today ╱ jeongchan

011.

He is leaving today.

There are only a handful of moments when Chan felt genuinely relieved in his life.

The first one was when he was five. When his mom found him exactly ten minutes after he lost sight of her baby blue dress adorned with patterns of white chrysanthemum when they visited one of the crowded streets in Sydney.

Another was when he missed his flight to Korea, prompting him to grab the next possible one. He learned after that the engine had a slight malfunction midway and had to emergency land somewhere. Thus, costing more time and hassle, and as an extremely busy and workaholic person, Chan couldn't afford that.

The next one was when he thought Changbin accidentally downloaded a virus on his laptop. It was a crucial moment for Chan, especially when he has more than twenty unfinished music files for the artists he was working with. Meaning, he would have to sacrifice no less than a week's worth of sleep just so he could meet the deadline. Thankfully, it was a battery problem and his files were intact. Most importantly, it was not Changbin's fault.

Another vague but relieving memory was when he finally opened his eyes after collapsing from the excruciating pain in his chest and too much fatigue, or that's what he thought. Upon closer inspection and as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, when he was met with two pairs of worried eyes and the beeping sounds from the monitor, did he realize that he was hooked up to different machines he never thought he would be needing once more. Then the same thing happened, again and again.

And the most recent one. Right now.

As Chan walked out of Jeongin's apartment that same night. Torn sheets of paper, a couple of sticky notes and a light blue notebook with a small fox drawn in the middle were messily thrust inside his messenger bag. Hushed confessions and apologies were the only things lingering in the air, after he pressed an ephemeral kiss on the sleeping male's soft and warm pair of lips that, even then, still tastes like home.

But it doesn't feel anything close to home.

He threw one final glance at Jeongin's sleeping form. He looks peaceful, Chan discerned. Lips curled into the softest smile his eyes had laid on, while he's all snuggled up into the comfort of his cosy bed. Chan can't help but mirror the smile, albeit briefly. The fondness he previously held was replaced with nothing but bitterness in a matter of seconds; the smiling face now devoid of emotions, heart clenching in, by far, the most painful way he had experienced in his life. And Chan knew that if he stayed any longer, he would chicken out; he would end up running back to Jeongin's comforting embrace.

Each step he took was too heavy. Like the floor was no different from a quicksand; step-by-step equivalent to inch-by-inch of his being. Sucking him in and he can't find a possible way out. He nearly crawled his way out, his knees buckling uncomfortably as though it would give up on him any second longer. It was a wonder that he didn't faint on his way out because he was so sure that his body would end up meeting the cold concrete floor; everything was spinning, blurring.

And when he managed to make it out of the apartment, he forced himself to sprint towards the familiar black car waiting for him outside. His two friends who are occupying the front seats watched him with worried eyes as he clambered inside. He was gasping for air like there is no tomorrow, cheeks wet from the contrite tears continuously flowing from the broken faucet in the form of his eyes, all the while clutching the fabric of shirt so tight his knuckles turned white but none of it eased the pain.

"I can't breathe."

ㅡ

"Jesus, Chan! It was bad enough that the date was moved and now you want me to be your little accomplice?" Sana deadpanned, taking a left turn at an intersection. The female tilted her head to glare briefly at the male currently settled on the passenger seat of her car. "I promised Jinyoung to keep an eye on you. I could literally lose my job right at this moment."