jongin slips his fingers through chanyeol’s hair, gently massaging the shampoo into his scalp with feather-light touches, so soft as if the smallest pressure will have the other boy cracking and falling apart right at the seams into millions of irreparable pieces.

the silence in the brilliantly lit bathroom is deafening, hanging thick and heavy in the air, so tangible that jongin can feel the weight of it squeezing in on his lungs to the point of suffocation. every breath he tries to take is smothered back down, leaving him lacking and gasping for the long awaited air that refuses to come.

jongin carefully scoops the plastic basin into the warm bath, bringing up the water to pour it down chanyeol’s head, gingerly rinsing the suds as the water runs down his back.

all of jongin’s actions and efforts are painstakingly slow, delicate and wary touches so as not to alarm the, in one word, comatose boy who stares blankly at the corner of the wall, silently gazing at the intricate patterns of the porcelain tiles, but not really seeing.

jongin bites his lip, choking back his sobs as he picks up the terry washcloth hanging on the rim of the tub, dipping it into the water and bringing it back to chanyeol’s shoulder, gently wiping at the pale, bared skin.

jongin closes his eyes, a few traitorous tears managing to squeeze through the cracks, sliding down his cheeks and landing noiselessly into the bath. but his movements never stop, adamantly keeping up with the task at hand. determination forces jongin’s chin up, opening his eyes and breathing hard to calm himself, washcloth slowly making its way lower and lower down chanyeol’s back.

and jongin really doesn’t know what hits him, doesn’t realize until it’s too late to take back what he’s done, but suddenly the previously immobile chanyeol is now flailing his arms and legs in every which way, soapy bathwater sloshing over the edge, splashing all over the walls and floors.

jongin takes a sharp intake of breath, staring deep into chanyeol’s wide, frightened eyes. and what he finds there is something he doesn’t really know how to identify with words, something that may resemble dread and despair on a superficial level.

but there’s something more to it that jongin thinks he’ll never truly understand.

snapping out of his panic, jongin grabs chanyeol’s wrists, mustering all of his strength into pinning the other’s arms down and whispering calming words into chanyeol’s ear. with difficulty, jongin manages to wrap his strong arms around chanyeol’s convulsing shoulders to hold the elder together from falling apart.

“shh, please. calm down. i’m sorry,” jongin murmurs in a quivery voice, ignoring the water seeping through his clothes as he buries his face into chanyeol’s slippery shoulder. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to.”

after a few long, long minutes of struggle, chanyeol scratching at jongin’s shirt, weak arms trying to push jongin away, chanyeol finally calms down, going lax in jongin’s arms, but still lightly jerking periodically.

then, chanyeol goes dormant again, arms hanging at his sides, eyes once again emptying of any feeling, any emotion. nothing but that dead, barren black hole of everlasting nothingness.

at this point, jongin really can’t hold back his tears anymore, opening the floodgates and allowing the heart wrenching sobs to take over as he whimpers into chanyeol’s shoulder.

and jongin wishes so very much in his heart that this had never happened. why him? why chanyeol? or maybe, if he had gotten out of work just ten minutes early and picked chanyeol up from campus before… or maybe, it could’ve been him instead.

but jongin knows what’s done is done. nothing will change just because he wills it to.

and there’s nothing he can do to bring chanyeol back.

.

..

…

that doesn’t mean he won’t try.