vingt-et-un

Hey everyone!! I hope this week is treating you with kindness! Warnings for mentions of hospitals and death (although no one dies!) in this chapter... buckle your seatbelts :<

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He doesn't know how it happens, but it does.

Mark is quiet on the bus back home. Instead of holding Renjun's hand or squeezing his thigh, he twists his fingers together so hard his knuckles turn white, face contorted like he's failing to fight off terrible thoughts. Or like he's trying not to cry. Renjun doesn't push him. He tries to point out the pretty clouds, even if Mark's gaze doesn't quite reach the sky. He doesn't stop trying.

Mark struggles up the stairs, and by the time they're through the front door of the elder's apartment, he can't breathe.

Crying, shouting, rushed phone calls, sirens, too many voices, paper white walls, blinding white lights.

The sirens. Renjun can still hear them now. Their echo screeches through his head on loop, and he can't shut them up, no matter how hard he begs and pleads. He clamps his hands over his ears and draws his knees to his chest, the jerky movements making the plastic chair creak in protest under his quivering frame. Everything is loud; nothing is quiet, and it's torture.

Footsteps pound through the corridor in a constant stampede that punches his gut. As machines beep and nurses bustle around, a headache splits his temples. A pair of arms tries to embrace him, but he jolts away and gasps for breath, vision too blurred and head too muddled to work out who it is or hear what they have to say.

"I'm here. I'll be sat just across the room," Chenle says anyway, backing off to give the elder some space.

Renjun shrivels under his friend's stare.

He should have seen it coming but somehow, he was blind to it. The signs flicker through his mind, a pulsing, throbbing display of strobe lights and booming speakers that are impossible to ignore, to escape, and he shakes his head as though that could dispel the guilt. It scatters his thoughts instead.

The guilt consumes him. Mark collapsed, and he didn't know what to do.

The plastic chair creaks again. His lower back twinges and the cramp spreads into his legs before exploding into numbness that hurts so bad, but Renjun can't bring himself to care. Not when his heart hurts a million times more and his cheeks ache from all the tears. Chenle passes him a tissue, then returns to his seat and stares at his phone. Renjun lets his head hit the wall. He closes his eyes to block out the flickering industrial lights and posters about the warning signs of cancer. Restless, he shifts around, pulls his knees into his chest again, drops them to the floor, taps his feet and bounces his legs, all while his fingers play with the zipper and rip the tissue into shreds that Chenle has to gather, a gentle murmur of a scolding leaving his lips once he's put them in the bin and handed Renjun another.

Mark's easy smiles. His addictive laugh. His dimples. The fluffiness of his hair after a hot shower, then the way it sticks up in the morning after a long night's sleep curled around his soulmate.

Renjun pictures it all. He wants to smile at the memories, but they only tug more tears from his exhausted eyes, until his sobs dry out and not even Chenle's tender humming can soothe them.

"Are you hungry?" Chenle asks. The elder's stomach rumbles and nausea weakens him. He shakes his head. Chenle gets up to buy a double Mars bar from the vending machine in the corridor outside, and Renjun nibbles on the chocolate, swallowing the pieces down with equal desperation and despisal. "It's nearly nine, by the way."

Only nine? Renjun wants to say. He realises he should be listening to Jisung's rambles about the universe by now. Pressing his nose into Chenle's shoulder, he squeezes his eyes shut and sinks into the darkness, falls further from peace and certainly no closer to optimism as the clock ticks on.

"They should invest in a sofa. These plastic chairs aren't very accommodating for long stays," Chenle continues.

A pitiful whimper leaves Renjun's throat when the younger shuffles, for the movement rips right through the rock in his chest. It dislodges, only to settle deeper in the flames that keep burning. The warmth is no longer warm, but an unbearable, searing agony that offers no remorse. The fire snaps and crackles, spits hot anger and despair and misery. Renjun knows Mark is just down the corridor. But he also knows he might never see him again.

The gasping panic in his soulmate's eyes might have been his final memory of the beautiful boy. Not the galaxies, nor the wonder or excitement that usually fills the orbs he fell in love with.

"I'll get some water, too. Want some?" Chenle leaves again, not waiting for the elder to respond.

Renjun tugs and pulls at the cuffs of his hoodie. It's Mark's, actually. He can smell the sea and fresh lemons and, as tears prick his eyes like thorns on a deceiving rose, the flames win.

A machine down the corridor beeps more erratically in a sudden explosion of chaos. Nurses shout and doctors flock to the scene, and Renjun shoves his face between his knees to stop himself from throwing up. The deeps might as well be for him. Who knows if his pain is terminal. He sucks in a trembling breath and the world spins. His stomach cramps, panic rises up his throat, but then Chenle's back and holding a bottle of water to his lips for him to guzzle down. The cold shocks him. The fire sizzles and spits back as it loses territory, although the water is no match for its power and barely quenches its wrath.

"What would you like to listen to?" Chenle gets out his airpods. He doesn't question when Renjun sobs into his neck. "You're so brave." An elderly man shuffles into the waiting room and screws his nose up at the collection of outdated magazines on offer before opting to doze in the corner instead. Chenle rubs the elder's nape then carries on. "You didn't give up on Mark, even though you knew this might happen."

Did he? Did he know? Renjun cries harder. Deep down, he knew it. He just couldn't face it.

"And you kept going. You're still going now. Mark would be so proud of you. He loves you. He really, really does."

I love him, too. Renjun tries, but the words are indecipherable through his distress. They're heavy with all their meaning. He wants to rip out his tongue just to say them, to get them to reach the air. He desires to make them real. Because they surge up and overwhelm him, and he shakes with their strength.

Curled in a hospital chair with Chenle to protect him from the cold stream of air entering through the stained window, Renjun truly realises what it means to be in love. He loves Mark. His soulmate. And the faith of his heart is stronger than the thought of never holding him again. It's that simple. Only it's really not that simple. It's complicated and messy and so, so unfair. He's alone, left to fight for both of them. The world has turned to quicksand, and it sucks him and his hope away, and Renjun numbs with every inch that disappears until it seems all that remains of him is his heart.

"Did you hear that?" Chenle's shaking him gently, and Renjun doesn't open his eyes when he sits up a little straighter. "He's stable."

Hearing his friend's voice perk up, Renjun dares to bat open an eyelid. A nurse smiles back at him. Exhaustion has hollowed her cheeks and she grips the clipboard too tight, but her smile opens the floodgates all over again. Renjun cries in relief this time.

"Mark is alive and well, although still unconscious. It's for the best to keep it that way so his heart can regain strength, you see." The nurse breaks the news, and Renjun stares at her through the flood. He opens his mouth, and when no sound comes out, she nods in confirmation and repeats her words again just in case. "He's alive. He's a fighter, I can tell."

Renjun sits up and clutches his chest when his heart beats with determination. His dust glows bright. His blood simmers from too much energy while he tries to comprehend that his soulmate really is alive. That it really will be okay. He stops in the moment, frozen in time and oblivious to the people still rushing around him, and tears that he can't blink away well up with a surge of joy.

Next, his hands clutch the vial hanging from his neck. Words fail him, so Renjun hopes Mark can feel him now as he rubs the glass between unsteady fingers.

"Can we see him?" Chenle asks the question that fizzes in Renjun's throat.

The nurse clicks her tongue, shaking her head with regret. "I'm afraid not. Going through his medical records, we can see he has history with such episodes, although this seems to be the worst its been. And it's clear he's been straining himself. He needs rest."

Renjun glares at the blue dust in the nurse's own bottle.

"What do you mean, straining himself?" Chenle speaks up.

"Ah," the nurse thinks for a moment. Pity shines in her eyes, and Chenle doesn't let go of Renjun's tiny frame through the pause. "His heart isn't strong enough to form a soulmate bond. Not yet, at least. Treatment has been helping. But there are signs he's been forcing himself. You're his soulmate, correct?" When the nurse's gaze lands on him, Renjun balls his fist around his dust and nods, fierce. "I understand how hard this must be for you, honey." Her smile shines through her wrinkles and dark circles, but Renjun still can't bring himself to return the gesture. "Forcing his heart to reciprocate the connection has severely weakened him. It could have been very dangerous, in fact. So we suggest distance to allow his heart to recover a bit. Just for a few days, alright? Does that seem fair?"

It's so, so unfair, Renjun wants to scream.

A tiny whimper escapes his throat, and Chenle pulls him closer as he thanks the nurse. Once she's gone, Renjun releases the soulmate dust from his grip and curls his fingers into the younger's jumper instead.

"He's alive," Chenle whispers over and over again.

Renjun doesn't understand. They had taken things slowly, him and Mark. But then he remembers their rushed kisses, stolen in the middle of the night as though they wouldn't count if they had the darkness as a cover, and his heart burns in his chest. His entire body tenses and panic sears through his head, causing him to whine again.

"Let's head back home. You need some rest, too," Chenle says. He tries to stand, but Renjun yanks him down, refusing to let him leave. Chenle exhales. "We can't stay here all night."

The elder curls into a ball, not caring that the man across the room is staring or that a woman enters with a screaming baby. The wail of Renjun's own thoughts drowns out the cries, and he wishes he could go back to those days when nothing mattered except the next mealtime and the next naptime. At the thought of sleep, his eyelids droop. Chenle attempts to get him up once more, but Renjun still resists with what little energy remains. It seems like he has to scramble on the floor to gather coherency, only for any progress to tumble from his trembling hands. It's so frustrating. He wants to cry out of anger, but he can't.

"Shall I text Jaemin?" Chenle has his phone out now, fingers poised over the keyboard. Renjun snaps his head up and squints through the dizziness and silent tears. The white lights don't do his friend much justice, exposing his own exhaustion, and a new guilt invades his stomach now, forcing him to stand and follow Chenle through the stark corridors and sliding doors.

The cold hits him once they're outside. In the rush of phone calls and sirens, Renjun didn't think to grab a jacket. His bare arms prickle with goosebumps, just as numb as his chest. Chenle looks at the map on his phone to work out the way back to the university dorms, and Renjun kicks a stone. It clicks across the pavement and drops into the road, stopping like it suddenly didn't see the point and gave up. He kicks another stone.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him from his daze, but the world still feels like thick, murky water when he walks beside Chenle, who guides him in the right direction and tries to offer him his jacket. He drowns in the ambulance sirens and grumbling engines. They pass the bookshop Mark wanted to take him to, but it's three worlds away and the gentle music to accompany the shopkeeper as she tidies up for the day beats his eardrums. The aromas wafting from the Chinese restaurant they ordered too many takeouts from turns his stomach queasy, although Chenle perks up.

They take the lift, as grimy and rickety as it is. Renjun doesn't trust his heart to make it up the stairs, and the cheap white lights bring tears back to his eyes, too similar to those in the hospital. He startles at the ping before the doors open.

"Hey," Donghyuck greets them inside. Renjun has never heard his voice so soft. The others filter in and linger across the room.

Renjun unties his laces, then collapses to the floor next to the sofa. Without lifting his head, he can hear the silent questions thrown between his friends. He wants to cry and scream about everything but doesn't even know where to start. So he starts with the only thought he can stitch together, uttering it under his breath as though testing the waters before he can fully believe it.

"He's alive."

𓆩♑π“†ͺ

Oopsie

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