Round 24: Verschränkung
Title: Verschränkung
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: hanahaki disease, car crash references, mentions of blood, violence[additional warnings] polyamory, love triangle, unrequited love, coma, terminal illness, multiple major character deaths, multiple potential endings, general mindfuckery
Fandom: EXO, Infinite, f(x)
Pairing: Chanyeol/Sungyeol/Sunyoung (Luna)
Summary: Chanyeol and Sungyeol and Sunyoung, childhood friends, have been entangled since high school, caught in the threads of something Chanyeol can't remember.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone for keeping me going. Everyone. I literally wouldn't have been able to finish otherwise.
Prompt Used: HISTORY - What am I to you (난 너한테 뭐야) and the additional prompts from the set (poem and picture).
hanahaki disease 花吐き病 : A disease of the human system which first spread in Japan during 室町時代. Patients began coughing up flowers due to a fatal infection of unrequited love - first a few petals at a time, then long bouts of choking as the petals filled the airstream. Finally, the patient would choke to death and their dead body would erupt into the flower with which they were infected. Every unrequited love would produce a different blossom, as no two people are the same. Without a cure, the only survival method was to be loved in return; however, matters of the human heart are never simple.
Schrödinger's cat is a thought experiment, sometimes described as a paradox, devised by Austrian physicist Erwin Schrödinger in 1935. [...]It illustrates what he saw as the problem of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics applied to everyday objects. The scenario presents a cat which may be simultaneously both alive and dead, a state known as a quantum superposition, as a result of being linked to a random subatomic event that may or may not occur. The thought experiment is also often featured in theoretical discussions of the interpretations of quantum mechanics. Schrödinger coined the term Verschränkung (entanglement) in the course of developing the thought experiment.
A cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source are placed in a sealed box. If an internal monitor detects radioactivity (i.e. a single atom decaying), the flask is shattered, releasing the poison that kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead, not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.
Every time you open the box the outcome changes.
Let's open the box and see what happens.
They sit across the table from each other, wrinkles on the white linen like waves. Light catches on the rim of the wine glass, blinding Chanyeol for a moment. Sungyeol blinks. There's no milk today, the waiter apologizes with a sheepish expression on his face; Chanyeol's eyebrow twitches.
"Cream is fine," he says. Sungyeol doesn't wait; he takes his coffee black. When he sets the cup down his mouth is steaming.
The waiter comes back with the cream pitcher, he swerves to avoid a particularly obnoxious ray of sunlight and stumbles, three tiny drops of white fly out, arching over the tablecloth. Sungyeol pushes his chair away, wood scraping wood.
"Excuse me a moment," he murmurs, ducking in the opposite direction towards the restroom. There's a flash of orange and Chanyeol blinks - was that hair? - the waiter has poured too much cream into his cup. He stares at the pale insipid liquid, raises his head to call for another cup but -
Sunyoung is sitting across from him, at the table, orange hair like the peonies she had on her wrist when -
"Are you okay?" Chanyeol whips his head around; it's Sungyeol, his voice is tentative, tucking a hand into his pocket, a flicker of crimson before his hand is swallowed in burgundy wool.
Sunyoung is gone.
"Just too much cream in my coffee," he shrugs, disguising the tremor in his shoulders. Sungyeol nods, slips back into his seat and takes another sip of blackness. His coffee is still hot.
☆☆☆
It's always like this, whenever he sees him, but he can't not see him - Sungyeol knows because he's tried. It only accelerates everything.
The doctors gave him 6 months to live and that was ten years ago.
By the time he gets to the restroom he's stumbling on shaking knees, trembling to keep the flowers in; as soon as the door slams shut, even before he can lock it, the petals are pouring up out of his throat, red and red and red like a shroud of bloody snow over the grimy blue and black tiles as he coughs and coughs and gasps and tries to catch his breath. He's blue before it stops and he gasps in cool air before spitting gently into the sink, darker red to stain the scarlet.
It might actually be six months this time.
He stares at the red against white porcelain, dotting the backs of his hands, and lets himself be for just a moment. Just Sungyeol, not Sungyeol who loves Chanyeol and is dying because of it. It's not your fault. The voice in his head is always too familiar.
"Sunyoung." It's always her face in the mirror. She grins, her face breaking into joyful lines, flips her head, orange hair swirling to cloud his vision.
"Soon," she says. "I'll see you soon."
Sungyeol is afraid he knows what she means.
He washes his hands carefully in the sink, cold water washing away only a small part of the evidence, but he's too tired to care anymore. The restaurant staff can think what they want. He dabs at his mouth gently with a white handkerchief as he makes his way back to the table.
☆☆☆
The sign creaks in the wind as he walks out, a metal cat, centred in the cubic outline of a box. Shrödinger's cat.
"Is the cat dead or alive?" he asks Sungyeol, instead of waving goodbye. They'll see each other soon. They always do.
"You have to open the box," Sungyeol replies, the sharp bones of his shoulder blades ghosting beneath the burgundy of his blazer as he turns away. He's more slumped over than usual today. Chanyeol wants to ask but doesn't. Don't open the box.
He traces his footsteps along the sidewalk instead, shadows on concrete, green grass protruding from the cracks. Things grow when they're left alone. There's a photobooth - Photoautomat and there's a flicker of -
"Why not?" he replies to no one in particular; the streets are empty on a mid-morning that's not a weekday. The curtain pulls shut with a soft whisper. You forgot.
flash
Sungyeol and Chanyeol smiling for a selca in high school, Chanyeol holding the camera because he always insists his arms are longer.
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
They end up bickering, orange hair laughing on the sidelines.
flash
His arm wrapped around Sunyoung's shoulders, posing so that he's kissing her cheek as she smiles at the camera. When he gets the photos from the slot he can see that her eyes are looking somewhere else.
flash
The photo in the school yearbook with the three of them laughing. They're all looking at the camera, Chanyeol in the middle, Sungyeol and Sunyoung resting their heads on his shoulder. Sungyeol's hair was longer that year, before he cropped it short.
flash
"Say cheese!" Chanyeol groans. At seven years old his mother is so embarrassing, all of the time, but they stop splashing in the inflatable pool and smile at the polaroid camera, resigned to a "1-2-3" before they turn back to more important affairs - Chanyeol splashing water at Sunyoung who dishes out as good as she gets, Sungyeol blustering large before hiding behind her shoulder because he doesn't like water in his face.
flash
Chanyeol stands up and collects his change, glancing at the strip of four photos absentmindedly before slipping it into his pocket. His hand is almost to his pocket when he jerks it back in surprise.
There's a flicker of orange in the corner; it could be a light leak but it looks like orange. Orange hair.
"Sunyoung?" Suddenly Chanyeol is running, there's a flicker of orange in the corner of his vision, is it around the corner? He turns, there's only a locked gate geschlossen but he sees a face - over the gate somehow, the rust colouring his hands orange and sticking to his pants, but he's over, raking the glassless windows of the factory with his eyes, everything in such disrepair when he sees motion and rushes through the door only to end up on the other side.
"Sunyoung!" His fingers reaching, he can feel fabric beneath his fingers - he steps into the light, his hands are empty. He's standing in a courtyard, walled around with the blind eye sockets of empty buildings. This is the end, they seem to whisper. It never works. Chanyeol looks down; he's stepping on orange peonies. What a sick joke.
Sunyoung's favourite flower.
Why can't I remember?
☆☆☆
They meet outside the theatre; it's a strange time, sun still hanging in the sky. Of course it's dead.
"What are you doing here?" Chanyeol frowns at him. Sungyeol shrugs, pointing at the label. Ciclope Film Festival 2013 The year is definitely wrong but Chanyeol doesn't seem to know how; Sungyeol turns and laughs into his sleeve, wipes a couple red petals into his pocket.
"I wanted to see a movie, is that so strange?" Sungyeol doesn't wait for an answer, walking forward under the rows of incandescent lights. His shadows appears, disappears below his feet.
He sits on the balcony; Chanyeol is in the audience below, a single pale dot in a sea of black velvet. The movie makes no sense, or too much sense. A robot with a human head gives a dead girl flowers. She looks at Sungyeol through the screen.
"I am the moon," she says, and the words bite into his ears. Sunyoung. The movie is in shades of dark but the screen flickers orange. His fingers clutch the railing.
The robot rusts into red, a frozen ocean before the credits roll. Forgive him. Don't forgive him. It was never an option.
"That was one fucked up movie," Chanyeol says, shaking his head as they leave the cinema. The street is still empty. He looks confused.
"I liked it a lot," Sungyeol lies. It's nice, sometimes, to be a separate person for a while, remind himself that he's someone else. "I liked the colour effects."
Chanyeol stares at him as he turns his back and leaves. "The movie was in black and white though?" Sungyeol hears the words stream towards his back; bounce off. He shrugs off the sun.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol is still shaking his head, walking Sungyeol fade off into the sunlight. It's too bright. He ducks into a small pub - THE END OF crackles in cadmium over his head, orange, red, the white behind the eyes but the last word is missing - and slumps at the bar, pulling out a cigarette. The bartender asks with the flick of the eyebrow; he answers with an exhalation of smoke. That.
The class is clear, the liquid green. A cube of sugar, burning, melts into the liquid, flames quenched by a fountain of time. What happened, Sunyoung? Chanyeol tips his head back and drowns himself. Through the glass he can see her face in the mirror, but the harsh sound of glass on the marble bar dispels any ghosts.
Another? the bartender asks, with the crook of a finger.
No drama this time, Chanyeol replies, finger drawn across his neck. The absinthe this time is sweet; it doesn't matter if the happy thoughts are real, so long as they drown out everything else. If she's in the room behind him, he doesn't look up. The bottom of the glass holds all the secrets he wants anyway.
☆☆☆
He gets cold so quickly, somehow; it feels like all the warmth leaves his body in a rush and he's left shivering, drowned in an ocean out of his control. With the shades pulled down it's always sunset. I don't want to remember that again. He takes his clothes off carefully, standing in front of the mirror, and counts his ribs, his fingers reminding himself of what his heart forgets.
The water is warm and smells like roses, somehow, it always does. She walks through the steam, peony orange hair long over her bare chest, slipping into the water to lie against his chest.
"You're mine," she whispers into the skin.
He can feel the leaves unfolding, blooms opening, it feels like living for a second, before the air is gone and he's gasping over the side of the bathtub, red petals pouring out like a flood of things he can't express anymore, could never express. She strokes his back, pounds it systematically with her fists to dislodge the infestation. When the air finally rushes back into his lungs, it feels like being born.
Lying together in the bathtub, it's a weekend, no one is home. They've always done this, since they were young - it's comforting, washing each other's backs, not talking. But he can feel it, even before she opens her mouth.
"He asked me to go out with him."
Sungyeol freezes for an instant, forever, the space of time it takes for the sponge to drop out of his hands and splash into the bathtub.
"I said yes."
They finish in silence. Sunyoung is stepping out, arm reaching for a towel, when Sungyeol feels something in his throat. He coughs, lightly. A red petal drifts down onto the palm of his hand.
"I'm sorry for everything," she says, holding him in her arms because he's too tired not to let himself slip down into the water and let everything go.
"I know," he whispers. I forgave you before it happened.
They don't need to say anything. They never have.
☆☆☆
Bar stools blend into dance floors, day to dusk to night. Kafka woke up and was a monstrous insect. Chanyeol falls asleep and dreams he's awake.
"Come and dance with me," she says, orange hair ablaze in the lights that immolate the room, smoke rising from open mouths. Everyone is talking, no one is saying anything. Chanyeol lets her fingers intertwine with his, allows his feet to be drawn out into the maze of contorting bodies. Sunyoung flashes in and out of view as the strobe light stutters; his hands are by turn empty and full.
"Did you miss me?" she asks, blowing smoke into his ear.
"When did you start smoking?" Chanyeol manages to formulate a coherent thought.
"Why did you forget?" she retorts, the white lights flashing in her eyes for a moment -
headlights
- the bass drops and his heart falls out of his chest. There's no one to catch it. Chanyeol's hands are empty, the red light only revealing crimson-stained fingers, pooling with emptiness. He can't find Sungyeol anywhere. Why am I looking for him? He doesn't know why. It's just a fact of life.
Verschränkung.
☆☆☆
Sungyeol sits at the end of the bar, back to the beer taps, sipping coffee. He doesn't like alcohol, doesn't like the feeling of helplessness it brings. There's so little I can control, anymore.
"You drink too much coffee," Sunyoung scolds him, plopping down on a chrome stool, feet dangling in black stilettos. Sungyeol only shrugs, takes another sip. The liquid is warm on his tongue; substantial. It drives the crushed sweetness of poppies away, even if only for a little while.
She takes out a cigarette, lights it on the bartender's outheld zippo. "Thanks," she says, tipping him a wink. He blushes, he's practically a child.
"Don't tease," Sungyeol retorts. The coffee in his mouth is turning bitter. "And smoking will kill you faster than caffeine."
"Maybe I'm already dead." Sunyoung exhales a column of white smoke. It drifts up to form a cloud. She slips off the stool, the soles of her shoes flashing red as she disappears onto the dance floor.
"What's her name?" the bartender asks, curiosity tinging his voice. He sounds enthralled.
"Luna," Sungyeol lies. "The phases of the moon, dying to new and coming back again in full."
"Fine," the bartender says, anger hanging in a cloud behind his back as he turns away. Sungyeol looks down at the darkness in his cup. It was the truth.
He gets up, before he can go looking for Chanyeol.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol ends up in the washroom - he can feel something bubbling in his stomach but no matter how much he retches it won't come up. I need to drink something. He wanders out into the chilly night air instead, looking for Sungyeol though he won't admit it.
He buys something to eat, there's a döner place on every corner here, and the warm meat fills his stomach, crouched on the curb like any other homeless person, clinging to shreds of warmth. What went wrong? Chanyeol feels like huge swathes of his past are missing. He wants Sungyeol, feels a sudden rush of anger that he's nowhere in sight.
Kinder und Sterne küssen und verlieren sich . . .
He doesn't understand the words but the melody of the song twists into his heart, Chanyeol feels the frustration growing. I don't understand. Someone's foot stumbles into his back by accident, only a mumbled apology before the voice is back to chattering loudly with other voices, probably guys walking home from work the long way. A rush of red fills Chanyeol's head.
Before he knows it his knuckles are smashing into a stranger's face, his eyes surprised for a split second before they darken with anger, as red spatters onto Chanyeol's fist. A split lip. It's not much, but he feels so much better. And then something swings in his peripheral vision, he ducks, but he's not quick enough - pain explodes through his skull and he can feel his spine jerk sideways as he falls, only managing to stagger and avoid the ground. But his blood is singing, there's nothing orange here, no Sungyeol sitting across the linen-covered table; he's all alone and he brings his leg up and feels a satisfying crunch as it connects with a man's ribs.
"You asshole," he hears from the side, though he doesn't understand the words, and it's enough warning to duck and swing around, fist flying and he gets another good punch in, the visceral sound of teeth cracking before he's slammed against a metal pole, the taste of iron heavy in his mouth as another fist connects with the corner of his mouth and cheek, knocking him to the ground. It's cold, there, on the cement. The warmth of the sun has long dissipated and the moon hangs cold in the sky.
Chanyeol doesn't bother getting up, and the men decide to leave, probably to a pub because there's nothing like a little exercise to work up an appetite. It doesn't matter. They don't matter. He lets the cold seep into his bleeding face, wonders where Sungyeol is. That doesn't matter.
But it does.
Schmetterlinge flatterten durch meine Seele.
☆☆☆
The night is cold, night is always cold, Sungyeol laughs at himself, walking along the sidewalk. The sound rings sharply off the shuttered store-front windows. Everything is close, everything is empty. Red lights flash by, on the road, self-contained lives enfolded in fragile metal. You don't think it'll be over until it is. Up ahead, on the bridge, there's the squealing of brakes, rubber burning on cement, metal against metal.
Silence.
He doesn't bother walking any faster. The ambulance rushes by, siren like a heartbeat, diastole, systole. It's not wailing anymore when it leaves, silence flatlining as he keeps walking. Left, right, left, right. For now at least.
Looking over the edge of the bridge, white lights and red lights in a stream of motion, Sungyeol wonders why it even matters anymore. He doesn't lift his head to look for the orange flickering, a halo of hair in the street lamp.
"I love you."
And I love him.
Nothing changes. His mouth is full of red sweetness that hangs bitter off of his tongue as his lungs suffocate.
☆☆☆
Eventually he picks himself up off the ground, ignoring the dust and gravel imprinted in his cheek. The air sways for a moment, he reaches out for support and his hand finds the metal pole he fell against earlier. There still blood on it. The streetlights buzz yellow, hallowing in and out of focus. He blinks. When Chanyeol thinks he can stand without support, he starts on his slow way home.
It's cold, colder than before, his breath hanging in front of his face like smoke - he waves it away with a hand before walking forward. Chanyeol is getting tired of navigating blind. The stars overhead seem to pulse, like the lamplight, like his heart, in and out, footsteps on the sidewalk. Remember, remember, remember.
He's half-asleep on his feet, cars driving through the sky, stars streaming beside him on the road, red-shifting away, when he sees orange and stops, though his foggy brain can't shape the thought. What? He blinks. There are words on the wall.
Ciao Bella
Orange flickers, Sunyoung, of course it's Sunyoung, green dress garish in the yellow lights, as she leans forward to lay a bouquet of white roses at the base of the wall. Chanyeol blinks. There are already other flowers there, red poppies and orange peonies.
"Did you remember?" Sunyoung's words float back to him, bare of breath. Chanyeol's stomach twists, turns, he stumbles forward in a rush to lean against a tree, vomiting up the stinking contents of his stomach. It burns. He keeps shaking his head.
When he looks up she's gone, and there's just a terrible taste in his mouth.
Goodbye beautiful.
☆☆☆
Lying on the ground it's cold and wet, moisture seeping into the fabric of his shirt and pants and sending chilly fingers over his skin, but as Sungyeol watches the sun rise, golden through the green stalks and red flowers, somehow it makes him feel alive like nothing does anymore.
Except him.
Lying in the field of poppies, Sungyeol doesn't feel so alone. They're his brothers and sisters, he's almost one of them. Reaching out his fingers, he feels the flowers inside him stretch out their roots, extend their stalks, and this time he's not afraid.
There's a sweetness on his tongue.
"Sungyeol," she says, a flash of orange amidst the red, but he doesn't look up, not yet. There's a smile hovering on his mouth.
I knew you would come for me.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol's surprised that he even makes it home, there are huge black chunks missing from his memory, not like that's anything new, sidewalks that his feet can't remember crossing, key codes he can't recall, but he ends up in his room anyway, with the blinds drawn and the lamp lying sideways from where it fell as he stumbled and reached out for support, it's hard to tell whether it's day or night. Today or yesterday. Everything swims together, eventually, inevitably.
He's sitting in the bathtub, clothes in a pile on the floor; the door swings open slowly and she's there. Orange hair shining dark red for an eyeblink as she crosses the shadow of the doorway before climbing into the tub. She's not wearing any clothes.
Chanyeol remembers all the times in the past, how old were we? splashing together in the bathtub, someone's mom yelling through the door not to flood the floor again. Sunyoung rests her legs on either sides of his, leaning forward so that her chest brushes his as her lips fold around his mouth.
He shivers.
Sunyoung pulls back, sitting at the other end of the tub, chin resting on her knees.
"Why did you do that?" she asks, head tipped to one side.
"I don't know," Chanyeol whispers, looking at his hands. His lip is split, his knuckles bleeding, the dried scarlet dissolving into the water in rustyy red swirls, but all he can think about right now is how it used to be. Together.
"Yes you do," Sunyoung says, climbing out of the tub. The sound of water dripping across the floor sounds like minutes ticking away through the dark.
More missing holes. But sometimes he's not sure if he's kept them empty on purpose.
☆☆☆
"What's it like?" he asks, skin touching cold ground, warming ever so slightly with the dawning sun, or maybe it's just his imagination, but it's a kind of comfort anyway.
"I can't tell you," Sunyoung says, and she looks sad, but only for a moment. "That's not the important part anyway. Holding his hand, she sits there, at his side, bare feet muddy in the dirt.
The sun rises, heavy rim lifting above the red horizon, the poppies ablaze with morning. Sungyeol's brow furrows slightly, the stems twisting through his abdominal cavity, blossoms unfurling in the warm spongy interior of his lungs. He lets his last breath escape, softly, into the morning. But she's there, hand in his, helping him off the cold ground and together they walk away, into the morning.
Behind them a single poppy bursts out of his mouth, red against blue lips, and then red spots burst out of pale skin as the slim figure is overwhelmed in red, green wrapping over skin, and only poppies are left, the red carpet unbroken.
Once you fall in love for the first time, you can never forget.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol wakes up terrified - he can't remember and yet he can.
He rolls over, disoriented; there's a flash of white, a note on his bedside table.
When you fall in love for the first time, the world changes forever. I've never forgotten you. Please remember me.
"Sungyeol?" There's no answer, there wouldn't be - they don't live together. But the word, no the name, escapes out of his mouth, bounces off the tile floor of the bathroom, glances off the porcelain sink and lands in the basin. There's something in his mouth.
Chanyeol coughs, it's stuck, and there's a choking feeling building in his chest as he helplessly beats one hand against his sternum, the other resting against the mirror for support. His eyes are red in the mirror, when he happens to see, but he couldn't care less. I can't breathe.
Finally, thankfully, the object dislodges itself from his throat and he breathes in glorious air in a wild gasp, nostrils flaring, before looking down at the sink.
There, on the porcelain, lies a small white pile of rose petals.
the end
☆☆☆
Lying there, on the ground, Sungyeol lets himself melt into the earth. He lets go of the rest of his fear, feeding it into the sun that's slowly burning up the sky as it climbs, painting the world gold.
He can feel the petals swarming up in his lungs, it feels like the end, and somehow it's okay. He's expected this since that day, so long ago, when the first red petal fell from his lips.
"I don't mind," he tells the person who isn't there, the person he longs for with every breath he misses, every gasp.
"I do," a familiar voice says, kneeling in the dirt beside him, a warm hand lifting his. It's not Chanyeol, but Sunyoung is, in a different way that's exactly the same, his love. I knew you'd come for me.
He can feel the petals coming then, he opens his mouth to say - but he's already choking, lying on his back the way he wanted this to end, face to the sky so he can see the last lingering stars before they're consumed by the day. But Sunyoung rolls him over onto his side instead, pounding his back and dislodging the petals clinging to the lining of his trachea, mounding in his bronchial tubes and blocking the air.
"What did you do that for?" he asks, when the air finally rushes into his lungs. It's slower this time, this time could have been the last.
"Come on," Sunyoung says, frowning at him as she pulls him with a firm grip; Sungyeol is reluctantly pulled to his feet.
"I'm just so tired," he says.
"I think it's time for Chanyeol to wake up." She doesn't blink, though the sun hurts his eyes.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol wakes up terrified - he can't remember and yet he can. He can feel his heart beating in his throat.
Wake up, wake up.
He rolls over, disoriented; there's a flash of white, a note on his bedside table.
When you fall in love for the first time, the world changes forever. I've never forgotten you. Please remember me.
"Sungyeol?" There's no answer, there wouldn't be - they don't live together.
"Chanyeol?" The door swings open, unattached safety chain hitting the wall. It's Sungyeol, his head leaning on a shoulder, orange hair. Sunyoung?
"I know you can't remember," Sunyoung says, and her voice cuts through the fog. "But think about what you feel."
Chanyeol is confused, far too awake, all of a sudden, though the sun hasn't risen yet, not here behind tall buildings and mist like smoke, souls unattached from their bodies. He looks into Sungyeol's eyes, like twin moons, reflecting the pale light.
"Why did you leave me a note?"
Sungyeol doesn't answer, but a sudden spasm rocks him; he stumbles forward, mouth opening - Chanyeol steps back reflexively expecting him to be sick, but a waterfall of red petals pour out instead. He watches, helplessly, watching Sungyeol choke to death, like a knife driving into his heart.
What's happening?
"Do something!" Sunyoung shouts at him, and darts forward to gather Sungyeol into her arms, the red pouring and pouring down her back as she supports him, trying to pound at his back but the angle is wrong. There are petals drifting in the air, lifting on invisible currents of wind like prayers. A single silky spot of red lands in his palm, the crushed sweetness unmistakable.
Red poppies. My favourite flower.
Something clicks into place then, maybe it always has; he sinks to his knees and, fighting the current, leans forward to wrap his lips around Sungyeol's mouth.
Chanyeol's mouth fills with petals; it feels like he's smothering. He doesn't let go.
Sungyeol's eyes water as his nostrils flare and his mouth opens in a tattered gasp. He sags then, against Sunyoung, against Chanyeol, but the flow has stopped.
Gently, they carry Sungyeol to the bed, leaning him against the headboard and soft white pillows. Shoulder to shoulder, Chanyeol glances to the side and meets Sunyoung's eyes. They're soft, somehow. Vulnerable.
I'm sorry.
She coughs, then. Turns away. But Sungyeol finallly understands, spots the white flowers as they fall gently down.
"Sunyoung," Sungyeol says, from the headboard where he's propped up, sitting. His voice is barely a breath; it sounds like his throat is raw. She keeps sitting, orange hair harsh against her skin. Fingers cupping a handful of wanting.
Without having to ask, Chanyeol helps Sungyeol forward, carrying him to where she is. Sungyeol in his arms is only skin and bones; sharp edges that dig into his arms and stomach. It feels like guilt.
"Sungyoung," Sungyeol rasps, and Chanyeol winces at the sound. He reaches foward, resting in Chanyeol's arms, and presses his mouth to hers. Her eyes flutter shut, dark lashes against skin.
The petals drifting in the air fall silently.
Sungyeol pulls back, and a few red-tinged white rose petals fall out of his mouth. Chanyeol can't help it then, he buries his face in Sungyeol's neck, cold nose against warm skin. You're alive.
"Don't leave me," he says. Sungyeol reaches forward, wraps his bony fingers around Sunyoung's hands, dislodging the petals from their cupped surface.
"I won't," he whispers.
The last of the red petals, white petals settle onto the comforter, the floor, their clothes -sitting there against the headboard, Chanyeol and Sunyoung, Sungyeol between them.
They hold hands, little children again, sitting on the curb, eating ice cream, splashes of strawberry and vanilla dripping down their chins and dripping on the asphalt.
Chanyeol & Sungyeol & Sunyoung for ever. Three sides of a whole.
the end
☆☆☆
the evening of high school graduation, walking outside after prom
The summer night is warm, the air still humid. Chanyeol walks, Sunyoung at his side in her red heels, their hands twisting between them. Her fingers feel silky. It's been a good day; high school is over and it feels like the whole world is stretching ahead of him. He didn't see Sungyeol at the prom, the one sour note in a golden day, but it's okay, he'll see him tomorrow. He always does.
Sunyoung stops, then, turns, looking at him. Chanyeol looks up, slightly puzzled but still grinning. It looks like she has something to say. She's beautiful in her white dress, silver beading in leaves cupping her waist, the silvery white gossamer of her skirt catching the light.
"Chanyeol," she says, and it's not a question but it sounds like it. Something is wrong. Chanyeol stops smiling.
"Sunyoung?" he asks, and it is a question. What are you doing?
"I need to tell you something," she says, fingers still wrapped around his wrist. They hurt now, somehow. He doesn't want her to keep talking, there in the dark, after the sun has gone down on the perfect day. There are crickets singing, off to the side in the grass. Summer is only beginning.
"When you asked me to date you, I said yes," she says finally, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. STOP! Chanyeol wants to shout, you're ruining the fabric! But he doesn't say anything.
"I do love you," Sunyoung continues, "but I love someone else, loved him first, and I think you need to know that." It feels like all the air has left his lungs. Chanyeol doesn't know how to breathe right now, anymore. No.
"Why didn't you date him then?" he asks, finally, and he's scared, at how cold his voice is. He feels like he's burning.
Sunyoung looks right into his eyes, her eyes scattered with the sharp stars hanging in the sky, her fingers entwining with his. "Because he loves you."
"No." Chanyeol doesn't want to understand, he can't understand, this isn't happening. They walked out of the prom and they're walking home, hand in hand, and this isn't happening.
"You know who I'm talking about," Sunyoung says, and her voice sounds beseeching, somehow - not confident, not bossy, not the Sunyoung he knows. I'm scared.
"Sungyeol is my friend," Chanyeol shouts, the sound shocking even him as he stumbles back, heel slipping on a stray fragment of rock, probably crumbled off a planter. The flowers are wilted, it's too hot for them. Sunyoung reaches forward, tries to help him regain his balance, but his hand swings out as he flails, catching himself with his other arm on a planter, and knocks her arm aside.
She staggers back, everything is in slow motion as the heel of her red shoe catches in a crack in the sidewalk, falling.
Her body arcs gracefully towards the ground, eyes wide open.
"Sunyoung!"
Chanyeol feels himself pushed aside, who? Sungyeol is moving past him, reaching for their friend's outstretched hand.
It's just a second too late.
There's a dull crunch as she hits the ground, head colliding with the planter. Her eyes are still open, but the stars are gone.
"What -?" Sungyeol spins, turning to Chanyeol, whose mind is blank, empty. I can't - he can't think, this isn't happening. Dimly, he can see that Sungyeol isn't in dress clothes, but rather his usual skinny jeans and t-shirt.
His wrist is thin, in the lamplight, as he brings his hand forward to - Chanyeol doesn't know.
Sungyeol stops, mouth opening, eyes wet, as red petals start pouring out of his mouth, coughing; Chanyeol is frozen on the sidewalk.
Orange petals join the flow, peonies, Chanyeol thinks dully, the thought like a small spark falling down a well. Sunyoung's corsage, orange on a delicate wrist.
He watches, helpless, as Sungyeol chokes, fingers clutching in red lines at his neck, until he sinks to the ground. A single red petal falls out of his mouth,
in the silence.
Chanyeol stumbles back, his eyes are wet, he doesn't understand, can't process - the sidewalk ends and he steps back onto asphalt. There's a light, suddenly, the moon? he asks, confused, as metal collides with skin and bone, red painting the glass stars lying on the road.
☆☆☆
The boy lies in the hospital bed, eyelids closed, eyes flicking back and forth beneath fluttering eyelashes. He doesn't wake. He never will.
"What do you think he's dreaming?" a nurse asks the doctor, clipboard in hand as she checks up on the sleepers, keeps bedsores under control, muscles from atrophying.
"Maybe he's dreaming the future he'll never have," the doctor says, smiling sadly. She likes this boy, somehow.
"He lost both of his friends the night he was in the crash, right?" the nurse asks, eyes inquisitive. "Maybe it's better if he doesn't wake up."
The doctor frowns, lets the spring on the clipboard fall with a sharp snap so that the nurse jumps. "It's always better to wake up," she says, frowning.
They leave the room, the door sliding closed behind them with a quiet whisper of wood on metal. Make it better.
A tear rolls out of the boy's eye; lands soundlessly on the pillow beside his cheek. There's no one left to see.
the end
☆☆☆
He opens his eyes. Everything is white; he blinks. It hurts. What happened? His fingers move, open and closed, there's strange fabric beneath his fingers.
"Chanyeol!" a voice exclaims, to his right. His mind is still hazy, he blinks, tries to swallow. There's a tube down his throat.
"Chanyeol!" another voice says, this time to his left. It sounds scratchy, like it's been crying. He tries to say something, to ask, but there's no sound in his mouth.
"It's okay," the voice to his right says, it's Sunyoung, of course it's Sunyoung. She wraps her smooth fingers in his.
Other fingers reach out, slightly more tentative, to entangle themselves with the fingers of his left hand. Sungyeol. Chanyeol blinks. He remembers something, red petals? Orange petals? Red? It's hard to think, he tightens his fingers around those of his friends, holding them close.
What happened? he wants to ask, but he can't. They seem to know anyway.
"You were on your way to prom," Sunyoung explains, her voice sounds thick, somehow, filling with tears.
"We're not sure," Sungyeol continues, and his voice is far too quiet. Chanyeol gives his hand a tiny squeeze. I'm here.
"You weren't paying attention, listening to music, and stepped out onto the curb," Sunyoung says. "A passing car hit you." It's hard, with the tubes and and IV and tape everywhere, but he manages to turn his head slightly so that he can see her face. Her orange hair is bleached in the fluorescent light, she looks too small, crying on the stool, shoulders hunched. I'm so sorry. He wants to say it but the words can't come out. He mouths the words instead.
There's a soft touch on the back of his left hand, Sungyeol brushes his lips across the back of Chanyeol's hand before getting up to give Sunyoung a hug.
"Once you get out of here, we're not letting you out out of our sight!" Sunyoung says, voice more scared than angry as she looks up out of the circle of Sungyeol's arm. He nods, looking at Chanyeol. His gaze is like a question, almost a dare. Do you understand?
Chanyeol nods his head.
Yes.
the end
☆☆☆
How does the story end?
You decide.
note: I used two other prompt sets (yes the complete set) for this story; I won't mention which as they're not to be used for evaluation. In addition, the Schrödinger's cat defintions come from Wikipedia, and the German song lyrics are from IAMX's I come with knives.
6431
Poll
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: hanahaki disease, car crash references, mentions of blood, violence[additional warnings] polyamory, love triangle, unrequited love, coma, terminal illness, multiple major character deaths, multiple potential endings, general mindfuckery
Fandom: EXO, Infinite, f(x)
Pairing: Chanyeol/Sungyeol/Sunyoung (Luna)
Summary: Chanyeol and Sungyeol and Sunyoung, childhood friends, have been entangled since high school, caught in the threads of something Chanyeol can't remember.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone for keeping me going. Everyone. I literally wouldn't have been able to finish otherwise.
Prompt Used: HISTORY - What am I to you (난 너한테 뭐야) and the additional prompts from the set (poem and picture).
hanahaki disease 花吐き病 : A disease of the human system which first spread in Japan during 室町時代. Patients began coughing up flowers due to a fatal infection of unrequited love - first a few petals at a time, then long bouts of choking as the petals filled the airstream. Finally, the patient would choke to death and their dead body would erupt into the flower with which they were infected. Every unrequited love would produce a different blossom, as no two people are the same. Without a cure, the only survival method was to be loved in return; however, matters of the human heart are never simple.
Schrödinger's cat is a thought experiment, sometimes described as a paradox, devised by Austrian physicist Erwin Schrödinger in 1935. [...]It illustrates what he saw as the problem of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics applied to everyday objects. The scenario presents a cat which may be simultaneously both alive and dead, a state known as a quantum superposition, as a result of being linked to a random subatomic event that may or may not occur. The thought experiment is also often featured in theoretical discussions of the interpretations of quantum mechanics. Schrödinger coined the term Verschränkung (entanglement) in the course of developing the thought experiment.
A cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source are placed in a sealed box. If an internal monitor detects radioactivity (i.e. a single atom decaying), the flask is shattered, releasing the poison that kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead, not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.
Every time you open the box the outcome changes.
Let's open the box and see what happens.
They sit across the table from each other, wrinkles on the white linen like waves. Light catches on the rim of the wine glass, blinding Chanyeol for a moment. Sungyeol blinks. There's no milk today, the waiter apologizes with a sheepish expression on his face; Chanyeol's eyebrow twitches.
"Cream is fine," he says. Sungyeol doesn't wait; he takes his coffee black. When he sets the cup down his mouth is steaming.
The waiter comes back with the cream pitcher, he swerves to avoid a particularly obnoxious ray of sunlight and stumbles, three tiny drops of white fly out, arching over the tablecloth. Sungyeol pushes his chair away, wood scraping wood.
"Excuse me a moment," he murmurs, ducking in the opposite direction towards the restroom. There's a flash of orange and Chanyeol blinks - was that hair? - the waiter has poured too much cream into his cup. He stares at the pale insipid liquid, raises his head to call for another cup but -
Sunyoung is sitting across from him, at the table, orange hair like the peonies she had on her wrist when -
"Are you okay?" Chanyeol whips his head around; it's Sungyeol, his voice is tentative, tucking a hand into his pocket, a flicker of crimson before his hand is swallowed in burgundy wool.
Sunyoung is gone.
"Just too much cream in my coffee," he shrugs, disguising the tremor in his shoulders. Sungyeol nods, slips back into his seat and takes another sip of blackness. His coffee is still hot.
☆☆☆
It's always like this, whenever he sees him, but he can't not see him - Sungyeol knows because he's tried. It only accelerates everything.
The doctors gave him 6 months to live and that was ten years ago.
By the time he gets to the restroom he's stumbling on shaking knees, trembling to keep the flowers in; as soon as the door slams shut, even before he can lock it, the petals are pouring up out of his throat, red and red and red like a shroud of bloody snow over the grimy blue and black tiles as he coughs and coughs and gasps and tries to catch his breath. He's blue before it stops and he gasps in cool air before spitting gently into the sink, darker red to stain the scarlet.
It might actually be six months this time.
He stares at the red against white porcelain, dotting the backs of his hands, and lets himself be for just a moment. Just Sungyeol, not Sungyeol who loves Chanyeol and is dying because of it. It's not your fault. The voice in his head is always too familiar.
"Sunyoung." It's always her face in the mirror. She grins, her face breaking into joyful lines, flips her head, orange hair swirling to cloud his vision.
"Soon," she says. "I'll see you soon."
Sungyeol is afraid he knows what she means.
He washes his hands carefully in the sink, cold water washing away only a small part of the evidence, but he's too tired to care anymore. The restaurant staff can think what they want. He dabs at his mouth gently with a white handkerchief as he makes his way back to the table.
☆☆☆
The sign creaks in the wind as he walks out, a metal cat, centred in the cubic outline of a box. Shrödinger's cat.
"Is the cat dead or alive?" he asks Sungyeol, instead of waving goodbye. They'll see each other soon. They always do.
"You have to open the box," Sungyeol replies, the sharp bones of his shoulder blades ghosting beneath the burgundy of his blazer as he turns away. He's more slumped over than usual today. Chanyeol wants to ask but doesn't. Don't open the box.
He traces his footsteps along the sidewalk instead, shadows on concrete, green grass protruding from the cracks. Things grow when they're left alone. There's a photobooth - Photoautomat and there's a flicker of -
"Why not?" he replies to no one in particular; the streets are empty on a mid-morning that's not a weekday. The curtain pulls shut with a soft whisper. You forgot.
flash
Sungyeol and Chanyeol smiling for a selca in high school, Chanyeol holding the camera because he always insists his arms are longer.
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
They end up bickering, orange hair laughing on the sidelines.
flash
His arm wrapped around Sunyoung's shoulders, posing so that he's kissing her cheek as she smiles at the camera. When he gets the photos from the slot he can see that her eyes are looking somewhere else.
flash
The photo in the school yearbook with the three of them laughing. They're all looking at the camera, Chanyeol in the middle, Sungyeol and Sunyoung resting their heads on his shoulder. Sungyeol's hair was longer that year, before he cropped it short.
flash
"Say cheese!" Chanyeol groans. At seven years old his mother is so embarrassing, all of the time, but they stop splashing in the inflatable pool and smile at the polaroid camera, resigned to a "1-2-3" before they turn back to more important affairs - Chanyeol splashing water at Sunyoung who dishes out as good as she gets, Sungyeol blustering large before hiding behind her shoulder because he doesn't like water in his face.
flash
Chanyeol stands up and collects his change, glancing at the strip of four photos absentmindedly before slipping it into his pocket. His hand is almost to his pocket when he jerks it back in surprise.
There's a flicker of orange in the corner; it could be a light leak but it looks like orange. Orange hair.
"Sunyoung?" Suddenly Chanyeol is running, there's a flicker of orange in the corner of his vision, is it around the corner? He turns, there's only a locked gate geschlossen but he sees a face - over the gate somehow, the rust colouring his hands orange and sticking to his pants, but he's over, raking the glassless windows of the factory with his eyes, everything in such disrepair when he sees motion and rushes through the door only to end up on the other side.
"Sunyoung!" His fingers reaching, he can feel fabric beneath his fingers - he steps into the light, his hands are empty. He's standing in a courtyard, walled around with the blind eye sockets of empty buildings. This is the end, they seem to whisper. It never works. Chanyeol looks down; he's stepping on orange peonies. What a sick joke.
Sunyoung's favourite flower.
Why can't I remember?
☆☆☆
They meet outside the theatre; it's a strange time, sun still hanging in the sky. Of course it's dead.
"What are you doing here?" Chanyeol frowns at him. Sungyeol shrugs, pointing at the label. Ciclope Film Festival 2013 The year is definitely wrong but Chanyeol doesn't seem to know how; Sungyeol turns and laughs into his sleeve, wipes a couple red petals into his pocket.
"I wanted to see a movie, is that so strange?" Sungyeol doesn't wait for an answer, walking forward under the rows of incandescent lights. His shadows appears, disappears below his feet.
He sits on the balcony; Chanyeol is in the audience below, a single pale dot in a sea of black velvet. The movie makes no sense, or too much sense. A robot with a human head gives a dead girl flowers. She looks at Sungyeol through the screen.
"I am the moon," she says, and the words bite into his ears. Sunyoung. The movie is in shades of dark but the screen flickers orange. His fingers clutch the railing.
The robot rusts into red, a frozen ocean before the credits roll. Forgive him. Don't forgive him. It was never an option.
"That was one fucked up movie," Chanyeol says, shaking his head as they leave the cinema. The street is still empty. He looks confused.
"I liked it a lot," Sungyeol lies. It's nice, sometimes, to be a separate person for a while, remind himself that he's someone else. "I liked the colour effects."
Chanyeol stares at him as he turns his back and leaves. "The movie was in black and white though?" Sungyeol hears the words stream towards his back; bounce off. He shrugs off the sun.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol is still shaking his head, walking Sungyeol fade off into the sunlight. It's too bright. He ducks into a small pub - THE END OF crackles in cadmium over his head, orange, red, the white behind the eyes but the last word is missing - and slumps at the bar, pulling out a cigarette. The bartender asks with the flick of the eyebrow; he answers with an exhalation of smoke. That.
The class is clear, the liquid green. A cube of sugar, burning, melts into the liquid, flames quenched by a fountain of time. What happened, Sunyoung? Chanyeol tips his head back and drowns himself. Through the glass he can see her face in the mirror, but the harsh sound of glass on the marble bar dispels any ghosts.
Another? the bartender asks, with the crook of a finger.
No drama this time, Chanyeol replies, finger drawn across his neck. The absinthe this time is sweet; it doesn't matter if the happy thoughts are real, so long as they drown out everything else. If she's in the room behind him, he doesn't look up. The bottom of the glass holds all the secrets he wants anyway.
☆☆☆
He gets cold so quickly, somehow; it feels like all the warmth leaves his body in a rush and he's left shivering, drowned in an ocean out of his control. With the shades pulled down it's always sunset. I don't want to remember that again. He takes his clothes off carefully, standing in front of the mirror, and counts his ribs, his fingers reminding himself of what his heart forgets.
The water is warm and smells like roses, somehow, it always does. She walks through the steam, peony orange hair long over her bare chest, slipping into the water to lie against his chest.
"You're mine," she whispers into the skin.
He can feel the leaves unfolding, blooms opening, it feels like living for a second, before the air is gone and he's gasping over the side of the bathtub, red petals pouring out like a flood of things he can't express anymore, could never express. She strokes his back, pounds it systematically with her fists to dislodge the infestation. When the air finally rushes back into his lungs, it feels like being born.
Lying together in the bathtub, it's a weekend, no one is home. They've always done this, since they were young - it's comforting, washing each other's backs, not talking. But he can feel it, even before she opens her mouth.
"He asked me to go out with him."
Sungyeol freezes for an instant, forever, the space of time it takes for the sponge to drop out of his hands and splash into the bathtub.
"I said yes."
They finish in silence. Sunyoung is stepping out, arm reaching for a towel, when Sungyeol feels something in his throat. He coughs, lightly. A red petal drifts down onto the palm of his hand.
"I'm sorry for everything," she says, holding him in her arms because he's too tired not to let himself slip down into the water and let everything go.
"I know," he whispers. I forgave you before it happened.
They don't need to say anything. They never have.
☆☆☆
Bar stools blend into dance floors, day to dusk to night. Kafka woke up and was a monstrous insect. Chanyeol falls asleep and dreams he's awake.
"Come and dance with me," she says, orange hair ablaze in the lights that immolate the room, smoke rising from open mouths. Everyone is talking, no one is saying anything. Chanyeol lets her fingers intertwine with his, allows his feet to be drawn out into the maze of contorting bodies. Sunyoung flashes in and out of view as the strobe light stutters; his hands are by turn empty and full.
"Did you miss me?" she asks, blowing smoke into his ear.
"When did you start smoking?" Chanyeol manages to formulate a coherent thought.
"Why did you forget?" she retorts, the white lights flashing in her eyes for a moment -
headlights
- the bass drops and his heart falls out of his chest. There's no one to catch it. Chanyeol's hands are empty, the red light only revealing crimson-stained fingers, pooling with emptiness. He can't find Sungyeol anywhere. Why am I looking for him? He doesn't know why. It's just a fact of life.
Verschränkung.
☆☆☆
Sungyeol sits at the end of the bar, back to the beer taps, sipping coffee. He doesn't like alcohol, doesn't like the feeling of helplessness it brings. There's so little I can control, anymore.
"You drink too much coffee," Sunyoung scolds him, plopping down on a chrome stool, feet dangling in black stilettos. Sungyeol only shrugs, takes another sip. The liquid is warm on his tongue; substantial. It drives the crushed sweetness of poppies away, even if only for a little while.
She takes out a cigarette, lights it on the bartender's outheld zippo. "Thanks," she says, tipping him a wink. He blushes, he's practically a child.
"Don't tease," Sungyeol retorts. The coffee in his mouth is turning bitter. "And smoking will kill you faster than caffeine."
"Maybe I'm already dead." Sunyoung exhales a column of white smoke. It drifts up to form a cloud. She slips off the stool, the soles of her shoes flashing red as she disappears onto the dance floor.
"What's her name?" the bartender asks, curiosity tinging his voice. He sounds enthralled.
"Luna," Sungyeol lies. "The phases of the moon, dying to new and coming back again in full."
"Fine," the bartender says, anger hanging in a cloud behind his back as he turns away. Sungyeol looks down at the darkness in his cup. It was the truth.
He gets up, before he can go looking for Chanyeol.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol ends up in the washroom - he can feel something bubbling in his stomach but no matter how much he retches it won't come up. I need to drink something. He wanders out into the chilly night air instead, looking for Sungyeol though he won't admit it.
He buys something to eat, there's a döner place on every corner here, and the warm meat fills his stomach, crouched on the curb like any other homeless person, clinging to shreds of warmth. What went wrong? Chanyeol feels like huge swathes of his past are missing. He wants Sungyeol, feels a sudden rush of anger that he's nowhere in sight.
Kinder und Sterne küssen und verlieren sich . . .
He doesn't understand the words but the melody of the song twists into his heart, Chanyeol feels the frustration growing. I don't understand. Someone's foot stumbles into his back by accident, only a mumbled apology before the voice is back to chattering loudly with other voices, probably guys walking home from work the long way. A rush of red fills Chanyeol's head.
Before he knows it his knuckles are smashing into a stranger's face, his eyes surprised for a split second before they darken with anger, as red spatters onto Chanyeol's fist. A split lip. It's not much, but he feels so much better. And then something swings in his peripheral vision, he ducks, but he's not quick enough - pain explodes through his skull and he can feel his spine jerk sideways as he falls, only managing to stagger and avoid the ground. But his blood is singing, there's nothing orange here, no Sungyeol sitting across the linen-covered table; he's all alone and he brings his leg up and feels a satisfying crunch as it connects with a man's ribs.
"You asshole," he hears from the side, though he doesn't understand the words, and it's enough warning to duck and swing around, fist flying and he gets another good punch in, the visceral sound of teeth cracking before he's slammed against a metal pole, the taste of iron heavy in his mouth as another fist connects with the corner of his mouth and cheek, knocking him to the ground. It's cold, there, on the cement. The warmth of the sun has long dissipated and the moon hangs cold in the sky.
Chanyeol doesn't bother getting up, and the men decide to leave, probably to a pub because there's nothing like a little exercise to work up an appetite. It doesn't matter. They don't matter. He lets the cold seep into his bleeding face, wonders where Sungyeol is. That doesn't matter.
But it does.
Schmetterlinge flatterten durch meine Seele.
☆☆☆
The night is cold, night is always cold, Sungyeol laughs at himself, walking along the sidewalk. The sound rings sharply off the shuttered store-front windows. Everything is close, everything is empty. Red lights flash by, on the road, self-contained lives enfolded in fragile metal. You don't think it'll be over until it is. Up ahead, on the bridge, there's the squealing of brakes, rubber burning on cement, metal against metal.
Silence.
He doesn't bother walking any faster. The ambulance rushes by, siren like a heartbeat, diastole, systole. It's not wailing anymore when it leaves, silence flatlining as he keeps walking. Left, right, left, right. For now at least.
Looking over the edge of the bridge, white lights and red lights in a stream of motion, Sungyeol wonders why it even matters anymore. He doesn't lift his head to look for the orange flickering, a halo of hair in the street lamp.
"I love you."
And I love him.
Nothing changes. His mouth is full of red sweetness that hangs bitter off of his tongue as his lungs suffocate.
☆☆☆
Eventually he picks himself up off the ground, ignoring the dust and gravel imprinted in his cheek. The air sways for a moment, he reaches out for support and his hand finds the metal pole he fell against earlier. There still blood on it. The streetlights buzz yellow, hallowing in and out of focus. He blinks. When Chanyeol thinks he can stand without support, he starts on his slow way home.
It's cold, colder than before, his breath hanging in front of his face like smoke - he waves it away with a hand before walking forward. Chanyeol is getting tired of navigating blind. The stars overhead seem to pulse, like the lamplight, like his heart, in and out, footsteps on the sidewalk. Remember, remember, remember.
He's half-asleep on his feet, cars driving through the sky, stars streaming beside him on the road, red-shifting away, when he sees orange and stops, though his foggy brain can't shape the thought. What? He blinks. There are words on the wall.
Ciao Bella
Orange flickers, Sunyoung, of course it's Sunyoung, green dress garish in the yellow lights, as she leans forward to lay a bouquet of white roses at the base of the wall. Chanyeol blinks. There are already other flowers there, red poppies and orange peonies.
"Did you remember?" Sunyoung's words float back to him, bare of breath. Chanyeol's stomach twists, turns, he stumbles forward in a rush to lean against a tree, vomiting up the stinking contents of his stomach. It burns. He keeps shaking his head.
When he looks up she's gone, and there's just a terrible taste in his mouth.
Goodbye beautiful.
☆☆☆
Lying on the ground it's cold and wet, moisture seeping into the fabric of his shirt and pants and sending chilly fingers over his skin, but as Sungyeol watches the sun rise, golden through the green stalks and red flowers, somehow it makes him feel alive like nothing does anymore.
Except him.
Lying in the field of poppies, Sungyeol doesn't feel so alone. They're his brothers and sisters, he's almost one of them. Reaching out his fingers, he feels the flowers inside him stretch out their roots, extend their stalks, and this time he's not afraid.
There's a sweetness on his tongue.
"Sungyeol," she says, a flash of orange amidst the red, but he doesn't look up, not yet. There's a smile hovering on his mouth.
I knew you would come for me.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol's surprised that he even makes it home, there are huge black chunks missing from his memory, not like that's anything new, sidewalks that his feet can't remember crossing, key codes he can't recall, but he ends up in his room anyway, with the blinds drawn and the lamp lying sideways from where it fell as he stumbled and reached out for support, it's hard to tell whether it's day or night. Today or yesterday. Everything swims together, eventually, inevitably.
He's sitting in the bathtub, clothes in a pile on the floor; the door swings open slowly and she's there. Orange hair shining dark red for an eyeblink as she crosses the shadow of the doorway before climbing into the tub. She's not wearing any clothes.
Chanyeol remembers all the times in the past, how old were we? splashing together in the bathtub, someone's mom yelling through the door not to flood the floor again. Sunyoung rests her legs on either sides of his, leaning forward so that her chest brushes his as her lips fold around his mouth.
He shivers.
Sunyoung pulls back, sitting at the other end of the tub, chin resting on her knees.
"Why did you do that?" she asks, head tipped to one side.
"I don't know," Chanyeol whispers, looking at his hands. His lip is split, his knuckles bleeding, the dried scarlet dissolving into the water in rustyy red swirls, but all he can think about right now is how it used to be. Together.
"Yes you do," Sunyoung says, climbing out of the tub. The sound of water dripping across the floor sounds like minutes ticking away through the dark.
More missing holes. But sometimes he's not sure if he's kept them empty on purpose.
☆☆☆
"What's it like?" he asks, skin touching cold ground, warming ever so slightly with the dawning sun, or maybe it's just his imagination, but it's a kind of comfort anyway.
"I can't tell you," Sunyoung says, and she looks sad, but only for a moment. "That's not the important part anyway. Holding his hand, she sits there, at his side, bare feet muddy in the dirt.
The sun rises, heavy rim lifting above the red horizon, the poppies ablaze with morning. Sungyeol's brow furrows slightly, the stems twisting through his abdominal cavity, blossoms unfurling in the warm spongy interior of his lungs. He lets his last breath escape, softly, into the morning. But she's there, hand in his, helping him off the cold ground and together they walk away, into the morning.
Behind them a single poppy bursts out of his mouth, red against blue lips, and then red spots burst out of pale skin as the slim figure is overwhelmed in red, green wrapping over skin, and only poppies are left, the red carpet unbroken.
Once you fall in love for the first time, you can never forget.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol wakes up terrified - he can't remember and yet he can.
He rolls over, disoriented; there's a flash of white, a note on his bedside table.
When you fall in love for the first time, the world changes forever. I've never forgotten you. Please remember me.
"Sungyeol?" There's no answer, there wouldn't be - they don't live together. But the word, no the name, escapes out of his mouth, bounces off the tile floor of the bathroom, glances off the porcelain sink and lands in the basin. There's something in his mouth.
Chanyeol coughs, it's stuck, and there's a choking feeling building in his chest as he helplessly beats one hand against his sternum, the other resting against the mirror for support. His eyes are red in the mirror, when he happens to see, but he couldn't care less. I can't breathe.
Finally, thankfully, the object dislodges itself from his throat and he breathes in glorious air in a wild gasp, nostrils flaring, before looking down at the sink.
There, on the porcelain, lies a small white pile of rose petals.
the end
☆☆☆
Lying there, on the ground, Sungyeol lets himself melt into the earth. He lets go of the rest of his fear, feeding it into the sun that's slowly burning up the sky as it climbs, painting the world gold.
He can feel the petals swarming up in his lungs, it feels like the end, and somehow it's okay. He's expected this since that day, so long ago, when the first red petal fell from his lips.
"I don't mind," he tells the person who isn't there, the person he longs for with every breath he misses, every gasp.
"I do," a familiar voice says, kneeling in the dirt beside him, a warm hand lifting his. It's not Chanyeol, but Sunyoung is, in a different way that's exactly the same, his love. I knew you'd come for me.
He can feel the petals coming then, he opens his mouth to say - but he's already choking, lying on his back the way he wanted this to end, face to the sky so he can see the last lingering stars before they're consumed by the day. But Sunyoung rolls him over onto his side instead, pounding his back and dislodging the petals clinging to the lining of his trachea, mounding in his bronchial tubes and blocking the air.
"What did you do that for?" he asks, when the air finally rushes into his lungs. It's slower this time, this time could have been the last.
"Come on," Sunyoung says, frowning at him as she pulls him with a firm grip; Sungyeol is reluctantly pulled to his feet.
"I'm just so tired," he says.
"I think it's time for Chanyeol to wake up." She doesn't blink, though the sun hurts his eyes.
☆☆☆
Chanyeol wakes up terrified - he can't remember and yet he can. He can feel his heart beating in his throat.
Wake up, wake up.
He rolls over, disoriented; there's a flash of white, a note on his bedside table.
When you fall in love for the first time, the world changes forever. I've never forgotten you. Please remember me.
"Sungyeol?" There's no answer, there wouldn't be - they don't live together.
"Chanyeol?" The door swings open, unattached safety chain hitting the wall. It's Sungyeol, his head leaning on a shoulder, orange hair. Sunyoung?
"I know you can't remember," Sunyoung says, and her voice cuts through the fog. "But think about what you feel."
Chanyeol is confused, far too awake, all of a sudden, though the sun hasn't risen yet, not here behind tall buildings and mist like smoke, souls unattached from their bodies. He looks into Sungyeol's eyes, like twin moons, reflecting the pale light.
"Why did you leave me a note?"
Sungyeol doesn't answer, but a sudden spasm rocks him; he stumbles forward, mouth opening - Chanyeol steps back reflexively expecting him to be sick, but a waterfall of red petals pour out instead. He watches, helplessly, watching Sungyeol choke to death, like a knife driving into his heart.
What's happening?
"Do something!" Sunyoung shouts at him, and darts forward to gather Sungyeol into her arms, the red pouring and pouring down her back as she supports him, trying to pound at his back but the angle is wrong. There are petals drifting in the air, lifting on invisible currents of wind like prayers. A single silky spot of red lands in his palm, the crushed sweetness unmistakable.
Red poppies. My favourite flower.
Something clicks into place then, maybe it always has; he sinks to his knees and, fighting the current, leans forward to wrap his lips around Sungyeol's mouth.
Chanyeol's mouth fills with petals; it feels like he's smothering. He doesn't let go.
Sungyeol's eyes water as his nostrils flare and his mouth opens in a tattered gasp. He sags then, against Sunyoung, against Chanyeol, but the flow has stopped.
Gently, they carry Sungyeol to the bed, leaning him against the headboard and soft white pillows. Shoulder to shoulder, Chanyeol glances to the side and meets Sunyoung's eyes. They're soft, somehow. Vulnerable.
I'm sorry.
She coughs, then. Turns away. But Sungyeol finallly understands, spots the white flowers as they fall gently down.
"Sunyoung," Sungyeol says, from the headboard where he's propped up, sitting. His voice is barely a breath; it sounds like his throat is raw. She keeps sitting, orange hair harsh against her skin. Fingers cupping a handful of wanting.
Without having to ask, Chanyeol helps Sungyeol forward, carrying him to where she is. Sungyeol in his arms is only skin and bones; sharp edges that dig into his arms and stomach. It feels like guilt.
"Sungyoung," Sungyeol rasps, and Chanyeol winces at the sound. He reaches foward, resting in Chanyeol's arms, and presses his mouth to hers. Her eyes flutter shut, dark lashes against skin.
The petals drifting in the air fall silently.
Sungyeol pulls back, and a few red-tinged white rose petals fall out of his mouth. Chanyeol can't help it then, he buries his face in Sungyeol's neck, cold nose against warm skin. You're alive.
"Don't leave me," he says. Sungyeol reaches forward, wraps his bony fingers around Sunyoung's hands, dislodging the petals from their cupped surface.
"I won't," he whispers.
The last of the red petals, white petals settle onto the comforter, the floor, their clothes -sitting there against the headboard, Chanyeol and Sunyoung, Sungyeol between them.
They hold hands, little children again, sitting on the curb, eating ice cream, splashes of strawberry and vanilla dripping down their chins and dripping on the asphalt.
Chanyeol & Sungyeol & Sunyoung for ever. Three sides of a whole.
the end
☆☆☆
the evening of high school graduation, walking outside after prom
The summer night is warm, the air still humid. Chanyeol walks, Sunyoung at his side in her red heels, their hands twisting between them. Her fingers feel silky. It's been a good day; high school is over and it feels like the whole world is stretching ahead of him. He didn't see Sungyeol at the prom, the one sour note in a golden day, but it's okay, he'll see him tomorrow. He always does.
Sunyoung stops, then, turns, looking at him. Chanyeol looks up, slightly puzzled but still grinning. It looks like she has something to say. She's beautiful in her white dress, silver beading in leaves cupping her waist, the silvery white gossamer of her skirt catching the light.
"Chanyeol," she says, and it's not a question but it sounds like it. Something is wrong. Chanyeol stops smiling.
"Sunyoung?" he asks, and it is a question. What are you doing?
"I need to tell you something," she says, fingers still wrapped around his wrist. They hurt now, somehow. He doesn't want her to keep talking, there in the dark, after the sun has gone down on the perfect day. There are crickets singing, off to the side in the grass. Summer is only beginning.
"When you asked me to date you, I said yes," she says finally, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. STOP! Chanyeol wants to shout, you're ruining the fabric! But he doesn't say anything.
"I do love you," Sunyoung continues, "but I love someone else, loved him first, and I think you need to know that." It feels like all the air has left his lungs. Chanyeol doesn't know how to breathe right now, anymore. No.
"Why didn't you date him then?" he asks, finally, and he's scared, at how cold his voice is. He feels like he's burning.
Sunyoung looks right into his eyes, her eyes scattered with the sharp stars hanging in the sky, her fingers entwining with his. "Because he loves you."
"No." Chanyeol doesn't want to understand, he can't understand, this isn't happening. They walked out of the prom and they're walking home, hand in hand, and this isn't happening.
"You know who I'm talking about," Sunyoung says, and her voice sounds beseeching, somehow - not confident, not bossy, not the Sunyoung he knows. I'm scared.
"Sungyeol is my friend," Chanyeol shouts, the sound shocking even him as he stumbles back, heel slipping on a stray fragment of rock, probably crumbled off a planter. The flowers are wilted, it's too hot for them. Sunyoung reaches forward, tries to help him regain his balance, but his hand swings out as he flails, catching himself with his other arm on a planter, and knocks her arm aside.
She staggers back, everything is in slow motion as the heel of her red shoe catches in a crack in the sidewalk, falling.
Her body arcs gracefully towards the ground, eyes wide open.
"Sunyoung!"
Chanyeol feels himself pushed aside, who? Sungyeol is moving past him, reaching for their friend's outstretched hand.
It's just a second too late.
There's a dull crunch as she hits the ground, head colliding with the planter. Her eyes are still open, but the stars are gone.
"What -?" Sungyeol spins, turning to Chanyeol, whose mind is blank, empty. I can't - he can't think, this isn't happening. Dimly, he can see that Sungyeol isn't in dress clothes, but rather his usual skinny jeans and t-shirt.
His wrist is thin, in the lamplight, as he brings his hand forward to - Chanyeol doesn't know.
Sungyeol stops, mouth opening, eyes wet, as red petals start pouring out of his mouth, coughing; Chanyeol is frozen on the sidewalk.
Orange petals join the flow, peonies, Chanyeol thinks dully, the thought like a small spark falling down a well. Sunyoung's corsage, orange on a delicate wrist.
He watches, helpless, as Sungyeol chokes, fingers clutching in red lines at his neck, until he sinks to the ground. A single red petal falls out of his mouth,
in the silence.
Chanyeol stumbles back, his eyes are wet, he doesn't understand, can't process - the sidewalk ends and he steps back onto asphalt. There's a light, suddenly, the moon? he asks, confused, as metal collides with skin and bone, red painting the glass stars lying on the road.
☆☆☆
The boy lies in the hospital bed, eyelids closed, eyes flicking back and forth beneath fluttering eyelashes. He doesn't wake. He never will.
"What do you think he's dreaming?" a nurse asks the doctor, clipboard in hand as she checks up on the sleepers, keeps bedsores under control, muscles from atrophying.
"Maybe he's dreaming the future he'll never have," the doctor says, smiling sadly. She likes this boy, somehow.
"He lost both of his friends the night he was in the crash, right?" the nurse asks, eyes inquisitive. "Maybe it's better if he doesn't wake up."
The doctor frowns, lets the spring on the clipboard fall with a sharp snap so that the nurse jumps. "It's always better to wake up," she says, frowning.
They leave the room, the door sliding closed behind them with a quiet whisper of wood on metal. Make it better.
A tear rolls out of the boy's eye; lands soundlessly on the pillow beside his cheek. There's no one left to see.
the end
☆☆☆
He opens his eyes. Everything is white; he blinks. It hurts. What happened? His fingers move, open and closed, there's strange fabric beneath his fingers.
"Chanyeol!" a voice exclaims, to his right. His mind is still hazy, he blinks, tries to swallow. There's a tube down his throat.
"Chanyeol!" another voice says, this time to his left. It sounds scratchy, like it's been crying. He tries to say something, to ask, but there's no sound in his mouth.
"It's okay," the voice to his right says, it's Sunyoung, of course it's Sunyoung. She wraps her smooth fingers in his.
Other fingers reach out, slightly more tentative, to entangle themselves with the fingers of his left hand. Sungyeol. Chanyeol blinks. He remembers something, red petals? Orange petals? Red? It's hard to think, he tightens his fingers around those of his friends, holding them close.
What happened? he wants to ask, but he can't. They seem to know anyway.
"You were on your way to prom," Sunyoung explains, her voice sounds thick, somehow, filling with tears.
"We're not sure," Sungyeol continues, and his voice is far too quiet. Chanyeol gives his hand a tiny squeeze. I'm here.
"You weren't paying attention, listening to music, and stepped out onto the curb," Sunyoung says. "A passing car hit you." It's hard, with the tubes and and IV and tape everywhere, but he manages to turn his head slightly so that he can see her face. Her orange hair is bleached in the fluorescent light, she looks too small, crying on the stool, shoulders hunched. I'm so sorry. He wants to say it but the words can't come out. He mouths the words instead.
There's a soft touch on the back of his left hand, Sungyeol brushes his lips across the back of Chanyeol's hand before getting up to give Sunyoung a hug.
"Once you get out of here, we're not letting you out out of our sight!" Sunyoung says, voice more scared than angry as she looks up out of the circle of Sungyeol's arm. He nods, looking at Chanyeol. His gaze is like a question, almost a dare. Do you understand?
Chanyeol nods his head.
Yes.
the end
☆☆☆
How does the story end?
You decide.
note: I used two other prompt sets (yes the complete set) for this story; I won't mention which as they're not to be used for evaluation. In addition, the Schrödinger's cat defintions come from Wikipedia, and the German song lyrics are from IAMX's I come with knives.
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