the impossible ; chenji

the world ends

chenle

Years ago, Jisung was convinced the world was going to end.

Chenle had heard the rumour too — sure, it was freaky, but he didn't really believe it. He believed it the same way he believed in ouija boards and the boogieman; skeptically, for his own entertainment.

He and Jisung had planned a doomsday sleepover. Disaster movie, gummy candies and radioactive cheese puffs, staying up past ten o'clock. Chenle thought it was going to be dumb fun. But when he found Jisung in his room, he was huddled up under the desk with a colander on his head. He'd already said goodbye to his parents.

Jisung is... well. Himself. He believes impossible things with every fibre of his being. Usually it passes. Usually.

Now, Jisung shows up for movie night with dirt and leaves stuck in his hair, bags under his eyes so dark that they look like bruises. Chenle watches him hobble inside, drop his backpack and flop onto the bed.

"What happened?" His voice is quick with worry. He tries to rein himself in. "Did you die again?"

"No. I slept in a bush."

"You slept in a bush?"

"I was tired, so I lay down under a bush and closed my eyes."

"Did you pull an all-nighter or something? You look exhausted."

Jisung rolls onto his stomach, face smushed into the blanket. Not talking. Chenle tries to turn his worry into irritation, an eye-roll maybe, but the switch isn't happening. His gut is full of nervous tingles.

He gathers up his computer and a bowl of popcorn, and they sit on the floor at the foot of his bed. Jisung is eating and watching the screen with glazed eyes. He isn't even paying attention. (Chenle isn't either, to be fair.) Within a few minutes, Jisung's head is bobbing, eyes falling shut. He slumps against Chenle's shoulder; Chenle holds still so he won't wake up.

The movie lights the room, fills the silence, gibberish and gunfire. Chenle lifts Jisung's limp hand out of the popcorn bowl. Looks closer at the back of it. His veins are raised, almost bulbous, like worms under his skin. Chenle cranes his neck forward to look at Jisung's face. His lips are chapped, skin sallow, cheeks hollowed. He looks — not just like shit — but like death.

An explosion on the screen makes Chenle flinch and Jisung stir. (Chenle drops his hand, fast.) Jisung squints at the movie, blinks, then settles onto Chenle's shoulder again.

Chenle hits the pause button, scoots around to face him. "Tell me what's going on with you. Right now."

An annoyed little pucker appears between his eyebrows. "It's... nothing."

"It's not nothing. You look like you've been living under a bridge."

"I'm a troll, loud and clear, can I sleep?"

"Is something happening at your place?"

"No, I'm just... sick."

"See, you keep pausing and that's how I know you're lying."

"Y-you don't know shit."

"You're stuttering too. Please. It's just me. Tell me."

"What if it's a vampire thing?"

Chenle keeps his face neutral, but he's rolling his eyes internally. He says, "Go on."

Jisung drags his legs up to his chest. The bright screen casts shadows across his face, his expression, a little petulance, a little embarrassment, maybe.

"You're right. I'm not okay. I know you don't believe any of this stuff, but Nibbles told me it's because I... I have to feed."

"Okay, fine, why don't you then?"

"Because — because it's too much. I'm scared, okay? There's no one I — I mean, I don't want to do that to somebody. But as long as I don't, I'm just going to... waste away."

Chenle's resolve splinters. Yes he thinks it's stupid, no he doesn't believe in vampires and talking cats. But Jisung believes it so truly, so... sincerely. Chenle wants to understand this thing that's draining him, whatever it is, supernatural or mundane or completely imaginary — he just wants Jisung to be okay again.

"It's fine," Jisung is saying. "I can't do the thing I need to do, so I'll just... go with the flow. See what happens. How bad could it be? Dying slowly..." He blinks. "Anyway. Unpause. I'll try to pay attention."

"Jisung, bite me."

Jisung goes eerily still. Huh. That's a vampire thing, isn't it?

"Bite you," he says.

"Yeah. I mean, as long as you don't bleed me dry. This isn't a buffet."

"What, are you testing me again? Are you going to point and laugh if I can't, er, make it happen?"

"I want you to prove me wrong here, okay? If it doesn't happen, whatever, we'll forget about it, never speak of it again, you go on pills for anemic troll disease and everything goes back to normal. And if it... does happen... then you won't be sick anymore. You'll be okay. Right?"

Jisung swallows. The screen has gone black, leaving the room shadowy and small around them.

"Don't tell me you're doubting yourself now." Chenle tries to sound easygoing though this whole fucking thing is weird and they both know it. "I thought you were proud of your identity."

The pucker reappears on Jisung's forehead, determination. "I know what I am."

"Okay. Then bite me."

They both wait. Wait for someone to make the first move. Jisung scoots a little closer. Probably not close enough, so Chenle moves closer too.

Okay. This is getting slightly better. Still weird.

"Where should I...?" He gestures quickly in Chenle's vicinity. "I think the wrist is possible."

"You can bite my neck." Chenle hates his own voice, the intensity there, the excitement — can Jisung hear it too? "If that'd be good for you, easier or whatever."

"Yeah, easier, that's, yeah."

"Is this going to hurt?"

"Nibbles said it... wouldn't."

Chenle doesn't have time to analyze the pause, the wouldn't, what it all means. Jisung is leaning in.

At first, it's just the total mind-fuck of having Jisung's lips pressed against his neck. Chenle doesn't even realize he's holding his breath, clenching his fists, trying so hard not to move, not to ruin it, not to give himself away. Then Jisung's lips part, and his teeth touch Chenle's skin, softly, warily, then harder, then—

Pain. Needles sliding through his skin, burrowing deep.

No fucking way.

Chenle's breath hitches, a shock of air into his body. He grabs Jisung's shirt, his voice lurching up his throat — stop stop stop — but then the pain has gone away. No stinging, no needles. Only an ache. Not just there, everywhere, spreading through him. Hazy and warm and thrilling somehow. Jisung's hand cupping his neck, thrilling. Pulling each other closer, thrilling. Every second, thrilling, till his vision goes dark.

Maybe the world really did end this time.

He couldn't care less.