s, with his usual cheerful, “Got any important secrets for me today?” He likes waking up to voices. Anyone’s really. If people are talking to him, he doesn’t have time to sit and brood. He doesn’t have time to think about how much he hates being awake.
But some days, inevitably, he wakes up to silence.
The sun streams in through his window, filtering through the leaves of Chanyeol’s plant to dapple his floor and the end of his bed. Baekhyun draws a few breaths, stretching his aching ribs. For a few minutes, everything is still and peaceful. For a few minutes, everything is good.
And then he struggles to sit up, arms weak and trembling, breaths coming short, and his still-healing ribs protest, and everything feels so jumbled and fuzzy in his head, and in the end he just slumps against the wall behind him and blinks back tears, miserable. He’s like a fucking child and he hates it.
Wiping his eyes roughly, he reaches out for the cup next to his bed, half-full of water. His hand shakes no matter how hard he tries to keep it steady, but he gets his fingers around it and tightens his grip as much as he can manage, concentrating hard. He’s exhausted by the time he lifts it off the side table, his arm tired and his entire body aching, but he tries hard, he doesn’t give up.
He gets the cup three-quarters of the way to his mouth, and then it slips out from between his fingers, bouncing off his bed mat and clattering to the floor loudly in a mess of spilled water. Baekhyun chokes on his own frustration, wanting so badly to hit something, or throw something, but incapable of even doing that much. So he just sits in his bed and bites back a scream.
“Baek?” comes a soft, familiar voice. Yixing pokes his head in, looking concerned. “I didn’t know you were awake. What happened?”
Baekhyun grinds his teeth together. “Cup,” he spits, gesturing.
Yixing hums, frowning. “Not a good start to the day.”
Baekhyun crosses his arms with some effort and angles his body away, towards the wall, so Yixing won’t see his how hard it is for him not to burst into tears. It’s just...so fucking hard sometimes. He’s healing, he’s getting better, but everything is moving so slowly. Everything still hurts, day in and day out. Physical therapy is torture, and while he’s starting to remember things, piece by piece, nothing seems important or useful or whole. He has to constantly ask questions, ask if he’s remembered to take care of Chanyeol’s plant, ask if Jongdae’s already been by that day, ask for help, ask to be fed. He cries too easily, has temper tantrums too quickly. Things are getting better, but it’s too slow.
And through it all, he feels like he’s so alone. Everyone is busy, working hard to keep the community afloat-they don’t have time for him. Jongdae can only stop by so often. Liyin has other patients. His mother is a hardworking Caretaker for young children. His father pretends Baekhyun isn’t even his son. And his friends are...gone, dead.
How can he be expected to do this on his own?
“I’ll get this cleaned up, no worries,” Yixing says, entering the room fully to pick up Baekhyun’s tin cup and set it on the table again before finding a rag to mop up the spill. “You thirsty? I’ll get you more water, one second.”
Baekhyun doesn’t respond until he returns, the cup only halfway refilled in case of another spill, and hands it to him carefully, hovering so he can assist if needed. Baekhyun drains it as quickly as he can, then hands it back as he says, “Where’s Liyin?”
“Tending to some fevers, I think. Nothing serious, I’m guessing, but people are antsy after the plague and all.” Yixing shrugs. “I’m not sure how much she’ll be able to be in here today.”
Baekhyun sighs softly, staring at his hands as they tremble uncontrollably in his lap. “No physio, then, I guess.”
“You still have to do your stretches, though,” Yixing says, shaking a finger at him. “No slacking.”
His tone of voice is teasing, like he expects Baekhyun to whine childishly in response. But Baekhyun just sighs again, shrugs. “When is Jongdae coming in?”
“You slept through breakfast, so he should be in for lunch in about...four hours?” Yixing disappears briefly, returns with a tray of cold food. “Here, you’re probably hungry.”
Baekhyun shrugs, listlessly picking up a spoonful of congealed oatmeal. He rarely has an appetite, and the food he’s served doesn’t help, but he shoves it into his mouth anyway.
“Joonmyun is still sleeping, too,” Yixing says, sitting down in the chair next to Baekhyun’s bed. “He’s not feeling very well, either. He just ate and went back to bed.” He fiddles with Baekhyun’s blankets as he talks. “It’s hard for us to work when we’re sick, same as if we’re tired. They’re closely related. So the more he rests, the faster he’ll get better.”
Baekhyun just nods, keeps eating.
“So it’s just me and you for a while. But that’s alright. Right? We can spend some time together, just us two.” Yixing smiles at him, pats his leg through the blanket.
Baekhyun stares into his bowl. “I’m not a child,” he says finally.
“What?”
“You always...treat me like a baby. I hate it. Stop.”
Yixing stares at him, blinking wordlessly. “I’m-”
“I already know that I’m like a fucking...infant. You don’t have to remind me...constantly.” God. Sometimes the words come to Baekhyun easily, just there and rolling off his tongue, and then other times he has to search for each and every one.
Yixing is quiet for a few moments, and Baekhyun expects him to deny it, to say that’s not what he’s doing. But instead, when he speaks, it’s to say, “What do I do that you don’t like?’
Baekhyun shrugs, stabs his spoon weakly into his bowl. “You’re always lying to me. Telling me things are going to be great, soon. But I know they’re not. I have a brain, even if it’s shit.”
“So what should I say instead?” Yixing asks, patient, soft, like always.
“Be honest.” Baekhyun huffs. “Be...brutally honest with me. Don’t...sugarcoat. Instead of saying You’re fine, everything’s going to be fine, just...straight-up tell me Things are going to fucking suck today, Baekhyun. Just tell me.”
Yixing laughs a little. “That’s what you want to hear?”
“Of course not. But it’s the truth.”
When Baekhyun looks at Yixing, he’s smiling. “Alright,” he says. “I can try. But correct me, in the future, when I mess up. Okay?”
Baekhyun shrugs. “Sure.”
“What else do I do?”
“You…” Baekhyun pauses, feels his attention start to slip, and forcefully pulls it back. “You use that tone of voice. Like my mother uses with the children. All...light, and soft.”
Yixing laughs. “That’s just my voice, Baekhyun. I can’t change that.”
“Well, don’t use it with me,” Baekhyun says stubbornly, frowning. “Like, get angry sometimes, you know? You’re a fucking...prisoner. Act like it. Act like Joonmyun. Swear sometimes. Call me a...fucking spoiled brat. Throw things.”
Yixing smiles, propping his elbow on the edge of Baekhyun’s bed mat and settling his chin in it. “I don’t want to.”
“Why? You’re...being kept here against your will. You should be furious.”
“Things aren’t ideal,” Yixing relents. “And there is one person I miss and worry about back home. But things weren’t ideal there, either. It doesn’t feel very different, to be helping you here, and to be helping them in X-22. It’s equally fulfilling work, even if it was by choice out there. Watching the plants grow, and watching you heal. I’m not exactly...happy, here. My freedom is limited and I’m not always treated well. But I’m here with my sorcerer, and I’m doing what I can to help.”
Baekhyun stares at him. “You’re...insane,” he says, shaking his head.
Yixing smiles. “That’s what Joonmyun tells me.”
A few moments of silence stretch between them, and then Baekhyun sighs and says, “Your optimism is...infuriating.”
“Joonmyun tells me that, too,” Yixing says, chuckling. “But he needs it. And I need it. We can’t both be miserable and broody. We’d die.”
Baekhyun just shakes his head and looks away. “No more babying,” he says, just so they’re clear.
“I’ll do my best,” Yixing agrees.
An hour drags by, mostly in silence. Joonmyun is still asleep, Liyin is still busy, and Yixing reads quietly, although he does offer to read to Baekhyun once. Baekhyun declines; he always gets the names mixed up and zones out and gets lost. He begrudgingly appreciates the offer, though.
“Stop ruminating,” Yixing says out of nowhere, without even bothering to look up from his book. Baekhyun realizes abruptly how generous it was of Liyin to give the paranormals something to do. But then, it’s her job as a healer to keep people sane.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Baekhyun asks. He doesn’t even try to pretend that’s not what he was doing. He’s been silent for ages, frowning into space.
Yixing looks up at him. “I know things are really bad for you right now, Baek,” he says. Baekhyun wonders when he started using that nickname with him, like they’re friends. Chanyeol used to call him that. “But you won’t feel better by sitting there thinking about how bad they are. You’re just letting your unhappiness fester. It’s not healthy.”
“Well, what do you suggest,” Baekhyun growls. “Don’t tell me to...entertain myself and then not give me any ideas. People aren’t exactly…” He closes his eyes, grasps for the word. Yixing waits, patient as always, but doesn’t intercede. “Piling up to distract me.”
“Lining up,” Yixing says gently. It’s not mocking or superior. It’s just a correction, to help Baekhyun connect the phrase to the meaning he’d been aiming for. “And I’m right here.”
“You’re lining up to distract me?” Baekhyun asks.
Yixing smiles. “Hold on a second.” He stands up, puts his book down, and disappears into the attached room.
A moment later he returns, holding a deck of cards. “Fold your legs.”
“What?”
Yixing gestures at Baekhyun’s blanket. “Scoot. I can’t fit if you have your legs stretched out like that.”
Baekhyun feels completely baffled, but he works on folding his legs in front of him, using his hands to pull them into place when they refuse to do as he tells them to. Yixing waits until he’s made enough room to sit down on the end of his bed, mirroring his position across from him. He slaps down the deck of cards in front of him-it’s really just a stack of paper cut into card-sized rectangles, with numbers and pictures drawn onto them with pencil. They look unfamiliar. “We don’t have these kinds of cards,” he says uncertainly.
“I figured. Joonmyun had never seen them before, either. I think we just had them in our bunker.” Yixing laughs.
Baekhyun frowns. “Wasn’t Joonmyun in your bunker?”
Yixing shakes his head, sorting out the deck into piles. “No, I came from Gamma. Our bunker was close to Delta’s. I came of age while we were still underground, but didn’t find a matched sorcerer among my group. There were three of us-two conjurers and a sorcerer-who couldn’t find a match among Gamma, so we were sent over to Delta to try our luck there. I met Joonmyun there, and we matched up really well, so I joined Delta Group. The sorcerer found a match, too. The other conjurer didn’t, so I think he went over to Beta. That was, hmm, five years ago?”
“Oh,” Baekhyun says, looking over the cards. “So there’s like...a paranormal...matchmaking system?”
“Magical Matchmaking,” Yixing says, nodding. “Kind of, I guess. It’s pretty important to find a match, so we do what we need to. Romantic matches just happen the usual way,” he adds with a laugh.
“But you found both in Joonmyun?” Baekhyun asks.
Yixing blinks at him, then snorts. “A magical match has nothing to do with romantic compatibility, and especially not attraction.”
Baekhyun fidgets. “You’re not…?”
“You non-paranormals are always asking that,” Yixing says with a smile. “He’s my sorcerer partner, not my husband. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be close. We’re still partners. We need to be.”
Baekhyun huffs, reaching out to pick up a card just so he has something to do with his hands. “I don’t...know much about paranormals.”
“Yeah, I get the feeling all of Q-16 is like that,” Yixing says with a slight smile. Then he straightens, plucking the card from Baekhyun’s fingers. “Alright, listen, I’ll explain this really well.”
Baekhyun sighs, slumping where he sits. “I don’t want to play...memory games, Yixing. Liyin plays them with me...enough. They make me feel like shit. Not better. I thought you were trying to...distract me, or whatever.”
“This isn’t a memory game,” Yixing says. “It’s just a game. Mostly of luck, but also strategy. Listen.”
Baekhyun sniffs crankily, but it’s not like he has much else to do, so he stays silent and listens as Yixing describes each card class and value, and then how to match them, how to use the cards he’s handed, how to trade them in for others. Baekhyun has to ask a lot of questions, has to have the rules repeated to him time and time again, but Yixing doesn’t act annoyed or frustrated. He just explains again, over and over.
“So, before we play, you have to offer something.”
Baekhyun frowns. “Offer something?”
“Yeah. You offer something, I offer something. Whoever wins gets both things.” Yixing smiles winningly.
“You mean…gambling?” Baekhyun asks incredulously. “We don’t gamble in Q-16. It’s against the rules. Everyone shares everything.”
Yixing’s grin doesn’t waver. “No one’s looking, are they?”
“What would I...wager?” Baekhyun asks. “What would you wager?”
“Hmmmm.” Yixing taps his chin. “We used to use smooth stones to gamble with. Or marbles. Do you have anything like that?”
Baekhyun shakes his head slowly.
“Huh. You’re making this difficult for me.” Yixing frowns for a few moments, then brightens. “Ah!” Out of his shirt, he pulls a string of what look like polished black and grey beads. He unclasps it carefully, then yanks the two ends apart so that the string snaps, allowing a shower of beads to fall to the blanket. “This is mine and Joonmyun’s Partners Necklace,” he says with a chuckle.
“Won’t he be...mad you broke it?” Baekhyun asks, eyes wide.
“No,” Yixing says simply. “Here, divide the beads up between us.”
There are sixty beads total, giving them thirty each to start off with. Yixing puts two of his beads in the center after he deals them each five cards, and so Baekhyun puts in two as well. Then they start playing.
Baekhyun is...honestly terrible. He constantly forgets the rules and has to ask Yixing to repeat them, thus giving himself away. And Yixing is surprisingly ruthless when it comes to gambling. He doesn’t make fun of Baekhyun, but he doesn’t take it easy on him, either. He plays to win, and he does. Within half an hour, Yixing has fifty-four beads, and Baekhyun has six.
“Should we just give me this round and start fresh, thirty-thirty?” he asks, peeking at his cards and then at their current wagers.
Baekhyun growls, glares at his shaking hand of cards. “No,” he says resolutely. “I’ll play to the end.”
He loses magnificently, and lets loose a colourful stream of curses. Yixing laughs and gathers the cards Baekhyun threw to the floor in a fit of rage, then divides their beads up again. They start another round without question.
This time, Baekhyun does slightly better. It lasts a full hour and a half before he loses all his beads and throws his cards again, accusing Yixing of cheating. He was sure he remembered all the rules these last few hands, but Yixing still manages to beat him easily. “You just have more practice,” he argues, shuffling the deck clumsily. “I’ll win this time.”
“Sure,” Yixing says with a smile. “I believe you.”
At lunch, they place their trays on the side table and on the bed next to them and keep playing, and Jongdae walks in to see Baekhyun crankily smoothing out a card he crumpled in his fist. “Jongdae,” he says. “Sit down. Ever gambled before?”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows at him. “You look chipper today.”
“No time for your...sass. You have a game to learn. I need to be better than someone.”
Jongdae learns the rules in five minutes, and beats Baekhyun during his first hand, grinning.
“I thought you said you...never played before!” Baekhyun protests.
“I haven’t. But we played a similar card game in Q-17,” Jongdae says, smirking.
“I hate you,” Baekhyun says, and deals the cards again.
Twenty minutes later, Joonmyun steps into the room, looking pallid and tired. “What are you doing?”
“Gambling,” Yixing says with a smile.
“Is that our Partners Necklace?” Joonmyun asks, squinting at the beads on the bed.
“Yes,” is Yixing’s simple reply.
Joonmyun rolls his eyes and sighs. “Alright,” he says, and starts to unclasp his own. “Where’s another chair? I think Yixing cheats, I’ll keep him in line.”
“I knew it,” Baekhyun grouses.
“I don’t cheat,” Yixing sniffs. “I’m just a very good bluffer.”
“He’s got that kind of face,” Joonmyun agrees.
“Are we just gonna stand around or are we gonna play?” Jongdae asks, gesturing with his cards. “I have to go back to work in a bit.”
They play hand after hand, round after round, until Jongdae has to leave, and Joonmyun goes back to the other room to rest some more. Baekhyun has good rounds and bad rounds-Yixing was right, it’s mostly about luck, and just a little strategy when you’re playing with amateurs. He never wins an entire round, though. He refuses to give up until he has.
“We can keep playing,” Yixing says, watching Joonmyun through the doorway as he lies down in his bed. “I can stand to win a few more times.”
“That’s what you think,” Baekhyun says, counting out beads again.
They play three rounds in quick succession; Yixing wins them all with minimal effort. Baekhyun throws more cards, because Yixing always has to get up to retrieve them. He also throws a couple beads, and Yixing says that means he starts out with less, now. Which puts him at an automatic disadvantage. Baekhyun starts to give up hope of ever winning this fucking game.
And then, suddenly, during their fourth round, everything just kind of...clicks. Baekhyun wins hand after hand, high on victory, and Yixing watches in silent astonishment as he loses his beads rapidly. Yixing starts insisting on dealing the cards himself, but Baekhyun continues his winning streak. Yixing doesn’t win a single hand that entire round.
“What the hell?” Yixing says, staring at his cards and then Baekhyun’s pile of beads.
Baekhyun grins, preening.
“How did you do that?” Yixing asks seriously. “At first I thought it was luck, but that’s impossible.”
“It was easy,” Baekhyun laughs. “I figured it out. I just have to...pay attention to which cards we’ve already put down. That way I know which ones are still in the deck.”
Yixing gapes at him. “You…remember that?”
“What?”
“How do you remember that?” Yixing shakes his head in disbelief. “Baekhyun, that’s...that’s incredible.”
Baekhyun blinks. “I...I remembered. I just remembered.”
“That’s amazing,” Yixing breathes.
A grin breaks out across Baekhyun’s face, threatening to split it in half. “I remembered!” he says, too loudly. “Yixing, I remembered! I just...I just remembered! I saw it and it stayed there!”
Yixing beams back, holding out his hand for Baekhyun to slap it weakly. “That’s great, Baek! That’s really great. I’m so happy for you.” And he looks it.
Baekhyun feels himself tearing up, and he wipes it away with a laugh. “I remembered,” he says, sniffling. “I just looked and I didn’t forget.”
Yixing gets up on his knees and leans in to loop an arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, and Baekhyun’s beads roll wildly as Yixing’s knee upsets them but he doesn’t care. Yixing’s hug is gentle, but warm. “I’m proud of you,” he says, and it sounds like he means it.
“Thank you,” Baekhyun says, and he can’t stop laughing, or crying.
He doesn’t remember everything. Not even close. None of his old memories are back, or at least nothing life-changing or significant. But he absorbed information and retained it. A lot of information, detailed information. It’s a start.
The next day, Yixing walks into Baekhyun’s room in the morning with a smile and says, “Things are going to fucking suck today, Baekhyun.”
Joonmyun gapes at him, Liyin looks somewhat affronted, and Baekhyun just laughs.
He starts the day off laughing. That means more to him than any false optimism ever would.
*****
NEXT>>
A/N: A couple people asked, so I'll just mention it here: no one either than Kyungsoo and the other guards and leaders, plus Sehun, know anything about Chanyeol. Yixing and Joonmyun don't know, Minseok doesn't know, etc etc.
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