Chapter Text
✧˖° 🍦 🫧 ❀
Chenle would say that school is hell but that would be an understatement. Everyone knows that. It's a truth universally acknowledged in their household. Even the hospital was more riveting, and at least he could make a depressing joke and get an actual laugh.
He keeps his head down as he weaves through the corridor. He feels ill, wishes he'd skipped breakfast because now his fingers tremble out of control in his pockets, the joints stiff like rusted metal. The dark blue linoleum floor clashes with the cream-slash-grey walls that, where not covered by rows of graffitied lockers, are stained with scratches and slurs and marks of a kind no one wishes to identify.
School really sucks, and it shows on all the kids' faces. They groan and roll their eyes and mock the teachers that stride past demanding the girls to unroll their skirts and the boys to straighten their ties andplease put their blazers on.A few students laugh, but only the ones huddled around a locker whispering godforsaken secrets behind their hands.
Once, those secrets had been about Chenle. His weight loss hadn't gone unnoticed, nor had his frequent absence from classes. The entire school seemed to know he was in hospital. They whisper about his brothers, too. They craft stories of terrible parents and magical kidnappers and huge sums of money, each mouth stringing on their own detail before smugly telling the whole thing to their classmates. Chenle isn't stupid. He may never have been inside such a gossip circle, only ever thrusted to the side, but he knows how it works. He's heard Donghyuck spilling enough nonsense about the teachers at the dinner table.
His bag seems to gain the kilograms his body has lost when he begins his climb up the stairs. His knees ache, stiff from the cold that always eats away at his strength – the frost that no one else feels – and he's panting and dizzy by the time he makes it to the second floor. He thought he'd get used to the stairs, but he's proven wrong again. When he reaches the door to his classroom, he leans against the wall and doesn't go in. He closes his eyes to catch his breath, imagines himself melting into the brick to never return.
A hand on his shoulder wakes him up and his heart lurches until he sees Renjun, brow furrowed in concern and eyes dark with question.
"I'm alright," Chenle mutters, standing up straight. He adjusts the straps on his bag. He can feel the corner of his lunchbox digging into his back, then hears the crinkle of the chocolate bar Taeyong must have snuck in there should he feel brave. He's eaten far too much chocolate over the past few months. But now there's no therapist encouraging him to have a little often. Now he's back in control.
Renjun stares harder. Other students give them a wide berth. The pile of bones talking to the boy who's lost his tongue is nothing new.
"I promise I'm fine," Chenle insists. "Those stairs... they're brutal." He smiles, and Renjun manages to return the gesture. Then he straightens Chenle's tie for him and combs a tangle from his hair, gives him one final glance over before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
Chenle sags back against the wall. He thinks of Jisung at home with Johnny, wonders what he's doing. He doesn't know what the boy's hobbies are; he only knows he doesn't dream. He wonders if his mind is always that quiet, then wonders what it'd be like to just hear nothing in his head.
"Hey, out my way!"
"No,youmove outmyway!"
A group of boys at least twice Chenle's size barge through and Chenle can only press his back against the wall, bag clutched to his chest, to let them pass without noticing him. The teacher following takes his registration each morning – Mr Kim – so, while he claps his hands and shouts for everyone to get to their form rooms, Chenle slips into class and weaves between the desks to his seat in the far-right corner. It's not his assigned seat. He was supposed to sit second row, third from the left. Instead he moved to the back the second week after Christmas, and Mr Kim has never scolded him for it. Chenle buries his head in his homework each morning and pretends to not notice the worried glances the teacher gives him.
Today, however, he has that maths test to study for. How Johnny remembered amongst the chaos of all the other kids' lives and his own is beyond Chenle. He silently thanks him nonetheless. The triangles blur into a tessellation of nonsense and teasing. There's whispering to his left, and it continues while Mr Kim gives his morning reminders about uniform and textbooks and no eating in classrooms. It’s the boys who pick on Chenle. A gang of six, and he has the misfortune to share each of his classes with at least one of them. Hair shaved to fade to nothing, ties never straight, shirts never tucked in and streaked with mud from rowdy football games. Hooting laughter and ugly grins of delight when they corner him again. They're all the same.
Chenle wraps his fingers around his left wrist and doesn't exhale until his thumb and first finger meet, the skin cold underneath, the bone hard. He used to be able to touch his pinky, too. But he can't anymore. He’s been told it’s a good thing. A sign of recovery.
The whispering persists, then someone giggles and breaks their cover. Mr Kim snaps his head in their direction. Chenle ducks his head lower.
"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, boys?" Mr Kim asks, arms folded. He raises a brow, dark to match his black hair that's always perfectly combed, lips twitching into a smirk once the culprits sink back into their seats. Chenle exhales again, slower this time. "Now, let me repeat myself since I doubtyou lotheard what I said. We're into the final term of the year, now. Year 10 is approaching. Your subject choices for your GCSEs need to be submitted by the end of the week. An information pack has already been sent home to your parents, but here is another copy of the form for each of you just to make sure. Read itcarefully.Don't pick German just because your friend's also picking German. Okay? Pick the subjectsyouwant to study, because you'll be stuck with them and..."
Chenle can't listen to his speech again. A sheet lands on his desk and he folds the corner over, stares at the boxes and lists of subjects and he fills with dread because he already knows he hates them all.
Mark took music, Chenle's first choice. The class was full of too many idiots who thought they knew how to play guitar, and one can only hear so many disjointed renditions of Wonderwall before losing it. Donghyuck has told him all the horrors of history essays. Renjun seems to enjoy art, yet Chenle feels dizzy just looking at all the coursework he has. Jaemin does French and Geography and Photography and German, yet only pays attention to the sciences, set on biology for medicine at university. Computer science seems fun in theory, yet Jeno swears at his code and rants about how dumb and childish the assignments are, sure he already has tools to hack the government.
Chenle looks at the list again. English, maths, science, physical education, religious education – all compulsory. He stuffs the form in his bag behind his lunchbox, then puts his maths revision away with it, suddenly beyond caring. He didn't even think he'd make it as far as choosing his options.
"Chenle?" Mr Kim hovers by his desk, shadow blocking the sunlight pouring through the windows that span the whole right-hand wall. Chenle looks up at the teacher. The man's face softens, eyes crinkling in sympathy. "Chenle... are you okay?"
The rest of the class has gone, he notices. He must have zoned out again. He didn't hear his name called for registration.
"Did you sign me in?" He asks.
Mr Kim nods. "Of course I did. Now, are you going to tell me what's the matter?" The watch on his wrist glints while his navy tie is dull as ever.
Chenle picks up his rucksack and lays it on the desk in front of him. His lunchbox clatters, he hears the paper form scrunch. He fiddles with the straps, wraps one tight around his finger until the skin turns through red to white.
"I have a maths test. That's all," Chenle says. He looks to the clock and swallows because he's already five minutes late to class. He has art first and knows sure as hell he hasn't drawn a thing all week.
Mr Kim isn't convinced. "Are those boys still giving you trouble? I know they sit across from you, are they disturbing you?"
Chenle shakes his head. "I'm alright. Can... can I go now? I'm late. I have art, so I have to leg it across the school."
Mr Kim dismisses him with a sharp inhale, and Chenle dashes to the art block. He sneaks in and is hit with the stench of acrylic paints and paper. The tables are wooden, surrounded by stools instead of chairs for students to sit on, and are stained by years upon years of splattered paint. Countless drying racks, stuffed with paintings from students across the student body and of varying ability, line the left wall, the sinks are in the corner, then the right wall is covered by shelves. Old sculptures, broken and worn with time, stacks of newspapers, paper of every kind and paint of every colour, paintbrushes, pastels. Every supply imaginable, all crammed onto the shelving unit. It's a mess but Chenle can understand why Renjun feels so at home in the department. Everything has its place.
Chenle pulls out a stool. The students crowd around one table while the teacher gives a demonstration, so no one notices his arrival. A particularly strong hunger pang hits him when he moves to linger at the back. He can't see the demonstration but tunes in to hear an explanation of how different brush strokes can create different effects when using watercolours, then catches one of bully's stares.
He's smirking. He looks Chenle up and down, hands in his blazer pockets, then leans to his friend, who leans to the third. They nod. Chenle swallows, faint.
The students disperse and Chenle returns to his seat with a rock in his stomach. The rest of his table are all girls and they chatter about their drama assignment, which turns into bickering about when they should rehearse. One has concert band, another has choir, another has hockey. Chenle pulls his art book from his bag but doesn't open it. It's blue, hardback with the school logo embellished in silver on the front, his name scrawled on a peeling sticker in the top right, and he scowls when he flicks through the disaster of each page to find the next blank. Renjun huffs at his work whenever he asks for help, but ultimately yanks the pencil from his hand and does his best to fix it.
"Here," a girl slides a watercolour palette and a paintbrush his way. Her braces shine when she smiles. "The water's for everyone to use." Chenle's eyes slide to the repurposed jam jar in the middle of the table, already filled with murky water.
He stares at the blank page. He had an art class in the hospital, too. Art therapy. They were given a prompt each week and could draw or paint whatever they wanted. Some took it seriously. Most didn't. But the nurses would smile and praise them and ask about their inspiration behind the piece. Chenle once painted his piece of paper black save for a tiny, tiny pinhole of a circle in the middle. When asked for the meaning, he said it's what he wants to be.
"Invisible?" The nurse guessed, brow crinkling as she squinted.
"Small," Chenle replied with a simple shrug.
It's safe to say his picture wasn't chosen to be hung on the wall.
"Hey, loser." The boy who caught Chenle's gaze appears at his side. Their insults never get better.
Chenle picks up his paintbrush as though he could defend himself with it. He imagines what it would be like to stab it into his side, wonders if it would kill him. Then he breathes, hears Julie's reminder that it's not constructive to let those kinds of thoughts linger.
"What?" He snaps.
The girls' gossip pauses. They watch.
The boy slashes at Chenle with his paintbrush, only his is loaded with fresh red paint. It smears across Chenle's blazer, down the arm, across his back. Chenle freezes, skin aflame and heart pounding. His head might burst. He's dizzy from hunger, angry from lack of sleep, and totally out of control.
"f*ck off!" His anger snaps and he stands up, sending his stool topping to the floor, and the boy flinches becauseneverhas Chenle fought back. Chenle pants, imagines the red paint is the boy's blood, then grabs the jar of water and launches it at him.
He hears the crash, the screams and the cry of alarm from the teacher but registers none of it as he stuffs his art book in his bag and storms out the room.
No one stops him.
He can only hear his heartbeat and his races through the corridors, both a mismatched rhythm like a poor attempt at syncopation that drives him closer to insanity, only riling up his anger. He gasps to catch his breath. He can't even look at the damage to his blazer.
He's lost control. Control was taken away from him. Then was handed back to him with too much trust. Whichever it is, he misses the hospital. It sucked, but he didn't have to deal with the dicks in his class. He could do nothing all day, and the nurses would still tell himwell done, you're making wonderful progress.In the hospital, there was always someone to help him. Even on the days when he wouldn't admit he needed help. Those were the days he needed it the most.
In school, silent cries for help go unheard. No one bats an eyelid at a student who keeps quiet and does his work. It's not until he acts up that things get noticed.
He barges through the door to reception. He's leaving.
"I'm sick," Chenle says, not caring if the receptionist hears him or not because he presses the button and the doors slide open before she can tell him to come back.
✧˖°
Renjun watches Chenle go. Trapped in his maths class, he can't say anything. Jaemin is chatting to his left – something about Jisung's cute cheeks? – but Renjun isn't listening. People tend to talkathim a lot so he's used to it, knows how to feign paying attention. He just stares at Chenle through the window. Hair ruffled by the wind, mouth set into a stubborn line, it's unmistakeably Chenle. Renjun's gut twists in panic. He knows that look on his younger brother.
Fear seeping through a mask of anger and determination. Wild desperation in his eyes. The boy marches across the road, then turns the corner and disappears.
Renjun doesn't check if the teacher's looking before getting his phone out to warn Johnny. Then he slips his phone away and stares at his work again. He's stuck on the second question, which doesn't bode well for the looming exams.
ButChenle.
Renjun presses his pencil into the page until the lead gives way in one clean break.
Snap.
✧˖°
Chenle ends up in a neighbourhood he vaguely recognises from a party back in primary school, of a friend he doesn't hang around with anymore. But every neighbourhood looks the same. Townhouses in rows, trees – either cherry or birch – at every equal interval along the pavements, cars parked neatly on driveways beside the overgrown front gardens that every homeowner pretends not to notice. The sun has gone in, covered by a layer of clouds that darkens by the minute. Chenle grits his jaw to fend off the chill. It's nearly May for crying out loud, he shouldn't becold.
He keeps walking, paint smeared across his blazer like a pin screaminglook at me.A woman walking her dog does a double take. He hopes she doesn't recognise the uniform and call the school to report his obvious truancy. Because if the school doesn't care about his outburst, they'll definitely care about his absence. Assuming the receptionist hasn't already grassed him up, that is. She's always been a bitch.
He turns the corner and sees the park in the distance which helps him regain his bearings. He can breathe easier too, knowing familiarity is near. The park is a large field of overgrown, dewy grass surrounded by trees with an old playground on the far right. A mother is already there with two toddlers that beg her to push them higher on the swings. Chenle used to come here as a kid, often with Johnny while Taeyong took Mark to the hospital. Donghyuck would dig holes in the mud. Renjun would read on the bench. This was before Jeno and Jaemin arrived.
Chenle reckons everyone in the town and their parents and their grandparents grew up in the playground. He pushes the gate open, cringing as it squeaks horribly. Paint peels off the roundabout and the swings creak and the slide is scratched as though a cat has gone down it. The toddlers get bored of the swings and take turns on the slide instead, their mother giving Chenle a tired smile before she follows them, three bags slung over one shoulder.
Chenle sits on a swing. He dumps his bag on the ground. He digs the toes of his shoes into the dirt, already hearing Taeyong's huffing in his head, and uses the anchor to rock himself back and forth, not fast enough for the chains to groan but enough to soothe his anxiety. The metal is cold under his hands. He grips the chains tighter until his knuckles whiten. It's not comfortable but neither is the churning of his stomach. Throat dry, he replays the moment the paint hit his clothes. He replays all the awful things the same boy has said to him over the years. When tears threaten to spill he clamps his eyes shut and swallows, counts before opening his eyes again.
There's a crow that wasn't there before pecking the grass a few metres in front of him. Chenle stops swinging and holds his breath. The bird's feathers glisten and shine like a mystery, tempting enough to steal his curiosity yet dark and familiar enough to freeze Chenle in place. They're black, with a hint of brown and grey on the ends of each wing. A pattern he's seen before. He blinks and, even as the tears subside to clear his vision, the feathers brighten. The bird pecks some more, flaps its wings, then turns its head to stare at Chenle. Its beady eyes meet his, and Chenle can't look away. Black, ringed with a searing white that pulls Chenle in deeper. He swears he can see himself in those eyes. That glisten, the flickering of a light. He leans closer, and the bird doesn't fly away.
Food?It seems to say.
Chenle's eyes travel to his school bag. He has lunch and snacks he certainly isn't going to eat. He contemplates feeding his sandwich to the bird. As he thinks that, the bird hops closer on its little black legs. Its beak is just as dark as its eyes, and shines like a threat.
Food!Chenle hears it this time. It squawks, long and ugly. Chenle recoils.
It hops closer, unbothered by the screaming kids across the grass, and this time Chenle's tears make its little round body shimmer like an ethereal being, with both the brightness of a god and the unforgiveable shadow of a demon. Chenle closes his eyes. He starts to swing again, and the toddler's voices and the bird's screeches and the swing's creaks merge into a horrible ringing in his ears that he can't shake away. His heart hammers in his chest. His lungs burn, throat dry even as he swallows.
He's flying now, swinging higher and higher. Back and forth, the swing creaking each time like the same thoughts replaying in his mind day in day out.
"Chenle!"
Chenle drags his feet across the dirt to stop himself. He nearly lurches off the swing but grips the chains and looks up, heart pounding so hard he can't hear what Johnny's saying.
Johnny crosses the playground, picks Chenle's bag up and slings it over his shoulder. His thin coat is unzipped to reveal a faded coffee stain on the beige jumper underneath. He's tall, but as he crouches down to Chenle's height he shrinks into a shell of worry that thins him to the bone. Chenle bites his lip and looks down.
"What happened, Lele?"
Chenle sniffs while Johnny inspects the paint on his blazer. The red doesn't shine anymore, now dry.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault. You know I never get paint on my clothes," Chenle says.
Johnny shakes his head. "I know it wasn't your fault. Renjun told me you'd left school." He extends a hand. "I was about to do the groceries, anyway. Why don't you join me?"
Chenle looks at Johnny's hand. The hand that's guided him through his childhood, through the pit of his preteen years, and now offers to help him through his teens and out the other side. He doesn't have a choice, so he takes it and stands on wobbly legs, and follows Johnny out the gate and across the park to the car.
The crow is gone, he notices when he looks back for a short second. The grass glistens in its place.
✧˖°
Johnny curses the sputtering car engine. He tries again, and the car starts this time. Chenle twists to face out the window. He feels like he did the last time he was in the car, when Taeyong picked him up from therapy, only now the fear squeezes around his temples.
"I have a headache," Chenle mutters.
"Have you had some water yet today?"
Chenle bites his lip. "No."
"Do you have your water bottle?"
Chenle hopes Johnny can't hear his eye roll, but he does as told and takes a careful sip once they're stopped at a red light in the middle of town. People are bustling about, mostly elderly, doing their mid-morning shopping.
"Are you hungry? Some food might help, even if it's only a small bite," Johnny continues.
"Don't you want to know what happened?"
The next silence drags on, then Johnny breathes through his nose. He's frustrated but would never take it out on Chenle, or on Taeyong or on anyone in their family.
"I just want to get you home safely. And pick up these groceries. Taeyong managed to find out what Jisung's favourite foods are, so we need at least a few of them in the cupboards. And we're out of milk."
Johnny parks the car in one swift movement, then beckons for Chenle to get out. Chenle shakes his head. So Johnny tosses him the keys and tells him with a grin not to drive off.
"I'll only be ten minutes."
Chenle sinks into his head, swallowed by the static. The bollard marking the end of the parking bays is battered and at forty-five degrees. A taxi pulls up next to their car and the driver gets out to help two elderly women pack their shopping in the back before driving off, followed by a trail of other cars searching the streets for a parking space. People mill around from shop to shop. It's not as busy as late afternoons once school finishes, nor on weekends, so it's almost eery: the same shops but something isn't quite in place. A bird lands on the windscreen and Chenle's heart seizes in fear until it flies away a second later, only a pigeon. But the thought that it’s all his fault lingers in his mind. If he hadn't been late to art then maybe the kid wouldn't have smeared paint on his blazer. If he woke up earlier it might have been easier to eat breakfast and he wouldn't have been late.
His promise to Taeyong rings clear through the buzzing of thoughts.
Before he knows it, Johnny is back. He slides into the driver's seat and reaches to place the shopping bags on the backseat, then leans his elbows on the steering wheel.
"So, what happened, then?" When Chenle doesn't reply, he sighs and adds, "Well? I'm not angry, Lele. I just want to help. Your Appa has been worried sick about you recently."
"He's been sick?"
"Not literally," Johnny starts the engine and flicks through to his favourite radio station. A funky Backstreet Boys melody fills the thick air between them. "Just start by telling me how you got that paint all over you."
"Those boys are still giving me trouble," Chenle says, voice catching in his throat. Anxiety traps the words and they clog his airways, but he still hesitates to let them go, clinging onto each one with the belief that keeping the truth to himself would help protect him in some inexplicable, impossible way. Experience tells him otherwise. He swallows, sniffs. "I was late to art class because I was talking to Mr Kim, and then when we sat down to start working one of them just came up to me with his brush and decided to..." he gestures to his ruined clothing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Chenle says shakily. He can't cry. Not here, when he's supposed to be acting nonchalant and brave. "I threw the jar of paint water at him and walked out."
"Well done for getting out of the situation and finding somewhere to calm down," Johnny says, but even Chenle, through his fuzzy mind, can tell he's scraping the barrel for ways to comfort him. "However, you can't just leave the school premises and you're going to have to face the consequences of that, do you understand? That's how it works, baby, I'm afraid. I don't approve of the way that school handles things either."
"Can you tell them it wasn't my fault?"
"I can try, of course. And as soon as your Appa hears of this he'll be straight on the phone anyway." They both smile faintly at the image. Johnny's face saddens again. The song ends, and he turns the radio off when the presenter starts to read the news. Depression, doom and gloom as always. "I'm sorry school is so hard for you."
"I'm missing my maths test."
"Did you study?"
"No."
Johnny chuckles. "Did you ask your brothers for help?"
"Their exams are coming up! I can't do that."
"Teaching things to others is a very valuable skill and an effective revision strategy."
"Stop reading the crappy revision guides the school sent you. You're meant to be onourside."
"Alright, buddy."
They start the drive home. Johnny puts the radio back on and hums to Rihanna, while Chenle rubs his eyes and picks flakes of paint off his blazer sleeve. The worst of it won't budge at all. He mentally curses, digs his nails harder into the material until he feels them in his skin. Wanting more, he tugs his sleeve back and clenches his jaw when his nails make contact with bare skin. He traces a thumb along the blue veins, around the back of his hand all the way to his knuckles that are dry and cracked, in need of lotion. He releases a groan when he leans back against the headrest, toes curling in his shoes that feel too tight all of sudden.
"Talk to me," Johnny says.
Chenle clenches his jaw harder. He's stuffed full, beyond breaking point, of words that are desperate to spill. Too much in his head and too little in his stomach, and the lack of balance makes him light-headed. The seatbelt digs into his neck and he grabs it, pulls more out to twist it around his fingers.
"I'm so scared," he starts, and the flood gates open and he can't stop. "I'msoscared, Dad. Appa told me to talk to him if things get bad but now I'm discharged, doesn't... doesn't that mean I'm supposed to be better? They're trusting me to look after myself. I don't want to let them down. Or let you down. Or... or myself. But I lied to my therapist, Dad, I... I lied about my progress."
"Who says you have to look after yourself?" Chenle looks at Johnny. He's focussing on the road, but his brow is furrowed and he glances at Chenle for a second just long enough for his concern to shine through. "Isn't that my job? And your Appa? We're here to help you."
"But Iwantto be able to look after myself. Control has been handed back to me, but all I ever want is control and now I have it again it's like... ugh, it's like I go crazy with it."
Johnny hums. He's well versed in how the desperate want for control translates into Chenle's struggles with food. But he lets Chenle tell him all again, and listens like it's the very first time.
"I couldn't even eat breakfast this morning," he whispers, voice thin and empty and fragile like a wine glass teetering on the edge of a table. It drops to the floor, smashes, shards scattering across the floor, and Chenle wipes the tear from his cheek before he can taste the salt. His skin burns. "I don't want to give in again. But I... I don't feel strong enough. And I hate school. Ihateit. I get good grades, so teachers don't even care. Not even after I was inhospital.They just expect me to keep my head down and get good grades because that's who I am. But I don't know how long I can keep going. I want a break again."
He looks out the window, tugs on his seatbelt hard enough for it to jam, and lets the tears roll. The release doesn't even feel good. Rather it's anticlimactic, just a repeat of the same sad story, and it makes his headache worse. The radio presenters laugh at a joke Chenle missed, then another song starts and he groans as soon as he recognises the beat to the song deemed to be this year's summer anthem; it's grossly overplayed, and all the girls sing it out of key in the canteen at lunch.
"Oh, Lele, I wish I could solve everything for you. I really do," Johnny says. His voice is like the warmest of hugs and Chenle cries harder. "We can look into those counselling options, perhaps. It really helps Jeno to have some extra support since his discharge, so I'd say it's worth the shot. Didn't Julie tell you about them?"
"I wouldn't go near the school counsellor with a ten-foot pole."
"Of course not the school counsellor. We all know she just spouts a bunch of sh*t."
Chenle snorts. He opens the glovebox to dig for a tissue, then blows his nose and dabs his eyes. When he next inhales, he feels a little lighter and supposes the crying did help, if only a tiny bit.
"Okay."
"And then it'll be summer, won't it? No school!"
"And then it'll be back to school and it all starts again," Chenle says flatly, chest sinking as he sighs out. "I can't believe we only get six weeks for summer. That's bullsh*t."
Johnny purses his lips. "Thinkpositive, Chenle."
"Sorry," he mutters.
"Try to eat one of your snacks when we get home. I left Jisung watching a documentary about stars. That seems to be his thing."
"Youlefthim?"
Johnny inhales as though he knew the accusation was coming. "I had to go shopping, and he didn't want to come. He needs to get used to our routines, after all."
Chenle imagines Jisung snooping through his room, then flushes and scolds himself for assuming the worst of a boy he's known for less than twenty-four hours.
"Try to talk to him, alright? Make him feel welcome, even if he doesn't offer much in return."
Chenle scoffs. He remembers how hostile both Jeno and Donghyuck had been towards the rest of the family when they first arrived. Taeyong had printed off a list of teambuilding activities and each Saturday morning they were all condemned to try one. In the end, they bonded over taking the piss out of Taeyong when he couldn't remember where he'd hidden the prizes for the scavenger hunt. The rain soaked them, and Johnny took photos between attacks of laughter, while Taeyong scowled on the sofa with a mug of strong coffee, feeling sorry for himself until Johnny offered him a kiss. The next day Taeyong supposed it must have worked, even if the method wasn't quite there, since the boys were all bickering over breakfast in the way he'd expect from siblings.
Chenle would rather never have to do such a thing again, so promises Johnny he'll try to get to know Jisung.
"He's transferring to your school, anyway. So even if he doesn't stay with us it'll be nice to see each other at school, won't it?"
They pull up on the driveway and Johnny, like Taeyong, doesn't get out the car right away. Sometimes their similarities spook Chenle a little. Chenle nods in lame agreement, but he's too busy picking the paint off his sleeve again.
"Taeyong will know a solution to that."
"Please don't let him phone the school," Chenle says. Johnny turns with a smile.
"Oh, there's no stopping him. You know that, buddy. He's going to go mental, but not atyou.At those dickhe*ds who keep giving you a hard time."
"I'm sorry for not standing up for myself properly."
"If you'd argued, the teacher would have sent you both out."
"So I can't win, Dad. Whatever I do when they're mean to me, I get in trouble."
"Sometimes there is no winning in life, Chenle. You just have to rise above it and know you're better than those losers. You're still here, fighting strong. And I'm proud of you, never forget that. Immensely proud."
Chenle repeats those words in his head. He looks at Johnny and returns the smile, a little hesitant at first until Johnny throws a playful wink.
"Thank you," Chenle says.
Then they get out the car. Chenle pulls his bag onto his shoulder, muffling a groan at its weight, and helps Johnny by taking a bag of groceries inside.
✧˖°
Chenle helps Johnny put the groceries away, piling vegetables into the fridge, noodles into the cupboards, biscuits into the tin that Jaemin sneaks into his room at least twice a week. He considers slipping a few into his pocket but shoves the lid on before he can give the idea a second thought. After months of eating biscuits for therapy homework, he wants to never eat a biscuit again. Not even the chocolate ones with a dab of cream in the middle. Never.
The slow narration of whatever Jisung's watching on the television trickles into the kitchen and Chenle is curious. The image of Jisung's face remains blurred in his mind no matter how hard he tries to smear away the fog, but then Johnny is talking and Chenle refocuses his vision to stare at the breadsticks he's being offered.
"Thanks," Chenle says, sitting down.
They're the breadsticks that come with a little compartment of soft cheese, perfect for dunking as demonstrated in the adverts. Chenle pretends the cheese doesn't exist and just eats the breadsticks dry. They stick to his tongue and won't go down, so he takes Johnny's offer of some apple juice, which is cold enough to make his teeth twinge with discomfort. It tastes nothing like the apples from the tree in the garden. Chenle expects the taste of marzipan to follow. He's almost disappointed when it never comes.
Johnny fetches his laptop and types away while Chenle eats. Between the strange buzzing that's always present in the kitchen, the crunch of breadsticks, keyboard clicks and muffled television, the room is noisy enough for Chenle's heart to beat funny, and he falters on the final mouthful. Johnny smiles, leaning back to run his hands through his overgrown black hair, and Chenle finishes his snack without having to be told. Johnny kisses the top of his head and murmurs that he's doing well.
"Give me your blazer. I'll look up how to get the paint off. I think we've still got some of your brothers' old ones you could use for a few days while we sort it out."
He hands the jacket over and feels oddly bare as he walks upstairs. He changes into the same blue jumper as the day before. He sits on the end of his bed for a while, staring through the wall with his arms hugged around his torso and toes curled in his fluffy hello kitty socks. Taking a deep breath, he feels trapped. Stuck, unable to move. The darkness evades his chest, creeping in from every corner like trailing fingers that slowly squeeze his lungs tighter and tighter. He gasps and stands up, marches out his room and back downstairs for a glass of water.
"Alright, Lele?" Johnny asks. His thick-rimmed glasses are now seated on his nose.
Chenle huffs. "Just thirsty. Can I stay off school the whole day?"
Johnny watches Chenle fill a glass of water from the fridge then press the button to add ice. Chenle crunches the ice, frustrated.
"I'll email the school. Don't worry." Leaning back, Johnny crosses his arms over his chest. "Do you still have that card they gave you? To get a break from class?"
"Yes," Chenle says, teeth gritted. He startles himself with the gruffness of his voice, then sighs and sips his water, deflating.
"Good," Johnny says. He rubs his eye under his glasses as though giving up and Chenle holds his breath, but Johnny never explodes in anger like he fears he might. "Maybe try to use it next time?"
Chenle nods, Johnny nods back, then Chenle leaves the kitchen. In the hallway, he can hear the television clearly as he pauses in the doorway. He sips his water again, and shuffles to look round the door. The living room is spacious with a large window overlooking the driveway, bookshelves spanning another wall – mostly occupied by Mark's collection that long overflowed from his room – and the glass-topped coffee table is piled high with Taeyong's fashion magazines and a jigsaw no one has ever completed. The shelving unit under the television is brimming with DVDs of every kind. The windowsill is full of photo frames: some of just Johnny and Taeyong through the years, then plenty from Christmases and birthdays as their family grew. The latest photo is from Renjun's birthday when they had a picnic in the garden. If Jisung becomes a permanent addition, Chenle wonders how Taeyong could ever find space for a photo of him, then crunches another cube as he scolds himself for being so cruel.
Jisung, whose head is just visible over the top of the sofa, turns around in surprise. His eyes are wide as though he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, and when he sees it's only Chenle he doesn't seem relieved, only closes his mouth and tenses his shoulders, slowly sinking back down without taking his eyes off the boy.
"Hi," Chenle says. He walks round the sofa and sits down. He doesn't tell Jisung he's sat in Jaemin's space, nor does he mention that they even have silently designated spaces. "What are you watching?"
It's a genuine question, but Jisung curls away from him and doesn't answer. Brian Cox, the presenter of the documentary, is stood beside a model of the solar system, each planet a ball of a different colour, connected by wires and glowing in the dim room. He explains something about light years, then the camera pans to a projection of the galaxy on the wall. His voice is soft, a gentle northern melody that itches with fascination.
"A documentary," Jisung says. He twists his fingers together and, when he looks down at his lap, his overgrown bangs fall over his eyes. But Chenle can still detect the shifting of his gaze in his direction.
"Yes, I can seethat.But what's it about?"
"Stars," Jisung says.
"Stars." Chenle looks at the television and swirls his glass so the ice tinkles in a dissonant melody over the dreamy music that plays for the montage of telescope images. "Do you ever wish you could leave this solar system and go to another? This one kind of sucks."
Jisung lifts his head and opens his mouth like a fish. He looks behind him but it's only Johnny moving back to the office. He turns back to Chenle. Confusion looks cute on him, since it crinkles his nose and gently furrows his brow, and he licks his lips while he decides what to say.
"But they're so far away." His voice is unsure and cracks with the uncertainty of a half-formed teenager.
"That's the point," Chenle replies with a scoff. He crunches on the final ice cube, and Jisung winces.
"Aren't you meant to be in school?"
Chenle pouts. "Yes. But that's none of your business." Jisung recoils, and Chenle feels a little bad but doesn't apologise. The feeling just lingers in the emptiness of his chest for him to mull over later when the opportunity has gone.
They watch the documentary in silence. Chenle catches Jisung's eye for a second and they both look back to the television, and a lump forms in Chenle's throat. He doesn't understand the documentary but Jisung lets out a little gasp of wonder when they show off a fancy telescope to capture images of a distant galaxy, so Chenle tries to pay attention. Besides stuff he has to learn for school, he rarely researches anything new. He misses the curiosity he had as a kid. He remembers tugging on Johnny's sleeve at the park to show him flowers in the grass, birds in the trees, and asking what they are, why different birds sing different songs and why different flowers are different colours. He loved trying new foods. He'd eat anything put on his plate.
Chenle wonders where that child went. What happened to him, where he is now and how he can find him.
"I think I would like to try living in another solar system," Jisung says finally.
Chenle places his empty glass down on the table and sits with his legs swung to the side, and twists to face Jisung. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
For the first time since Jisung arrived in their home, he smiles. It's nervous and half-formed, but it's there. Chenle smiles back and asks Jisung to tell him about his favourite constellations.
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