Fix You (Chanyeol x Suicidal Male Reader)

Rooftop

I wake up to the sound of a light pitter patter on the window, a cool breeze in the air, the feeling of a heartbeat pumping against my face, and a pair of arms wrapped tightly around my back.

I let out a soft sigh, half contentment, half realization I have to get out of bed at some point. I open my eyes to be greeted by the dark green color of my boyfriend's shirt.

I lift my head up to see past his shoulders. I look out the window to be welcomed by a heavy fog covering the top floors of the tallest skyscrapers and a street bustling with commotion.

I slowly unravel myself from his grip and sneak off into the closet. I pull over his prized sweater, a simple, grey, Nike zip-up. It's big on him, but huge on me.

I carefully step down the stairs of our loft into the living room, and make my way into the kitchen. I press the start button on the coffee maker and head to my office. I grab the first pen I see and write the word 'rooftop' on a sticky note. I peel the paper off the pad slowly and make my way back up the stairs.

I attach the note to the screen of his phone, where I know he'll look first. As I put his phone back on the nightstand, I look down at him. His face so relaxed, so beautiful, so...happy. I get overwhelmingly sad for some reason, tearing up. I stop myself before I get overly emotional and distract myself by going back down stairs.

My coffee has just finished brewing as I tie up the last few laces of my shoes. I pour a small mug and head out. Living on the top floor of our apartment building means we have easy access to the roof, which means I have plenty of time to decide wether I should do it or not.

I push my body up against the old, heavy door and am greeted with a crack of sunlight beaming down the hallway. I step to the other side of the door and pull it abruptly shut. I shuffle over to the small setup of lawnchairs and potted plants we've made and throw myself into my designated fold up chair.

The air is a lot more cold and crisp and I had anticipated, and the soft wind wasn't helping. I take in the surprisingly fresh air, closing my eyes and breathing in deeply. The sharpness of the cold burns my nose and waters my eyes. I open my lids slowly, and look up to the sky. Very cloudy, but not gray. The best kind of sky.

I take my first sip of coffee, the warmth of the liquid radiating heat through my icy body. The wind picks up a little, blowing my silver hair with it. As quickly as the warmth let itself in, it was gone. I take one last deep breath, put my cup on the floor next to the chair, and stand up.

I make my way over to the edge, walking as quickly as my tired body will let me, which is still very slow. I reach the four foot barrier guarding me from walking off the building. I rest my forearms on the concrete wall, and just observe.

The sky is packed with birds, probably flying south near Busan for the colder seasons. Even though it's about 7 o'clock, the sidewalks are already packed with people. A few streets have already been blocked up for the art festival later today, as some venders like to set up early. The streets are hectic, full of cars wanting to turn this way and that, trying to switch lanes.

Then I look down at my hands. They don't feel real. I can see them, I can feel the cold in my bones, but I can't wrap my head around them being mine. It's like watching a movie. It looks real, it feels real, but not real enough to completely immerse yourself.

I slowly, almost robotically move them down and grip the wide half-wall. I begin to push myself up, my tired, cold, weak arms struggling.

I hear the door creak open slowly. A wave of anxiety rushes over me, and I fall to the ground and push myself away from the barrier. Knowing who it is without turning around, I call out to him.

"You scared the shit out of me dude! Give me a warning or something next time!" I say in a shaky voice as I push myself into a sitting position. I hear the tall man's footsteps make their way towards me, the grumble of the loose gravel underneath them. They stop right behind me and shuffle around a bit, sitting himself down. Another two legs join mine as a pair of long, scrawny arms wrap loosely around my waist.

"It's so cold out here, how are you not shaking?" His deep voice says in a playful tone. I just shrug. I feel his head connect with the crook of my neck, his brown, curly hair brushing underneath my chin. I finally tense down, slouching my body weight against his chest and letting it slide down to where my head is resting against his collarbone.

We sit there for a long while, talking, enjoying each other's company. But it gets quiet. Not an awkward quiet, just quiet. "I wish I could help you." Another pause. "I know I can't and it's not really my place and I don't really know how but I hate it that it's your therapist trying to help you and not me." He says very quickly, all in one breath.

Not. Worth. It. He doesn't deserve to feel the pain of pitying a loved one, especially one who isn't worth the pain. 'He would be happier without you. He wouldn't have to have the burden of your problems on his back. He wouldn't have to worry about getting home early enough to go to bed with you. He'd have more time to work on his career rather than worry about you,' My voice reads to me in the back of my head.

I burst into tears. "I'm so sorry," I manage to get out. "You don't deserve this," I say in between sobs. He doesn't respond, just tightens his grip around my waist and pulls me closer. He buries his face into my hair, saying things like "you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me" and "I wouldn't change it for the world" and "I love you''s. "Please don't cry," He says through a shaky voice. " I'm going to fix you. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care how expensive it is. I'm going to make you better."