𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃

SIXTEEN.

A/N: I have edited all the earlier chapters. Sorry for the long wait!

Warning: blood

—

PAST

(Eight Years Old)

"You are like me, Y/n. We try so desperately—so desperately to hold onto something, it slips right through our fingers. We are obstinate people. We can never let go, even if there's no point in holding on anymore. Even if that very something is sinful."

Back then, Y/n didn't really know what those words meant. He couldn't remember who said it, either. But now, it all seemed a little clearer. Every day spent with Xin Hui—it was like a dream come true. Sometimes he expected to wake up to nothingness; to become alone again, trapped in his own body, screaming for help—

But it was alright, because he had Xin Hui.

Because he had him.

It was alright.

Y/n could tell Xin Hui anything he wanted to. Any little secret he could say, even if it split his own heart; even if it broke their friendship and turned it into a growing chasm. It was alright, because Xin Hui could always understand him. There was always going to be a part of Xin Hui that would remain broken, but that was fine, because Y/n was broken in all the same places. They could meld into one another. They could fix each other.

It was alright.

Until it wasn't.

It started off normal, at first. They played a game—Y/n went down in a tangle of limbs, his laughter bright and merry. He could hear his heartbeat, a little fast, and it was nice and warm.

"Get up," Xin Hui had said quietly.

Y/n shook his head. He refused. It was too comfortable—and with some things, it felt like if you didn't hold on long enough, it dissipated. It disappeared. With Xin Hui, there was a constant, ebbing fear.

Y/n closed his eyes. If only time could stop, Y/n mourned.

It didn't.

Time flew by, and he was no longer eight years old.

He became fourteen, then seventeen, then finally an adult. The memories remained fragmented; torn...

Forgotten.

—

PRESENT

Y/n pressed his lips together in a firm line. Filming had stopped, but not until Park Hyung had been reduced to a blithering, awkward mess. He couldn't stop spitting out curses. He couldn't stop shivering, and he couldn't stop the haunted look from resurfacing on his face.

Y/n would have expected a scathing glare, or a few biting remarks. There was none.

Xin Hui has done this, Y/n noted, he has created this mess, out of his own volition.

He had become a monster. That Y/n couldn't deny. But he was still someone who, regrettably, Y/n cared for deeply.

When Xin Hui entered the room, there were only the two of them— Y/n swallowed, and his eyes immediately bored into the actor's own ones. In fact, Y/n thought as he absentmindedly played with the hem of his shirt, every little smile, or grin he directed at me very well might be fake. He might play me like a fiddle next time.

It was a scary thought to entertain.

"You did that, didn't you?" Y/n asked quietly, "for what? For who? You could have killed him."