Lacerated
Lacerated | Kris/Chanyeol | 3.7k~ | PG (slight tw) |
Everything is so familiar, yet so different. I don't know who he is, but I know I've seen him before.
I know his name.
I can't say it.
I'm falling.
Not the I-just-tripped sort of jolt, it's the I'm-hurtling-off-of-a-twenty-story-building sort of plummet. My stomach is in my mouth and I am grasping for the emptiness around me, which is just about as supportive as using a fork to eat broth. My head is spinning and my arm hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sink into the black hole.
My back hits the ground.
It slams into a hard material and the breath leaves my lungs all at once. I gasp and try to move, but my hands are stuck at my sides and my ankles are chained, it seems. I scream and I gasp, and the dang beeping starts again. My body seems to move on it's own, and it thrashes and twists and strains. My body is too weak, my head hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sit up and inhale.
It's all fuzzy.
My vision is mostly white, but I can make out shapes and I can hear sounds. There is a hand holding mine and it feels familiar how the slightly bigger hand is enveloping mine and a thumb is being rubbed smoothly over the back of my hand. The hands are shaking, though, and as I turn my head to the side and shout incoherent things, I can't control it, the hands leave mine, and come up instead cup my face.
“Nurse! Nurse, help!” he yells, and I try to look at his face. Everything is in a state of deja vu, because I know this person, I've seen him before. He's stopping my head from moving and I look at him the best I can, because my vision isn't getting better and everything is so cloudy everywhere; not just in my vision, the way my brain is working and the way I can't really feel my limbs.
I'm in a hospital.
I'm in a hospital and everything hurts. The man is still clutching my face, and I notice that I have a huge tube stuck down my throat, forcing air into my lungs. I notice that he is connected to an IV bag and has a neck brace on. He's also standing in front of a wheelchair with his weight heavily leaned on the side of my bed. I smile at him through my agony, and he starts to cry.
“Channie,” he whispers, and I realize I know his name. I can't say it. Black starts to invade my vision and my head pounds. I'm still completely awake and I feel normal, I guess, given my current state, but I can't see. I can't see. I can't see.
I can't see, help me.
At the moment, that's the worst thing. I grab his hand and I shake my head. I can't see. “Nurse!” he screams, and there's the sound of a door opening and crying and hurried footsteps. I start to cry, and the thumb rubs the back of my hand again. “It's okay, Ch-”
“Page Doctor Kim!” a woman's voice yells, and the hand is gone and I can't see. The sides of the bed go up and I start to move and I can't see.
I think I'm screaming.
I'm falling, again.
I'm sailing toward the ground again and screaming; screaming as I cover my face.
“Chanyeol! Chanyeol, wake up!”
I'm sweating and panting. I'm in a bed. I'm in a bed and tangled in the covers and Kris is pushing back my bangs and whispering it was just a dream, you're okay.
I'm okay. My arms wrap around Kris and I catch my breath as I inhale his scent; he always smells like roses and neither of us know why because we don't have any rose-scented anything. Kris mumbles into my hair and I sigh in content. I'm okay.
I'm tired, I want to go back asleep, but my body won't let me. It won't relax; I can't relax. My arms and legs are tense and I have a headache on the side of my head. It slowly becomes bigger and my breath comes and goes quicker. I'm exhausted and I can't sleep.
I'm okay.
I'm okay. I'm okay. It was just a dream.
Kris starts snoring softly beside me and I snuggle in next to him, pressing my slighter frame against his muscular core like I did when we were teenagers and caught up in skinny love. It always used to calm me, but my heart is racing and I can't breathe and my head hurts.
But I'm okay.
I close my eyes and exhale, I have nothing to worry about. Kris is here, I'm safe, and I just have to go back to sleep.
But I can't.
I'm okay.
The headache spreads and my breath catches in my throat. My feet and hands start to tingle and I can't focus on anything. I try to look at the patterns on the ceiling and calm my breathing, but I can't breathe. Sweat starts to pour out of me once again, and tears escape my eyes. My lungs aren't working and Kris is just sleeping.
I'm not okay.
I tug on Kris's shirt and he looks down at me all sleepy. My face is all wet and from tears and I shake it and whisper. “Kris.” I'm not okay. Help me.
And he hears me and he picks me up and he rubs my back.
“Chanyeol, calm down, it was a dream.” I shake my head and gasp for air and tug on his shirt that is now wet from me as he brings us out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. I can't calm down. I don't know why. I'm not scared at all. I'm scared of not breathing and I'm scared of the control I'm losing of my limbs, but I'm not scared. I cry harder and press my nose to his shirt and he sets me on the toilet and starts a hot bath.
Calm down. It was a dream.
I get undressed and I climb into the scalding water. Kris cups water into his hand and rubs it over my sweaty hair and the hotness seeps into my scalp and it feels good. Kris starts to hum and he continues to stroke my hair with the hot water and it was just a dream.
“You're fine, Chanyeol. I'm here.”
I can breathe.
I can breathe and my headache is going away and my limbs are still tingling, but I can move my fingers. I'm fine. I rest my forehead against the cool tile of the bathtub wall and the faucet is turned off. The water is calming and I am returning to normal. Kris is here. I'm fine.
I'm okay.
“You must just have a fever, Chanyeol. Your head is hot. Do you want to go to the hospital just in case?”
No. No no no no no, no. No hospitals. I am panting and sweating again and I shake my head. I can't go to a hospital. I don't know why but I can't. I grip the sides of the bathtub and shake my head. No hospitals.
“Okay, okay. I'll take care of you then.”
Kris is here.
The headache doesn't go away all day. It's on the whole side of my head and it throbs slowly and it hurts but I don't tell Kris because he might take me to a hospital. I feel fine everywhere else. I eat the chicken soup and I watch the movies and I'm fine.
At night I can listen to music and stroke my guitar and I'm fine. I can kiss Kris goodnight without suffocating for the moment I am not taking in any air and I'm fine. I close my eyes and snuggle into my pillow and I smile and I'm fine.
My bed feels like it's moving for a moment. Not a big move, but a small bump in the mattress occurs, like someone is sitting down. I open my eyes to look at Kris to see if he just shifted his weight, but he's not there.
I can't see.
The hand is there again, rubbing my hand, and there are fingers stroking the side of my face. I can't see. My eyes are closed. They are closed, as if sealed that way, and I lift one hand and press it to my eye. There's something scratchy on my wrist and there is nothing wrong with my eye.
“You're awake,” the man whispers, mostly to himself, before addressing me. “You're awake.”
But aren't I asleep?
I carefully crack open my eyes, and everything is bright white. It's bright white, but not fuzzy or blinding. It's a white room-a hospital room. I would have screamed but there's a tube down my throat forcing air into my lungs. But I don't want to scream. I don't know why I'm so calm, but I open my other eye just as carefully and try to focus on everything around me.
The man is right there, the same man, and I know his name. I can't say it. He looks so familiar, and I can't place it and it's annoying.
“How do you feel?” he asks, and his voice is the same as someone else I know, but I can't place it. I can't say anything, but I look at his high cheekbones and small mouth and dramatic eyebrows and I nod. He smiles.
There's a tube down my throat, so I can't reciprocate. I nod again.
His neck brace looks uncomfortable, and his wheelchair looks hard. I find myself caring more than I should, because this man is a stranger, isn't he?
But I know his name.
I look at his wheelchair with concern and then I look at his face, and a tear runs down his cheek. “I'm fine, Channie. I'm okay.”
He's fine.
He's okay.
But I'm fine. And I'm okay.
“I'm so glad you're awake, Channie.”
But aren't I asleep?
I look at my arm and it's all wrapped up thickly and propped up. It's broken. Some bone has snapped inside of my arm. I look to my right. There is a door with a teeny tiny window covered with crossed wire. There's a computer in the corner, and the dang beeping keeps playing in my head. I look to my left. There's the man and another bed that's all wrinkled like someone just got out of it. There's another heart monitor and a chair.
Everything is so white and smells like disinfectant.
I've always wondered, why keep the hospital so clean if they are just going to release the patients into the dirty world once they're cured? It seems like a culture-shock technique; to keep the patients there longer so they can adjust to the cleanness, and to keep them coming back when they can't adjust to the filth. I hate hospitals.
Why am I so calm?
“Do you know who I am, Channie?” the man says, and I look back at him. I want to nod, because I know his name, but I really don't know anything other than that. I shake my head instead.
I feel like I'm a million miles away from everything, like I'm watching everything unfold through binoculars. Or that I'm floating in the zero gravity zone of space and I can't grip onto any concrete ideas.
So why am I so calm?
Last time I had this dream I was having a seizure I'm sure.
“Where do you think you are?”
In a hospital.
“In a dream, or awake?”
Aren't I asleep?
“Channie, whatever they tell you on the other side, this is the real place. You might not want to believe it, but you're awake.”
I know his name.
I can't say it.
“Chanyeol, what movie do you want to watch?” Kris asks, and I seem to snap out of a daydream. He says I have a habit of going in and out of my head, like he loses me for a couple of minutes to my fantasies and always has to pull me back. He's the anchor and I'm the boat; it's always windy.
I shrug. “Whatever you want,” I say, but it feels weird. I shouldn't be talking. But why not? I shake my head. “I don't ever pay attention to the new releases.” He scrolls down the list of movies on our TV and I curl into his side. He puts his arm around me and clicks play on a movie. I don't see which, and I don't ask.
I don't like to watch, I like to read. I like to play music. I don't like to watch TV, but I do.
Kris rubs my shoulder with his thumb, back and forth in a calming motion and I get a flash of white and my head jolts back. It startles me and gives me another headache, but Kris keeps watching the television.
I shake my head and settle in next to him, placing my head on his shoulder. Violence plays out on the screen. A big troll smashes a building, a gun fires, glass shatters, and a car flips.
I can't breathe.
A car flips on the screen and I feel like I'm spinning. At least my head is spinning, maybe not my body. I'm spinning and I smell burnt rubber and my head hurts so badly. I hear beeping; beep, beep, beeping, and I hold my breath because I don't like hospitals. No hospitals.
“The popcorn is done, Chanyeol, I'm going to go get it.”
The microwave is beeping. It's just the microwave.
I'm okay.
No hospitals.
“Do you want some?” he asks, and I say yes. I do. He puts more in the microwave and comes over with the bowl he just made. He hands it to me and I take it silently and continue to watch the movie. I take a bite of popcorn, but I feel like I can't swallow it.
I chew it slowly, and swallow small pieces, but just like with the speaking it feels wrong. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don't know what happening to me, I've never been like this before.
On the screen, the troll steps on a car.
Screaming. Burning. Pain.
Beep. Beep.
It's just the microwave.
Beep, beep, beep.
Kris gets up to get his bowl.
Beep beep beep beep.
Another car gets damaged on the screen.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.
I'm falling.
Kris catches me as he sits on the sofa and my head bounces back onto his shoulder. I close my eyes and turn away from the screen. I don't want to watch anymore. I hear the commotion, and for some reason it doesn't bother me. I'm hearing from miles away, and my body is on the sofa. I don't feel the impact I had when I watched, because while I was watching I was in my body. Being detached takes away the pain.
I feel cloudy, like an outsider. I feel like I'm watching myself and Kris do our everyday things that we never do, and it's weird. I gasp, and I'm back in my body and everything is still weird.
I'm dizzy.
“Kris?” I breathe. It hardly sounds like his name at all but he knows.
“What?”
“Is this real? Are we really here?” I bite my lip as it trembles. I don't know why I asked the question, but I wait anxiously for the answer anyway.
“Why wouldn't we be?” he chuckles and hugs me tighter to his chest. I wrap my arms around his body and we mold together and it feels right. I'm awake. I'm truly awake. I can feel it. I'm just having an off week. Maybe something bad happened at work, or my sister's son got hurt; it's throwing me off.
I can't remember last Tuesday.
Or Wednesday. Or Thursday.
I don't remember anything that happened before two days ago, whenever that was.
I feel like I'm outside of my body again, and the movie of my life just got confusing.
I don't like watching TV; I don't like watching other people do things I cannot, or don't want to, do. I don't like watching TV, but I am. I'm watching Kris and me watch a movie, and everything is confusing. My head starts to ring, like the tiny mosquito sound that sometimes stays inside heads for hours after something is suddenly loud and then soft.
It gets louder.
Beep.
Beeep.
Beeeep.
Beeeeep.
And then it stops.
Kris is crying, and I look at him from my position far away. I ask him what's wrong and pat his chest. He wipes his eyes and laughs and says a character just died in the hospital, it's silly he shouldn't be crying. He laughs and rubs my head, and I laugh with him even though I don't want to.
No hospitals.
I'm back in my body and I feel sick. I put my bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and I close my eyes. I put my head against Kris's chest and I listen to his heartbeat. It's steady, and my head rises and falls with each breath he takes.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
I count his breaths and time mine with his. My heart-rate slows and I'm feeling calm. I smile and I take his rose scent into my lungs and he rubs his hand over my back.
“I love you,” he whispers and kisses my head.
Screaming. Burning. Pain.
I open my eyes after the image of me hugging someone inside of a fast-moving car flashes behind my eyelids.
I'm flying.
Not the I-just-jumped sort of lift, it's the I'm-being-shot-out-of-a-gigantic-canon-at-light-speed sort of throw. My stomach is in my feet and I'm trying to find a way to brace my fall, which is just as supportive as looking for another person in solitary confinement. My head is spinning and my arm hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I tear through the emptiness.
My stomach hits the sky.
It slams into a soft material and the breath fills my lungs all at once. I choke and try to move, but my hands are stuck at my sides and my ankles are chained, it seems. I scream and I choke, and the sounds of horns blaring starts up again. My body seems to move on it's own, and it thrashes and twists and strains. My body is too weak, my head hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sit up and vomit.
It's all fuzzy.
My vision is mostly white, but I can make out shapes and hear sounds. There is a four-way intersection beneath me and cars are working with it and driving normally. I stare at the cars in wonder. Why am I watching this? What's so special about cars?
One side of the intersection is stopped by a red light. Another one goes.
A car runs the red light, going way faster than the speed limit, and I scream as it hits the driver's side door of a red car. The red car flies to the side and hits another car before flipping in the air and landing in the middle of the intersection on the hood and the windshield.
I'm screaming and crying and my head is throbbing.
So much pain.
There's glass all over the road, and there are two men hanging upside down out of the driver's side window that is totally gone. The back two doors of the car open almost at the same time and a man falls out of the side the driver is on and crawls to the men hanging out and screams and wails, trying to stop the blood that is seeping onto the black pavement.
The crying man looks hurt, he's bleeding on his shirt and his leg but he doesn't seem to notice.
The on the other side, a man stumbles out and half runs, half limps to join the other one on the side. He collapses and he screams for an ambulance, please call an ambulance.
My head hurts so intensely. I can't see. I can't see.
Help me.
“Chanyeol!” Kris says and shakes me. I blink. I was asleep. My head doesn't hurt, I'm fine. I'm not sweating, I'm not crying. I'm numb. Kris tilts my head up to look at him and I look at his high cheekbones and small mouth and dramatic eyebrows. “Chanyeol, you slept through the entire movie.”
Did I?
Kris smiles and says he'll be right back and he leaves me lying on the sofa, alone. I sigh and I close my eyes and then I open them.
There's a needle in my arm.
I look at it and watch blood go through a clear tube and drip into a vial. I grip the sheets around my torso and I shake my head. No hospitals. The lady taking my blood tells me to calm down, it'll be over soon and I shake my head. No, no.
No hospitals.
I'm in a white bed and my head is wrapped in gauze and my arm is in a sling and there's a needle in my arm. There are tubes in my nose helping oxygen get to my lungs and there's an itchy band on my wrist and I'm hooked up to a lot of machines and there's a needle in my arm.
I start to breathe more rapidly and I shake my head and I sweat. No, no. Get it out.
She tells me it'll be okay, and she takes the needle from my arm.
I'm okay.
The hand is back on mine and the thumb is rubbing the back of my hand. I look at the man, and he smiles back at me. “Channie,” he breathes.
I know his name. I know his name. I know his name.
My throat is coarse and it's difficult to get a good breath. I open my mouth a little bit as I look at him, and I cock my head to the side. He just watches me with that stupidly familiar look.
I know his name.
The back of my tongue seems to press itself against the roof of my mouth of it's own accord as I form the first sound. I know his name.
“Yifan?” I say, and it sounds like a strangled whisper. It barely sounds like his name at all, but he knows. A tear rolls down his face as he nods. I know his name. “Yifan hyung.”
I can say it.
a/n: --
Everything is so familiar, yet so different. I don't know who he is, but I know I've seen him before.
I know his name.
I can't say it.
I'm falling.
Not the I-just-tripped sort of jolt, it's the I'm-hurtling-off-of-a-twenty-story-building sort of plummet. My stomach is in my mouth and I am grasping for the emptiness around me, which is just about as supportive as using a fork to eat broth. My head is spinning and my arm hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sink into the black hole.
My back hits the ground.
It slams into a hard material and the breath leaves my lungs all at once. I gasp and try to move, but my hands are stuck at my sides and my ankles are chained, it seems. I scream and I gasp, and the dang beeping starts again. My body seems to move on it's own, and it thrashes and twists and strains. My body is too weak, my head hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sit up and inhale.
It's all fuzzy.
My vision is mostly white, but I can make out shapes and I can hear sounds. There is a hand holding mine and it feels familiar how the slightly bigger hand is enveloping mine and a thumb is being rubbed smoothly over the back of my hand. The hands are shaking, though, and as I turn my head to the side and shout incoherent things, I can't control it, the hands leave mine, and come up instead cup my face.
“Nurse! Nurse, help!” he yells, and I try to look at his face. Everything is in a state of deja vu, because I know this person, I've seen him before. He's stopping my head from moving and I look at him the best I can, because my vision isn't getting better and everything is so cloudy everywhere; not just in my vision, the way my brain is working and the way I can't really feel my limbs.
I'm in a hospital.
I'm in a hospital and everything hurts. The man is still clutching my face, and I notice that I have a huge tube stuck down my throat, forcing air into my lungs. I notice that he is connected to an IV bag and has a neck brace on. He's also standing in front of a wheelchair with his weight heavily leaned on the side of my bed. I smile at him through my agony, and he starts to cry.
“Channie,” he whispers, and I realize I know his name. I can't say it. Black starts to invade my vision and my head pounds. I'm still completely awake and I feel normal, I guess, given my current state, but I can't see. I can't see. I can't see.
I can't see, help me.
At the moment, that's the worst thing. I grab his hand and I shake my head. I can't see. “Nurse!” he screams, and there's the sound of a door opening and crying and hurried footsteps. I start to cry, and the thumb rubs the back of my hand again. “It's okay, Ch-”
“Page Doctor Kim!” a woman's voice yells, and the hand is gone and I can't see. The sides of the bed go up and I start to move and I can't see.
I think I'm screaming.
I'm falling, again.
I'm sailing toward the ground again and screaming; screaming as I cover my face.
“Chanyeol! Chanyeol, wake up!”
I'm sweating and panting. I'm in a bed. I'm in a bed and tangled in the covers and Kris is pushing back my bangs and whispering it was just a dream, you're okay.
I'm okay. My arms wrap around Kris and I catch my breath as I inhale his scent; he always smells like roses and neither of us know why because we don't have any rose-scented anything. Kris mumbles into my hair and I sigh in content. I'm okay.
I'm tired, I want to go back asleep, but my body won't let me. It won't relax; I can't relax. My arms and legs are tense and I have a headache on the side of my head. It slowly becomes bigger and my breath comes and goes quicker. I'm exhausted and I can't sleep.
I'm okay.
I'm okay. I'm okay. It was just a dream.
Kris starts snoring softly beside me and I snuggle in next to him, pressing my slighter frame against his muscular core like I did when we were teenagers and caught up in skinny love. It always used to calm me, but my heart is racing and I can't breathe and my head hurts.
But I'm okay.
I close my eyes and exhale, I have nothing to worry about. Kris is here, I'm safe, and I just have to go back to sleep.
But I can't.
I'm okay.
The headache spreads and my breath catches in my throat. My feet and hands start to tingle and I can't focus on anything. I try to look at the patterns on the ceiling and calm my breathing, but I can't breathe. Sweat starts to pour out of me once again, and tears escape my eyes. My lungs aren't working and Kris is just sleeping.
I'm not okay.
I tug on Kris's shirt and he looks down at me all sleepy. My face is all wet and from tears and I shake it and whisper. “Kris.” I'm not okay. Help me.
And he hears me and he picks me up and he rubs my back.
“Chanyeol, calm down, it was a dream.” I shake my head and gasp for air and tug on his shirt that is now wet from me as he brings us out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. I can't calm down. I don't know why. I'm not scared at all. I'm scared of not breathing and I'm scared of the control I'm losing of my limbs, but I'm not scared. I cry harder and press my nose to his shirt and he sets me on the toilet and starts a hot bath.
Calm down. It was a dream.
I get undressed and I climb into the scalding water. Kris cups water into his hand and rubs it over my sweaty hair and the hotness seeps into my scalp and it feels good. Kris starts to hum and he continues to stroke my hair with the hot water and it was just a dream.
“You're fine, Chanyeol. I'm here.”
I can breathe.
I can breathe and my headache is going away and my limbs are still tingling, but I can move my fingers. I'm fine. I rest my forehead against the cool tile of the bathtub wall and the faucet is turned off. The water is calming and I am returning to normal. Kris is here. I'm fine.
I'm okay.
“You must just have a fever, Chanyeol. Your head is hot. Do you want to go to the hospital just in case?”
No. No no no no no, no. No hospitals. I am panting and sweating again and I shake my head. I can't go to a hospital. I don't know why but I can't. I grip the sides of the bathtub and shake my head. No hospitals.
“Okay, okay. I'll take care of you then.”
Kris is here.
The headache doesn't go away all day. It's on the whole side of my head and it throbs slowly and it hurts but I don't tell Kris because he might take me to a hospital. I feel fine everywhere else. I eat the chicken soup and I watch the movies and I'm fine.
At night I can listen to music and stroke my guitar and I'm fine. I can kiss Kris goodnight without suffocating for the moment I am not taking in any air and I'm fine. I close my eyes and snuggle into my pillow and I smile and I'm fine.
My bed feels like it's moving for a moment. Not a big move, but a small bump in the mattress occurs, like someone is sitting down. I open my eyes to look at Kris to see if he just shifted his weight, but he's not there.
I can't see.
The hand is there again, rubbing my hand, and there are fingers stroking the side of my face. I can't see. My eyes are closed. They are closed, as if sealed that way, and I lift one hand and press it to my eye. There's something scratchy on my wrist and there is nothing wrong with my eye.
“You're awake,” the man whispers, mostly to himself, before addressing me. “You're awake.”
But aren't I asleep?
I carefully crack open my eyes, and everything is bright white. It's bright white, but not fuzzy or blinding. It's a white room-a hospital room. I would have screamed but there's a tube down my throat forcing air into my lungs. But I don't want to scream. I don't know why I'm so calm, but I open my other eye just as carefully and try to focus on everything around me.
The man is right there, the same man, and I know his name. I can't say it. He looks so familiar, and I can't place it and it's annoying.
“How do you feel?” he asks, and his voice is the same as someone else I know, but I can't place it. I can't say anything, but I look at his high cheekbones and small mouth and dramatic eyebrows and I nod. He smiles.
There's a tube down my throat, so I can't reciprocate. I nod again.
His neck brace looks uncomfortable, and his wheelchair looks hard. I find myself caring more than I should, because this man is a stranger, isn't he?
But I know his name.
I look at his wheelchair with concern and then I look at his face, and a tear runs down his cheek. “I'm fine, Channie. I'm okay.”
He's fine.
He's okay.
But I'm fine. And I'm okay.
“I'm so glad you're awake, Channie.”
But aren't I asleep?
I look at my arm and it's all wrapped up thickly and propped up. It's broken. Some bone has snapped inside of my arm. I look to my right. There is a door with a teeny tiny window covered with crossed wire. There's a computer in the corner, and the dang beeping keeps playing in my head. I look to my left. There's the man and another bed that's all wrinkled like someone just got out of it. There's another heart monitor and a chair.
Everything is so white and smells like disinfectant.
I've always wondered, why keep the hospital so clean if they are just going to release the patients into the dirty world once they're cured? It seems like a culture-shock technique; to keep the patients there longer so they can adjust to the cleanness, and to keep them coming back when they can't adjust to the filth. I hate hospitals.
Why am I so calm?
“Do you know who I am, Channie?” the man says, and I look back at him. I want to nod, because I know his name, but I really don't know anything other than that. I shake my head instead.
I feel like I'm a million miles away from everything, like I'm watching everything unfold through binoculars. Or that I'm floating in the zero gravity zone of space and I can't grip onto any concrete ideas.
So why am I so calm?
Last time I had this dream I was having a seizure I'm sure.
“Where do you think you are?”
In a hospital.
“In a dream, or awake?”
Aren't I asleep?
“Channie, whatever they tell you on the other side, this is the real place. You might not want to believe it, but you're awake.”
I know his name.
I can't say it.
“Chanyeol, what movie do you want to watch?” Kris asks, and I seem to snap out of a daydream. He says I have a habit of going in and out of my head, like he loses me for a couple of minutes to my fantasies and always has to pull me back. He's the anchor and I'm the boat; it's always windy.
I shrug. “Whatever you want,” I say, but it feels weird. I shouldn't be talking. But why not? I shake my head. “I don't ever pay attention to the new releases.” He scrolls down the list of movies on our TV and I curl into his side. He puts his arm around me and clicks play on a movie. I don't see which, and I don't ask.
I don't like to watch, I like to read. I like to play music. I don't like to watch TV, but I do.
Kris rubs my shoulder with his thumb, back and forth in a calming motion and I get a flash of white and my head jolts back. It startles me and gives me another headache, but Kris keeps watching the television.
I shake my head and settle in next to him, placing my head on his shoulder. Violence plays out on the screen. A big troll smashes a building, a gun fires, glass shatters, and a car flips.
I can't breathe.
A car flips on the screen and I feel like I'm spinning. At least my head is spinning, maybe not my body. I'm spinning and I smell burnt rubber and my head hurts so badly. I hear beeping; beep, beep, beeping, and I hold my breath because I don't like hospitals. No hospitals.
“The popcorn is done, Chanyeol, I'm going to go get it.”
The microwave is beeping. It's just the microwave.
I'm okay.
No hospitals.
“Do you want some?” he asks, and I say yes. I do. He puts more in the microwave and comes over with the bowl he just made. He hands it to me and I take it silently and continue to watch the movie. I take a bite of popcorn, but I feel like I can't swallow it.
I chew it slowly, and swallow small pieces, but just like with the speaking it feels wrong. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don't know what happening to me, I've never been like this before.
On the screen, the troll steps on a car.
Screaming. Burning. Pain.
Beep. Beep.
It's just the microwave.
Beep, beep, beep.
Kris gets up to get his bowl.
Beep beep beep beep.
Another car gets damaged on the screen.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.
I'm falling.
Kris catches me as he sits on the sofa and my head bounces back onto his shoulder. I close my eyes and turn away from the screen. I don't want to watch anymore. I hear the commotion, and for some reason it doesn't bother me. I'm hearing from miles away, and my body is on the sofa. I don't feel the impact I had when I watched, because while I was watching I was in my body. Being detached takes away the pain.
I feel cloudy, like an outsider. I feel like I'm watching myself and Kris do our everyday things that we never do, and it's weird. I gasp, and I'm back in my body and everything is still weird.
I'm dizzy.
“Kris?” I breathe. It hardly sounds like his name at all but he knows.
“What?”
“Is this real? Are we really here?” I bite my lip as it trembles. I don't know why I asked the question, but I wait anxiously for the answer anyway.
“Why wouldn't we be?” he chuckles and hugs me tighter to his chest. I wrap my arms around his body and we mold together and it feels right. I'm awake. I'm truly awake. I can feel it. I'm just having an off week. Maybe something bad happened at work, or my sister's son got hurt; it's throwing me off.
I can't remember last Tuesday.
Or Wednesday. Or Thursday.
I don't remember anything that happened before two days ago, whenever that was.
I feel like I'm outside of my body again, and the movie of my life just got confusing.
I don't like watching TV; I don't like watching other people do things I cannot, or don't want to, do. I don't like watching TV, but I am. I'm watching Kris and me watch a movie, and everything is confusing. My head starts to ring, like the tiny mosquito sound that sometimes stays inside heads for hours after something is suddenly loud and then soft.
It gets louder.
Beep.
Beeep.
Beeeep.
Beeeeep.
And then it stops.
Kris is crying, and I look at him from my position far away. I ask him what's wrong and pat his chest. He wipes his eyes and laughs and says a character just died in the hospital, it's silly he shouldn't be crying. He laughs and rubs my head, and I laugh with him even though I don't want to.
No hospitals.
I'm back in my body and I feel sick. I put my bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and I close my eyes. I put my head against Kris's chest and I listen to his heartbeat. It's steady, and my head rises and falls with each breath he takes.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
I count his breaths and time mine with his. My heart-rate slows and I'm feeling calm. I smile and I take his rose scent into my lungs and he rubs his hand over my back.
“I love you,” he whispers and kisses my head.
Screaming. Burning. Pain.
I open my eyes after the image of me hugging someone inside of a fast-moving car flashes behind my eyelids.
I'm flying.
Not the I-just-jumped sort of lift, it's the I'm-being-shot-out-of-a-gigantic-canon-at-light-speed sort of throw. My stomach is in my feet and I'm trying to find a way to brace my fall, which is just as supportive as looking for another person in solitary confinement. My head is spinning and my arm hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I tear through the emptiness.
My stomach hits the sky.
It slams into a soft material and the breath fills my lungs all at once. I choke and try to move, but my hands are stuck at my sides and my ankles are chained, it seems. I scream and I choke, and the sounds of horns blaring starts up again. My body seems to move on it's own, and it thrashes and twists and strains. My body is too weak, my head hurts, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming as I sit up and vomit.
It's all fuzzy.
My vision is mostly white, but I can make out shapes and hear sounds. There is a four-way intersection beneath me and cars are working with it and driving normally. I stare at the cars in wonder. Why am I watching this? What's so special about cars?
One side of the intersection is stopped by a red light. Another one goes.
A car runs the red light, going way faster than the speed limit, and I scream as it hits the driver's side door of a red car. The red car flies to the side and hits another car before flipping in the air and landing in the middle of the intersection on the hood and the windshield.
I'm screaming and crying and my head is throbbing.
So much pain.
There's glass all over the road, and there are two men hanging upside down out of the driver's side window that is totally gone. The back two doors of the car open almost at the same time and a man falls out of the side the driver is on and crawls to the men hanging out and screams and wails, trying to stop the blood that is seeping onto the black pavement.
The crying man looks hurt, he's bleeding on his shirt and his leg but he doesn't seem to notice.
The on the other side, a man stumbles out and half runs, half limps to join the other one on the side. He collapses and he screams for an ambulance, please call an ambulance.
My head hurts so intensely. I can't see. I can't see.
Help me.
“Chanyeol!” Kris says and shakes me. I blink. I was asleep. My head doesn't hurt, I'm fine. I'm not sweating, I'm not crying. I'm numb. Kris tilts my head up to look at him and I look at his high cheekbones and small mouth and dramatic eyebrows. “Chanyeol, you slept through the entire movie.”
Did I?
Kris smiles and says he'll be right back and he leaves me lying on the sofa, alone. I sigh and I close my eyes and then I open them.
There's a needle in my arm.
I look at it and watch blood go through a clear tube and drip into a vial. I grip the sheets around my torso and I shake my head. No hospitals. The lady taking my blood tells me to calm down, it'll be over soon and I shake my head. No, no.
No hospitals.
I'm in a white bed and my head is wrapped in gauze and my arm is in a sling and there's a needle in my arm. There are tubes in my nose helping oxygen get to my lungs and there's an itchy band on my wrist and I'm hooked up to a lot of machines and there's a needle in my arm.
I start to breathe more rapidly and I shake my head and I sweat. No, no. Get it out.
She tells me it'll be okay, and she takes the needle from my arm.
I'm okay.
The hand is back on mine and the thumb is rubbing the back of my hand. I look at the man, and he smiles back at me. “Channie,” he breathes.
I know his name. I know his name. I know his name.
My throat is coarse and it's difficult to get a good breath. I open my mouth a little bit as I look at him, and I cock my head to the side. He just watches me with that stupidly familiar look.
I know his name.
The back of my tongue seems to press itself against the roof of my mouth of it's own accord as I form the first sound. I know his name.
“Yifan?” I say, and it sounds like a strangled whisper. It barely sounds like his name at all, but he knows. A tear rolls down his face as he nods. I know his name. “Yifan hyung.”
I can say it.
a/n: --