always ↬ leading me on || l.dh • h.rj • z.cl

·forty five·

Renjun looked at himself one more time in the mirror, hand grazing over his reflection before banging at the glass in frustration.

Chenle was leaving today, he was setting off to go back to China and continue his studies there. His parents had found out about everything that was going on and suddenly, they wanted to keep the two as far away as possible.

The ravenette couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the thought of how quickly a friendship of years could be broken. His eyes were stinging again, but he didn't care enough to try and wipe away the tears that spilled from them.

He hated it, hated the way he stood here on the day his childhood best friend, his partner in crime and what could have been his lover, was leaving him behind. He hated that instead of going after him, he was getting himself ready to go on a date with a boy he felt nothing for.

In this moment, he despised Donghyuck more than anything.

If he had a say in the matter, he'd have stalled — done anything to push this day back, but his mother was forcing him and he had no way out.

He'd called the younger boy yesterday night, telling him to meet him at the town square so that they could go out together. The shock was evident in Donghyuck's tone when he stuttered out a small, 's-sorry?' and Renjun almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

At times, he felt like none of this would have happened if he'd just stayed to himself and died alone, but it was too late now. He'd roped everyone up into his mess and they observed as he was pulled up by the bonds and controlled like a marionette. Like a puppet, so far from being human.

So far from having control.

Control, which he had craved all his life. A feeling he stumbled blindly after in the throes of burning embers and the grip of swallowing earth, one that he could never have. He never did.

From when he was still so young and in love with the world, to now, where he wanted to watch it fall apart, Renjun hadn't ever grasped control in the palm of his hands like he so desperately wanted to.

And he didn't just want it, he needed it.

To be able to breathe a true breath in and let it fill his lungs, to be able to make himself feel alive, he needed to hold that type of power over himself and everything he let into his life, yet, that was impossible.

The things that he did, all of them were dictated and then scrutinised by the harsh society that he had been born in and couldn't run away from. And Chenle, who was his sole escape throughout, had finally had enough as well.

He'd finally had enough of him.

That was why he was leaving, right?

There was no other reason when he could have easily declined, could have said no and come crashing back into Renjun's arms like he had done for an eternity before now.

But, seeing himself now, Renjun wondered if he'd ever really held his arms open for the younger. If he ever truly welcomed the warmth that his entirety was and if he'd ever even cherished him the way he said he would.

Renjun was a liar, he was a liar in his own eyes and in the eyes of the world and maybe Chenle had finally noticed too, maybe that was why he wasn't beside him in this moment.

Maybe that was why he was walking down the stairs right now, making his way down to the hotel lobby and past the ever-revolving doors to be hit in the face with the birthing winter winds with no Chenle to hold his hand and giggle sweetly into his ear.

It had started to rain and Renjun thought it was ironic, the way it always seemed to pour when he'd had enough of himself, almost reprimanding him in a way, telling him to take his mind far from the things that were making him lose it.

The warmth of the droplets that fell and slid down his neck was comforting, the ghost of a touch he craved and memories of laughing until his stomach hurt with the boy he'd grown alongside, flashing in front of his eyes.

The street was busy, hectic and loud as people rushed to get to where they needed to be because the rain was only getting harsher and pounding against the tops of their heads relentlessly, but Renjun kept his slow pace as he moved.

He was the only one walking forward in a crowd of people that pushed back.

He was the one stepping into his future and leaving behind his past.

But he didn't want to.

He wanted to go back, or at least stand at this crossroad, he didn't want to walk anymore, because moving forward was moving on and he wanted to stay stuck in the memory of Chenle for as long as he lived — in the beauty of him and what they used to have.

His legs felt weak and he wondered if it was because Chenle had been keeping him up all this time; if it was because Chenle was his crutch and he'd finally broken under all the pressure he'd placed on him.

It hurt.

And as Renjun passed a moving truck and entered a quiet clearing that was filled with trees, he remembered when Chenle and he used to sneak out to stargaze at times like these, when the wind was forgiving but the water that shot from the skies was merciless. He remembered when the younger would take his hand and hoist him up just to push him down again, the way his perfect laughter would cut through the heavy sound of pattering rain as Renjun would chase after him in anger until the sun went down and the moon came up.

He remembered.

The way they danced in the dark.

He remembered, and he wished he didn't.