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Summary
“You turned me,” Hansol says. That’s what’s happened. He’s sure. He lifts his thumb to his mouth anyway, pressing the pad into his canine. It doesn’t quite break the skin, but it’s sharp enough that it could. “Did I die?”
“Not quite,” Jeonghan plucks the pen out from behind his ear, holding it between his teeth to uncap it. He picks up his notebook and scribbles something down. “It was close. Not as close as Channie, but close enough that we were worried. You’ve been out for about a month.”
“Oh, fuck,” Hansol pushes himself to sit, but gets so dizzy that he slumps back down right away. “I missed Return of the Jedi?”
(OR: learning how to be a vampire, flirting with homosexuality, and the summer of 1983.)
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“Frontman. I need him.” Seungkwan lifts his own glass, pinky extended to the stage.
Seungkwan noticed him the second he came on stage (all of two minutes ago). He’s lanky, his head is freshly buzzed— and the way he moves oozes with confidence. An absolutely killer smile paired with stage presence— Seungkwan was sold.
Soonyoung follows the line of Seungkwan’s point, tiny straw hanging between his lips. He openly scowls when he realizes who Seungkwan is talking about, spits his straw back into his glass. “No shot, Kwannie. These assholes are too popular for us. They’re literally straight off a tour.”
“That's great. I don’t give a damn. I’m going to fuck that one.”
(OR: Seungkwan doesn't date musicians, but he certainly fucks them.)
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“You’re back,” he says. It comes out rather bland. A stated fact. A man trying to convince himself he’s still breathing.
Jeonghan’s smile falls. A crease appears between his eyebrows. The same one that Seungcheol used to love smoothing out with the pad of his thumb. “Seungkwannie didn’t tell you?”
(OR: A year after leaving Seungcheol to pick up the pieces of what they could have been, Jeonghan comes home.)
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Junhui looks at him— half thoughtfully— and says, “We should go exploring. See where we end up.”
Minghao is a big fan of letting things happen. It’s a cornerstone of his life plan. A pillar of his guiding philosophy. Sure, this stranger could kill him, but it’s probably more likely that he’s his soulmate, and he’s willing to try his luck. Pull a few petals off a flower or two. Run his hands through a patch of clovers and see what comes up.
(OR: Minghao meets a man (who might just be perfect) on his roof.)
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If he’s hearing Hansol’s voice, he must still be half-asleep. Or dead. One of the two. The only time he’s heard Hansol’s voice in the past few months has been in his dreams. He almost thought he was forgetting the cadence of it.
His vision shifts, sticking to recognizable objects. He's in the back of a car. It’s late afternoon. Hansol has no hair. Hansol is looking at him with a crease between his brows, mouth set into a serious line. He has a scar on his cheek that didn’t used to be there.
Seungkwan still doesn’t know what to make of it. Hansol shouldn’t be here. He should be dead, or long gone. Packed up with his brother and headed south. Not near the city.
“Am I dead?” Seungkwan asks. His tongue feels too big in his mouth. He swallows, but his mouth is too dry.
Hansol releases his hold on Seungkwan’s arms. He frowns. “Not yet.”
(OR: Amidst the end of the world, exes Chwe Hansol and Boo Seungkwan are forced to rely on each other for survival.)
Series
- Part 2 of In the Flesh