When Life Calls Out Forty Love, Game, Set, and Match for postboxinheaven [2/2]
At least, his sessions with Kyungsoo are doing well. The boy is concentrated and working hard, and actually doing the three days of cardio and other drills. The improvement of his endurance is obvious from the way he can handle a set or two without too much strain.
His elbow is at the right distance. Chanyeol feels happy that at least, from all the mess he’s going through, someone’s coming out of the tunnel with some tangible things learned and mastered. Kyungsoo’s even wearing white.
Kyungsoo swings hard, and his spikes are fast and Chanyeol envies that kind of ease in demonstrating youthful strength without any sort of burden at its shadows, on its shoulders.
Chanyeol returns the serve with a backhand, and he can feel the sweat shower the ground in an arch, and usually that is an imagery one would cringe to because it’s uglification at its best, but Chanyeol finds himself not caring and laughing at himself.
Of course, it would look utterly delirious to Kyungsoo and he doesn’t blame the latter for being pretty perplexed.
“You… alright?”
Chanyeol trips over his leg - or a big chunk of nothing - and drops his racket on his other foot.
“Shi- fuc- wait, did you jus…. talk? To me?”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.
“You were grinning like a bloody idiot, and it’s been what, five sessions I haven’t seen that?”
Five sessions, Chanyeol winces. That makes five weeks since his vomit incident. He’s not sure if he’s entirely comfortable with the subject up in the air waiting to be voiced, but he knows for a fact that hearing a new voice talk to him comforts him more than he had thought it could.
Grinning like a bloody idiot, though.
“You’re pretty hostile, you know,” Chanyeol says, sounding a bit pained. “I would have wanted your first words be something like: you’re the best coach ever, I love you!”
“In. Your. Dreams,” comes the impatient reply.
Chanyeol laughs.
* * *
Chanyeol jogs at the break of dawn because he hasn’t been able to sleep past five.
The air is cool and it’s exhilarating and relaxing, and sometimes Chanyeol thinks this is the only time he can think clearly without thousands of fears pulling him down.
Baekhyun takes his hand and intertwines their fingers and holds them tightly.
“You’re not alone. You know what that means?”
Chanyeol shakes his head, still feeling irked by the feeling that his apartment smells like bad indigestion.
“It means you can go face all the things you have to face,” Baekhyun says softly. “It means you can close your eyes and dive and know that someone will catch you. That more than one person would, even.”
Chanyeol starts on the slope and takes deeper breaths.
“You can do it, Yeol. It’s okay.”
Chanyeol laughs, and he lets it go, so much it turns into broken sobs, so he stops to wipe the crocodile tears he must have been sporting at five in the morning in the middle of public streets.
You were grinning like a bloody idiot.
That, he can be sure of.
* * *
“Tell me more about us,” Chanyeol demands as soon as they settle down at a table, two coffee orders at the counter.
“Is this a date?” Baekhyun’s eyes sparkle as he sits down with the grin he always wears.
“Haha, well,” Chanyeol scratches his nose and lets out a nervous laugh. “Don’t friends ever drink coffee and reminisce about old times?”
“You got a point,” Baekhyun cocks his head. “Fine. So.”
There’s a pause, and then the coffee comes up.
“What do we usually drink together?” Chanyeol urges as he realizes he actually doesn’t like lattes after taking a sip. “This… doesn’t suit my taste?”
There’s a pause.
“This is harder than I thought it would be but okay,” Baekhyun lets out a sigh but gathers all the courage he can. “You liked lattes too? I guess maybe you’re not liking it anymore though? I like lattes. Maybe you liked lattes because I liked lattes? Maybe you… never liked lattes to begin with??”
That was by far the most uneloquent thing Baekhyun has ever said to Chanyeol, and he doesn’t know if he should be worried or just chuckle because it’s endearing.
“Oh okay, that might be it,” he replies. Then he quickly changes the subject. “What do we usually do together?”
“Hm, we mostly fool around,” Baekhyun starts, “karaoke-ing, getting trashed, yodeling down the street-”
“We did that?!”
“What? Karaoke-ing? Excuse me, I can totally sing-”
“No, no, the yodeling down the street part-”
“Okay maybe that’s something you don’t exactly want to remember. I wouldn’t. It just slipped.”
Chanyeol barks out into laughter, and the sound surprises him so much he chokes halfway through.
Never has his laughter sounded so familiar to him, so real.
“Yeah, I knew that’s something I shouldn’t have mentioned. A pity my mouth runs faster than my brain.”
Chanyeol laughs, and he’s surprised it’s genuine again.
It’s genuine.
It’s his.
It’s him.
* * *
Alone time is always the most terrifying. Chanyeol jogs on a different path today.
He feels like he’s pushing through a crowd when the road is completely empty, and he can’t decide whether that makes him feel less - or more - lonely. Sometimes he can feel his hands tremble when the birch trees sway against each other and cause a rustling of leaves. Sometimes he can feel his feet becoming light, or his head becoming too heavy for his neck. Sometimes he knows he’s succumbing to nonsense; sometimes he thinks he’s letting himself be persuaded that there’s no escape.
On other days he is free from all worries, maybe because he’s talked to Baekhyun, Kai or Kyungsoo. On other days he is not demanding of himself, and he’d just wait at the side of his mind, wait for the thoughts to settle at the bottom of the lake.
Chanyeol looks down the road as he takes a pause. There’s light morning mist covering the ground.
Chanyeol knows the music is blasting too loud for him to bear. He can feel the dancers around him grind offbeat, tossing their heads into the raucous they think is music.
He walks out of the club, weary and worn out from staring too long at strangers’ faces.
He heads home, unlocks the door, steps in, turns on the lights, lets the door click back into its frame, and just stares into his flat.
Its hollowness reminds him of the loneliness he had felt at the club.
Chanyeol wipes off the sweat on his forehead and continues running until he pauses at a red light.
Chanyeol sends the ball through, and it blasts to the other court and hits against Kai’s racket with a loud and distinctive thud.
Kai pulls it up into a free ball, and Chanyeol takes the chance to spike. The ball hits the ground with impact but Kai has already predicted its track and returns it into Chanyeol’s unguarded space behind him.
“Deuce!”
The set ends six to four for Chanyeol. They take a break and swing their towels at each other and take large gulps from their emptying water bottles.
“So, are you ready for the Roehampton qualifiers?” Kai asks casually.
Chanyeol bites his bottom lip.
Chanyeol looks down at the granite, and he takes a moment and just concentrates on breathing in and out. The pedestrian light’s counter resets, and he misses the green light despite having waited there all along.
He misses the green light. Despite having been there all along.
* * *
The session ends with a set six to three for Chanyeol and him throwing Kyungsoo a towel, a water bottle, and a peace sign, huffing a hoarse, “Good game.”
Kyungsoo smiles, and Chanyeol beams because that’s certainly development. Kyungsoo’s been cheery more often now, and the heart lips shape into something congenial.
“I heard you’re aiming for the championships,” Kyungsoo asks, voice soft and low and unknowing, as they sit on a bench, resting and stretching their tired legs, Chanyeol’s knee knocking into Kyungsoo’s.
Chanyeol’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That’s what all professionals are aiming for, in all honesty. That should include you.”
Kyungsoo lowers his head. “I’m still a long way off.”
Chanyeol pats his back. “You’re doing swell, though. Honestly. By the time you’re my age, you’d probably be on some winning champion streak! You’d be the new Federer, and I’d be watching you proudly on national television.”
The younger smirks briefly, but then falls into grave silence. Chanyeol takes a nervous gulp from his water bottle and then wipes the sweat from his face, leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands on both sides of his cheeks.
“You sound like my granddad,” Kyungsoo finally says, and Chanyeol bites his lip and flings a fist at the shorter’s arm, and the boy smiles, and the smile doesn’t turn off for quite some time, and Chanyeol can’t help but smirk in delight.
“Wimbledon’s in a month,” Kyungsoo then mutters. Their smiles fade away.
“Yeah,” the taller manages, passing a hand in his hair as nonchalantly as he can.
“Aren’t you going t-”
“- I don’t know,” Chanyeol cuts in, irritation creeping into his tone before he knows it. He flashes an apologetic glance at the younger. “Sorry.”
“What for?” Kyungsoo asks softly.
Chanyeol takes a deep breath and stands up, walks to the court as he tries hard to think of a vague enough reply - because he doesn’t know - or of a way to change the topic. Whichever comes first. He scratches his neck as he feels the stress rise from his shoulders.
He can hear the younger stand up too, as the sound of weight being eased off of a creaking bench resonates into the dense air of a late afternoon. Then he hears steps, light and slow, and after counting them, he knows Kyungsoo is behind him, and he cowers faintly at the thought.
“I wish I could help,” Kyungsoo says calmly.
“I wish I could help.”
And the next thing Chanyeol knows, or the next thing he doesn’t know, Chanyeol turns around sharply, grabs the younger’s shoulders and places his lips against the heartshaped ones he knows he’s been longing for since the very beginning.
* * *
Things could not have gotten any more complicated.
He presses against the younger, the eagerness utterly new to him. His hand comes up and cups the other’s cheek and he kisses, alternating between tender and desperate ones.
He misses the cross-shot by miles and almost stumbles over his legs as he loses his balance. He hears Kai shout across the court:
“Forty Fifteen! Quit daydreaming Yeol!”
“Sorry!” Chanyeol yelps back as he dribbles his tennis ball before throwing it up and missing his own serve. He groans loudly and he throws his head back in frustration.
He nibbles at the lower lip, and Kyungsoo gasps and he takes advantage of it and he dives and he wants more, and more, and more, even though he knows that all he’s tasting is the saltiness of confusion.
“Let’s call it a day,” Kai pushes a water bottle at him. “Something’s on your mind.”
It is scary how spot-on Kai always is, and Chanyeol seriously starts wondering if the redhead may not be a mind reader after all. Though it is, really, the least of his concerns when he’s gone and kissed his best friend’s seventeen-year-old distant cousin.
He massages his shoulder blade and the dull sore pain is seriously the best thing he’s had for a while.
Chanyeol breaks it off and steps back. He’s never been so confused yet certain at the same time. He turns around and walks a few steps and stops at the other side of the tennis court, his hands up to his temples.
“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo calls out shakily. “It’s okay.”
“Kai.”
Kai startles slightly, eyes widening a bit more than his usual lazy stare. “Yes?”
“I’ve… ugh,” Chanyeol says, but the scene loops again in his brain without foreseeable end, and it distracts him because he can still feel the tingle on his lips and the tips of his fingers even though it has been almost a week.
Kai scrutinizes him from face to feet, and usually Chanyeol would take that as being “checked out” but here he knows Kai is trying to read every single line and trying to guess at what he may or may not be about to admit.
“Did we, um,” Chanyeol tries again.
Kai frowns before chuckling carefully, and then turns around to pick up stray tennis balls on the side of the fence. He brushes his hair with a hand.
“Take your time,” he singsongs.
Chanyeol scrunches up his nose and groans.
“Uh, um. I was thinking… maybe we could go have a drink?”
Kai gets on his feet, slightly perplexed. He even looks around the empty court and then looks back at Chanyeol in a sort of incredulity.
“Sure?”
* * *
They find themselves in a twenty-four-hour café. At around half past nine at night. No one in his or her right mind would drink coffee after intense exercising. Chanyeol isn’t half sure what he is doing, but at least he’s certain that it’s-
“- ‘Cause I want to stay awake and sober,” Chanyeol explains quickly as he orders an Americano for himself and looks at Kai, waiting for the other to order. “It’s on me.”
“I’m not fond of coffee,” and Chanyeol’s stomach sort of sinks because he hadn’t thought about that, but Kai adds, “I’ll just have a Darjeeling tea.”
The barista nods in acknowledgement and gets to work after taking their cash and returning a receipt and change. They choose to sit near the window, diagonal to the AC, legs sort of jumbled together under the small round table.
“So,” Kai starts dryly. Chanyeol fidgets and he isn’t sure how this new environment is going to help him.
“I wanted to talk to you a-about stuff,” Chanyeol stutters slightly, and he can feel his breathing becoming ragged.
Kai smiles briefly. “I’ve predicted that far.”
“Right.”
Their drinks are set up during the long tense silence. They don’t drink. Chanyeol fiddles with the handle of his cup. Kai just looks out the window.
“I… recently kissed someone,” Chanyeol breaks the ice and he swears he can actually hear the silence shatter into pieces and it’s frightening and he wonders if Kai hears it too.
Kai actually starts laughing. Or, more specifically, tries to muffle his laughter in a vain and rudely half-assed attempt. Chanyeol flushes in a mix of anger and embarrassment. He kicks the other’s shin for good measure.
“Is she someone you knew from before or after?” Kai asks with a sincere smile even though he clearly doesn’t forgive Chanyeol for the kick, as he kicks back.
“After,” Chanyeol answers prudently, holding the front of his leg to ease the pain.
“Okay. Well. Does she know?”
“Know?”
“Your accident. Amnesia. Drive for championships. Mood swings. Everything, really,” Kai lists matter-of-factly. Chanyeol taps the top of the table out of nervousness, the luster of its surface reflecting his knuckle.
“No, no, maybe, maybe, no,” Chanyeol answers in edgy succession.
“I don’t see where the problem is,” Kai replies earnestly, his arms folded, his back to the seat, a smile on his lips.
“He’s a boy,” Chanyeol whispers low after he musters all the courage he has - or doesn’t have.
“I still don’t see where the problem is,” Kai reasserts and takes a sip out of his tea. “Unless you mean he’s underage.”
“He’s underage.”
“Thirteen?”
“Seventeen.”
Kai laughs. “That’s not too bad.”
“And I’m twenty-four. And he’s my best friend’s distant cousin. A-And I’m supposed to be just coaching him. And I have amnesia. And I can’t decide on my future? I’m fucked up. He doesn’t need someone seven years older and fucked up.”
“You’re not fucked up. Chill.”
Chanyeol cracks his neck, but the tension won’t lower. He sits back and tries to relax, but his words still come out weary and uneasy, “Kai, I can’t make it for the championships. I know I can’t.”
“Don’t put yourself down,” Kai mutters, and Chanyeol can tell there’s been a change in tone, but he cannot quite read Kai as well as Kai can read him.
There’s a bit of a silent stretch, and Chanyeol’s hearing starts getting packed slowly with the same sinuous chatter from his nightmares. He glances across the lounge but there’s barely anyone, and that causes him to be anxious. There is one old man, in a washed out but tidy suit, sitting with a cigar in between his fingers and smoke about his head. He turns and meets Chanyeol’s gaze.
There’s a dangerous whisper in the air.
“You think I can’t make it, too,” Chanyeol snaps darkly before it processes through his head that he’s directed these words at Kai.
And at this point, the redhead’s smile has long gone, and he’s glaring at him, eyes darker, and the soft coral-red hair turning into some kind of menacing crimson under the dim lighting of the café.
“Maybe you can tell that to any cocky, smug, conceited, loser players out there in that park who think they could make it in because they’re classy and chic and they’re wielding a Wilson Kfactor racket like it’s some guarantee that they can fucking win. You can tell them that. But you can’t tell that to me.”
Chanyeol swallows hard, and he can’t meet Kai’s gaze. He counts the ticking sound of the café’s wall clock to calm himself down.
“I get that you got a chunk of your memories chopped off against your will,” Kai continues, anger has more or less dissipated, and Chanyeol tries to even out his breathing. “But you’re the only one trying to stop your opportunities to fill it up with new things. With new memories.”
Chanyeol bites his lower lip, bites his tears back.
“With new friends,” Kai finishes, slow, languid. Soothing, familiar. Once Chanyeol has calmed down, and that the café is only filled with the noise of espresso machines and jazzy music, Kai raises his cup and takes another sip even though the tea has cooled off completely.
“Kai’s my stage name. My actual name’s Kim Jongin. I’m a dance choreographer,” Kai holds out a hand, “And I want to be friends.”
“Let’s be friends,” Kai repeats with a smile Chanyeol has long been familiar with, and he can’t help but smile back even though it was barely a few minutes ago that the former was mad at him. He shakes the hand, and finds that Kai - Jongin - is holding his, tightly and firmly, and it gives him strength.
“Let’s.”
* * *
“You’ve some colour to your cheeks, I like that,” Baekhyun grins as he offers the can of beer to Chanyeol.
“Thanks,” the latter coughs nervously while grimacing a smile. “I’ve been doing better.”
Except maybe part of that includes the fact that I’ve kissed your seventeen-year-old distant cousin, Chanyeol thinks.
“Or am I mistaken? Is that really just a healthy colour to your cheeks or are you blushing cutely?” Baekhyun asks cheekily. Chanyeol gives the shorter a punch on the arm.
“Blushing cutely,” Baekhyun decides, and he wiggles his eyebrows and smiles creepily, and Chanyeol laughs nervously.
“I’ve made friends with Kai,” Chanyeol says. “We chill out and we talk more and he’s introducing me to his other friends. We hung out last night and it was great.”
Baekhyun beams, and then adds, playfully. “That’s all fine and dandy, but please don’t forget me, okay?”
“It’s hard to forget a walking mystery like you.”
Baekhyun raises his eyebrow. “Says the one who’s already forgotten it once!”
“Don’t guilt-trip me!” Chanyeol barks back, barely feeling the prickle from The Topic being mentioned.
“You’re the only one making that trip, bro,” Baekhyun says after taking a sip from his can. “Talk about trips, I think we should go on one soon. Travel the world, renew your memory disk and shove it with photos of me posing like a tourist in front of the Eiffel Towe-”
“-What a smooth change of subject-”
“-Don’t interrupt me!”
Chanyeol laughs. “Well, I’d rather have photos of both of us.”
“Frame them, put them on display above the fireplace-”, Baekhyun starts.
“-so I could never ever forget,” Chanyeol completes.
They stay silent for a while and Baekhyun sits back and they start looking at the tall grass and birch trees swaying in front of them.
The wind whispers warnings in his ears, but Chanyeol can’t hear them. He cups the younger’s cheeks and he kisses the other’s lips warmly, and to his surprise they kiss back.
Kyungsoo’s tiptoeing, and Chanyeol’s bending down, but it works and it’s all that really matters. They bump their noses. They break distances. They make magic work.
“Chanyeol, I … know what’s going on.”
Chanyeol turns his head towards the shorter man, eyes widening in growing distress. Baekhyun’s eyes come up to meet his, and there’s something thoughtful about their glint.
“Kyungsoo’s stronger than you might think,” Baekhyun continues.
“You skipped last session.”
Chanyeol breaks into cold sweat as his racket drops to the ground, utterly shocked by seeing the raven-haired boy, in casual clothes and a grey messenger bag over one shoulder, standing at the corner of the court. “I…”
“That was the shittiest thing you could have ever done.”
Chanyeol is utterly bewildered. “I-”
“You do realize I waited a fucking hour? Or two?”
Chanyeol raises both of his hands, feeling utterly cornered, as if guns were pointing at him. “I-?”
Kyungsoo steps onto the court and takes a racket from Chanyeol’s bag and picks up a stray ball, throws it into the air and blasts it - the way Chanyeol has made him master - towards the taller. He fails to move and only flinches when the ball hits the ground heavily and bounces away.
Kyungsoo approaches the net and places his hand on it, grabbing it angrily at first and then releasing it, gently, barely bending it down. He then looks up at Chanyeol.
“I like you and I know you do too,” he says, faintly, but the words stand strong.
“So don’t push me away.”
* * *
“Hey Baek.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m not going to the qualifiers this year.”
“Oh?” Baekhyun looks up from the paperwork in front of him. They’re both sitting at the café Chanyeol and Jongin had been in not too long ago. The shorter is working on an assignment - some reviewing over some terms Chanyeol doesn’t understand - and the taller is leafing the latest issue of a tennis magazine. “Something the matter? Or, did you get nominated instead?”
Chanyeol rubs the bridge of his nose. “No! I just, I just think I… need some time off.”
Baekhyun nods cautiously, biting on his lower lip. “Time off of?”
“Well, for one I’ve not exactly been mentally stable enough to muster determination for the championships? And… secondly, I want to feel more comfortable about everything around me before I tackle something that’s just been written down on my previous self’s Notes app.”
“Fair enough. I think that’s a good plan: you could tackle the championships next year or the year after when you feel comfortable,” Baekhyun nods some more. “I sort of always wanted to ask you about your note on the tennis thing though. How does it go? Do you still have it on your phone? Can I … see?”
“Yeah, I do,” Chanyeol fiddles with his phone. He opens the Notes application, and there’s only one note dated from a year ago or so. Baekhyun leans closer to read with Chanyeol.
Get to the Wimbledon championships. You can do it.
“That’s it?” Baekhyun frowns, and Chanyeol isn’t entirely sure what to say. “I was expecting an essay. Something more elaborate.”
“Who on earth writes elaborate essays on their phone’s Notes application?”
“Guilty?” Baekhyun shrugs.
“Well then, you’re a lost case,” Chanyeol huffs. He exits the application and is about to put his phone away when Baekhyun stops him.
“Don’t you have old chat messages, contacts, whatever, on there?”
Chanyeol shrugged. “For some reason, there’s nothing. Apparently the phone got some damage during the fire. There’s just this note.”
Baekhyun puts an index to his lips. “Peculiar.”
“Yeah, I thought it might have been some sort of revealing hint? So I took it pretty seriously. I guess, well, back then, if I hadn’t had something to distract myself with and focus on, I would have been completely lost though, so I’m sort of thankful I did dive into tennis pretty blindly.”
Baekhyun looks down to his papers, pensive. Then he raises his head back up. “Yeah. I think you would have lost it. What with,” here he pauses and Chanyeol looks out the window into the busy streets, “what with them being gone. You’d be just fluctuating between sadness and madness.”
Chanyeol thinks about his nightmares and waking up to vomit. He thinks of all the times he’s woken up at the witching hour, paranoid with wrath, coming up with conspiracy theories left and right, letting his lunacy and rationality run wild, hand in hand.
“I wonder what I’ve done in my past life to deserve the three of you, though, randomly,” Chanyeol admits, stopping his somber train of thoughts. Baekhyun smiles warmly.
“A lot,” the shorter whispers, “and your only hint of what you did for us, is us.”
* * *
They take a break after a set, towels around their necks, backs against the net.
The night sky is something he has never really looked up to for a while, what with always practicing and practicing. It’s a clear one, but the stars are scarce. The moon is shy of real presence, crescent fading into a navy ocean. The yellow park lamps flicker every once in a while, like fire dissipating slightly in the wind. The trees wave gently, back and forth, and Chanyeol can hear some players from other courts pack their things: there are sounds of rackets clanking, bags zipping, steps fading into a distance.
For a moment, it just feels like he and Kyungsoo are the only ones there.
It’s relaxing: he hasn’t felt the tension leave his muscles so nicely, as of late, even though things are still not quite over, not when he still has some things to face, some things to tell. He looks at Kyungsoo’s hand that is next to his on the ground.
He moves his a bit until their pinkies touch gently, and Kyungsoo turns and looks up at him, a trifle bemused.
“You’re a romantic sap, aren’t you?” the younger comments. Chanyeol pulls his hand away.
“Way to ruin the mood,” the taller groans.
“Our hands are sweaty anyways,” Kyungsoo states, mildly in his defense. Chanyeol gives the other a few friendly punches in the shoulder.
“Soo.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Soo,” Chanyeol whines and lets his head fall low - very low - to Kyungsoo’s shoulder and the latter practically slides down the net with the taller on top.
They stay still like that for a while. Somewhere in between the elder thinks he hears the other grumble about someone being heavy as hell. They laugh shyly.
“I need to tell you something,” Chanyeol mutters suddenly, as he presses his nose against the other’s small arm.
“In this compromising position?” the other asks but doesn’t make much of a move. “I don’t think so.”
Chanyeol sits up brusquely, and the younger raises an eyebrow as he props himself up slightly with an elbow.
“I… I’m not planning to go to the championships this year.”
Kyungsoo swallows dryly. He opens his mouth but decides to close it. He turns his head away from the taller as he sits back up, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them loosely.
“That’s one,” Chanyeol sighs before continuing, feeling his chest growing heavier by the second. “There’s another thing I have to tell you.”
“Shoot away,” Kyungsoo says softly.
There’s only the howl of passing winds for a while, the rattling of fences that fill the tennis court.
“I don’t,” Chanyeol takes a deep breath, “… I don’t think we can work,” he ends in a whisper.
But the words ricochet in the stiff air, and he can feel the younger freeze as these words dawn on his usually indifferent face. His heart-shaped lips tremble. His eyelids droop low, his cheeks grow pale.
“You’re a dramatic sap,” Kyungsoo amends finally in a harsh murmur, and the elder can tell there’s no joke to it.
Chanyeol smiles weakly nevertheless, and Kyungsoo does not budge. Some silence ensues, but then the bushes start to cricket.
“Are you going to the championships next year instead?” the younger then asks calmly. A bit too calmly.
“Maybe,” Chanyeol responds as optimistically as he can.
Kyungsoo tosses his head backwards. “You’re not sure about something you know inside out - tennis - but you can be sure that we, something you’ve yet to fully grasp, beyond kisses and tennis matches, can’t work?”
Chanyeol rubs his nose. “I-” he then pauses. “Does Baekhyun teach you how to argue or something?”
“You’re just an idiot,” Kyungsoo says.
“Wow, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
The silence drifts over them again.
“Kyungsoo, I like you, a lot. You’ve got violent tendencies, you’re rude, you barely talk, and we’re polar opposites, but strangely I like you a hella lot, and I want to know more about you, want to bring you to places - that’s cheesy but, I swear - and it drives me delusional sometimes- but I’m a real mess. And you’re just seventeen. You’re just seventeen…”
Kyungsoo stares down at the ground.
“The boy might be seventeen,” Baekhyun starts, “but he’s serious about liking you.”
“You’d help each other,” Baekhyun further explains, “more than you think. Just trust him. He won’t break. You won’t break.”
“I don’t know,” Chanyeol responds dryly. “I just think he…”
“Don’t say ‘deserves someone better’, I will slap you in front of your favorite coffee barista.”
The barista freezes awkwardly and turns around to face away from Baekhyun and Chanyeol as he wipes a saucer.
“… he’s too good for me? He’s so young and-” Chanyeol corrects quickly, scratching the back of his neck as he eyes the barista, and Baekhyun raises his eyebrow, completely not amused.
“I like him a lot. I just… don’t want to hurt him or mess him up cause I’m messed up.”
“Just… just give it a try,” Baekhyun whines, “I’m… not sure how to convince you, but just… just give in, for once? Just… it’ll help. I swear it will. I just can’t really tell you how. It’s not… in my place to… say anything, for both of you.”
Chanyeol stays quiet.
Chanyeol takes a deep breath. He tells himself ‘I can do it, I can do it, I can do it’ against the dark voices inside his mind that claim otherwise. He fists his hands, and the sand collects in his palms. He tries to push down the tears that start welling up because he feels like his indecisiveness is overwhelming, daunting.
Pushing off championships had already drained all his resolve and energy. There’s not much left to work with. But-
“Tell me more,” Kyungsoo utters, and he takes Chanyeol’s large hand, intertwines their fingers, and holds them tightly, his eyes saying: “I’ll never let you go.”
“So, what’s this boy like?” Jongin asks nonchalantly as they watch some tennis match on a cellphone screen, shoulders bumping, heads just a few inches apart.
Chanyeol chokes on his coffee.
“-You mean, Kyungsoo?”
“If that’s his name.”
“If you’re talking about-”
“Yes, Chanyeol.”
The taller looks away.
“He has these… lips.”
“Right.”
“No, no, I mean, he has these really trademark lips. They’re in the form of a heart?”
“Right.”
“Like- Okay, well, uh.”
“Go on,” Jongin urges unflappably.
“He’s really quiet, and at first he didn’t talk at all. I actually still don’t know his family name.”
Chanyeol takes a deep breath.
“I do want to know more about him, but I guess I’m sort of scared.”
“Of?”
“I’m scared of ruining everything.”
“You’re being vague.”
Chanyeol sighs. Jongin flips idly through his phone, sets it down, crosses his arms.
“What do you love about him?”
“Why are you asking me all these scary questions?” Chanyeol grimaces.
Jongin smirks briefly. He takes a sip from his tea.
“Because I’m your friend. And I can tell you’re troubled, and you need the push.”
Chanyeol drags Kyungsoo by the hand, holding unto to the younger’s unspoken promise, and they practically run through the sidewalk, reaching the building that’s only a block away.
He presses the boy against the door of his apartment as soon as it closes with a click, and they kiss fervently until their hair become completely disheveled and messy.
They stare at each other and even out their breaths. The teen flattens one of Chanyeol’s strand that had been sticking up.
“I was in an accident and,” Chanyeol blurts out in a low mutter, adrenaline taking control of his nerves before he realizes, “I lost everything prior to it, memories, parents, nerves, sense of life-”
“-before I met you,” Kyungsoo cuts in, brooding yet concerned eyes focused on Chanyeol’s, dark with something familiar, “I was basically rotting away. I quit school, I quit my job, I quit tennis. I almost quit life.”
It’s the first time he hears Kyungsoo sound so flustered, so full of emotion, that Chanyeol rests his forehead against Kyungsoo’s, and brings both of his hands to the other’s cheeks, trying to soothe away the somber mood.
Kyungsoo’s hands come up, shaking a bit, and the elder grabs them gently and kisses them.
“I like you, Soo.”
“ I love his eyes, nose, heartshaped lips… I love his voice, the rare times I get to hear him. I love the powerful swings he does even if it’s just practice. I love how he tosses his head back after a session. I love that he’s a quiet support, …he may look like he’s about to murder you with his eyes alone, but he really does care-”
“He seems like a good kid,” Jongin says as he finishes his cup.
“This is exactly why I’m afraid I might hurt hi-”
“- We’re all scared of stuff that may or may not happen: we step back and change our minds,” Jongin contemplates. “Funny that if we think about happier stuff that may or may not happen, we might step forward and give it a chance. It’s just a perspectives thing. You’re being pessimistic. You’re forgetting about your future happiness. I get that you forgot your past, but forgetting your future?”
Chanyeol opens his mouth, ready to protest, only to find that he’s got no solid argument to work with.
Jongin smiles in a friendly manner. “Take your time.”
They stay quiet, and listen to each other’s heavy and slow breathing, watch their chests swell up and down, shoulders relaxing bit by bit. Kyungsoo bites his heart-shaped lip down briefly.
“Maybe we’ve both been through stuff,” Kyungsoo murmurs.
“Maybe we’re all a bit of a mess,” Chanyeol says, trying not to think too much.
“Why you even want me is beyond me,” the younger hums.
Chanyeol presses their noses together.
“We can take it slow,” he mutters.
There’s something about how the nightlights jitter inside Chanyeol’s small flat, distant and mesmerizingly ambient and calming.
“Let’s,” Kyungsoo whispers, smiling. “Let’s do that. Promise me we’ll do that.”
“I promise,” Chanyeol assures sincerely as he dives for a tender kiss.
I promise, he assures himself, easing away from the belligerent voices and threatening fears.
And this new voice surprises him.
Because it sounds so familiar.
So much like his.
So much like him.
* * *
There’s a fine line between every two things that Park Chanyeol will probably never ever see.
But it’s not like he really needs to, in order to cross them.
He takes a stride and hits a ball with a backhand stroke, sending it across with ease, making his opponent run across the court, wearing the other’s endurance. He waits for a free ball, spikes, aims for a hard corner, pushes the other towards the backline so he can make a drop-shot, and smirks with elation as the ball softly rolls down the court.
Not too long after, the umpire announces, “Forty - Love! Game, set, match, Park Chanyeol.”
The crowd cheers and he pumps his fist into the air before raising just one as high as he could into the sky, chest still heaving with adrenaline, ragged breath telling him that he’s alive.
Maybe he couldn’t keep promises to his previous self, maybe he couldn’t figure out if his new world were a complete lie.
Maybe Baekhyun was an undercover psychiatrist, maybe Kai was a figment of his maddened imagination, maybe Kyungsoo was the underage lover who never showed up.
But it doesn’t mean he’s living a lie.
Not when Baekhyun’s arms fling across his neck and he’s shouting “YOU DID IT!!!!1!!1!” in the ugliest squeaky voice ever. Not when K- Jongin gives him a lazy high-five and an honest smile. Not when Kyungsoo tiptoes up to kiss him affectionately and then giggle out of character.
Not when so many people - Yixing, Kris, Sehun, Joonmyun, Minseok, Jongdae, Zitao, Luhan, to name a few - he’s come to be friends with, post-accident, crowd around him and cheer and promise to pay for the beer later on.
Because in reality - or at least, to Chanyeol’s reality - it’s about taking one’s time, taking it slow, lifting one’s head up…
… And finally crossing over when the lights had been green all along.
Final author's note: This is a genre I've never written for so I'm sorry if it sounds all weird and phony sdkjfg but thanks for reading and hopefully there was at least a line that made your day!
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