Play With Me? | chanbaek

.42

A/N: This chapter is both italic and first person because it's Baekhyun telling Chanyeol the story of his past.

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FLASHBACK: Two Years Ago

We met the fall of my second year of college while I was majoring for a degree in art. It had been by accident. Or luck, as I had thought.

I was walking back late from the public library to my dorm, and I remember the night air being cold and the wind blew through my hair. I never heard anything over the wind, so when I felt the pair of hands grab my backpack and rip it from my shoulders, I had been surprised.

When I had turned around, intending to confront them, I saw that there was actually two of them. The one who had grabbed me watched me with a predatory gaze, and to my right I saw a metallic flash under the light of the moon.

I didn't move; I didn't scream —- I was frozen. I just stood there numbly as he walked towards me, eyeing me up and down as he licked his lips. I was absolutely terrified.

It was only when he grabbed my shirt collar and sliced it open with the blade of his knife that I regained my senses and managed —- although weakly —- to finally scream and call out for help.

I remember hitting the ground after receiving a sharp slap to the face, and then hearing the sound of someone yelling followed by the sound of flesh hinting flesh. It sounded painful, and when it had stopped, I noticed a hand appear in front of my face, offering to help me up.

"Th–thank you," I stuttered.

He smiled, and despite the fact that he had just literally finished beating up two men, I wasn't afraid. I figured someone willing to go out of their way to take and give a few punches for me wasn't a bad guy in my book.

"You're welcome," he replied. He held my bag out to me and I took it shakily. He noticed. "Do you need help getting back home?"

I shook my head and shakily replied, "No, th–thank you, though. You did enough, and I really appreciate it. Thank you again."

I turned to walk away, but my feet were shaky beneath me and I didn't get too far before I almost collapsed. A pair of arms snaked around my waist before I could hit the ground and gently said, "Sorry, but I don't think you're well enough to walk home by yourself. So I'll have to insist on helping you."

That had been the start of our relationship, and the months that followed were amazing. I gave him my everything; and he gladly accepted it. As the days, weeks, and months progressed, I began to notice the changes in him. He wouldn't always go out of his way to do something sweet for me, even though I always insisted he didn't need to. And when it just stopped completely, it had been odd.

He began to stay out later and would come home in weird moods. And when I'd ask about it, he'd get mad and yell at me to mind my own business.

But wouldn't that be my business? I loved him. I wanted him healthy and safe —- not drunk and angry when he came home to me.

Things went on like that for a month. A month of me holding back everything that had been slowly collecting inside me, to the point that one night, I just couldn't take it anymore.

So when he came home one night, I confronted him.

"Kris? Why do you keep coming home drunk every night? Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?" I asked. "Please? Stop coming home drunk. I don't like seeing you this way, it's hurting me to think you're hurting your body."