#239: mirror’s edge

[lordchen]

Prompt: #239
Title: mirror’s edge
Pairing: baekhyun/chen
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: (if any) mild gore
Word count: 9.2k
Summary: Jongdae wakes up in a world not of his own and meets a Baekhyun not of his own, but his heart is still at home.
Author's note: unfortunately, due to last minute editing problems, i was unable to develop this nearly as much as i wanted, nor was i able to write the rating that was prompted. thank you to ink and the mods for being fantabulous, and i hope you guys enjoy anyways ;;;



“Hey, where are you?” Baekhyun’s voice is crackly. Jongdae puts it on speaker, but it’s really not much better. He’s really not supposed to be picking up a call while driving, but it’s already six forty-five and he’d said that he’d be home by six.

“I’m almost home, don’t worry,” he says, even though he’s a good half hour away. There’s been a major accident on the highway; five, six car pile-up. Traffic is absolute hell. The car in front of him screeches to a halt for the umpteenth time, and Jongdae bites back a curse as he slams on the brakes to avoid crashing into it.

“Why-” Baekhyun’s voice cuts off into static as Jongdae passes under a bridge.

“Sorry babe, what did you say?”

“Why- home yet?” Baekhyun says. Jongdae doesn’t catch the whole sentence, but it’s enough for him to get the meaning.

“The hospital had a last minute issue with the computer system, and I had to hand copy the info for my last fourteen patients. Took me a little extra time, and then I got caught in traffic. I’ll be home soon, don’t worry.”

“Okay-” The phone cuts off again before Jongdae can figure out what Baekhyun said, but he’s more focused on not ramming his tiny car into the car in front of him.

“Hello? Baek?” The only response Jongdae gets is the electronic beeping that tells him the line’s gone dead. “Shit.”

It starts to rain, as if the day weren’t bad enough: fat raindrops smack against his windshield as the sky rapidly darkens, gray clouds gathering from out of nowhere. Jongdae flicks on his windshield wipers, squinting to try and see through the sudden downpour.

There’s a medley of honks that sound, and finally, Jongdae’s able to move his car about twenty feet before he has to come to a stop. Damn it.

It’s raining really, really badly. Jongdae wonders if Mother Nature’s giving a last-ditch attempt to drown the human race again. He adjusts his windshield wipers to the highest speed, but the raindrops fall faster than they’re wiped away and Jongdae’s left almost completely unable to see. The highway isn’t all that high, maybe ten feet at most, but if he squints at the ground Jongdae’s no longer able to make out anything more than a green blur.

The car next to him suddenly lurches left, dangerously close.

“The hell?” Jongdae yelps, as he swerves to avoid being hit. Thank god he was on the farthest path left, or he would have slammed into someone. He looks at the other driver, fulling intent on blasting his horn. However, Jongdae’s own car suddenly slides, and he realizes with a chill that it hadn’t been a bad driver causing the car to move; with the rain, the tires can’t get enough traction.

The traffic has completely stopped moving, with everyone just trying to not die. At this rate, Jongdae’s not going to be home until tomorrow.

A sudden flash of white blinds Jongdae, and by the time he comes back to his bearings, thunder is already rumbling, chaotic and loud. There’s the pungent smell of something burning, and when Jongdae squints through the rain, he sees the railing twenty feet from him is smoking, struck from lightning.

Jongdae balks at the fire. It looks like it’s swallowing the railing , flames spreading out from the corner that had been struck by lightning, going strong even in the torrential rain. It’s scary but Jongdae can’t look away, can’t tear his eyes away from the burning metal.
The line of cars sluggishly move forward, Jongdae in it. There’s a yellow light from his left: someone’s trying to change lanes. Jongdae moves ahead as much as he can to give the person some space. His phone buzzes in his lap, and he sees Baekhyun’s name flash on the screen.

Well, he’s not going anywhere anyway, might as well.

hey, there’s been a sudden rainstorm: stay safe, ok? -b

Jongdae smiles at the text, hitting reply to tell Baekhyun that he’s fine and would be home soon.

don’t worry about me, i’ll be home soon--

Before he can finish his text message, loud honking sounds up, frantic and from more than one car. Jongdae looks up too late, and only feels the impact of another car bumping into him. It isn’t a bad bump, but there will be a dent.

It’s not the bump that scares Jongdae, though, it’s the force. His car is already pitching sideways, and Jongdae can’t get in control, no matter how much he slams on the brake or pulls his steering wheel. Shit, shit, shit-- Jongdae can’t do anything. The car hits the burning section of railing, and the railing gives.

The car teeters on the edge. Finally reaction, Jongdae unclicks his seatbelt. After a second of hesitation, he grabs his work bag from the seat next to him, loops it around his neck, and forces the car door open. He’s not fast enough: both Jongdae and the car roll off the edge.
The few seconds of freefall he has are the most terrifying few seconds of Jongdae’s life. The piece of railing is pressed up against the open door, causing it to smoke, but thankfully Jongdae’s already out.

They hit the ground: the car, thank god, lands a good five feet from where Jongdae had slammed into the ground, shoulder throbbing from where he’d taken the impact even with his bag. The piece of railing that fallen with them is crushed under the car, and Jongdae trembles when he realizes that if he hadn’t tried to get out just a second ago, he would have be in the same condition.

The car catches on fire, and Jongdae watches, transfixed with fear. What the actual hell is going on? Jongdae doesn’t have time to think about it though: before he can even assess the situation, the flames catch onto his bag, and frantically, Jongdae pats it out and backs away from the burning mess.

His car is wrecked, burning, and on a full tank of gas, too. Jongdae’s mind is whirling, confused and terrified and-- full tank of gas.

Fuck. Jongdae turns tail and runs into the forest, not caring about how many branches dragged cuts across his face, how many rocks he tripped on, fear causing adrenaline instead of blood to run through his veins. The work bag hits his thigh with every step he takes, phone still gripped tightly in his hand.

Jongdae doesn’t know how long he runs for, but by the time he stops, he has no idea where he is.

His heart is going a thousand miles a minute, racing in his chest as Jongdae struggles to not panic. Nothing had hurt when he was running from the car, but the second he stops, every breath brings a wave of pain so bad it makes his vision go dark at the edges.

The cuts on his face don’t even sting, fading into the background as the pain in his chest completely consumes him. Jongdae has to pant in shallow breaths, anything more hurts, but he can’t get enough oxygen after running for so long. Carefully, he brings up his hand to feel around his ribcage, and-- ow, shit-- he finds it. His side is so tender, and Jongdae figures that he has a broken rib, or a few.

He stumbles to his knees, coughing. It hurts like hell.

Jongdae fumbles with his phone, but there’s no cell service.

His vision starts fading in and out, and Jongdae doesn’t notice the way the air around him is rippling. It starts gentle, but as Jongdae sways back and forth, unsteady on his knees, it gets faster and faster. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears, roaring like the neverending roll of a drum. It’s hard to breathe.

Jongdae can’t stay awake anymore. He pitches forwards, sinking into blissful darkness.

It’s hot. Jongdae has yet to open his eyes, but the world around him is burning. Something explodes, and then the shriek of a firework fills the air.

Why is it so hot?

Jongdae tries to push himself up, but only manages to succeed in coughing up more blood. He can’t do anything but roll over pitifully, and even that is agonizing. Sunlight shines directly on his face, and the grass beneath him is dried and crunchy, not wet from the rain nor lush and green how it should have been.

Where is he?

Jongdae opens his eyes, and the sight that greets him is… not right.

There is not a tree in sight. He’s lying on a large, flat, open plain, under the brutal gaze of the sun: a fire rages on in the far distance, and small figures move in and out of sight around it. There’s no sound of the freeway. Jongdae’s work bag is gone, and so is his phone.
“Wha-” Jongdae’s voice catches in his throat, panic flooding into his system. The sound of marching distracts him, however, and he twists to see a large host of at least fifty men swiftly making their way to him. Dressed in what looked to be combat armor and with a nasty-looking gun strapped to their back, the men-- and women, Jongdae notices--cut a terrifying figure again the barren backdrop.

“Halt!” One of the men in the front hollers, his chest glinting with the obscene amount of medals pinned to the left side of his uniform. The first row is devoid of armor, wearing nothing but a high-collared shirt in blue and black, medals on the left side. Most have two or three at the most, but the man who spoke has fifteen at the least.

Jongdae watches as four people break away from the group, and the rest of the group leaves, marching towards the fire. He tries to get up again, maybe to call for help, but he can’t. The sky is a shade of gray-blue, the smoke staining it with pitch black.

“Who are you?”

Jongdae jolts, and then hisses in pain, closing his eyes. He hears footsteps, louder, and realizes that the four who had broken away from the the group are now around him.

“One more time, who are you?”

Jongdae’s eyes flutter open, and he gets to stare down the barrel of one of the guns.
“Jongdae. Kim Jongdae,” he croaks, weakly reaching up past the weapon towards the person holding it. “Help me, please.”

The person holding the gun tilts his head.

“Sergeant, he’s going to die.”

Someone moves from behind him. “Bring him in, then. If he’s a spy for the other side, we can get something out of him. If not, we’ll kill him.”

Jongdae freezes, and not just from the threat. The voice is cold, too cold, not gentle and teasing, but it’s impossible for Jongdae to mistake this voice.

The soldier with the gun straps his weapon back, and then bends down to pick Jongdae up. As he moves, the person behind him is visible at last, and Jongdae recognizes the blond hair and downturn to his lips almost immediately.

“Baekhyun?” he gasps, and sucks in an quick breath when his chest burns. The soldier brings his arm up too quickly and Jongdae screams. “Baekhyun--”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen only a fraction, and then Jongdae is out again.

His mouth is dry. Jongdae doesn’t even want to open his eyes anymore, tired of moving. But he does anyway, sitting up and swallowing to try and bring a little moisture to his throat. His eyes are dry as well. Jongdae brings up a hand to try and rub at his face but his wrist is lashed to the bedpost. Something feels different

“Oh, you’re up.”

Jongdae’s head whips to the right, too fast. Baekhyun (is it Baekhyun? It is.) leans on the wall next to the cot that Jongdae is lying on.

“Feeling better?” Baekhyun asks, cocking his head. “Still gonna die?”

The pain in his side is gone. Shocked, Jongdae lifts his free hand and feels around his ribcage: no fractures, no pain, nothing at all.

“You had three broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung. If we’d found you twenty minutes later, you’d be dead,” Baekhyun says.

“You-- how--” Jongdae stammers. “Baekhyun, why are you here? Where are you?”

Baekhyun drags a chair next to the cot and sits down, ignoring Jongdae’s questions.

“Now that you’re awake, you have three seconds to explain how the fuck you know my name,” he hisses.

Jongdae blanches. “What- Baek, what?”

The soldier across from him tilts his head. “Not even the captain knows my name, much less people we randomly find outside, half dead and dressed in clothing that we don’t recognize. So, tell me--Jongdae, was it?-- how you know me.”

Speechless, Jongdae sputters. “You’re my boyfriend!” he yelps, yanking at the restraint on his right wrist. “We live in an apartment together, but now we’re in this weirdass place with a bunch of terrifying soldiers.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrow, looking in absolute confusion at Jongdae, as if he’s never seen the other before. “What are you talking about?”

“You- me, us,” Jongdae says worriedly, mouth dropping open at Baekhyun’s blank expression. “Baekhyun, what the fuck?”

“Can you stop saying my name?” Baekhyun snaps, crossing his arms. “And I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never even met you before.”

“Baek-”

“I said,” Baekhyun hisses, eyes flashing. “Stop saying that name. I don’t go by it, and if someone else overhears that, you could get me killed.”

Before Jongdae can answer, the doors to his room swing open and a man walks in wearing a white coat two sizes too big for him. Baekhyun’s lips press tightly together.

“Oh, you’re up!” The doctor chirps happily, pulling out a clipboard and quickly scribbling some marks onto the white paper. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh- good, I guess. Better,” Jongdae says. He tugs at the thin cotton of the white shirt that he’s wearing uncomfortably.

“So I was unable to find an ID chip on you.” The man in the white coat peers down at Jongdae. “According to the computer system, you do not exist.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath from Baekhyun.

“ID chip?” Jongdae asks. He looks to Baekhyun, whose eyes are wide and disbelieving. “Baek-” he starts, before remembering and closing his mouth. Too late. The doctor’s eyes travel back and forth between them.

“Boxian, do you know him?” he asks, all traces of his smile gone. Baekhyun stiffens next to him, digging his nails into his palms.

“Not really,” he says, and Jongdae doesn’t know if he’s lying or not. “He’s an injured commoner that we found near the Outskirts: he had his ID cut out since early childhood, probably, so no scar.”

“We’ll have to get you into the system as soon as possible, then.” The doctor doesn’t look convinced with Baekhyun’s explanation. “Well, for now, Jongdae, you’ll need a place to stay. Would you like me to look up for a temporary housing--”

“No thank you, Yixing. He’ll be staying with me: we can’t have a potential rebel spy running around,” Baekhyun says quickly, standing up. “Are we allowed to leave now?”

The doctor nods stiffly. “Of course. If there are any complications, Sergeant, come back down.”

He turns around, scribbling furiously on his clipboard.

When he leaves, Jongdae turns to Baekhyun, whose expression has gone from dark to full-on thunderstorm, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“I- I’m staying with you?”

“ I don’t know how much trouble you’ve landed me in now, but if I let you go out by yourself you could cause huge problems. People that aren’t in the ID system literally do not exist, do you understand?”

Baekhyun stands up to leave, before looking down and remembering the handcuff binding Jongdae to the hospital cot. He tosses a key at Jongdae, who doesn’t catch it and is left with a stinging spot near his collarbone.

“Get out, quickly. I don’t live far.”

Jongdae fumbles with the key, his left hand too awkward and clumsy to fit the small metal teeth into the lock. It takes him too long, and when he finally shrugs the cuff off, Baekhyun is impatiently tapping his foot on the ground.

“The longer you take, the more likely Yixing is going to come back. You’re lucky that he and I are friends: he’s giving us a chance to leave first. Hurry up.”

Jongdae stands up shakily.

“Lead the way, Sacagawea,” he tries to joke, but Baekhyun doesn’t smile at all.

“Who?” Baekhyun asks coldly, grabbing Jongdae’s wrist and pulling him towards another door on the side of the room. Baekhyun presses his thumb into a metal fingerprint scanner and the door slides open with a pleasing ding.

The world is wrong. Instead of streets and highways, metal paths twist around each other between giant, monolithic towers. The ground below is a dizzying fall.

“You look terrified,” Baekhyun says.

“Where the fuck are we?” Jongdae whispers, clutching at the door frame they’re walking through. “What the fuck is this?”

Baekhyun shoots him a glance. “You really don’t know? Welcome to the Heights, a living area meant for soldiers and veterans. How do you not know…?” He steps sideways, and the metal walkway moves, shifting and melding until there is a brand new path in front of them. “Go.”

Jongdae steps on it hesitantly. It seems to shake, and he falls to his knees, shivering as he looks down at the cavern beneath him. “I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming.”

“Go,” Baekhyun hisses. “I don’t know what world you come from, but go.”

The soldier pushes Jongdae forward the entire way, each unwilling step paired with a harsh jab from behind. It gets easier when Jongdae finally realizes that he won’t fall.

They end up at a midsection of a dark building, and when Baekhyun slides his hand across the doorknob-less wall, it slides open and Jongdae’s pushed inside again.

Baekhyun’s house is a lot smaller than it looked on the outside. It’s empty, though, bare of any furniture except the simplest of beds, a small dresser, and a desk.

“Where on Earth is this?” Jongdae whispers.

He doesn’t expect Baekhyun to say anything, but the soldier does, pushing past Jongdae to take off his shoes. “Earth?”

Jongdae turns. “You’re kidding, right? Earth? The planet that we live on?”

“You mean Exo? We live on Exo.”

“...No, we don’t.”

Baekhyun gapes. “You’re telling me that you’re from another planet. An alien? You’re an alien?”

“Well, I’m not from around here!” Jongdae says. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is right. Not even Baekhyun, his one constant, is right. He sits down on the hardwood floor, hands tangled in his hair. “This doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. We’re on Earth.”

“Are you insane?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae whispers. He’s lost in a different world--universe, maybe--, he doesn’t have any way to get back, and there is a Baekhyun by his side but it is not his Baekhyun. Maybe it’s a mixture of fear and fatigue or maybe it’s something else, but whatever the case, Jongdae begins to cry.

“What-” Baekhyun stops, eyebrows furrowing again. Jongdae puts his head into his hands, shoulders gently shaking as hot tears start streaking down his cheeks. “Don’t cry. It’s not… right.”

Jongdae ignores him, wiping at his eyes and breathing heavily. He’s never going to see his family again. He’s going to die in a fucking science fiction novel. What the actual fuck.
“Seriously, stop crying. I don’t know what you are, but just stop. Please.” Baekhyun’s voice is rough, but there’s something underneath it that Jongdae doesn’t understand.

Jongdae sobs, breathing ragged.

Baekhyun disappears, padding away with light footsteps. A few seconds later, he holds out a cup of water and a towel. “Here,” he says quietly, setting them down on the floor when Jongdae doesn’t take them. “I’ll give you some space.”

“Thank you,” Jongdae whispers, picking up the glass and tipping his head back to drink, finally remembering his parched throat and dry lips. He finishes the whole cup of water, and clears his throat cautiously. “Uh-- do you think that I could have a little more--?”

Without answering, Baekhyun picks up the glass and motions for Jongdae to follow him into the other room. It’s a kitchen of sorts, with two chairs and a small table on the side. The walls are white and bare, free of any decoration or personalization at all.

“Here.” Baekhyun presses the glass against a shallow divot in what looks like a refrigerator, and a thin stream of water fills it up. He passes it to Jongdae, who greedily drinks it down. “Uh, I’m sorry. You’re probably pretty scared.”

“Yeah.” Jongdae breathes. “Yeah.”

“It’s pretty late. You can sleep on the bed for now… I’ll make do somehow.”

Jongdae thanks Baekhyun, awkwardly climbing onto the bed and feeling empty. He misses the other Baekhyun, Jongdae’s heartbeat feeling like only one half of a duet without Baekhyun pressed up against his chest.

It’s morning when he wakes up, and the sweet smell of maple syrup pulls Jongdae up. Baekhyun is already awake, cleaned up nicely in a stark contrast to the mess that Jongdae is.

“Uh, do you have any clothes I could wear?” Jongdae asks, itching at his sleeve. “This hospital gown is really uncomfortable.”

Baekhyun shrugs, eyes focused on a small screen. “I told Junmyeon that you’re not from here, and he did a background check. Since you don’t have a background, he wants to speak to you in person. Fuck. And I’ve been temporarily removed from outside duty due to you.”

Okay, no clothes then.

“Junmyeon?” Jongdae asks, stepping forwards into the kitchen, where a plate of pancakes soaked in maple syrup waits. It’s a sweet gesture, and Jongdae can’t help but smile when he sits down to eat.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says. “He runs the population systems around here.”

The pancakes are heavenly. Jongdae marvels at how perfectly fluffy each bite is.

“OHmygod,” he moans around the mouthful of food. It’s so delicious, and Jongdae’s stomach rumbles with happiness.

Baekhyun looks up, a bemused smile twitching up on the corners of his mouth. “So… I take it that you like the breakfast?”

“Isso good,” Jongdae says, polishing off the last one. Damn. They’re gone.

The soldier chuckles, and Jongdae freezes. The sound of Baekhyun’s laugh is so disarming, so natural that Jongdae aches to shift over and kiss him.

“You done?” Baekhyun asks, tucking the small electronic device into his sleeve. He pauses, raising an eyebrow at Jongdae. “Okay, you can’t go to Junmyeon dressed like this. I probably have some clothes that you can wear. Go change.”

Jongdae ends up rifling through Baekhyun’s sparse wardrobe. The soldier has exactly three shirts and one pair of spare pants. He changes out of the itchy hospital clothes and into the collared shirt and slacks.

“C’mon,” Baekhyun says. “We don’t have all day.”

Junmyeon is a tall and imposing man, white hair and a scowl on his face. Jongdae is intimidated for all of four seconds, before Baekhyun nods at the tall man and breezes past him.

“That’s Yifan,” Baekhyun explains. “He’s Junmyeon’s guard.”

When they actually get to Junmyeon’s office, Baekhyun doesn’t even knock before entering.
“Hello, Boxian!” Junmyeon chirps. He’s quite short, and he sits at his desk with a sweet smile on his face, fingers laced in a very grandmother-like fashion. “What have we said about knocking?” he chides gently.

“I’ll knock next time,” Baekhyun says dismissively. He turns to Jongdae. “This, uh, is Junmyeon. He runs people control, basically. This is Jongdae.”

A frown appears on Junmyeon’s face. “People control?” he splutters. “People control? I take care of people, thank you very much. I manage the population. But I do not control people.”

They end up chatting for a long while, Junmyeon making awful jokes along the way. There’s a lot of questions addressed to Jongdae, but Baekhyun answers more often than not.
“Where are you from?”

“Earth,” Jongdae says. There’s a mildly interested expression on Junmyeon’s face.

“Oh?” His voice is light. “I have you on file as from the Outskirts.”

Baekhyun jerks upright. “That’s, uh,” he itches at the back of his neck. “I didn’t want any panic getting out about an otherworldly person, since he didn’t have an ID.”

“Alright, alright.” Junmyeon almost immediately switches the topic to something random, smiling brightly at Jongdae.

His leg is itching. Jongdae starts getting antsy halfway through the fourth hour, no longer able to come up with coherent responses to Junmyeon’s incessant conversation.

“Thank you Junmyeon,” Baekhyun says tiredly in the middle of one of the other’s long winded stories about something or the other. “We’d really love to listen to more, but Jongdae and I… uh, we’ve got a reservation at a lunch place.”

“Oh? That’s delightful!” Junmyeon says, clapping his hand together. He shuffles around a few papers on his desk. “Okay, Jongdae.” His face is suddenly passive, and the soft features look different, less soft and more harsh. “You seem harmless. I’m releasing you to Baekhyun’s care for an indefinite amount of time.” Baekhyun’s eyes widen.

“You can’t mean-”

“Yes, I do,” Junmyeon interrupts sharply. “Sergeant Bian Boxian, you are on indefinite leave to both protect and watch over Jongdae. I expect you to not skip on this duty.”

There’s a moment of palpable tension as Baekhyun glares at Junmyeon. “Why,” he asks flatly, “are you leaving him with me? Did you forget that I’m absolutely godawful at taking caring of anything?”

Junmyeon tilts his head, contemplating.

“Jongdae doesn’t seem to have a problem with that,” he muses. “Now, shoo. You have a lunch date to get to.” Junmyeon’s voice goes back to as soft and sweet as before, and flutters his hands in a goodbye.

As soon as they pass Yifan again, Jongdae sags, eyes fluttering shut.

“That was the most tiring four hours of my life,” he groans. Baekhyun laughs next to him. It’s a pleasant surprise.

“Junmyeon is quite… draining to talk to, I guess,” he says. “But he’s also good at his job. Sometimes the niceness is just a front to judge your personality, but I think he genuinely likes you.”

They walk through another mess of metal walkways, and Jongdae hears his stomach rumble.
“So, uh, we don’t really have a lunch reservation, do we?” He smiles sheepishly at Baekhyun, who shrugs.

“Are you hungry?”

In response, Jongdae’s stomach gives another whale cry. Baekhyun’s eyes are crinkled when he leads the way across another path.

“This way,” he says, fighting to keep the smile out of his voice. “One of my favorite cafes.”

They fit better than Jongdae had originally thought. Baekhyun of this world is still playful and annoying, despite being slightly less wild. There are moments when Jongdae can see flickers of the other Baekhyun in him, and those moments make him both miss and forget the other world.

“Live a little,” Baekhyun laughs, jabbing Jongdae in the back. “It’s not going to kill you.”
Jongdae closes his eyes and puts the squirming tentacle in his mouth. He chews as fast as he can, having never liked the flavor of live octopus.

“Ack-!” he coughs, something awfully bitter hitting the back of the throat. “Water!”

Baekhyun is shaking with laughter when he gives the cup to Jongdae.

“What the fuck is that?” Jongdae hisses, wiping at his mouth.

“Live octopus in bitter melon sauce, of course!” Baekhyun’s canines are noticeably sharp as he grins. “A delicacy for some, and torture for others.”

“You suck,” Jongdae says, chugging the water. “God, that’s awful.”

It’s the seventh or eighth day of Jongdae being in the opposite world, and he’s noticed something slightly worrying. Every night, when they go to bed, Baekhyun sleeps in the kitchen, waking up the next morning with darker eye circles than the night before. It’s early in the morning, and Jongdae feels bad for kicking the soldier out of his own bed.

He gets off the bed, and walks over to the kitchen. Baekhyun’s sitting on the sink, staring at the dull moonlight shining through the blinds.

“Uh,” Jongdae coughs.

Baekhyun’s head snaps up, before visibly relaxing when he sees Jongdae. “Yes?” he asks softly. “Do you need anything?”

“I was just wondering… um,” Jongdae trails off. “Do you want to sleep on the bed as well? You clearly haven’t been sleeping well in the kitchen. I don’t even know how you’ve been sleeping.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flicker between the single blanket on the kitchen floor and Jongdae’s gaze. “I just haven’t been sleeping.”

Worry grows in Jongdae’s chest. “That’s not healthy!” he yelps, the doctor inside of him growing incredibly agitated. “You need at least seven to nine hours a night.”

Baekhyun shrugs.

“You’re sleeping with me,” Jongdae declares, grabbing Baekhyun’s arm and pulling him off the edge of the sink. “Not like that,” he clarifies, equally mortified and amused by Baekhyun’s expression.

Despite protests at first, Baekhyun passes out less than a second after hitting the bed. Jongdae watches him sleep, watches the way that worry runs out of his face. And- he can’t help it, he reaches forwards just a little and kisses Baekhyun on the nose the way he used to.

“What are you doing?” Baekhyun suddenly asks, eyes still closed. Jongdae flinches back, struggling to come up with an answer. He settles for the truth.

“You look cute when you sleep,” he whispers. “Sorry, that was a little--”

“It’s okay,” Baekhyun says. “You look cute when you sleep, too.” He laughs a little. “You’re quite forward, aren’t you.”

Jongdae doesn’t know how to explain that when Baekhyun was asleep, he looked like another man, another Baekhyun who Jongdae could kiss and hold without needing any kind of explanation. Instead, he says, “So you’re okay with me kissing you?”

The other doesn’t really answer, rolling over and falling asleep. There’s a mild mmh that sounds like an affirmation, but Jongdae doesn’t really know. He reaches over anyway, lightly pressing his neck against Baekhyun’s.

He doesn’t quite know when it happens, when Jongdae figures out that he’s in love with this Baekhyun, too. He’s forgotten how many days he’s spent here, how many days he’s spent carefully reading the books in Baekhyun’s house, how many days Baekhyun has come home to a kiss from Jongdae instead of a cold nod, how many days they’ve spent now sleeping in the same bed instead of Baekhyun on the floor like it had been before.

It is hard to keep them separate in Jongdae’s mind.

Jongdae doesn’t know when it happens, but he knows that it did.

“They’re making you leave,” Baekhyun whispers one day, leaning his forehead against Jongdae’s, hands curled into fist. His eyes are millimeters away, breath the ghost of a kiss on Jongdae’s lip. Baekhyun is searching his eyes for something, Jongdae knows, but he doesn’t know if Baekhyun will find what he’s looking for; doesn’t know how long Baekhyun will stay, how long until he gives up the search.

“What?” Jongdae gasps, pushing away. “I’m going home?”

They’d spent the day hanging out at an art museum, Baekhyun quieter than usual. Even when Jongdae had pointed out how closely a certain inappropriate body part, Baekhyun hadn’t laughed or even rolled his eyes. It’s late now, and Baekhyun finally tells him what’s wrong.

Baekhyun tilts his head slightly upwards and closes the final millimeters of distance between them. His lips taste minty, still. It’s not a passionate kiss. Jongdae shrugs him off, staring. “Yeah. You’ll go home,” Baekhyun says.

He’s spent quite a long time here, but home...

So Jongdae closes his eyes anyway, tentatively moving his hands to cup both sides of Baekhyun’s face. It’s gentle, quiet, tender -- nothing but one heart beating with two bodies. There is no electricity in the air; all the love in the kiss is careful and cautious, each acting as if the other were to disappear at any moment.

“I don’t want you to go. Please don’t,” Baekhyun says, pulling away from Jongdae’s grip. He goes lower, and Jongdae’s throat tickles with each time that Baekhyun exhales. He looks up again, and his eyes are so cloudy and unreadable it makes Jongdae ache. “But you have to, don’t you?”

It’s almost funny. If Baekhyun had asked that same question when they’d first met, Jongdae would have said yes without thinking. He would have been so ready to go home back to his Earth, to go home to his world, to his Baekhyun, who was soft and kind and funny and sweet and always smelled of strawberry no matter what kind of shampoo Jongdae bought that week. Jongdae still wants to go home. And yet, he can’t find the voice to tell the Baekhyun in front of him that. Because soldier or not, murderer or not, Jongdae’s or not: Baekhyun is Baekhyun, and when Baekhyun--any Baekhyun--looks at Jongdae, he goes weak in the knees.

“I don’t know,” Jongdae says, and looks away guiltily. Instinctively, he moves to hold Baekhyun, but he jerks away, sitting farther away on the bed instead. Jongdae swallows thickly. “I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything. He draws in a breath, eyes dark and eyebrows furrowed tightly. His fists clench and unclench as he glares a hole into the ground.

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae tries again, sitting up as well.

Even the smallest things show their differences, Jongdae realizes. His Baekhyun had a tendency to crumple when he was upset, curling up and shriveling. But the Baekhyun in front of him still has military training running through his blood; even now, his back is stiff and straight. Jongdae’s Baekhyun would have never.

“What’s the other me, the other Baekhyun like?” Baekhyun suddenly says.

“My Baekhyun?” Jongdae asks, and immediately regrets it when Baekhyun flinches. “No-- shit, I didn’t mean--”

“Yes, your Baekhyun.” He’s slipped into his soldier face. Jongdae wants to cry in frustration. He’d spent so long trying to break Baekhyun out of his hard shell, to put trust into him, and now Jongdae’s gone and destroyed it all with a few simple words.

“Baekhyun--” he starts, trying to console the other, but the other looks up at him calmly.
“No, tell me what he’s like. Seriously, I want to know.” Baekhyun’s eyes are impassive. It’s weird, seeing Baekhyun’s face with such a cold expression and Jongdae feels vaguely nauseous. It’s been awhile, long enough for Jongdae to forget that the man in front of him was a soldier, first and foremost.

“Uh,” he stammers, and stops because there is a large lump in his throat that makes speaking hard. It doesn’t go away, and the longer Jongdae stares at Baekhyun the drier his mouth gets. “Baek- Baekhyun is… He’s illogical.” Jongdae swallows. “He’s illogical and annoying and whiny and…”

Memories of Baekhyun surface, and Jongdae trails off, caught up in the whirlpool of thoughts. There’s Baekhyun and him at the amusement park, where he’d dragged Baekhyun onto a roller coaster and then regretted it when Baekhyun came off trembling. Jongdae remembers apologizing and then treating Baekhyun to cotton candy, which had earned him a kiss.

“He’s… sunshine and warmth, being with him makes me happy. God, he’s--” Jongdae stops again.
He sees Baekhyun whining about cleaning up their shared apartment, throwing balled-up clothes at Jongdae instead of the laundry hamper, but ultimately pulling through and saving face in front of Jongdae’s parents. There’s Baekhyun at the tattoo shop downtown, laughing as Jongdae cried when they got twin tattoos on their wrists.

They’re on the roof.

They’re in bed.

They’re down at the cafe, Baekhyun using his straw to draw hearts into the foam of Jongdae’s coffee. Later, when Jongdae finally drinks it, his coffee tastes vaguely of the fruity tea that Baekhyun had been drinking.

“You really do love him,” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae snaps back into reality.

Jongdae staggers a little, and sits down on the bed. Tentatively, he reaches his hand to hold Baekhyun. The other stares at it, before slipping his own hand into Jongdae’s grip. They fit.
“It’s not fair,” Baekhyun suddenly whispers. “Why do you have to leave?” He curls up into Jongdae’s side, and with a start, Jongdae realizes that Baekhyun is crying. His voice is soft and quiet, and like this-- like this, Jongdae thinks, like this he really does look like the other Baekhyun.

“It’s not fair,” he repeats, and lifts his head. It really isn’t fair, Jongdae thinks. Not when the only way he could go home was to leave a piece of him behind. He doesn’t have a way to win-- isn’t it funny? No matter where he goes, he’ll still be leaving Baekhyun.

“What are you, anyway?” Baekhyun laughs a little, cheeks tinged with faint embarrassment as he wipes away his tears. “I haven’t cried in-- in what, seventeen years? Maybe your crybaby tendencies influenced me.”

“Damn,” Jongdae whispers, gently wiping the tears from Baekhyun’s face using the back of his hand. “The other you doesn’t cry too often either, but… seventeen years?” He smiles slightly, adding a teasing lilt to his voice. “I must be quite something, eh?”

But instead of shooting Jongdae’s blatant boast like usual, Baekhyun presses his head against Jongdae’s chest again and quietly hums in agreement. “You are,” he mumbles, and Jongdae’s smile fades.

They stay there for a while, silently enjoying each other’s company, listening to each other’s heartbeat as if it were the last time--which to be honest, it probably is.

“Is this the end?” Baekhyun asks.

“No,” Jongdae says. He swallows. “No. It’s not the end for you.”

There’s a lengthy pause, and Baekhyun’s face is emotionless again. Jongdae has a vague idea of what’s going on behind the calm mask that he’s wearing, but maybe it’s better for both of them if he doesn’t think too much beyond that.

“It’s late.” Baekhyun clears his throat. He backs away from Jongdae, hand itching at his neck. “You should go to sleep, Jongdae.”

Jongdae watches, unmoving, as Baekhyun buttons the collar of his uniform back up and reaches down to tug his boots back on. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll be back soon, anyway.” With that, Baekhyun turns around and breezes out of the apartment. Stunned, Jongdae lies back down on the bed.

It takes at least another three hours for him fall asleep, dreamlessly.

“Wake up, Dae,” Baekhyun’s voice says fondly.

Jongdae opens his eyes, not ready for the shock of black hair on Baekhyun. “You- You got your hair dyed.”

“I did.” He’s smiling a little. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae says breathlessly, matching Baekhyun’s smile. “You look good.”

The soldier grins wryly. “Now you’ll remember me separately from your Baekhyun, right?” Jongdae’s breath hitches, feeling uncomfortable for just a second before he realizes that Baekhyun’s let go already.

“Absolutely.”

“And just in case-” Baekhyun stops. He suddenly brings his hands up to his uniform, unclipping a small silver badge from the left side. “This is a badge I got in the army for doing civilian duty: a.k.a. dealing with you.” He presses it into Jongdae’s hand. “Keep it.”

“Are you- are you…?” Jongdae leaves the question hanging in the air.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says. “I’m okay now.” He smiles again, and Jongdae feels like he’s soaring.

“Ready to go home?” Junmyeon asks. Jongdae inhales deeply, and lets go of Baekhyun’s hand.
“Bye,” Jongdae murmurs. He tucks a stray lock of Baekhyun’s newly jet-black hair back into place, and smiles when the other lets him.

“Bye.” Baekhyun’s tone is every bit of the soldier it had been in the first place. If he hadn’t known better, Jongdae wouldn’t have known that he would even be missed. But the tiny wobbly smile on his face gives Baekhyun away, the slightest way his hand immediately closes because there the warmth from Jongdae’s hand is gone, and the indescribable look in his eyes is the same as Baekhyun from home.

“Love him right, yeah?” Baekhyun whispers. “Make him-- me -- happy.”

Jongdae nods, and then Baekhyun turns away. Junmyeon gently steers Jongdae to a white corridor, promising that he would be back in his place in no time. He pushes open the fifth door, gesturing for Jongdae to lie down.

“Your medic will be here soon, Jongdae. I’m sure you’ll like him.” Junmyeon smiles at him, eyes crinkling up the innocent way that betrayed his kind disposition despite his status. The leader shakes Jongdae’s hand, and then steps out of the door. Before he leaves, however, he turns around and stops. “You know, I have to say--...” Junmyeon swallows. “Thank you, I guess. Baekhyun’s… uh, I don’t know what you did, but I’ve never seen him like that. I’ll be sure to look after him, because you no longer can.”

Jongdae jumps at the usage of Baekhyun’s real name. Hadn’t Baekhyun said that no one knew his name?

“Wait- Junmyeon, what--”

But Junmyeon is already gone, and Jongdae is left filled with an emotion that he doesn’t know how to describe. Baekhyun will be okay. He’s going home.

Lost in his thoughts, it take Jongdae a few seconds until he hears the knocking on the door; when the door suddenly opens, he jumps a little. The medic comes in with the knockout drug, and Jongdae does a double-take when he sees him. “CHEN” is scrawled on the medic’s name tag in Jongdae’s own handwriting, and his very own mirror is currently pushing up tortoiseshell glasses and chatting with the nurse.

“-guy in the well room, do you think he’s taken?” Chen pauses as he sees Jongdae. “Oh. Well. Hello there, uh, Jongdae, wasn’t it?”

Jongdae waves, an amused smile curving on his lips.

The nurse lets out a short bark of disbelieving laughter. “He’s your mirror, Chen. Can you still send him back?”

Chen shrugs. “Why not?” He grins, and Jongdae immediately matches his expression. The nurse looks back and forth between them for a second, before throwing up her hands.

“God, I thought one of you was bad enough.” She’s smiling, though, and Chen picks up on it immediately.

“But you love me,” he coos, batting his eyelashes in a disgusting manner.

“Can you believe this guy-” she starts to Jongdae, before remembering and closing her mouth. Chen laughs loudly, and Jongdae can’t help but smile. “I’m going to just get the drug. You two better not, I don’t know, blow up this hospital in the ten minutes I’ll be gone. God.” She marches out the door, slamming it on her way out.

“She loves you,” Jongdae says. His mirror nods.

“Us,” he amends. “You look pretty handsome, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Thanks. You too, you’re pretty hot yourself.” Jongdae grins, and so does Chen. “And yes, my ego has been properly inflated.”

The medic laughs. “Ah, you’re a great mirror. So, mirror, how’s life?”

The way he moves and the way he speaks, it’s so him, so Jongdae that even Jongdae is surprised. Baekhyun had been so different, but yet his own mirror seems to have the same troublemaker smile and easygoing attitude he’s been scolded for by his teachers since early on. Except Baekhyun hadn’t really been so different, after all.

“Uh, it’s good, I guess.” Jongdae shrugs. “Turns out I’m a doctor in both universes. And that I’ve dyed my hair the same shade of brown. And, uh, my boyfriend’s mirror is a little scary.”
Chen quirks an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend?” he asks, crossing his arms. Jongdae nods, head tilting to the side.

“Oh-,” he says, awkward, “Yeah, I, uh, play for the other team. Do-- you don’t?” Jongdae cringes at how weird his voice sounds as he struggles to speak in coherent sentences. “I’m sorry, I just assumed-” He remembers the nurse and how they’d been flirting and trails off.
“Other team?” Chen asks.

“Uh, liking guys?”

“Oh. Oh,” Chen laughs. “No, I like guys too. And girls. Didn’t you hear me talking about the hot guy in the waiting room?”

Jongdae pauses, staring at his mirror. “I just-- the nurse-- you…”

“Nah, Soojung and I aren’t a thing. She’s cute, but she and Jongin have been making googly eyes at each other for years.”

The medic falls silent, chewing on his lip. Jongdae wonders if he’s somehow offended him, and opens his mouth to apologize.

“I’m--,” he starts.

“So is he hot?” Chen asks at the same time.

Jongdae swallows his apology. “Er- yeah.” He laughs, shaking his head. “He’s really hot. And pretty funny, too.”

“Damn,” Chen winks. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to his mirror?”

“Nah, you should find your own boyfriend,” Jongdae says, rolling his eyes when Chen pouts. “You do remember that no matter how cute the Pout is, I have the same one?”

Before Chen can retort or simply pout harder, the door to the room breezes open. The nurse is back, all five feet of anger and barely concealed adoration for Chen. She’s holding a nasty looking syringe, and Jongdae winces.

“You don’t like syringes either?” The nurse asks, giving Chen a pointed look. “Look at you two. Chen’s a medic and he can’t take needles.”

Jongdae chuckles. “I’m a doctor too, back in my world. I never do shots either. Something about them just--”

“Creeps me out!” Chen finishes, nodding his head in agreement. “Now this, Soojung, is someone who understands me.”

He checks his watch, and then motions for Jongdae to move up a little higher on the bed.
The nurse rolls up Jongdae’s sleeves, explaining the procedure. “This shot will emulate death, to trick your body’s system into thinking that you’re going to die again, like last time. We figure that the reason you were sent over was a fluke in the system, but since you are now also a fluke, we’re banking on it sending you back when given the chance.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

Soojung glares. “Firstly, it will work. Secondly, this shot will only emulate death. If it fails, you will wake up in two or three days time without any side effects.”

“Don’t worry,” Chen laughs. “I wouldn’t hurt you… on purpose.”

The nurse gently preps Jongdae’s arm, and then the needle is in his arm.

As the drug starts working, and Jongdae’s mind starts fuzzing, he hears Chen and the nurse start talking again.

“Which guy in the well room?”

“The soldier with black hair and the slender hands. Do you think he’s taken?”

“I don’t know, you should ask.”

“Maybe I will,” Chen says. “I haven’t had a date in ages.”

And maybe, just maybe, Jongdae thinks, it really will be okay after all.

He wakes up in the middle of his forest. The birds are chirping, and Jongdae can feel his workbag beneath his back.

His phone is back in his hand, and Jongdae pushes himself off of the ground. He wanders around the forest, and hears the roar of the highway, and Jongdae walks towards it.

When he finally sees cars zooming down the highway, it hits him: he’s back in his world.

Jongdae can’t help but cry a little when the taxi he caught drops him off back in front of an apartment building that he hasn’t seen in what feels like a lifetime.

The door of his apartment opens with a creak as he pushes it, and Jongdae furrows his eyebrows when he steps inside. It’s not like Baekhyun to leave the door unlocked. He sticks his keys back into his pockets, cautiously adjusting the straps of his work bag as he stepped into the apartment.

“Baek?” he calls. It’s dark inside, and Jongdae fumbles around for the light switch. “Baek, are you home?”

The light comes on a few seconds after he flicks the switch, and Jongdae gapes at the mostly empty apartment. The only things left are a pile of carefully packed boxes. Only one is labelled, with nothing other than a sharpie heart and 7-11-16.

He studies the boxes around him: they’re all covered in a layer of dust except for the labeled one, also the largest one by far. Jongdae swipes his hand over it, and it comes away clean; this box has either been recently packed or recently re-sealed. Jongdae tugs at the tape, and it comes off easily, seeming to have already lost its stickiness. He slips his fingers under the top flap and opens the box.

Jongdae inhales: it’s full of his stuff. Clothes, books, even the cup that he’d used to brush his teeth. Everything has been placed into the box with care, fragile things gingerly wrapped with newspaper. One by one, Jongdae takes out the things in the box, laying them out onto the carpeted floor where the couch used to be. The mug that he’d gotten from his mother on his twentieth birthday. The t-shirt that had mysteriously vanished after Jongdae bought it and reappeared in Baekhyun’s closet two weeks later. Piles and piles of cd’s, his beloved headphones, all of it is here. At the very bottom is a thin binder--their photo album. Jongdae takes it out, and raises his eyebrows when he sees the lack of a picture of Baekhyun and him in the front.

He opens the album up, and the first page is empty. Stunned, Jongdae frantically flips through the rest, and all he sees is page after page of slots where photos once were. He stops on the fifteenth page, staring at the empty space where his favorite photo had been, one of Baekhyun napping quietly on the dinner table after pulling an all-nighter to move in with Jongdae. The picture hadn’t been particularly high-quality because Jongdae had stealthily taken it with the crappy camera on his phone, but he thought that Baekhyun looked ethereal with the morning light reflecting off of the light brown of his hair, head resting on crossed arms, eyes closed and more peaceful than Jongdae’d ever seen him before.

Baekhyun always whined about how ugly he thought it looked, but Jongdae had loved it so much he’d printed out two copies of it: one to keep in his wallet--that he’d lost the first day on the other side, but he hadn’t thought much of it, because he’d always had another, more permanent one in the album. Until now, of course.

It’s gone, and the blank page taunts Jongdae.

He closes the album, a mixture of confusion and disbelief settling uncomfortably in his stomach. What did Baekhyun do?

Jongdae looks around as if the room had the answer, and realizes how much of a mess he’s made. He moves to pick up a pair of jeans, and something slides out of the album. It’s a picture; Jongdae picks it up with shaking fingers, and when he flips it around, he sees himself grinning widely, a dollop of whip cream smudged on his nose. Beneath it, in Baekhyun’s messy handwriting, there is a line of words: rest in peace, j. July 11th, 2016.

Baekhyun must have thought he died, Jongdae realizes with a chill. Oh god, what day is it? He tries dialing Baekhyun’s cell phone, but his phone is completely out of battery and probably didn’t have service either. Jongdae pulls his charging cord out of his bag and plugs his phone in.

It takes a good ten minutes to hit one percent, but when it does, Jongdae opens it immediately. It’s September 9th, nearly two months after. Jongdae staggers backwards. The photo flutters out of his hand, and he quickly stoops over to pick it up.

Before he can do anything else, though, Jongdae hears footsteps coming up the stairs, louder and louder--and then they completely stop.

“Is- Is someone there?”

Jongdae’s heart stops, standing up slowly as he hears Baekhyun’s voice.

“The door’s open, crap, crap… Whoever- whoever you are, get out!” Baekhyun’s voice is wobbly but it sounds like Baekhyun and Jongdae is shaking so badly he can hardly hold onto the photo in his hand.

“Seriously, get out!” Baekhyun yells, barging through the door, eyes scared and angry. When his eyes land on Jongdae, he staggers. “Wh-what?”

It’s Baekhyun, in a blue t-shirt and ripped jeans, messy hair and no makeup, cute tummy and soft features. His lips are parted in a small oh of wonder or surprise, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Jongdae stares, frozen.

“Baekhyun,” he whispers. “Hey.”

One breath. Two. Baekhyun’s mouth gets wider, eyebrows furrowing as he struggles to find words to say, chest heaving when he can’t. Instead, his eyes fill with tears.

“No, god, please-- stop,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head and backing away. “I’m going crazy, Jongdae died, don’t--...”

He scoots even farther back, looking at the ground. He seems to notice the mess around for the first time, and Baekhyun opens his mouth again, only to let out a little whimper. “Dae-”

And then Baekhyun launches himself at Jongdae, wrapping his arms around him. Jongdae holds him, letting him cry into the fabric of his shirt. He’s so warm, so much like home, so right; Jongdae’s world is at peace when he holds Baekhyun.

“You--,” Baekhyun sobs, fisting his hands into Jongdae’s hair, drawing their foreheads together in a painfully familiar movement. Jongdae’s heart twinges slightly, but he forgets it almost immediately when the Baekhyun in front of him whimpers again. “You were gone.”

“But I’m back now, yeah?” Jongdae says. He locks his arms around Baekhyun’s waist, pressing him closer, as if they weren’t already as close as they could get. “I’ll never leave again, I promise, I promise.”

“I wished every day that you would come back, did you know?” Baekhyun cries harder, detangling his hands from Jongdae’s hair to wipe at the tears streaming down his face. “And you’re back, oh my god, oh my god.” He pauses, leaning back. The corners of his lips start to twitch upwards. “Well, damn. You’re literally back from the dead.” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae grins at him. They hold eye contact for a few seconds, and then Jongdae swoops down to kiss Baekhyun.

It’s short but sweet, and when they break apart, Baekhyun is smiling shyly at Jongdae. “Hold still,” Jongdae says, and wipes the rest of Baekhyun’s tears away from his face. “So-”

And then Baekhyun slaps him. Jongdae’s head whips to the side, cheek stinging from the force of the blow. “Explain, you asshole!”

“It- it’s a long story, babe,” Jongdae laughs, because long story didn’t even begin to cover it. “But I’ll tell it to you if you want to. And if you’ll believe me.”

He spends the rest of the day recounting the tales of the other side to Baekhyun, who goes from dubious to enraptured in the story when Jongdae’s able to pull out the silver badge that the other Baekhyun had given him.

“What ended up happening to me?” Baekhyun asks, softly petting Jongdae’s hair. They’ve sit down on the ground, Jongdae’s head in Baekhyun’s lap as he talks to him. “After you left… was I okay?”

Slightly surprised at Baekhyun’s open mindedness and lack of doubting in what really was an insane story, Jongdae can’t find words to say. “I- uh, I-” Then, he remembers Chen and the nurse, and smiles. “I think he’s got someone else.”

“Mm,” Baekhyun hums. “Well, I can’t say that I believe you completely, but thank god. That means I can keep you.”

Jongdae laughs softly.

“You’re not allowed to leave anymore, okay?” Baekhyun whispers. A lump grows in Jongdae’s throat, making it hard to speak. Instead, Jongdae presses his lips against Baekhyun’s forehead, eyes closing as he inhales the scent of Baekhyun, just as he remembers and so much more. It smells of strawberry and home.

Next to Baekhyun, Jongdae is home.