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Entry tags:
EXO » After all this time...
Title After all this time, do you still look for me?
Pairing EXO; Baekhyun->Chanyeol
Prompt This edit by waegurae.
Rating PG
Word count 1,150
Baekhyun dreamt more often when he still lived on the outside. He misses them, even the nightmares. These chemical sleeps he's put into are effective, perhaps even necessary because he has yet to find a window in this place, but they're frightening.
They are black.
They are lonely.
They are silent.
The best he can manage now are daydreams, but only when he has enough time alone. (There is never enough time alone. There is always someone with him, poking him, leading him, feeding him, testing him, asking him questions he doesn't know how to answer.) Yet when there is, Baekhyun makes the very most of it. There is only one person he has left to run to now, and Baekhyun runs to him every time.
It started accidentally, years ago, when Baekhyun was still living with his father in the warehouse they used to call home. He was seven then, and blissfully unaware at the time that he had the kind of ability that could land him in a place like this utopian prison. His father had been away, scavenging for food. He'd been playing among the emptied crates, looking for anything to turn into a toy, when he noticed something strange on the concrete floor. It looked like sand. He followed the trail, marvelling at how the dunes grew higher as he went on, and at how the crates turned to large rocks. He made his way deep into the parts of the warehouse his father had warned him never to explore, the parts with unsteady stacks of crates and the debris of the collapsed ceiling and failed support beams. And, quite suddenly, he found himself in a place he'd never seen before.
Everywhere was sand, yellow and glittering underneath a kind of sunlight Baekhyun had never seen in his life. He felt like it should be too bright to see, yet it didn't hurt his eyes. It only made everything around him more beautiful. To his right, there was water. Not the cold, black water of the Han, but something bluer, something kinder, that reached up the sand towards him as if to say hello. Baekhyun smiled wide, but he didn't quite dare move toward it. His father had told him what the water could do, and even though this water didn't look so foreboding as the Han, he still heeded his father's warning.
He stared, transfixed, until he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look he froze. There was a boy, beaming with bright white teeth and covered in sand. He was waving.
The boy was tan, his skin the same colour as the wet sand he was moulding. He was also better fed than Baekhyun, and he wore glasses, but they were in much better shape than Baekhyun's father's. The plastic lenses were clear and smooth, without a scratch or crack to be seen. Baekhyun could see his mouth moving, could easily decipher the enthusiastic yah!, but wasn't as sure of the second part. And then he realised that he couldn't hear a thing, not the water or the wind on his face or the excited words this boy—the first person his age he'd ever met in his life—was trying to say to him.
Maybe he understood or maybe he was just tired of shouting, but either way the boy stopped trying to call to him and moved on to gesturing. He curled his fingers twice, beckoning Baekhyun over, then pointed at the heap of sand he was kneeling beside. The boy was building something, dark brown and blockish like the crates in the warehouse. It reminded Baekhyun of the kinds of things he would build with the crates sometimes, stacking them in squares and triangles, making myriad new homes for him and his father. He liked to pretend his mother would be waiting for them when they got there.
Baekhyun continued to stay still as death, worrying his lower lip with his teeth and tongue, wondering exactly what was expected of him. He understood well enough that he was meant to go over, start digging and shaping as well. But he couldn't understand how carefree this boy was, how he could play in the sand without worrying about the kinds of chemicals that could be leeching into his skin. Maybe he didn't have parents to teach him that the water was poison.
Even though Baekhyun couldn't hear him, he wondered if his own voice would carry. As he was opening his mouth to try, however, Baekhyun just as suddenly found himself back in the warehouse, blinking fiercely in the dim lighting while his father shook him. He remembers bursting into tears at the shouting—as glad to hear again as he was frightened of his rage—and his harsh words of don't you ever. It had taken him years to realise that his father hadn't been angry; he'd been terrified.
Somehow, Baekhyun can't really bring himself to believe that things would have turned out any differently even if he'd known then what he knows now. This is what the soldiers were trained to do—what people were encouraged to do to each other just to survive. He doesn't have it in him to be upset with Sehun and Joonmyun anymore for turning him over, not just because living in this place is so tiresome but because the anger just isn't worthwhile. They're people he'll never see again, and until that night, they were people he called his friends.
Baekhyun rolls over in his bed and closes his eyes. He's tired, but he isn't quite sleepy. He wonders absently if whatever they inject him with has ruined his ability to ever sleep naturally again. He concentrates to dim the lights until there's just barely enough to see by—not that it matters much, as they seem to be able to watch him even in the dark. But the black is better than the stark white all around him.
As he lies in the dark, curling into the blankets and burying his face in the pillow, Baekhyun tries to will away the ache in his chest. He misses home. He misses his father, his friends, that ugly campsite and their overbearing leader. He misses sleeping on concrete, under patchwork blankets, too exhausted to care about being comfortable after hauling around salvaged scrap metal all day. He misses having someone to talk to, even though Sehun was often even sleepier than he was by day's end, only ever grunting replies that were probably meant to be more off-putting than encouraging.
Baekhyun misses that boy. He misses that sand and bright sun and blue, blue water. He misses his wide, warm smile and pristine glasses. He wants to go back with the courage to help him build this time.
Baekhyun falls asleep before the nurse comes with his injection, (wishing that) wondering if the boy misses him, too.
Pairing EXO; Baekhyun->Chanyeol
Prompt This edit by waegurae.
Rating PG
Word count 1,150
Baekhyun dreamt more often when he still lived on the outside. He misses them, even the nightmares. These chemical sleeps he's put into are effective, perhaps even necessary because he has yet to find a window in this place, but they're frightening.
They are black.
They are lonely.
They are silent.
The best he can manage now are daydreams, but only when he has enough time alone. (There is never enough time alone. There is always someone with him, poking him, leading him, feeding him, testing him, asking him questions he doesn't know how to answer.) Yet when there is, Baekhyun makes the very most of it. There is only one person he has left to run to now, and Baekhyun runs to him every time.
It started accidentally, years ago, when Baekhyun was still living with his father in the warehouse they used to call home. He was seven then, and blissfully unaware at the time that he had the kind of ability that could land him in a place like this utopian prison. His father had been away, scavenging for food. He'd been playing among the emptied crates, looking for anything to turn into a toy, when he noticed something strange on the concrete floor. It looked like sand. He followed the trail, marvelling at how the dunes grew higher as he went on, and at how the crates turned to large rocks. He made his way deep into the parts of the warehouse his father had warned him never to explore, the parts with unsteady stacks of crates and the debris of the collapsed ceiling and failed support beams. And, quite suddenly, he found himself in a place he'd never seen before.
Everywhere was sand, yellow and glittering underneath a kind of sunlight Baekhyun had never seen in his life. He felt like it should be too bright to see, yet it didn't hurt his eyes. It only made everything around him more beautiful. To his right, there was water. Not the cold, black water of the Han, but something bluer, something kinder, that reached up the sand towards him as if to say hello. Baekhyun smiled wide, but he didn't quite dare move toward it. His father had told him what the water could do, and even though this water didn't look so foreboding as the Han, he still heeded his father's warning.
He stared, transfixed, until he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look he froze. There was a boy, beaming with bright white teeth and covered in sand. He was waving.
The boy was tan, his skin the same colour as the wet sand he was moulding. He was also better fed than Baekhyun, and he wore glasses, but they were in much better shape than Baekhyun's father's. The plastic lenses were clear and smooth, without a scratch or crack to be seen. Baekhyun could see his mouth moving, could easily decipher the enthusiastic yah!, but wasn't as sure of the second part. And then he realised that he couldn't hear a thing, not the water or the wind on his face or the excited words this boy—the first person his age he'd ever met in his life—was trying to say to him.
Maybe he understood or maybe he was just tired of shouting, but either way the boy stopped trying to call to him and moved on to gesturing. He curled his fingers twice, beckoning Baekhyun over, then pointed at the heap of sand he was kneeling beside. The boy was building something, dark brown and blockish like the crates in the warehouse. It reminded Baekhyun of the kinds of things he would build with the crates sometimes, stacking them in squares and triangles, making myriad new homes for him and his father. He liked to pretend his mother would be waiting for them when they got there.
Baekhyun continued to stay still as death, worrying his lower lip with his teeth and tongue, wondering exactly what was expected of him. He understood well enough that he was meant to go over, start digging and shaping as well. But he couldn't understand how carefree this boy was, how he could play in the sand without worrying about the kinds of chemicals that could be leeching into his skin. Maybe he didn't have parents to teach him that the water was poison.
Even though Baekhyun couldn't hear him, he wondered if his own voice would carry. As he was opening his mouth to try, however, Baekhyun just as suddenly found himself back in the warehouse, blinking fiercely in the dim lighting while his father shook him. He remembers bursting into tears at the shouting—as glad to hear again as he was frightened of his rage—and his harsh words of don't you ever. It had taken him years to realise that his father hadn't been angry; he'd been terrified.
Somehow, Baekhyun can't really bring himself to believe that things would have turned out any differently even if he'd known then what he knows now. This is what the soldiers were trained to do—what people were encouraged to do to each other just to survive. He doesn't have it in him to be upset with Sehun and Joonmyun anymore for turning him over, not just because living in this place is so tiresome but because the anger just isn't worthwhile. They're people he'll never see again, and until that night, they were people he called his friends.
Baekhyun rolls over in his bed and closes his eyes. He's tired, but he isn't quite sleepy. He wonders absently if whatever they inject him with has ruined his ability to ever sleep naturally again. He concentrates to dim the lights until there's just barely enough to see by—not that it matters much, as they seem to be able to watch him even in the dark. But the black is better than the stark white all around him.
As he lies in the dark, curling into the blankets and burying his face in the pillow, Baekhyun tries to will away the ache in his chest. He misses home. He misses his father, his friends, that ugly campsite and their overbearing leader. He misses sleeping on concrete, under patchwork blankets, too exhausted to care about being comfortable after hauling around salvaged scrap metal all day. He misses having someone to talk to, even though Sehun was often even sleepier than he was by day's end, only ever grunting replies that were probably meant to be more off-putting than encouraging.
Baekhyun misses that boy. He misses that sand and bright sun and blue, blue water. He misses his wide, warm smile and pristine glasses. He wants to go back with the courage to help him build this time.
Baekhyun falls asleep before the nurse comes with his injection, (wishing that) wondering if the boy misses him, too.