0112.

i.

Pairing(s): kaisoo and chanbaek

i.

Jongin remembers it vaguely. The memory comes to him in patches; broken down into tiny little pieces like a puzzle for him to solve. It is similar to fading photographs; faces frozen in time forever until it fades into nothing. The plague is slow but abhorrent—it crawls like a vine and goes through your skin. Eventually, it goes in your system, filling your lungs and up to your brain, breath coming in ragged form, until there was nothing left to give.

It happened a long time ago—one, two, three years? He wasn't sure of things anymore. He couldn't see the difference of the reality from his dreams anymore. He could remember what happened, but he couldn't recognize the people around him. They were always... faceless. Phantoms. He couldn't remember his parents—or if he even grew up with one. There are no pictures hanging on the bleak white walls of his house, no traces of the life he once had. It was as if he only started living today. On quiet nights where he's lying on his back on the cold marble floor, he briefly wonders if this was all a nightmare. It was a sick joke—how everyone around him moved forward while he is stuck in time; the hands of his clock standing still no matter how much he wills it to tick, tick, tick.

He doesn't understand how it came to be. It barely made sense how most of his memories are woven with those he wanted so badly to forget, yet every time he closes his eyes, he sees the look on Chanyeol's face when they celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. It was November 27. It was just the two of them sitting on the heels of their feet with their backs pressed against the cold, dingy alley wall. A single lamp post stood to his right. The light was flickering. It was nearing midnight, yet the city was still buzzing with life. It always was. Despite everything, it was still a sight to see everyone rushing to get where they needed to be. Chanyeol once admitted that he found it nothing short of riveting to watch people try to chase after lost seconds when the time is always fleeting. Remarkably well, Chanyeol supposes, what with their borrowed time and all.

Jongin holds up a lighter to Chanyeol's face with a tired smile. The latter instinctively recoiled, narrowing his eyes at his best friend and cautiously raising his hand to grab it out of Jongin's grasp. He straightened his posture and tilted his head to look at the lighter, grimacing at the engraving on its side. It said KJI. Kim Jongin. Chanyeol looks at him. "Do you want to get hurt?"

Jongin delivers a quick, sharp blow to Chanyeol's bicep, frowning deeply. His best friend lets out a strangled noise at the back of his throat before shaking his head. A small smile graced his lips. Chanyeol points at Jongin's mouth—where a comically ugly frown sits. Then, his gaze flicks up at the playful glint in Jongin's eyes. "That's clearly fake. Your eyes always give you away."

He pocketed the lighter. "You hate it when I smoke."

"I know. I still do," He scowled and Chanyeol jerked his head to raise his eyebrows at him amusedly, but Jongin didn't respond. Instead, he let himself slide down the wall until he was firmly seated on the pavement. Chanyeol basked in the soft glow of the moonlight, puffing out clouds of smoke.

"You don't have to remember me, Jongin." Chanyeol reminded him. They talked about this before and Jongin had secretly hoped that he didn't remember any of it. For a long moment, Jongin doesn't say anything. He turns his wrist to look at the face of his wristwatch, frowning deeper before taking the cigarette out of Chanyeol's hand and dropping it between them. He ignores Chanyeol's yells of protest and proceeded to push himself up by his palms and promptly stepping on the cigarette.