Round 2: erase the painful stains
Title: erase the painful stains
Team: AU
Rating: R
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Chanyeol/D.O
Summary: kyungsoo just doesn’t want to be the only one that remembers. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!AU
Author's Note: this was so much fun, i'm so happy to have been able to take part in this! thank you to my awesome team for being the best support group i could have asked for. thank you especially to A, J, R, and A for getting me through this!
Prompt Used: WAX - Coin Laundry
“We’re going to put you under now, Mr. Do. Just lie back and relax; it’ll be just like falling asleep.”
True to his words, Kyungsoo slowly begins to drift off, breathing in the heavy sedative pouring out of the mask over his mouth and nose. The last thing he hears is the soft whirring of the machines that have been hooked up all around him, and it strikes him at the very last moment how similar they are to the sounds of a washing machine.
Kyungsoo blinks. It’s blessedly empty in the Laundromat, though he does hear a few machines whirring from the other side of the room. Foolish, in Kyungsoo’s opinion, to leave clothes unattended. But to each their own, he supposes.
He looks back to the basket he’s brought with him and begins the tedious task of loading the machines. Laundry is not the most difficult or tiresome chore that he’s had to do, but until he moves into a bigger apartment that actually has a washer and dryer in the building, he’s going to dislike dragging his dirty underwear two blocks over.
At least it’s clean. And modern. Cherry’s Laundromat is a recent thing, with maybe thirty machines in the whole room; they’re all shiny and front-loading and are not prone to malfunction (like some he’s visited). The bright lights and cheery floral wallpaper, he allows, add to the calming atmosphere, though it’s not really to his taste. The tiling is simple enough. Kyungsoo will live.
“Will you at least look at me when we’re talking? Or is that too much to ask?”
Kyungsoo freezes with his hand outstretched over the machine, the black sweater in his grip hovering over the opening. That voice…
A rough hand grabs at his shoulder, turning him around, and suddenly he’s face to face with Chanyeol.
“What--?” Kyungsoo splutters, eyes darting between Chanyeol and the ugly sofa that means they’re in their apartment.
“What is your problem, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol demands, letting go so hard that it makes Kyungsoo take a few steps back. “I called you like five times - I know you’re busy with your thesis and shit, I know, but it’s cold outside and I had to walk back by myself… and you’re not even listening to me, are you?”
It’s these last few words that makes Kyungsoo realize where they are, and it’s then that Kyungsoo sees the rest of Chanyeol, the wet shoes and skintight jeans and that stupid, threadbare black sweater Kyungsoo’s been trying to get rid of for forever.
“I”m listening, Chanyeol,” he replies, and it’s weird, echoey. “I’m always fucking listening to you, Chanyeol, because you’re always fucking talking at me.”
It’s strange, listening to words he’s already heard, repeating words he’s already said.
He has no idea what’s happening, so he does what he remembers happens next: he shoulders past Chanyeol into the kitchen.
“You’re not going to even ask where I was, though?” Chanyeol asks, following him. “You’ll listen, but you don’t really care; that’s it, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t ask because I already have a good idea where you were,” Kyungsoo sneers and why, why is he doing this again--
“You think I fucked somebody.” Chanyeol advances, shoes squeaking on the tiled floors, and the fluorescent lights are too bright, illuminating the derision on Chanyeol’s face. “Right? That’s why you won’t ask. Because you’re too scared of the answer, because--”
“Oh, I know you fucked somebody,” Kyungsoo interrupts and the smirk on his face feels awful. “I know you did. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know you, Chanyeol. I fucking know you.” Kyungsoo says it and wishes he hadn’t, he regrets it with everything he has, because what comes next - not this, he doesn’t want to go through this again - “You like to get drunk off of beer that tastes like piss just to cause a scene. You like to get high on whatever you can get your hands on so people will look at you and think ‘poor Chanyeol’.”
Kyungsoo’s voice is strained with the effort not to say it, but, “I bet you’d drive off a cliff if it meant someone would cry over you.”
And it’s worse, it’s so much worse this time because he can see the pain in Chanyeol’s eyes when his own aren’t blurred by anger. And it’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, still so fucking wrong. He doesn’t mean it, of course he doesn’t, he knows better, should know better. Chanyeol wouldn’t, Chanyeol isn’t--
The silence that follows is painful, agonizing. And Chanyeol won’t look at him anymore.
“You know, Kyungsoo, I don’t need this shit, yeah? Not from you.”
Watching Chanyeol turn heel and walk away from him again doesn’t hurt less the second time around.
It takes him thirty seconds after Chanyeol has slammed the door behind him before he remembers to run after him, and please, let him just change this, please.
“Chanyeol, come on,” Kyungsoo yells, watching as Chanyeol cuts across the road uncaring of the oncoming traffic. “Chanyeol, please, look, I’m sorry! Hold on!”
He’s separated even more once he’s waited for the road to clear, and the anxiety is the same, the fucking anxiety is the same. Kyungsoo doesn’t do this shit, Kyungsoo stays home and mourns before it’s over, gives up. But Kyungsoo breaks his character, running after Chanyeol.
“Chanyeol, I didn’t mean it, come on,” Kyungsoo reaches out to grab Chanyeol’s elbow, and he’s not surprised this time when Chanyeol wrenches himself out of Kyungsoo’s grip.
Chanyeol’s voice is as cold and steely as it was before, but his, “Oh, you meant it, Kyungsoo. You meant it this time, and you’ve always meant it, maybe even from the beginning,” is choked in a way he’d never noticed.
Kyungsoo doesn’t remember if the tears in his throat are his or from the memory, but the panic and despair roiling in his stomach feel real enough.
“Fuck, Chanyeol, I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry.” It’s hard to keep up with Chanyeol like this, and it really is cold outside and he walked how far like this and guilt, guilt is what makes it hard to follow. “Come on, you know how I am, you know I didn’t - I say things when I don’t, when I’m scared.” There it is. “I’m just scared, okay?”
Kyungsoo stops when Chanyeol whirls around, eyes blazing.
“You’re scared, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol asks, incredulous, and Kyungsoo flinches at the venom in his words. “No, you’re just a fucking asshole, and I’m just a ‘pathetic attention whore’. Fuck you, Kyungsoo.”
Chanyeol spits the words before taking off again and this time Kyungsoo lets him.
He’d never wanted to relive this moment, this exact moment where everything had finally crumbled down around them. This was the moment that Chanyeol had left and never come back, the moment that Kyungsoo had spent days and weeks wishing he’d done differently, if only he had the chance. The next time Kyungsoo had seen Chanyeol--
Kyungsoo closes his eyes, letting only a few of the tears brimming in his eyes fall. No more of this, he pleads to himself. Wake up from this nightmare.
“How could he just, just do this? To me? How could he do this to me, to us--”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Do, it’s not an uncommon practice. We always recommend not undergoing the procedure when… emotional, but he was adamant.”
Kyungsoo blinks. He reaches up to wipe the streaks on his cheeks with his hand and realizes they’re shaking.
He’s in the Laundromat again. The lights are too bright, though they’d been fine before, and it reminds him too much of kitchen lights. The washing machine is still waiting for him, and the sweater in his other hand is still poised over it.
It’s with a pang that he finally recognizes the black sweater, the same one Chanyeol had been wearing that night, and he can’t help it when he all but throws the article into the machine. He has no idea why it’s in his possession, why he’s washing it; all he knows is that he doesn’t want to see it again. Not ever.
It’s been a while since he’s seen Chanyeol. Since that day, that meeting. And although Kyungsoo is an expert at lying to himself, it would be impossible to try and to pretend that he’s been okay. He hasn’t. Not really. The days have gone on, classes have been attended, but every Sociology class without Chanyeol’s smart ass answers muttered under his breath is a reminder of how fucked up everything is.
Deep breaths, Kyungsoo, he tells himself instead. Everything will be okay. Maybe.
He breathes, counts the seconds, and starts with the clothes again. Distracting himself and putting things out of mind has always worked for him.
He stops, hand freezing, when he picks up what looks like used to be a tank top. It’s nothing more than scraps of fabric now, stained a dirty red in some places. Blood.
“Jesus!” he shouts, dropping the shirt and backing away.
“Kyungsoo, before you say anything, I know it looks bad, I know, but you gotta promise you won’t freak out, okay?”
Kyungsoo whips his head to the side, heart racing, only to be met with the heart stopping sight of Chanyeol, except this time Chanyeol’s listing to one side, lacerations all over his body, and one eyes is swollen shut.
“Holy shit, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo hisses, running over with his heart in his throat, just in time to catch Chanyeol as he begins to slip down. He’s not strong enough to support the much-taller Chanyeol, so he slowly helps him to the floor, thanking their luck they’d gone with the carpet instead of the hardwood.
They’re at home again, and Chanyeol’s leaning against the door leading to their en suite bathroom, breaths shallow. It’s a tiny bit less stressful, in their room, but Kyungsoo can’t tear his eyes away from the weird angle Chanyeol’s arm is at, or the already purplish bruises he can see forming along his ribs. Maybe he should have realized, but he’s preoccupied, panic and fear clouding his mind, demanding his attention.
“What the fuck happened, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo hisses, tearing one of the sheets off their bed and pressing it against Chanyeol’s skin to help staunch the bleeding - it’s a wonder how Chanyeol managed to get out of his shirt by himself.
Chanyeol hisses as Kyungsoo presses harder. “It was an accident,” is what he says, and how he can be so lucid, despite the clenched teeth, is beyond Kyungsoo. “It wasn’t supposed, shit, to end like this.”
“What wasn’t supposed to end like this?” Kyungsoo asks with shaking hands, staring fiercely at Chanyeol, who can’t meet his gaze. “Tell me, Chanyeol, or so help me I’m letting you clean yourself up.” An empty threat, but it works.
“It was a dare, my fault, but it wasn’t supposed to be that far off the ground, none of us knew--”
And in an instant, Kyungsoo knows what this is, what this was.
His hand falls away in shock, eyes wide and disbelieving. Another flashback, this is another fucking flashback? He can’t help the way he falls back, away.
Because he’s done this before - he remembers it so vividly - he’s come home to find Chanyeol half alive before. And he knows why, how could he ever forget why when it had scared him so badly the first time?
“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol moans, “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, please, can you help me, I just-- it fucking hurts and--” he cuts off, biting his lips to stifle a whimper of pain.
This snaps Kyungsoo out of his shock, and he’s moving forward without thought. Memory or whatever the hell is going on, he can’t just watch Chanyeol bleed out on their carpet.
“Are you fucking insane?” Kyungsoo hisses later as he’s bandaging Chanyeol with the first aid kit from their bathroom, and maybe he’s not quite as gentle as he could have been, but now that the urgency has faded a little the old rage is back.
Chanyeol, too, has calmed enough to be able to sit up on his own, limp to Kyungsoo’s ministrations, despite the sting of the antiseptic. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, dismissive even though the swelling hasn’t gone down in his eye. “Sehun and I--”
“Yeah, yeah, Sehun and you,” Kyungsoo interjects, spitting the words. “You and that little asswipe, always doing stupid shit to prove how brave you two are.”
He remembers what they did, remembers getting the answer out of Chanyeol weeks after the incident. We jumped off a building, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol had told him one night, lips loose after a couple beers. I wanted to see what it felt like, you know? What hyung felt. Except Sehun landed right and I landed wrong, and I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, I’m sorry.
He remembers punching Chanyeol in the face that night, despite his still healing eye.
“We were just having fun, Kyungsoo, fuck, are we not allowed to do that or something?” Chanyeol clenches his fist beside him, and he’s tired, they both are. They’ve had this argument a million times.
“Fun.” Kyungsoo resists the urge to slap that glare off of Chanyeol’s face. “Fun is almost killing yourself, right? You’re so immature, Chanyeol. I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“Look, can we not argue right now? Please?” Chanyeol leans his head back against the wall, and there’s a pleading in his eyes. “I’ve had enough of arguing, to be honest. I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, I was stupid, can you please just, just stop picking fights with me?”
This is where Kyungsoo should have stopped, should have given in. This is when he should have realized what Chanyeol is doing, what Chanyeol’s been doing, what Chanyeol always does.
It would have been so easy to sigh, to let it go, to have tucked Chanyeol into their shared bed, and maybe they could have helped each other. Loved each other.
But right now Kyungsoo just wants out, wants away from this wretched memory. He doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to have to shoulder Chanyeol’s pain for him, not again, not anymore. He’s done it so many times before, and look where it’s gotten him.
So he does what his past self did those months ago.
“Alright, Chanyeol, I’ll stop picking fights with you.” It’s whispered, it’s resigned, but not in the same way as Chanyeol. Chanyeol’s looking at him like he’s drowning and Kyungsoo doesn’t know how much longer he can tread water.
He knows this is all Chanyeol has ever asked of him. You’re not like everyone else, Chanyeol had told him once, and Kyungsoo hadn’t believed him because he’s nothing special. He remembers telling Chanyeol that he wasn’t a superhero, that he can’t save Chanyeol.
You don’t have to save me, Kyungsoo remembers him saying, I just need you to keep hope. That maybe one day I’ll save myself.
And it breaks his heart, it really does, because he knows he’s giving up on Chanyeol. Again.
But he walks away. Again.
“It’s actually a very simple operation, Mr. Do. In its simplest form, what this procedure entails is simply the destruction of memory pathways in various areas of the brain. Of course, we can provide only the tools - it is up to you to decide how you’re going to use them.”
“How much did Chanyeol erase?”
“Everything. Mr. Park erased everything.”
Mindswipe. A fancy name for an awful procedure.
Kyungsoo blinks, staring down at the bloodied shirt at his feet, a harsh blemish against the pristine tiled floors of the laundromat. He remembers now, wonders if this is normal, if this is supposed to happen.
It’s hard to breathe. There’s that drowning sensation again, that pricking at the corners of his eyes.
He remembers finding out like it had been just yesterday. Which, he supposes, it was. Fed up with being avoided, scared out of his mind trying to find a missing Chanyeol, poor Jongin hadn’t been able to keep the truth from Kyungsoo for very long.
He’d gone looking Chanyeol then, still half-expecting to find him brushing his teeth in the bathroom in the morning, or taking up space at their usual coffee shop. It isn’t surprising, however, to find out he’d been living with Sehun, of course with Sehun. He doesn’t know what had hurt worse, the curious smile Chanyeol had given him when he’d answered the door, or the petrified look in Sehun’s eyes when he’d wrenched Chanyeol back into the apartment.
The resounding crash that echoes after Kyungsoo punches a nearby washer does nothing for him, doesn’t make anything feel better. He’s just as hollow as he was before. His breaths are loud, ragged, suffocated by the otherwise silent room.
He picks up the tattered shirt, drops it into the machine as if he’d be burned if he held onto it for long. Stupid, stupid. He should have left for good, that night, should have saved both of them the trouble. Should have realized that what Chanyeol needed wasn’t something Kyungsoo could give.
Chanyeol, the broken boy with a smile that could fool even himself. Chanyeol, the one of millions of cynical kids trying to fight their way through life, trying to pick themselves up from parent problems, drug problems, problems and problems and problems. Kyungsoo can barely handle his own shit, let alone someone else’s.
It’s with a certain level of weariness that Kyungsoo picks up the red flannel shirt on the top of the pile in his basket. The process has already started, and there’s nothing he can do but follow through with it.
He recognizes the shirt a split second before there are hands pulling at his own shirt, a mouth pressing hard against his own.
“Chanyeol, wait,” Kyungsoo pants out when his lips are free, t-shirt being tugged off of him. “Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol doesn’t answer, just pushes him up against a wall and drops his head to mouth at Kyungsoo’s now exposed neck, fumbling with his belt. Kyungsoo bites back a moan; he shouldn’t be doing this, not again.
“Chanyeol, stop,” Kyungsoo manages, hands coming up to pull Chanyeol’s face away so he can look into the other’s eyes. There’s lust there, but also something else. Chanyeol’s hands stop immediately, but he’s still breathing heavily. “This isn’t right, Yeol, we can’t be doing this.”
This was one of the days that had marked the slow descent, and Kyungsoo knows it. This was a day of many other firsts, too. The first time Chanyeol had invited him to his parents’ house, the first time Chanyeol had broken character in front of him, and the first time Kyungsoo had caught a glimpse of what Chanyeol kept hidden behind crooked grins and persuasive eyes.
“Why not?” Chanyeol asks, head cocking in Kyungsoo’s hands. “This is my house too, you know. I’m allowed a visit now and then.”
“This is your parents’ bedroom,” Kyungsoo hisses, pushing him away and only feeling a twinge of guilt when Chanyeol stumbles back. “What if they catch us? You’re in enough shit with them as it is.”
The Park manor is as lovely as it is big, meticulously decorated to look as authentic as possible. As homely, as welcoming, as warm as possible, but it’s obvious. It reeks of money, and also of a sort of absence, sterility. Kyungsoo looks upon it now without the awestruck lens of the first time and he hates it, hates everything about this house that drips of calculation and cold.
Chanyeol snorts derisively, and it’s such an ugly look on him Kyungsoo can understand why he rarely sees this side of him. “I don’t give a fuck if they catch us,” he spits. “And besides, they won’t. They’re rarely ever home. I would know.”
“And what happens when your butler or whatever tells them you’ve brought someone home with you?”
Chanyeol scrunches up his face, “Oh, Young Master Chanyeol, what a pleasant surprise!” He scoffs. “My parents care for him less than they care for me, and that’s saying something. No, they’ll be too busy to care about what goes on in this house.”
“So then why?” Kyungsoo asks, stepping forward. “Why bother? Why drag me here only to fuck me in your parents’ bedroom?”
Kyungsoo already knows the answer, of course. Has always known, somewhere deep down. He’d never gotten the full story out of Chanyeol, about that last fight with his parents, but he’s cobbled together enough to have a good idea. But he asks anyway, because he knows what happens next.
“I-- I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, taken aback. “I’m not, I’m not doing it for a reason, Kyungsoo. I just wanted to show you--” He gestures vaguely, but the stricken look on his face gives him away. “I just love you?” is what he comes up with in the end, and really, it’s a shitty excuse, but there’s a begging in his voice as he stares, posture tense. Looking at him now, Kyungsoo can see just how uncomfortable Chanyeol looks, standing there in the house he’d spent so many years growing up alone.
Hindsight really is 20/20, Kyungsoo realizes with a pang.
“Oh, Chanyeol, you know I love you, too,” Kyungsoo says, following the script, and he can’t believe his past self couldn’t put everything together like this. It’s not the right thing to say. He shouldn’t. But even now, even though he knows it will bring nothing but pain, he can’t regret it. It’s terrifying because the words aren’t lies, even now.
Of course he did. How could he not? He’d met Chanyeol at a time where everything about the boy screamed love me, and over time it had only gotten deeper. Of course he’d loved Chanyeol. He’s just not sure if it was a good idea.
For now, Kyungsoo takes pity on Chanyeol, who’d looked away after Kyungsoo’s soft words. He tries to tell himself at the last moment that this is for Chanyeol, when he walks forwards and puts a hand to Chanyeol’s chin to pull him down, capturing his lips with Kyungsoo’s own. With Chanyeol so compliant, so immediately responsive, it’s so easy to forget that this is a memory, that Kyungsoo is probably doing this more for himself than for anyone else.
Kyungsoo lets Chanyeol fuck him into his parents’ mattress and it’s nothing like their usual passionate frenzy; it’s slow, it’s deliberate, it’s a little bit sad - because Chanyeol’s holding him so much tighter, so much more tenderly, and it’s all so much.
Kyungsoo comes with Chanyeol’s name on his lips and his eyes clenched shut.
When he opens them he’s, once again, in the coin laundry.
“Kyungsoo, please, be quiet--”
“Don’t you tell me to be quiet, Oh Sehun. What - what the fuck is this? How could he?”
“Hyung, you can’t yell like this, we can’t let him hear you. Look, don’t give me that face. I’m not saying I agree with this, either. But Chanyeol did this for a reason and you can’t just come in here and mess it all up. Let him move on, Kyungsoo, for his own sake. I can’t stand him being sad anymore.”
“And what about me? I don’t get a say in this? Nobody cares about how this makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry, hyung.”
Kyungsoo stands there for a long time.
There’s so many things wrong with his relationship with Chanyeol, so many things wrong with Chanyeol himself. Kyungsoo isn’t exactly doing great either. By the end, everything had hurt a lot more than Kyungsoo could bear.
He hadn’t left the night Chanyeol confessed to him about his parents, his parents that were too wrapped up in themselves to remember their remaining son. He hadn’t left the day Chanyeol had told him about his brother, who he’d looked up to so much, the parent he’d never had, the one who had eventually given in, given up. He hadn’t even left when he saw Chanyeol in the hospital rooms, only a couple days later.
No, Kyungsoo had never physically left - that had been Chanyeol. But Kyungsoo had left in other ways, and he thinks Chanyeol knew it.
It would be so, so easy to wash everything clean. He’s sure he’s shed enough tears by now. Forgetting everything would solve all of his problems, would let him move on with his life, would let him shake himself free from the claws Chanyeol had sunk into his clothes, into his skin.
And Chanyeol had done it. Flighty Chanyeol, reckless Chanyeol, the hopelessly impulsive Chanyeol had run one night and erased all of his chances of looking back.
But still Kyungsoo stands there, holding the red flannel shirt, and thinks about what he’s giving up every time he lets a memory go. Of course he doesn’t want to keep the later memories, the memories of Kyungsoo giving up, of Chanyeol giving up. There’s an undeniable shame that taints them.
The memory at the house, though. The way Chanyeol had looked so vulnerable, the sound of Chanyeol’s barely audible whispers of his name, the feeling of Chanyeol touching him so unbearably slowly. It hurts, and he isn’t surprised by this. But all the same. There is something to be said about memories so vivid, so emotional.
There is a part of Kyungsoo that doesn’t want to forget this one. No matter how painful. It would be wrong, awful, terrible to erase it, to let this rare instance of themselves as raw as they can be become nothing.
“Think of it this way,” the assistant had told him, before the procedure. “Think of it like you’re washing clothes, and we’re the detergent. Load the machines, spin the dial. And voila, after an hour you’ve got yourself a load of fresh, clean clothes.”
Kyungsoo considers the shirt he’s holding, the same one that Chanyeol had worn that day. It’s nothing special; frayed at the edges and faded from years of wear. He’s not an impulsive person usually; no, that would be Chanyeol.
But just this once.
He pulls, tugs harshly, until one of the buttons on the shirt comes loose, thread still wrapped around the holes, and shoves the button into his jeans pocket. Quickly, as if he were being watched. He throws the shirt into the machine, watching it disappear to the bottom.
He doesn’t know what will happen, or if anything will happen at all.
The button, small as it is, is hard against his thigh.
The next thing he picks up is a pair of tattered jeans, and this time it’s a mystery because these are jeans that Chanyeol has worn so many times that not all of the holes are manufacturer-made. Kyungsoo snorts, rolling his eyes, hands clenched in the familiar fabric, and this time he waits for the memory he knows is coming.
It’s a split second thing, a turn of his head and he’s looking out of the window of Chanyeol’s car, an old Toyota that he’d picked up over the flashy sports cars his parents had tried to insist on instead. He can barely see anything outside, save for the flashes of trees reflecting off the headlights. A glance at the dashboard tells him it’s nearly three in the morning, and to his left is Chanyeol, one hand on the steering wheel and one fiddling with the stereo. And of course, he’s wearing the jeans.
It’s with a little chagrin that Kyungsoo realizes he doesn’t remember this one. Not completely. They’ve been on these dead-of-the-night drives so often that none of them stick out in his mind. It’s a thing of theirs, a defining element of their relationship. Neither of them are big on movie dates and fancy dinners, but the peaceful calm of the car is romance enough.
“And it’s not like I don’t try, you know? Because I do,” Chanyeol says, the beginning of his sentence lost. He gives up on the stereo, and the local soft rock station plays quietly in the background. He sighs. “I wish I were smart like you, Kyungsoo.”
“You shouldn’t put yourself down like that,” Kyungsoo says, heart tugging because this is a conversation they’ve had before.
“I’m not putting myself down,” he grumbles, “considering I’ve been down long before I could help it. School sucks.”
“You know I’ll help you study.” His hand inches over to twine with Chanyeol’s free one, nudging him a little. “We’ll graduate on time and get good jobs and be happy and shit.”
Chanyeol flashes him a grin, tightening his grip around Kyungsoo’s fingers. “Happy and shit,” he repeats, savouring the words. “Great life goals. Amazing.”
Kyungsoo laughs, “It’s the best we’ve got, asshole; appreciate them.”
Kyungsoo relaxes into the worn leather of the seat, letting his head rest as he stares idly out the window. This is nice. Nights like these were good nights. Nights like these when Chanyeol has too much pent up energy and Kyungsoo is sick of studying, nights when Chanyeol dangles his car keys tantalizingly in front of Kyungsoo’s face. Nights when they start out at midnight with a full tank of gas and they end up down an unknown back street, tank mostly empty, tangled together in the most uncomfortable of ways on the back seat, sweat sticking to their skin. It’s either the sun or a police officer that usually wakes them up, and it’s happened enough times that they are no longer embarrassed about explaining their naked selves to cops.
“We should do something,” Chanyeol says suddenly. “Spontaneous. Like in the movies. It’ll be romantic.”
Shaking his head, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “If we plan it,” he begins, deliberately slowly, “it wouldn’t be spontaneous. It would be really cliché.”
“Well, what’s wrong with being cliché every once in a while?” Chanyeol pouts. “Let’s go cow tipping.”
“Why the fuck would we go cow tipping?” Kyungsoo snickers. “You know, you’re an awful romantic, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol gasps, mock offended. “Rude,” he hisses. “I distinctly remember you loving my two weeks of extravagant flowers leading up to Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m allergic to pollen, you tart. My eyes weren’t watery because I was emotional, I was having an allergic reaction!”
“Oh…” Chanyeol clams up after this, frown at the corner of his lips. “You know, I thought I was being special.”
“You are a walking cliché,” Kyungsoo says, fondness in his voice. “But there’s nothing wrong with being cliché once in a while,” he adds playfully when he sees Chanyeol’s face fall.
Nights like these never amount to anything, and neither of them really expect or want them to. Nights like these are the ones where they can pretend that everything is good, that Kyungsoo isn’t swimming in debt and Chanyeol isn’t swimming in self-hatred. They don’t usually say much, do much; Chanyeol just drives, on and on for as long as he can, and Kyungsoo keeps him company. It’s nice. It’s good. It’s nights like these that Kyungsoo craves, treasures, and yet takes for granted, because Chanyeol’s always there, always been there, ready to go.
They don’t have to be anyone, when they’re like this. They don’t have expectations to live up to, they don’t have heated phone conversations ringing in their ears, they don’t have anything but each other. And this is nice. This is good.
Kyungsoo closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the comfort of the head rest, Chanyeol’s quiet singing, the gentle rhythms of the car blazing down the road.
It’s not until Chanyeol’s singing fades away that he opens his eyes, and he can’t help the hollowness that fills him when he’s met with the glaring shine of the washing machines.
“Where did you say he did this, again?”
“Hyung, think rationally--”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Sehun, tell me where he did it.”
“I don’t, I don’t really know, Chanyeol-hyung never - he said something… EXO something. But hyung, you shouldn’t, you can’t.”
“I know.”
Kyungsoo wonders if it’s too late.
Kyungsoo isn’t like Chanyeol in many, many ways. So many, in fact, that their respective friend groups could hardly believe it when they first got together. Kyungsoo is reserved where Chanyeol is outgoing, Kyungsoo plans things weeks in advance where Chanyeol likes to book weekend getaways a few hours before the train leaves. But among the myriad of ways that they are different, there are underlying similarities.
Sentimentality is decidedly one of these similarities.
It’s ridiculous, absurd, ludicrous how much Kyungsoo wishes he didn’t have to forget this memory. A memory so unmemorable he couldn’t even tell you when it happened, or what happened afterwards. But still, he does not want to lose this memory.
He lets himself fall against the machine, arms propping himself up, head hung, jeans dangling in his hand. He can still feel it, if he tries hard enough, the leather of the seat, the rough skin of Chanyeol’s fingers, the peace of moving endlessly along a dark road at eighty miles an hour. He can still feel the unspoken but unequivocally real undercurrent of trust, companionship, love. It’s been so long, he realizes, and now that he’s had a taste of what once was, there’s a selfish, selfish part of him that wants to keep it.
It’s the same selfishness that keeps the loose threads that come off in his hands from the frayed edges of the jeans as he lets them drop into the machine. It’s sentimentality that makes the stupid association of those threads with their car rides, their thing. He knows it’s probably for nothing, that he’s already made the decision to let Chanyeol go, good and the bad.
But still.
It’s with an almost reluctance that Kyungsoo reaches for the next article of clothing in the basket, and he can’t help the fondness that replaces it when he sees what he picked up.
Chanyeol’s favourite red hoodie, the one he brought with him everywhere.
“How?” he hears Chanyeol whisper, and when he looks up Chanyeol is staring at him from their bed, in Chanyeol’s old apartment. This is before Kyungsoo had finally given in to Chanyeol’s pleas to move in together, when Chanyeol still lived in the complex his parents owned.
This is Chanyeol’s birthday, and Kyungsoo hands him the hoodie Chanyeol had told him about offhandedly. Kyungsoo pretends not to see the slight wet sheen in Chanyeol’s eyes as he receives the shirt, and climbs onto the bed with him, still in his pyjamas.
“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you,” Kyungsoo answers, the memory still fresh in his mind. “How would I know where rich people dump their old possessions? Can you imagine your parents at a Goodwill?”
Chanyeol snorts but doesn’t tear his eyes away from hoodie, grip tight on the sleeves. It had belonged to Chanyeol’s brother, and it had taken Kyungsoo days of roaming around the city trying to find it. It had cost him a ridiculous amount of money, but given the fact that Chanyeol is speechless, it’s worth it.
“Kyungsoo, thank you,” Chanyeol whispers, finally looking at him again, and Kyungsoo really can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face when he sees the happiness radiating off Chanyeol. “I can’t even believe - thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Kyungsoo replies, leaning in to kiss Chanyeol gently. “Happy birthday.”
Chanyeol laughs, wrapping his arms bodily around Kyungsoo and ignores the squawk that he lets out when he pulls him down onto the covers with him, peppering his face with kisses.
“You’re quite possibly the best person I’ve ever fucked,” Chanyeol states, barely flinching when Kyungsoo elbows him. “High praise, Kyungsoo, high praise!”
“You’re so awful,” Kyungsoo complains. “Here I am, giving you an extremely thoughtful and meaningful gift, and here you are, making lewd jokes.”
Chanyeol cocks an eyebrow. “Do you really expect anything else?”
Kyungsoo considers this for a long moment, “No, not really,” he admits with a shrug.
“I knew it.” Chanyeol lies back in bed, staring up at nothing, and Kyungsoo joins him. His heart is beating fast when Chanyeol reaches to lace their fingers together, only because he remembers this day, this moment.
They lie together like that for a long while, not saying anything - there isn’t much to be said. They’ve always been like this, never having to spell out the meaningful things. And Kyungsoo loves it, loves this, these days where everything had been so perfect. The early days of their relationship, when everything had been new, exciting, silver-lined.
Their honeymoon days had lasted for longer than for any of Kyungsoo’s past relationships, for which he has always been grateful. Their transition from awkward study dates (only awkward because Chanyeol had never been a ‘study date’ kind of person) to skinny dipping in one of Kyungsoo’s neighbour’s pools had been seamless. Chanyeol had developed a newfound sensitivity for quiet nights and shitty reality TV, and Kyungsoo had finally been the rebellious teenager Chanyeol never grew out of. Somehow, they’d worked.
Happiness. This is what this is, this feeling that’s overwhelming him. Happiness like Kyungsoo had never known before. Happiness like this, Chanyeol’s hand in his own, knowing that this linkage is a symbol of something else, a symbol of how Chanyeol had given Kyungsoo his heart, so easily it was almost foolish. Kyungsoo, who’s holding Chanyeol’s heart in his hand, who’d been just as easily persuaded to be that one, that one to try and give Chanyeol happiness, too.
Yes, it still hurts to think about how Chanyeol doesn’t remember this, these moments. Yes, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s so many reasons why they’re better left forgotten, because what comes afterward is hard to justify.
But it’s hard. It’s hard when Chanyeol is whispering to him about things, useless things and things like Kyungsoo, thank you, and Kyungsoo, I love you.
It’s hard not to be selfish, to not want to keep what should not be kept. It’s hard because Kyungsoo remembers this, remembers moments like these.
“I love you, too,” he whispers back, and Chanyeol’s looking at him with these eyes, these eyes that are surprised and awed and utterly, utterly in love.
The words ring in his ears and Kyungsoo remembers, he remembers, that he still does, still loves Chanyeol, has always loved Chanyeol.
Chanyeol rolls onto his side, puts a hand to Kyungsoo’s cheek, and leans in to kiss him. Kyungsoo closes his eyes in anticipation and can feel the tug of his heart when he realizes he’ll never feel it.
“Mr. Do, by agreeing to this procedure, you must be fully aware that once completed, you will never be able to to access these memories again. There is no going back.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I must stress once again that we do not encourage undergoing the procedure when you’re in a… fragile emotional state. It is unwise to--”
“I’m not in a fragile emotional state. I want this. I can’t bear remembering anymore. I’ve made my decision.”
It’s the sound of the laundry machines that cues him to open his eyes, and as expected he is no longer in their old apartment. It finally hits him how much he stands to lose, when even now he can’t remember how that kiss had felt like. How could he bear to lose them all, every touch, every look, every feeling of happiness and love that he’d experienced with Chanyeol, shared with Chanyeol. It would not be much of a burden, he thinks, to be the only one to remember these moments. To look back on his relationship with Chanyeol and not remember the ugly, horrible parts, their traumatic ending, but remember the times where all that mattered was one another. The times before they’d given up.
But he’s been so selfish. How could he think of keeping only the good, when Chanyeol had none, had none because of Kyungsoo. How could he delude himself with happiness when Chanyeol had been hurt so badly no amount of happiness could compensate?
He can’t have what’s passed.
Kyungsoo drops the hoodie into the wash, and it almost burns when he lets go. And it keeps burning when he grabs clothes by the handful now, throws them into the machine, and he sees flashes, random memories. Celebrating the end of finals. A vicious battle of Mario Kart in their boxers on the living room floor. That day they’d driven five hours out of town to go to some carnival. He won’t be selfish anymore, can’t be. And he can only do this if he doesn’t let himself be sucked back in.
He stops, however, when he sees what lies at the bottom of the basket. It’s a pair of black socks, a pair that is indistinguishable from any other pair of socks that he owns. But somehow he knows, knows exactly what these socks are.
It’s with this knowledge that he picks them up, holds them, waits for the memory. The last memory he would visit; the first memory he’d ever made with Chanyeol.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he hears Chanyeol says through chattering teeth. Kyungsoo looks up and offers the socks to the still shivering boy who barely fits into Kyungsoo’s most oversized t-shirt and baggiest sweatpants that are still too short on him. Chanyeol takes the socks with murmured thanks, a sheepish smile on his face.
Kyungsoo snorts. “I know,” he says, leaning against the doorframe and taking in this sight of Chanyeol, soaking wet and doing his best impression of a drowned rat. He tries to push the thought of for the last time out of his head. “But I figure you must be a college kid, too. Getting sick around finals sucks. So.” A shrug.
Kyungsoo had been intrigued, under that initial annoyance, by the gangly kid he’d fished out of the lake by the campus. And a little curious.
Chanyeol laughs. “Thanks so much for your concern,” he says, voice sincere despite the smile. “I’m Chanyeol.”
“Kyungsoo,” is Kyungsoo’s reply and wow. It’s been a while since Chanyeol’s had long hair like this. Been a while since Kyungsoo had even thought about this night.
“Very nice to meet you, although I can’t say we met under the most ideal of circumstances.” Chanyeol sits down on Kyungsoo’s bed, wrapped in a towel, utterly comfortable.
“I’m still wondering why you decided to jump off that bridge, you know,” Kyungsoo prompts, and it’s still clear as day in his mind, the way his heart had stopped when he’d noticed some kid leaping into the lake. “You don’t really seem the type to, um…” he trails off, suddenly awkward. True, it had been hard to believe that the smiley guy in front of him was suicidal, but Kyungsoo knows better, despite what Chanyeol says next.
“Off myself?” Chanyeol finishes, blunt and with a shrug. “Nah. You’re right, that’s not my type. I like to believe I’m tougher than that, you know? Killing myself would be the ultimate surrender.”
“And you don’t give up?” Kyungsoo asks - how ironic.
“I may be messed up in ways you shouldn’t bother getting involved with, and probably no one would be surprised if I did, but no. Not like that. No matter how bad it gets, I won’t give up.” Chanyeol says this with determined eyes, looking right at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo finds it hard to meet his gaze. “I promised someone I wouldn’t ever give up, and they matter so much more than my shitty life, so.”
Fuck if it’s not painful to hear these words, the words that had been the instigator of their relationship, that had made Kyungsoo want to meet Chanyeol again. Kyungsoo, who had been so inspired, so touched.
How could he have ever forgotten this? How could he have ever given up, let Chanyeol give up?
“And besides,” Chanyeol continues blithely, cocking his head and offering Kyungsoo a full smile. “It’s hard to drown when there are people like you around to pull me out of the water.”
This startles a laugh out of Kyungsoo. “Don’t expect me to go jumping into any more freezing lakes for you,” he warns. “I can’t always be saving you.”
Chanyeol grins. “You don’t have to save me,” he insists. “You just have to keep hope. That one day I’ll save myself.”
The words echo as he’s pulled back to the coin laundry.
“We’re going to put you under now, Mr. Do. Just lie back and relax; it’ll be just like falling asleep.”
Maybe Kyungsoo can’t fix what’s already happened, can’t salvage what they’ve already broken beyond repair. He can’t keep the good memories, and he’s already let go of the bad.
But Kyungsoo of right now remembers everything.
And maybe… maybe Kyungsoo can try again. Maybe Kyungsoo will remember enough, and maybe this time Kyungsoo won’t give up. Maybe this time Chanyeol won’t give up. He doesn’t expect a perfect relationship, or to never have bad memories, because they happen, and he knows it. They’re still two people in bad places that shouldn’t work. But they did. And they could again.
Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe he’ll wake up and he’ll remember nothing, and he’ll never meet Chanyeol again.
Kyungsoo can hope, though, and that’s all Chanyeol’s ever asked of him anyway.
Kyungsoo drops one sock into the wash and keeps the other. He turns the dial on the machine and his heart beats fast as his hand hovers over the start button. It’s ridiculous, to get emotional now of all times, but this is it.
He pushes the button, and his last thought is that he’s had quite enough of this coin laundry.
Kyungsoo blinks. It’s blessedly empty in the Laundromat, though he does hear a few machines whirring from the other side of the room. Foolish, in Kyungsoo’s opinion, to leave clothes unattended. But to each their own, he supposes.
He looks back to the basket he’s brought with him and begins the tedious task of loading the machines. Laundry is not the most difficult or tiresome chore that he’s had to do, but until he moves into a bigger apartment that actually has a washer and dryer in the building, he’s going to dislike dragging his dirty underwear two blocks over.
At least it’s clean. And modern. Cherry’s Laundromat is a recent thing, with maybe thirty machines in the whole room; they’re all shiny and front-loading and are not prone to malfunction (like some he’s visited). The bright lights and cheery floral wallpaper, he allows, add to the calming atmosphere, though it’s not really to his taste. The tiling is simple enough. Kyungsoo will live.
He hears it more than sees it when someone walks in, and he drops the sweater in his hand into the machine in surprise. An offensively tall guy around his age, who accidentally drops his hamper with a crash.
“Hi!” the stranger greets, meeting Kyungsoo’s stare. Kyungsoo lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed. He turns back to his laundry, ignoring the other. Don’t talk to weirdos, his mother had always told him, and the excessively ripped jeans the guy is wearing (exposing knobby knees) is quite enough for Kyungsoo.
The guy seems to take the hint, not trying to initiate any more conversations, but he does choose to do his laundry in the machine beside Kyungsoo’s, much to Kyungsoo’s irritation.
Rich people, he gripes to himself, always thinking they can do whatever they want.
It then occurs to him how strange that thought was. Kyungsoo sneaks a glance at the other boy. Why would he come to that conclusion? Ripped-jeans-boy hardly seems the type to ride Lamborghinis…
“... a Toyota, more like,” he snickers, and only realizes belatedly that he’d said it out loud. He blushes when he notices the other’s gaze on him.
“What did you say?” the stranger asks.
“Nothing!” Kyungsoo says hastily, cursing himself, “I didn’t, uh, say anything.”
“Oh, okay.” Kyungsoo stares hard at his clothes, mortified. “Hey, you dropped something, I think.”
Kyungsoo blinks and looks down to where the other boy is pointing, noticing a sock he hadn’t noticed fallen on the ground. It’s definitely his.
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo mutters.
“No problem. My name’s Chanyeol, by the way.”
“Kyungsoo.” It’s strange, so very strange, how familiar that name is to him. Chanyeol’s not necessarily a popular name, and he doesn’t remember ever meeting one before.
Chanyeol smiles at him and for some reason Kyungsoo finds himself distracted by that smile. “Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo. Even if it is a little bit weird to meet like this.”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, “Yeah, it is.”
Poll
Team: AU
Rating: R
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Chanyeol/D.O
Summary: kyungsoo just doesn’t want to be the only one that remembers. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!AU
Author's Note: this was so much fun, i'm so happy to have been able to take part in this! thank you to my awesome team for being the best support group i could have asked for. thank you especially to A, J, R, and A for getting me through this!
Prompt Used: WAX - Coin Laundry
“We’re going to put you under now, Mr. Do. Just lie back and relax; it’ll be just like falling asleep.”
True to his words, Kyungsoo slowly begins to drift off, breathing in the heavy sedative pouring out of the mask over his mouth and nose. The last thing he hears is the soft whirring of the machines that have been hooked up all around him, and it strikes him at the very last moment how similar they are to the sounds of a washing machine.
Kyungsoo blinks. It’s blessedly empty in the Laundromat, though he does hear a few machines whirring from the other side of the room. Foolish, in Kyungsoo’s opinion, to leave clothes unattended. But to each their own, he supposes.
He looks back to the basket he’s brought with him and begins the tedious task of loading the machines. Laundry is not the most difficult or tiresome chore that he’s had to do, but until he moves into a bigger apartment that actually has a washer and dryer in the building, he’s going to dislike dragging his dirty underwear two blocks over.
At least it’s clean. And modern. Cherry’s Laundromat is a recent thing, with maybe thirty machines in the whole room; they’re all shiny and front-loading and are not prone to malfunction (like some he’s visited). The bright lights and cheery floral wallpaper, he allows, add to the calming atmosphere, though it’s not really to his taste. The tiling is simple enough. Kyungsoo will live.
“Will you at least look at me when we’re talking? Or is that too much to ask?”
Kyungsoo freezes with his hand outstretched over the machine, the black sweater in his grip hovering over the opening. That voice…
A rough hand grabs at his shoulder, turning him around, and suddenly he’s face to face with Chanyeol.
“What--?” Kyungsoo splutters, eyes darting between Chanyeol and the ugly sofa that means they’re in their apartment.
“What is your problem, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol demands, letting go so hard that it makes Kyungsoo take a few steps back. “I called you like five times - I know you’re busy with your thesis and shit, I know, but it’s cold outside and I had to walk back by myself… and you’re not even listening to me, are you?”
It’s these last few words that makes Kyungsoo realize where they are, and it’s then that Kyungsoo sees the rest of Chanyeol, the wet shoes and skintight jeans and that stupid, threadbare black sweater Kyungsoo’s been trying to get rid of for forever.
“I”m listening, Chanyeol,” he replies, and it’s weird, echoey. “I’m always fucking listening to you, Chanyeol, because you’re always fucking talking at me.”
It’s strange, listening to words he’s already heard, repeating words he’s already said.
He has no idea what’s happening, so he does what he remembers happens next: he shoulders past Chanyeol into the kitchen.
“You’re not going to even ask where I was, though?” Chanyeol asks, following him. “You’ll listen, but you don’t really care; that’s it, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t ask because I already have a good idea where you were,” Kyungsoo sneers and why, why is he doing this again--
“You think I fucked somebody.” Chanyeol advances, shoes squeaking on the tiled floors, and the fluorescent lights are too bright, illuminating the derision on Chanyeol’s face. “Right? That’s why you won’t ask. Because you’re too scared of the answer, because--”
“Oh, I know you fucked somebody,” Kyungsoo interrupts and the smirk on his face feels awful. “I know you did. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know you, Chanyeol. I fucking know you.” Kyungsoo says it and wishes he hadn’t, he regrets it with everything he has, because what comes next - not this, he doesn’t want to go through this again - “You like to get drunk off of beer that tastes like piss just to cause a scene. You like to get high on whatever you can get your hands on so people will look at you and think ‘poor Chanyeol’.”
Kyungsoo’s voice is strained with the effort not to say it, but, “I bet you’d drive off a cliff if it meant someone would cry over you.”
And it’s worse, it’s so much worse this time because he can see the pain in Chanyeol’s eyes when his own aren’t blurred by anger. And it’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, still so fucking wrong. He doesn’t mean it, of course he doesn’t, he knows better, should know better. Chanyeol wouldn’t, Chanyeol isn’t--
The silence that follows is painful, agonizing. And Chanyeol won’t look at him anymore.
“You know, Kyungsoo, I don’t need this shit, yeah? Not from you.”
Watching Chanyeol turn heel and walk away from him again doesn’t hurt less the second time around.
It takes him thirty seconds after Chanyeol has slammed the door behind him before he remembers to run after him, and please, let him just change this, please.
“Chanyeol, come on,” Kyungsoo yells, watching as Chanyeol cuts across the road uncaring of the oncoming traffic. “Chanyeol, please, look, I’m sorry! Hold on!”
He’s separated even more once he’s waited for the road to clear, and the anxiety is the same, the fucking anxiety is the same. Kyungsoo doesn’t do this shit, Kyungsoo stays home and mourns before it’s over, gives up. But Kyungsoo breaks his character, running after Chanyeol.
“Chanyeol, I didn’t mean it, come on,” Kyungsoo reaches out to grab Chanyeol’s elbow, and he’s not surprised this time when Chanyeol wrenches himself out of Kyungsoo’s grip.
Chanyeol’s voice is as cold and steely as it was before, but his, “Oh, you meant it, Kyungsoo. You meant it this time, and you’ve always meant it, maybe even from the beginning,” is choked in a way he’d never noticed.
Kyungsoo doesn’t remember if the tears in his throat are his or from the memory, but the panic and despair roiling in his stomach feel real enough.
“Fuck, Chanyeol, I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry.” It’s hard to keep up with Chanyeol like this, and it really is cold outside and he walked how far like this and guilt, guilt is what makes it hard to follow. “Come on, you know how I am, you know I didn’t - I say things when I don’t, when I’m scared.” There it is. “I’m just scared, okay?”
Kyungsoo stops when Chanyeol whirls around, eyes blazing.
“You’re scared, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol asks, incredulous, and Kyungsoo flinches at the venom in his words. “No, you’re just a fucking asshole, and I’m just a ‘pathetic attention whore’. Fuck you, Kyungsoo.”
Chanyeol spits the words before taking off again and this time Kyungsoo lets him.
He’d never wanted to relive this moment, this exact moment where everything had finally crumbled down around them. This was the moment that Chanyeol had left and never come back, the moment that Kyungsoo had spent days and weeks wishing he’d done differently, if only he had the chance. The next time Kyungsoo had seen Chanyeol--
Kyungsoo closes his eyes, letting only a few of the tears brimming in his eyes fall. No more of this, he pleads to himself. Wake up from this nightmare.
“How could he just, just do this? To me? How could he do this to me, to us--”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Do, it’s not an uncommon practice. We always recommend not undergoing the procedure when… emotional, but he was adamant.”
Kyungsoo blinks. He reaches up to wipe the streaks on his cheeks with his hand and realizes they’re shaking.
He’s in the Laundromat again. The lights are too bright, though they’d been fine before, and it reminds him too much of kitchen lights. The washing machine is still waiting for him, and the sweater in his other hand is still poised over it.
It’s with a pang that he finally recognizes the black sweater, the same one Chanyeol had been wearing that night, and he can’t help it when he all but throws the article into the machine. He has no idea why it’s in his possession, why he’s washing it; all he knows is that he doesn’t want to see it again. Not ever.
It’s been a while since he’s seen Chanyeol. Since that day, that meeting. And although Kyungsoo is an expert at lying to himself, it would be impossible to try and to pretend that he’s been okay. He hasn’t. Not really. The days have gone on, classes have been attended, but every Sociology class without Chanyeol’s smart ass answers muttered under his breath is a reminder of how fucked up everything is.
Deep breaths, Kyungsoo, he tells himself instead. Everything will be okay. Maybe.
He breathes, counts the seconds, and starts with the clothes again. Distracting himself and putting things out of mind has always worked for him.
He stops, hand freezing, when he picks up what looks like used to be a tank top. It’s nothing more than scraps of fabric now, stained a dirty red in some places. Blood.
“Jesus!” he shouts, dropping the shirt and backing away.
“Kyungsoo, before you say anything, I know it looks bad, I know, but you gotta promise you won’t freak out, okay?”
Kyungsoo whips his head to the side, heart racing, only to be met with the heart stopping sight of Chanyeol, except this time Chanyeol’s listing to one side, lacerations all over his body, and one eyes is swollen shut.
“Holy shit, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo hisses, running over with his heart in his throat, just in time to catch Chanyeol as he begins to slip down. He’s not strong enough to support the much-taller Chanyeol, so he slowly helps him to the floor, thanking their luck they’d gone with the carpet instead of the hardwood.
They’re at home again, and Chanyeol’s leaning against the door leading to their en suite bathroom, breaths shallow. It’s a tiny bit less stressful, in their room, but Kyungsoo can’t tear his eyes away from the weird angle Chanyeol’s arm is at, or the already purplish bruises he can see forming along his ribs. Maybe he should have realized, but he’s preoccupied, panic and fear clouding his mind, demanding his attention.
“What the fuck happened, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo hisses, tearing one of the sheets off their bed and pressing it against Chanyeol’s skin to help staunch the bleeding - it’s a wonder how Chanyeol managed to get out of his shirt by himself.
Chanyeol hisses as Kyungsoo presses harder. “It was an accident,” is what he says, and how he can be so lucid, despite the clenched teeth, is beyond Kyungsoo. “It wasn’t supposed, shit, to end like this.”
“What wasn’t supposed to end like this?” Kyungsoo asks with shaking hands, staring fiercely at Chanyeol, who can’t meet his gaze. “Tell me, Chanyeol, or so help me I’m letting you clean yourself up.” An empty threat, but it works.
“It was a dare, my fault, but it wasn’t supposed to be that far off the ground, none of us knew--”
And in an instant, Kyungsoo knows what this is, what this was.
His hand falls away in shock, eyes wide and disbelieving. Another flashback, this is another fucking flashback? He can’t help the way he falls back, away.
Because he’s done this before - he remembers it so vividly - he’s come home to find Chanyeol half alive before. And he knows why, how could he ever forget why when it had scared him so badly the first time?
“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol moans, “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, please, can you help me, I just-- it fucking hurts and--” he cuts off, biting his lips to stifle a whimper of pain.
This snaps Kyungsoo out of his shock, and he’s moving forward without thought. Memory or whatever the hell is going on, he can’t just watch Chanyeol bleed out on their carpet.
“Are you fucking insane?” Kyungsoo hisses later as he’s bandaging Chanyeol with the first aid kit from their bathroom, and maybe he’s not quite as gentle as he could have been, but now that the urgency has faded a little the old rage is back.
Chanyeol, too, has calmed enough to be able to sit up on his own, limp to Kyungsoo’s ministrations, despite the sting of the antiseptic. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, dismissive even though the swelling hasn’t gone down in his eye. “Sehun and I--”
“Yeah, yeah, Sehun and you,” Kyungsoo interjects, spitting the words. “You and that little asswipe, always doing stupid shit to prove how brave you two are.”
He remembers what they did, remembers getting the answer out of Chanyeol weeks after the incident. We jumped off a building, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol had told him one night, lips loose after a couple beers. I wanted to see what it felt like, you know? What hyung felt. Except Sehun landed right and I landed wrong, and I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, I’m sorry.
He remembers punching Chanyeol in the face that night, despite his still healing eye.
“We were just having fun, Kyungsoo, fuck, are we not allowed to do that or something?” Chanyeol clenches his fist beside him, and he’s tired, they both are. They’ve had this argument a million times.
“Fun.” Kyungsoo resists the urge to slap that glare off of Chanyeol’s face. “Fun is almost killing yourself, right? You’re so immature, Chanyeol. I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“Look, can we not argue right now? Please?” Chanyeol leans his head back against the wall, and there’s a pleading in his eyes. “I’ve had enough of arguing, to be honest. I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, I was stupid, can you please just, just stop picking fights with me?”
This is where Kyungsoo should have stopped, should have given in. This is when he should have realized what Chanyeol is doing, what Chanyeol’s been doing, what Chanyeol always does.
It would have been so easy to sigh, to let it go, to have tucked Chanyeol into their shared bed, and maybe they could have helped each other. Loved each other.
But right now Kyungsoo just wants out, wants away from this wretched memory. He doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to have to shoulder Chanyeol’s pain for him, not again, not anymore. He’s done it so many times before, and look where it’s gotten him.
So he does what his past self did those months ago.
“Alright, Chanyeol, I’ll stop picking fights with you.” It’s whispered, it’s resigned, but not in the same way as Chanyeol. Chanyeol’s looking at him like he’s drowning and Kyungsoo doesn’t know how much longer he can tread water.
He knows this is all Chanyeol has ever asked of him. You’re not like everyone else, Chanyeol had told him once, and Kyungsoo hadn’t believed him because he’s nothing special. He remembers telling Chanyeol that he wasn’t a superhero, that he can’t save Chanyeol.
You don’t have to save me, Kyungsoo remembers him saying, I just need you to keep hope. That maybe one day I’ll save myself.
And it breaks his heart, it really does, because he knows he’s giving up on Chanyeol. Again.
But he walks away. Again.
“It’s actually a very simple operation, Mr. Do. In its simplest form, what this procedure entails is simply the destruction of memory pathways in various areas of the brain. Of course, we can provide only the tools - it is up to you to decide how you’re going to use them.”
“How much did Chanyeol erase?”
“Everything. Mr. Park erased everything.”
Mindswipe. A fancy name for an awful procedure.
Kyungsoo blinks, staring down at the bloodied shirt at his feet, a harsh blemish against the pristine tiled floors of the laundromat. He remembers now, wonders if this is normal, if this is supposed to happen.
It’s hard to breathe. There’s that drowning sensation again, that pricking at the corners of his eyes.
He remembers finding out like it had been just yesterday. Which, he supposes, it was. Fed up with being avoided, scared out of his mind trying to find a missing Chanyeol, poor Jongin hadn’t been able to keep the truth from Kyungsoo for very long.
He’d gone looking Chanyeol then, still half-expecting to find him brushing his teeth in the bathroom in the morning, or taking up space at their usual coffee shop. It isn’t surprising, however, to find out he’d been living with Sehun, of course with Sehun. He doesn’t know what had hurt worse, the curious smile Chanyeol had given him when he’d answered the door, or the petrified look in Sehun’s eyes when he’d wrenched Chanyeol back into the apartment.
The resounding crash that echoes after Kyungsoo punches a nearby washer does nothing for him, doesn’t make anything feel better. He’s just as hollow as he was before. His breaths are loud, ragged, suffocated by the otherwise silent room.
He picks up the tattered shirt, drops it into the machine as if he’d be burned if he held onto it for long. Stupid, stupid. He should have left for good, that night, should have saved both of them the trouble. Should have realized that what Chanyeol needed wasn’t something Kyungsoo could give.
Chanyeol, the broken boy with a smile that could fool even himself. Chanyeol, the one of millions of cynical kids trying to fight their way through life, trying to pick themselves up from parent problems, drug problems, problems and problems and problems. Kyungsoo can barely handle his own shit, let alone someone else’s.
It’s with a certain level of weariness that Kyungsoo picks up the red flannel shirt on the top of the pile in his basket. The process has already started, and there’s nothing he can do but follow through with it.
He recognizes the shirt a split second before there are hands pulling at his own shirt, a mouth pressing hard against his own.
“Chanyeol, wait,” Kyungsoo pants out when his lips are free, t-shirt being tugged off of him. “Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol doesn’t answer, just pushes him up against a wall and drops his head to mouth at Kyungsoo’s now exposed neck, fumbling with his belt. Kyungsoo bites back a moan; he shouldn’t be doing this, not again.
“Chanyeol, stop,” Kyungsoo manages, hands coming up to pull Chanyeol’s face away so he can look into the other’s eyes. There’s lust there, but also something else. Chanyeol’s hands stop immediately, but he’s still breathing heavily. “This isn’t right, Yeol, we can’t be doing this.”
This was one of the days that had marked the slow descent, and Kyungsoo knows it. This was a day of many other firsts, too. The first time Chanyeol had invited him to his parents’ house, the first time Chanyeol had broken character in front of him, and the first time Kyungsoo had caught a glimpse of what Chanyeol kept hidden behind crooked grins and persuasive eyes.
“Why not?” Chanyeol asks, head cocking in Kyungsoo’s hands. “This is my house too, you know. I’m allowed a visit now and then.”
“This is your parents’ bedroom,” Kyungsoo hisses, pushing him away and only feeling a twinge of guilt when Chanyeol stumbles back. “What if they catch us? You’re in enough shit with them as it is.”
The Park manor is as lovely as it is big, meticulously decorated to look as authentic as possible. As homely, as welcoming, as warm as possible, but it’s obvious. It reeks of money, and also of a sort of absence, sterility. Kyungsoo looks upon it now without the awestruck lens of the first time and he hates it, hates everything about this house that drips of calculation and cold.
Chanyeol snorts derisively, and it’s such an ugly look on him Kyungsoo can understand why he rarely sees this side of him. “I don’t give a fuck if they catch us,” he spits. “And besides, they won’t. They’re rarely ever home. I would know.”
“And what happens when your butler or whatever tells them you’ve brought someone home with you?”
Chanyeol scrunches up his face, “Oh, Young Master Chanyeol, what a pleasant surprise!” He scoffs. “My parents care for him less than they care for me, and that’s saying something. No, they’ll be too busy to care about what goes on in this house.”
“So then why?” Kyungsoo asks, stepping forward. “Why bother? Why drag me here only to fuck me in your parents’ bedroom?”
Kyungsoo already knows the answer, of course. Has always known, somewhere deep down. He’d never gotten the full story out of Chanyeol, about that last fight with his parents, but he’s cobbled together enough to have a good idea. But he asks anyway, because he knows what happens next.
“I-- I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, taken aback. “I’m not, I’m not doing it for a reason, Kyungsoo. I just wanted to show you--” He gestures vaguely, but the stricken look on his face gives him away. “I just love you?” is what he comes up with in the end, and really, it’s a shitty excuse, but there’s a begging in his voice as he stares, posture tense. Looking at him now, Kyungsoo can see just how uncomfortable Chanyeol looks, standing there in the house he’d spent so many years growing up alone.
Hindsight really is 20/20, Kyungsoo realizes with a pang.
“Oh, Chanyeol, you know I love you, too,” Kyungsoo says, following the script, and he can’t believe his past self couldn’t put everything together like this. It’s not the right thing to say. He shouldn’t. But even now, even though he knows it will bring nothing but pain, he can’t regret it. It’s terrifying because the words aren’t lies, even now.
Of course he did. How could he not? He’d met Chanyeol at a time where everything about the boy screamed love me, and over time it had only gotten deeper. Of course he’d loved Chanyeol. He’s just not sure if it was a good idea.
For now, Kyungsoo takes pity on Chanyeol, who’d looked away after Kyungsoo’s soft words. He tries to tell himself at the last moment that this is for Chanyeol, when he walks forwards and puts a hand to Chanyeol’s chin to pull him down, capturing his lips with Kyungsoo’s own. With Chanyeol so compliant, so immediately responsive, it’s so easy to forget that this is a memory, that Kyungsoo is probably doing this more for himself than for anyone else.
Kyungsoo lets Chanyeol fuck him into his parents’ mattress and it’s nothing like their usual passionate frenzy; it’s slow, it’s deliberate, it’s a little bit sad - because Chanyeol’s holding him so much tighter, so much more tenderly, and it’s all so much.
Kyungsoo comes with Chanyeol’s name on his lips and his eyes clenched shut.
When he opens them he’s, once again, in the coin laundry.
“Kyungsoo, please, be quiet--”
“Don’t you tell me to be quiet, Oh Sehun. What - what the fuck is this? How could he?”
“Hyung, you can’t yell like this, we can’t let him hear you. Look, don’t give me that face. I’m not saying I agree with this, either. But Chanyeol did this for a reason and you can’t just come in here and mess it all up. Let him move on, Kyungsoo, for his own sake. I can’t stand him being sad anymore.”
“And what about me? I don’t get a say in this? Nobody cares about how this makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry, hyung.”
Kyungsoo stands there for a long time.
There’s so many things wrong with his relationship with Chanyeol, so many things wrong with Chanyeol himself. Kyungsoo isn’t exactly doing great either. By the end, everything had hurt a lot more than Kyungsoo could bear.
He hadn’t left the night Chanyeol confessed to him about his parents, his parents that were too wrapped up in themselves to remember their remaining son. He hadn’t left the day Chanyeol had told him about his brother, who he’d looked up to so much, the parent he’d never had, the one who had eventually given in, given up. He hadn’t even left when he saw Chanyeol in the hospital rooms, only a couple days later.
No, Kyungsoo had never physically left - that had been Chanyeol. But Kyungsoo had left in other ways, and he thinks Chanyeol knew it.
It would be so, so easy to wash everything clean. He’s sure he’s shed enough tears by now. Forgetting everything would solve all of his problems, would let him move on with his life, would let him shake himself free from the claws Chanyeol had sunk into his clothes, into his skin.
And Chanyeol had done it. Flighty Chanyeol, reckless Chanyeol, the hopelessly impulsive Chanyeol had run one night and erased all of his chances of looking back.
But still Kyungsoo stands there, holding the red flannel shirt, and thinks about what he’s giving up every time he lets a memory go. Of course he doesn’t want to keep the later memories, the memories of Kyungsoo giving up, of Chanyeol giving up. There’s an undeniable shame that taints them.
The memory at the house, though. The way Chanyeol had looked so vulnerable, the sound of Chanyeol’s barely audible whispers of his name, the feeling of Chanyeol touching him so unbearably slowly. It hurts, and he isn’t surprised by this. But all the same. There is something to be said about memories so vivid, so emotional.
There is a part of Kyungsoo that doesn’t want to forget this one. No matter how painful. It would be wrong, awful, terrible to erase it, to let this rare instance of themselves as raw as they can be become nothing.
“Think of it this way,” the assistant had told him, before the procedure. “Think of it like you’re washing clothes, and we’re the detergent. Load the machines, spin the dial. And voila, after an hour you’ve got yourself a load of fresh, clean clothes.”
Kyungsoo considers the shirt he’s holding, the same one that Chanyeol had worn that day. It’s nothing special; frayed at the edges and faded from years of wear. He’s not an impulsive person usually; no, that would be Chanyeol.
But just this once.
He pulls, tugs harshly, until one of the buttons on the shirt comes loose, thread still wrapped around the holes, and shoves the button into his jeans pocket. Quickly, as if he were being watched. He throws the shirt into the machine, watching it disappear to the bottom.
He doesn’t know what will happen, or if anything will happen at all.
The button, small as it is, is hard against his thigh.
The next thing he picks up is a pair of tattered jeans, and this time it’s a mystery because these are jeans that Chanyeol has worn so many times that not all of the holes are manufacturer-made. Kyungsoo snorts, rolling his eyes, hands clenched in the familiar fabric, and this time he waits for the memory he knows is coming.
It’s a split second thing, a turn of his head and he’s looking out of the window of Chanyeol’s car, an old Toyota that he’d picked up over the flashy sports cars his parents had tried to insist on instead. He can barely see anything outside, save for the flashes of trees reflecting off the headlights. A glance at the dashboard tells him it’s nearly three in the morning, and to his left is Chanyeol, one hand on the steering wheel and one fiddling with the stereo. And of course, he’s wearing the jeans.
It’s with a little chagrin that Kyungsoo realizes he doesn’t remember this one. Not completely. They’ve been on these dead-of-the-night drives so often that none of them stick out in his mind. It’s a thing of theirs, a defining element of their relationship. Neither of them are big on movie dates and fancy dinners, but the peaceful calm of the car is romance enough.
“And it’s not like I don’t try, you know? Because I do,” Chanyeol says, the beginning of his sentence lost. He gives up on the stereo, and the local soft rock station plays quietly in the background. He sighs. “I wish I were smart like you, Kyungsoo.”
“You shouldn’t put yourself down like that,” Kyungsoo says, heart tugging because this is a conversation they’ve had before.
“I’m not putting myself down,” he grumbles, “considering I’ve been down long before I could help it. School sucks.”
“You know I’ll help you study.” His hand inches over to twine with Chanyeol’s free one, nudging him a little. “We’ll graduate on time and get good jobs and be happy and shit.”
Chanyeol flashes him a grin, tightening his grip around Kyungsoo’s fingers. “Happy and shit,” he repeats, savouring the words. “Great life goals. Amazing.”
Kyungsoo laughs, “It’s the best we’ve got, asshole; appreciate them.”
Kyungsoo relaxes into the worn leather of the seat, letting his head rest as he stares idly out the window. This is nice. Nights like these were good nights. Nights like these when Chanyeol has too much pent up energy and Kyungsoo is sick of studying, nights when Chanyeol dangles his car keys tantalizingly in front of Kyungsoo’s face. Nights when they start out at midnight with a full tank of gas and they end up down an unknown back street, tank mostly empty, tangled together in the most uncomfortable of ways on the back seat, sweat sticking to their skin. It’s either the sun or a police officer that usually wakes them up, and it’s happened enough times that they are no longer embarrassed about explaining their naked selves to cops.
“We should do something,” Chanyeol says suddenly. “Spontaneous. Like in the movies. It’ll be romantic.”
Shaking his head, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “If we plan it,” he begins, deliberately slowly, “it wouldn’t be spontaneous. It would be really cliché.”
“Well, what’s wrong with being cliché every once in a while?” Chanyeol pouts. “Let’s go cow tipping.”
“Why the fuck would we go cow tipping?” Kyungsoo snickers. “You know, you’re an awful romantic, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol gasps, mock offended. “Rude,” he hisses. “I distinctly remember you loving my two weeks of extravagant flowers leading up to Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m allergic to pollen, you tart. My eyes weren’t watery because I was emotional, I was having an allergic reaction!”
“Oh…” Chanyeol clams up after this, frown at the corner of his lips. “You know, I thought I was being special.”
“You are a walking cliché,” Kyungsoo says, fondness in his voice. “But there’s nothing wrong with being cliché once in a while,” he adds playfully when he sees Chanyeol’s face fall.
Nights like these never amount to anything, and neither of them really expect or want them to. Nights like these are the ones where they can pretend that everything is good, that Kyungsoo isn’t swimming in debt and Chanyeol isn’t swimming in self-hatred. They don’t usually say much, do much; Chanyeol just drives, on and on for as long as he can, and Kyungsoo keeps him company. It’s nice. It’s good. It’s nights like these that Kyungsoo craves, treasures, and yet takes for granted, because Chanyeol’s always there, always been there, ready to go.
They don’t have to be anyone, when they’re like this. They don’t have expectations to live up to, they don’t have heated phone conversations ringing in their ears, they don’t have anything but each other. And this is nice. This is good.
Kyungsoo closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the comfort of the head rest, Chanyeol’s quiet singing, the gentle rhythms of the car blazing down the road.
It’s not until Chanyeol’s singing fades away that he opens his eyes, and he can’t help the hollowness that fills him when he’s met with the glaring shine of the washing machines.
“Where did you say he did this, again?”
“Hyung, think rationally--”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Sehun, tell me where he did it.”
“I don’t, I don’t really know, Chanyeol-hyung never - he said something… EXO something. But hyung, you shouldn’t, you can’t.”
“I know.”
Kyungsoo wonders if it’s too late.
Kyungsoo isn’t like Chanyeol in many, many ways. So many, in fact, that their respective friend groups could hardly believe it when they first got together. Kyungsoo is reserved where Chanyeol is outgoing, Kyungsoo plans things weeks in advance where Chanyeol likes to book weekend getaways a few hours before the train leaves. But among the myriad of ways that they are different, there are underlying similarities.
Sentimentality is decidedly one of these similarities.
It’s ridiculous, absurd, ludicrous how much Kyungsoo wishes he didn’t have to forget this memory. A memory so unmemorable he couldn’t even tell you when it happened, or what happened afterwards. But still, he does not want to lose this memory.
He lets himself fall against the machine, arms propping himself up, head hung, jeans dangling in his hand. He can still feel it, if he tries hard enough, the leather of the seat, the rough skin of Chanyeol’s fingers, the peace of moving endlessly along a dark road at eighty miles an hour. He can still feel the unspoken but unequivocally real undercurrent of trust, companionship, love. It’s been so long, he realizes, and now that he’s had a taste of what once was, there’s a selfish, selfish part of him that wants to keep it.
It’s the same selfishness that keeps the loose threads that come off in his hands from the frayed edges of the jeans as he lets them drop into the machine. It’s sentimentality that makes the stupid association of those threads with their car rides, their thing. He knows it’s probably for nothing, that he’s already made the decision to let Chanyeol go, good and the bad.
But still.
It’s with an almost reluctance that Kyungsoo reaches for the next article of clothing in the basket, and he can’t help the fondness that replaces it when he sees what he picked up.
Chanyeol’s favourite red hoodie, the one he brought with him everywhere.
“How?” he hears Chanyeol whisper, and when he looks up Chanyeol is staring at him from their bed, in Chanyeol’s old apartment. This is before Kyungsoo had finally given in to Chanyeol’s pleas to move in together, when Chanyeol still lived in the complex his parents owned.
This is Chanyeol’s birthday, and Kyungsoo hands him the hoodie Chanyeol had told him about offhandedly. Kyungsoo pretends not to see the slight wet sheen in Chanyeol’s eyes as he receives the shirt, and climbs onto the bed with him, still in his pyjamas.
“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you,” Kyungsoo answers, the memory still fresh in his mind. “How would I know where rich people dump their old possessions? Can you imagine your parents at a Goodwill?”
Chanyeol snorts but doesn’t tear his eyes away from hoodie, grip tight on the sleeves. It had belonged to Chanyeol’s brother, and it had taken Kyungsoo days of roaming around the city trying to find it. It had cost him a ridiculous amount of money, but given the fact that Chanyeol is speechless, it’s worth it.
“Kyungsoo, thank you,” Chanyeol whispers, finally looking at him again, and Kyungsoo really can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face when he sees the happiness radiating off Chanyeol. “I can’t even believe - thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Kyungsoo replies, leaning in to kiss Chanyeol gently. “Happy birthday.”
Chanyeol laughs, wrapping his arms bodily around Kyungsoo and ignores the squawk that he lets out when he pulls him down onto the covers with him, peppering his face with kisses.
“You’re quite possibly the best person I’ve ever fucked,” Chanyeol states, barely flinching when Kyungsoo elbows him. “High praise, Kyungsoo, high praise!”
“You’re so awful,” Kyungsoo complains. “Here I am, giving you an extremely thoughtful and meaningful gift, and here you are, making lewd jokes.”
Chanyeol cocks an eyebrow. “Do you really expect anything else?”
Kyungsoo considers this for a long moment, “No, not really,” he admits with a shrug.
“I knew it.” Chanyeol lies back in bed, staring up at nothing, and Kyungsoo joins him. His heart is beating fast when Chanyeol reaches to lace their fingers together, only because he remembers this day, this moment.
They lie together like that for a long while, not saying anything - there isn’t much to be said. They’ve always been like this, never having to spell out the meaningful things. And Kyungsoo loves it, loves this, these days where everything had been so perfect. The early days of their relationship, when everything had been new, exciting, silver-lined.
Their honeymoon days had lasted for longer than for any of Kyungsoo’s past relationships, for which he has always been grateful. Their transition from awkward study dates (only awkward because Chanyeol had never been a ‘study date’ kind of person) to skinny dipping in one of Kyungsoo’s neighbour’s pools had been seamless. Chanyeol had developed a newfound sensitivity for quiet nights and shitty reality TV, and Kyungsoo had finally been the rebellious teenager Chanyeol never grew out of. Somehow, they’d worked.
Happiness. This is what this is, this feeling that’s overwhelming him. Happiness like Kyungsoo had never known before. Happiness like this, Chanyeol’s hand in his own, knowing that this linkage is a symbol of something else, a symbol of how Chanyeol had given Kyungsoo his heart, so easily it was almost foolish. Kyungsoo, who’s holding Chanyeol’s heart in his hand, who’d been just as easily persuaded to be that one, that one to try and give Chanyeol happiness, too.
Yes, it still hurts to think about how Chanyeol doesn’t remember this, these moments. Yes, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s so many reasons why they’re better left forgotten, because what comes afterward is hard to justify.
But it’s hard. It’s hard when Chanyeol is whispering to him about things, useless things and things like Kyungsoo, thank you, and Kyungsoo, I love you.
It’s hard not to be selfish, to not want to keep what should not be kept. It’s hard because Kyungsoo remembers this, remembers moments like these.
“I love you, too,” he whispers back, and Chanyeol’s looking at him with these eyes, these eyes that are surprised and awed and utterly, utterly in love.
The words ring in his ears and Kyungsoo remembers, he remembers, that he still does, still loves Chanyeol, has always loved Chanyeol.
Chanyeol rolls onto his side, puts a hand to Kyungsoo’s cheek, and leans in to kiss him. Kyungsoo closes his eyes in anticipation and can feel the tug of his heart when he realizes he’ll never feel it.
“Mr. Do, by agreeing to this procedure, you must be fully aware that once completed, you will never be able to to access these memories again. There is no going back.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I must stress once again that we do not encourage undergoing the procedure when you’re in a… fragile emotional state. It is unwise to--”
“I’m not in a fragile emotional state. I want this. I can’t bear remembering anymore. I’ve made my decision.”
It’s the sound of the laundry machines that cues him to open his eyes, and as expected he is no longer in their old apartment. It finally hits him how much he stands to lose, when even now he can’t remember how that kiss had felt like. How could he bear to lose them all, every touch, every look, every feeling of happiness and love that he’d experienced with Chanyeol, shared with Chanyeol. It would not be much of a burden, he thinks, to be the only one to remember these moments. To look back on his relationship with Chanyeol and not remember the ugly, horrible parts, their traumatic ending, but remember the times where all that mattered was one another. The times before they’d given up.
But he’s been so selfish. How could he think of keeping only the good, when Chanyeol had none, had none because of Kyungsoo. How could he delude himself with happiness when Chanyeol had been hurt so badly no amount of happiness could compensate?
He can’t have what’s passed.
Kyungsoo drops the hoodie into the wash, and it almost burns when he lets go. And it keeps burning when he grabs clothes by the handful now, throws them into the machine, and he sees flashes, random memories. Celebrating the end of finals. A vicious battle of Mario Kart in their boxers on the living room floor. That day they’d driven five hours out of town to go to some carnival. He won’t be selfish anymore, can’t be. And he can only do this if he doesn’t let himself be sucked back in.
He stops, however, when he sees what lies at the bottom of the basket. It’s a pair of black socks, a pair that is indistinguishable from any other pair of socks that he owns. But somehow he knows, knows exactly what these socks are.
It’s with this knowledge that he picks them up, holds them, waits for the memory. The last memory he would visit; the first memory he’d ever made with Chanyeol.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he hears Chanyeol says through chattering teeth. Kyungsoo looks up and offers the socks to the still shivering boy who barely fits into Kyungsoo’s most oversized t-shirt and baggiest sweatpants that are still too short on him. Chanyeol takes the socks with murmured thanks, a sheepish smile on his face.
Kyungsoo snorts. “I know,” he says, leaning against the doorframe and taking in this sight of Chanyeol, soaking wet and doing his best impression of a drowned rat. He tries to push the thought of for the last time out of his head. “But I figure you must be a college kid, too. Getting sick around finals sucks. So.” A shrug.
Kyungsoo had been intrigued, under that initial annoyance, by the gangly kid he’d fished out of the lake by the campus. And a little curious.
Chanyeol laughs. “Thanks so much for your concern,” he says, voice sincere despite the smile. “I’m Chanyeol.”
“Kyungsoo,” is Kyungsoo’s reply and wow. It’s been a while since Chanyeol’s had long hair like this. Been a while since Kyungsoo had even thought about this night.
“Very nice to meet you, although I can’t say we met under the most ideal of circumstances.” Chanyeol sits down on Kyungsoo’s bed, wrapped in a towel, utterly comfortable.
“I’m still wondering why you decided to jump off that bridge, you know,” Kyungsoo prompts, and it’s still clear as day in his mind, the way his heart had stopped when he’d noticed some kid leaping into the lake. “You don’t really seem the type to, um…” he trails off, suddenly awkward. True, it had been hard to believe that the smiley guy in front of him was suicidal, but Kyungsoo knows better, despite what Chanyeol says next.
“Off myself?” Chanyeol finishes, blunt and with a shrug. “Nah. You’re right, that’s not my type. I like to believe I’m tougher than that, you know? Killing myself would be the ultimate surrender.”
“And you don’t give up?” Kyungsoo asks - how ironic.
“I may be messed up in ways you shouldn’t bother getting involved with, and probably no one would be surprised if I did, but no. Not like that. No matter how bad it gets, I won’t give up.” Chanyeol says this with determined eyes, looking right at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo finds it hard to meet his gaze. “I promised someone I wouldn’t ever give up, and they matter so much more than my shitty life, so.”
Fuck if it’s not painful to hear these words, the words that had been the instigator of their relationship, that had made Kyungsoo want to meet Chanyeol again. Kyungsoo, who had been so inspired, so touched.
How could he have ever forgotten this? How could he have ever given up, let Chanyeol give up?
“And besides,” Chanyeol continues blithely, cocking his head and offering Kyungsoo a full smile. “It’s hard to drown when there are people like you around to pull me out of the water.”
This startles a laugh out of Kyungsoo. “Don’t expect me to go jumping into any more freezing lakes for you,” he warns. “I can’t always be saving you.”
Chanyeol grins. “You don’t have to save me,” he insists. “You just have to keep hope. That one day I’ll save myself.”
The words echo as he’s pulled back to the coin laundry.
“We’re going to put you under now, Mr. Do. Just lie back and relax; it’ll be just like falling asleep.”
Maybe Kyungsoo can’t fix what’s already happened, can’t salvage what they’ve already broken beyond repair. He can’t keep the good memories, and he’s already let go of the bad.
But Kyungsoo of right now remembers everything.
And maybe… maybe Kyungsoo can try again. Maybe Kyungsoo will remember enough, and maybe this time Kyungsoo won’t give up. Maybe this time Chanyeol won’t give up. He doesn’t expect a perfect relationship, or to never have bad memories, because they happen, and he knows it. They’re still two people in bad places that shouldn’t work. But they did. And they could again.
Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe he’ll wake up and he’ll remember nothing, and he’ll never meet Chanyeol again.
Kyungsoo can hope, though, and that’s all Chanyeol’s ever asked of him anyway.
Kyungsoo drops one sock into the wash and keeps the other. He turns the dial on the machine and his heart beats fast as his hand hovers over the start button. It’s ridiculous, to get emotional now of all times, but this is it.
He pushes the button, and his last thought is that he’s had quite enough of this coin laundry.
Kyungsoo blinks. It’s blessedly empty in the Laundromat, though he does hear a few machines whirring from the other side of the room. Foolish, in Kyungsoo’s opinion, to leave clothes unattended. But to each their own, he supposes.
He looks back to the basket he’s brought with him and begins the tedious task of loading the machines. Laundry is not the most difficult or tiresome chore that he’s had to do, but until he moves into a bigger apartment that actually has a washer and dryer in the building, he’s going to dislike dragging his dirty underwear two blocks over.
At least it’s clean. And modern. Cherry’s Laundromat is a recent thing, with maybe thirty machines in the whole room; they’re all shiny and front-loading and are not prone to malfunction (like some he’s visited). The bright lights and cheery floral wallpaper, he allows, add to the calming atmosphere, though it’s not really to his taste. The tiling is simple enough. Kyungsoo will live.
He hears it more than sees it when someone walks in, and he drops the sweater in his hand into the machine in surprise. An offensively tall guy around his age, who accidentally drops his hamper with a crash.
“Hi!” the stranger greets, meeting Kyungsoo’s stare. Kyungsoo lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed. He turns back to his laundry, ignoring the other. Don’t talk to weirdos, his mother had always told him, and the excessively ripped jeans the guy is wearing (exposing knobby knees) is quite enough for Kyungsoo.
The guy seems to take the hint, not trying to initiate any more conversations, but he does choose to do his laundry in the machine beside Kyungsoo’s, much to Kyungsoo’s irritation.
Rich people, he gripes to himself, always thinking they can do whatever they want.
It then occurs to him how strange that thought was. Kyungsoo sneaks a glance at the other boy. Why would he come to that conclusion? Ripped-jeans-boy hardly seems the type to ride Lamborghinis…
“... a Toyota, more like,” he snickers, and only realizes belatedly that he’d said it out loud. He blushes when he notices the other’s gaze on him.
“What did you say?” the stranger asks.
“Nothing!” Kyungsoo says hastily, cursing himself, “I didn’t, uh, say anything.”
“Oh, okay.” Kyungsoo stares hard at his clothes, mortified. “Hey, you dropped something, I think.”
Kyungsoo blinks and looks down to where the other boy is pointing, noticing a sock he hadn’t noticed fallen on the ground. It’s definitely his.
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo mutters.
“No problem. My name’s Chanyeol, by the way.”
“Kyungsoo.” It’s strange, so very strange, how familiar that name is to him. Chanyeol’s not necessarily a popular name, and he doesn’t remember ever meeting one before.
Chanyeol smiles at him and for some reason Kyungsoo finds himself distracted by that smile. “Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo. Even if it is a little bit weird to meet like this.”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, “Yeah, it is.”
Poll