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When Jongdae brings down the lightning that day, it is not the world that catches fire, but him.
It begins with the daybreak being bright, the sky cloudless, when Jongdae looks out the window and feels the storm coming within his bones.
‘I’ll be going out,’ he says to Junmyeon, who is sprawled out on the couch, laptop balanced on one knee, Zitao’s head pillowed on his thigh. He’s typing something while carding his fingers through Zitao’s hair when he looks up.
‘When will you be back?’
‘When the storm is over.’
Junmyeon looks out the window of the living room, brows furrowed. ‘The storm… I checked the weather today, there shouldn’t be any storm.’
‘I feel one coming.’ Jongdae reaches over and cups Junmyeon’s jaw gently, feeling Junmyeon shiver underneath the touch. ‘Like this,’ and lets the humming under his skin pass through Junmyeon with a small electric current.
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, Jongdae,’ replies Junmyeon, looking up at him with a soft smile. ‘Just be careful. If the humans haven’t predicted yet, then it must not be a normal storm.’
Zitao stirs from his catnap, eyes blinking slowly, as Jongdae pulls away. ‘Is Chenchen going to give us a show again?’
Jongdae snorts, tapping Zitao’s cheek lightly. ‘Brat, don’t pretend you’re asleep.’ But Zitao’s smile is cheeky as he nuzzles into Junmyeon’s stomach while Junmyeon keeps petting his hair.
From upstairs, Yixing stumbles down, still sleepy in the morning, as he walks into the kitchen. ‘Mornin.’
‘Minseok went out but he left some coffee,’ calls out Junmyeon, hearing some muffled noise in reply. Yixing would be coherent after he got some breakfast in him. He looks back at Jongdae. ‘Alright. Come home safe.’
Zitao sits up, ‘can I come?’ Junmyeon makes a spluttered noise of dissent – ‘it’s not safe, Taozi’ – when Zitao adds, ‘I’ll bring Yixing-ge too. Honestly, hyung, he can heal and I can control time – I think we’ll be safe. You can come too – you like the rain.’
Jongdae shakes his head. ‘Hyung’s water puts him in danger, so does Minseok-hyung’s ice, since they can both conduct electricity out of my control.’
‘You’ve never seen Chenchen’s powers?’ asks Zitao curiously, looking over at Junmyeon.
Junmyeon shrugs. ‘It’s Jongdae that won’t use them around me.’ He levels Jongdae with an exasperated look, and Jongdae rolls his eyes.
‘Sorry that I don’t want to hurt you.’ Reaching over, he ruffles Zitao’s hair, much to Zitao’s whining. ‘But Taozi wants to watch?’
Zitao grabs Jongdae’s hand to make him stop, tangles their fingers together. ‘Please? It always looks pretty from the window.’
‘You watch?’ snorts Jongdae.
‘Of course we do,’ says Junmyeon quietly, and Jongdae feels the bite of the words. Just then, Yixing steps out from the kitchen with a mug in between his hands, still looking sleepy. ‘Taozi wants to go with Jongdae into the storm today. I’d rather you took him.’
‘A daytrip, how nice,’ smiles Yixing, and beckons Zitao towards him. Zitao unfolds himself from the couch and slumps onto Yixing’s shoulder, leeching his warmth. Watching, Jongdae sometimes forgets how tall the youngest is – when he is constantly curled up next to Junmyeon, making himself so small for Junmyeon’s arms to wrap around him, keep him close.
Jongdae looks at Junmyeon one last time, and Junmyeon’s expression is schooled into seriousness. ‘Keep Zitao safe.’
‘Of course,’ says Jongdae. ‘Just cause he’s your baby doesn’t mean he’s not ours.’
-
The storm rolls in sudden and dark before midday. Jongdae can feel it calling for him in the space between his bones. The forest is still dead from the winter, even if the chill of the weather has eased up with the arrival of spring. The trees have no leaves – just skeleton branches reaching out and tangling between each other, and the trunks are skinny as the trees are wont to be in this part of the country.
They reach a small hill when the rain begins and the first roar of thunder echoes out. Junmyeon is right, of course. As he usually is. There is something different about this storm – something inorganic and not right. It’s too strong to be natural – the wind picks up speed too fast, the thunder is not spread out enough. The flashes of lightning in the distance are blinding rather than just bright.
And yet. Jongdae still lets it surround him. ‘Stay here,’ he says as he walks up the slope of the hill, reaching the crest of it easily. Over his shoulder, he sees Yixing laugh and wave to him as Zitao stuffs himself deeper into his coat, burrowed next to Yixing, both of them getting soaked by the rain. They lift their eyes upwards, and watch.
Jongdae wants to give them a show.
He wants to orchestrate this storm as he does all others – bring the thunder roaring at his will, the lightning striking down at his command, the wind whistling around him with him at the centre. Jongdae wants to make himself the eye of the storm.
But this storm is different, unnatural, fake, and when Jongdae summons the lightning towards him, it doesn’t hit where he aims. It hits everywhere instead – crashes hard into the ground, blindingly bright, and sets the trees all around Jongdae ablaze, and along with it Jongdae too – making him scream his throat raw as he tries to breathe –
The world goes black after that.
-
It’s still drizzling when he wakes – doesn’t seem like it’s been too long since he blacked out. Jongdae yelps as his skin sears with pain when he sits up, looking at the singed and burnt out husks of the trees all around him, and then down – down the hill – to where Yixing and Zitao were –
The pain is easy to ignore as Jongdae scrambles down the slope. The sight that greets him is not pretty – the lightning strikes had struck hard around here too. Everywhere. A radius and Yixing and Zitao had been caught in it.
One of them is lying on the ground, the other kneeling. Jongdae’s heart stops when Yixing looks up at him, hands cupping Zitao’s face – his cold, unmoving face.
‘Oh, Chen-ah, you’re hurt too,’ says Yixing weakly.
‘Zitao,’ says Jongdae instead, forces his body to swim through the ocean of pain to collapse onto his knees beside Yixing. ‘Zitao.’
‘He’s alive, just unconscious,’ says Yixing. This close and Jongdae can see Yixing’s hands glowing faintly against Zitao’s skin, stitching him back up from the inside. ‘You did quite a number on us.’
Jongdae whips his head around. ‘Us?’ Immediately he’s pulling Yixing’s coat open, trying to be careful as to not dislodge Yixing’s hands, before wrenching the hem of his shirt up, and oh – oh –
‘Yixing,’ he manages through a choked breath. ‘Yixing, you’re hurt. You’re hurt really fucking bad.’
‘Not as much as Zitao,’ says Yixing with a tight smile. ‘And you. My body will heal itself automatically.’
‘Me?’ Jongdae doesn’t understand and looks down at himself. He strips himself of his coat and pulls up his sweater to his neck to look at his skin. Amidst the usual pale smoothness of his skin are scars – large and puckered and everywhere. There are red, disfiguring pock-marks along his chest, stomach, along his arms, and from them are spindly branches of the smaller scars, like stretch marks if they were red and flaking at the edges with burnt skin.
The pain hits him then – winds him entirely as Jongdae curls into himself gasping for air and trying not to scream as his body tries to function with the fact that he almost fried it to a husk. And Zitao – if Jongdae is like this, then Zitao –
‘Don’t touch me,’ snarls Jongdae as he stands up, stumbles a few steps back. Yixing look at him with wide concerned eyes.
‘Jongdae, you’re hurt too,’ says Yixing, clearly distressed, but exhausted too. Hard to tell if it’s the drizzling rain or the sweat from exertion that has Yixing’s face wet and makes his hair stick to his forehead. Zitao – Zitao can’t even move, and Jongdae can see spindles of a scar stretching up along his neck from the collarbone, meaning Zitao had those disfiguring scars too. No, no, no.
‘Don’t – heal him, please heal him,’ says Jongdae, crouched and curled against the ground a few metres away from them both. Doesn’t trust himself. Wants to watch them from a farther distance if he can, but then they’ll be blocked out by the trees, and he can’t – he needs to see Zitao wake up.
It takes minutes on end, Yixing focusing his magic onto Zitao as best he can. The storm passes at least – rain finally coming to an end. They’re all left shivering and cold, and Jongdae watches Yixing lean over and press his mouth against Zitao’s, breathe life back into him.
Zitao comes to – coughing and rolling onto his side, a half-scream ripped out from his mouth when the pain hits his consciousness. Immediately, Jongdae is on his feet, hand outstretched, when he remembers it’s not his hand that heals. He stays frozen, and Yixing helps Zitao sit up, whispering something, voice low and soft, kissing Zitao’s cheeks, his mouth again, leaving imprints of his healing magic and letting it soak through Zitao’s skin.
‘Xing-ge, Chenchen?’ asks Zitao, voice rasping and weak as he leans into Yixing, face tucked into the other’s neck.
‘He’s over there,’ says Yixing, and Jongdae swallows hard as Zitao looks up at him, eyes wide, and oh god –
Tentatively, Jongdae takes a step forward, underbrush cracking under his foot, and Zitao flinches.
Oh. Zitao is scared of him.
Jongdae wants to die.
He steps back again. Puts more distance between them. Doesn’t think he can even say he’s sorry, because he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for fucking up so bad like this. The storm was all wrong and he should’ve known it would’ve backfired on him, but he brought them out here anyway, his ego preening under the thought of them watching him perform.
Yixing is speaking again, ‘there are scars on you, I can heal them, but you need to let me physically touch them.’
Zitao doesn’t stop watching Jongdae. ‘Chenchen, do you want me to go back?’ He heaves himself up, stumbling to stand straight. ‘I can go back in time and stop this.’
Jongdae stares at him. ‘But you’ll still remember. You’ll remember I did this to you.’
He shrugs. ‘But you won’t be hurt anymore. Chenchen, you’re hurt really fucking badly, it’s…’ He gestures to his own face, and Jongdae doesn’t understand until he touches his own cheek and feels the disfiguring pockmarks there too. So it had spread right up his neck and along his face. A brand for everyone to see, to show what he did.
‘No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Jongdae blinks hard, tries to think, but he can’t. Tries to make sense of what to do next. ‘Don’t – don’t fucking do that. I – shit.’ He fumbles, looks between Yixing and Zitao’s expressions, how they’re in pain and they’re wary – that they’re scared of what Jongdae could do to them when he’s terrified and cracking open like this.
Jongdae swallows hard; stumbles back a few more steps. ‘Don’t – don’t you fucking dare turn back time, Tao. I’m not letting just you remember this. You’ll still be in pain.’
‘Chen-ah,’ says Yixing gently. ‘Let me heal you.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ spits out Jongdae, bitter. ‘It’s my lightning. Knows better than to kill its host.’ Wishes it didn’t know better, wishes it would have struck down Jongdae where he stood, if only to spare them.
‘We need to get back,’ says Yixing. ‘Get out of the forest and back to where Junmyeon and Minseok are waiting for us.’
Junmyeon. Junmyeon. Junmyeon. Jongdae stares at Zitao, sees the spindling scar tissue over his throat, along his collarbone. He had hurt Zitao, and Zitao is Junmyeon’s, and he can’t go back like this, can’t fucking look Junmyeon in the eye like this. Keep Zitao safe. Hysteria crawls up Jongdae’s throat – he almost fucking killed him instead.
‘No. No, I – ’ Jongdae shakes his head. Takes another step back. ‘No. I – I’m going. I’m going.’
‘Chen!’ calls out Yixing and Zitao both when Jongdae turns his back, starts to run – amidst the branches, the forest, the pain lancing through his system, making it so hard to breathe.
-
‘It was an accident,’ says Yixing softly as he helps Zitao limp to his bed in the house. Junmyeon is standing in the doorway, expression giving away nothing, as he watches Zitao lie down with a wince and a hiss. Yixing is there, hands cupping Zitao’s throat and pressing their mouths together.
‘Don’t do that, don’t kiss him,’ says Junmyeon finally.
Yixing pulls away, looking over at Junmyeon. ‘It’s my life force, Junmyeon. I can give it to Zitao as I please.’
‘He’ll suck the life force out of you, and then you’ll be dead, and I – ’ Junmyeon’s voice cracks. ‘Just. Just heal him normally.’
‘Okay.’
Zitao makes pathetic noises as Yixing pulls off his coat, then his sweater and undershirt, leaving him half-naked against the sheets. Junmyeon presses his fist to his mouth, taking in the scars that bloom red and burnt all across Zitao’s perfect skin.
‘I’m going to take these scars away, Taozi,’ says Yixing. Zitao nods, silent except for the noises of pain that keep breaking out from his lips. He cries out when Yixing’s fingers press against the scars, and Junmyeon almost breaks. But he needs to stay, he needs to watch. Watch Zitao be okay.
‘Where is he,’ he manages. ‘Where is Jongdae?’
‘He ran,’ replies Yixing curtly as he presses his palms down on a new set of scars.
Zitao twists and arches, sobbing, before he blinks back the tears and looks over at Junmyeon, expression pained but pleading. ‘Hyung, it wasn’t his fault.’
Junmyeon’s voice is flat and cold. ‘He hurt you.’
‘He’s – fuck, Xing-ge – he’s in worse condition.’
‘If he ran away, I doubt it.’
‘Hyung,’ rasps Zitao. ‘Hyung, I’ll be okay.’
‘Yes, you will,’ says Yixing. When his hands draw away, Junmyeon sees the skin underneath is smooth and scar-less again. Then his fingers move onto to the next pockmark, eliciting a new set of cries and whimpers as Zitao tries to stay still as he is wracked with pain.
Junmyeon grits his teeth and stays standing, stays watching. Watches Yixing work and listens to his Zitao cry. The storm hadn’t been right. Lightning is dangerous. Jongdae – Jongdae should’ve known better, and now he’s gone, coward coward coward –
-
Minseok ices Zitao’s skin with his palms afterwards – cooling him down and trying to drive the overheated fever that overtakes the body when Yixing works for too long, pours too much energy in. Yixing is passed out in his own bed, his scars ebbing away with each hour as his body heals itself without conscious thought. Junmyeon sits in a chair next to Zitao, combing his fingers through his sweat-damp hair and pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth.
‘S’good, Min-ge, I’m good,’ says Zitao eventually, ice flaking off him and melting onto the bed. Junmyeon idly draws the water away before the bed can get wet and lets it drop into an empty glass he got from the kitchen earlier.
‘I leave for one day,’ sighs out Minseok, leaning over and cupping Zitao’s cheek. ‘Don’t do that again, you brat.’
‘He won’t,’ interrupts Junmyeon. ‘But we still need to find Jongdae.’
Zitao makes a small noise of protest, but it dies when Junmyeon shoots him a look. He sinks into the bed, silent, watchful.
‘Should I send a message to Jongin to look for him then?’ says Minseok. ‘With his travelling all over the place.’
It’s smart, but… ‘I don’t want Jongin to come limping home burned up because Jongdae can’t control himself.’
‘Jongdae wouldn’t do that, Junmyeon.’ Minseok looks at him. ‘We both know he didn’t mean to do this.’
Junmyeon feels exhausted to the bone. Tired beyond measure. ‘I should sic Chanyeol on him, so he can burn too,’ he says, bitter laughter caught behind a grimace.
‘Junmyeon,’ says Minseok sharply, but Junmyeon can’t deal with this right now.
‘Go to bed, Minseok-ah.’ He keeps carding his fingers through Zitao’s hair, but doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle disapproval from Zitao too. ‘We can think about this in the morning.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid before then,’ replies Minseok, eyes narrowed, but he obeys. Leaning over, he kisses Zitao goodnight, and Zitao hums in reply, tired and sleepy, before he walks out of the room and shuts the door behind him.
‘Taozi,’ says Junmyeon quietly, pillowing his head next to Zitao’s, one hand still petting him, the other holding Zitao’s fingers between his own. ‘Does it still hurt?’
Zitao sucks in a deep breath, looking over at Junmyeon – their faces so close that Junmyeon see each lovely curve of Zitao’s eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. Junmyeon’s chest aches. ‘Hyung,’ starts Zitao softly. ‘Min-ge said not to do anything stupid.’
‘I know he did,’ murmurs Junmyeon.
‘You’re going to do it anyway.’ Zitao has always been discerning, tonight isn’t any different. ‘But it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m just sore, hyung.’ He tips his head forward, noses bumping against each other. ‘Chenchen looked so scared. He hurt himself worse than Yixing and I.’
Soft-hearted Zitao. Junmyeon shakes his head. ‘That doesn’t excuse what he did, Taozi. To Yixing, to you. Tell Minseok, and Yixing if he feels better, they’re in charge when he comes back in the morning, okay?’
‘Hyung,’ says Zitao, brows furrowed, as Junmyeon pulls away and stands up. ‘Hyung – what does that mean – ’
‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I hope it’s soon.’ Junmyeon presses his fingers to Zitao’s forehead and exhales, listening to the rush of blood in Zitao’s body, tapping into it. ‘Go to sleep,’ he says as he releases melatonin through Zitao’s system, slowing down Zitao’s heartbeat, making him go under without a word of protest.
-
Jongdae can’t tell if it’s ironic that no matter what he does – his heart will continue beating, his nervous system will continue to pulse with energy. There is lightning inside of him and it refuses to let him die, even when he feels like he will from these injuries.
The pain becomes a companion a week into the entire endeavour of running away, trying to put as much distance as he can between himself and everyone that matters. Even if Jongdae doesn’t get food on some days, his lightning keeps him going, keeps him alive. Rejuvenates him when he feels like he’ll fall asleep on his feet.
It’s cruel – some sort of curse, to let him keep going no matter how much Jongdae wants to just lie down and die. He hurt them – Yixing and Zitao – and Minseok and Junmyeon… Junmyeon…
Jongdae tips his head back as a small rainstorm passes over the country road he’s walking on, soaking him to the bone. Minseok… Minseok is softer than Junmyeon. Minseok is like Yixing, and Zitao. He knows forgiveness. Feels inclined to let go rather than keep grudges. He’s generous and willing like that, even if he doesn’t say much.
But Junmyeon…
Jongdae keeps walking.
-
Storm-chasing. It’s all that Jongdae can do. He searches for that storm again – the one that brought this to happen. The one written over his skin, up his neck, on his cheek, the bridge of his nose. When he ends up in a town, the stares are obvious, and the avoidance even more so.
In the distance, he can see the grey clouds of another spring storm. He needs to move faster than just walking.
It’s broad daylight when Jongdae eventually walks up to a car parked on the side of the road. With a sigh, Jongdae kicks the passenger window in, smashing it into pieces, and reaches through to unlock the driver’s door across. The car alarm is loud as he gets in and pulls the radio out of the dash so the wires are exposed. Someone is coming up to him, their voice a muffled yell. Jongdae doesn’t have time for this. He grasps the wires in his palm, letting the current run through him and start up the engine. The alarm cuts out. He shifts gears and slams on the ignition.
-
Junmyeon takes Minseok’s car, sure that Minseok will forgive him in the morning. This was more important that any of the errands Junmyeon makes Minseok run for them.
The road is long, cutting through the countryside. With daybreak comes a small drizzle – typical spring weather – so Junmyeon rolls down the window and holds his hand out, letting the droplets hit his palm. When he arrives at the nearest town, the local news in the diner tells of a man with scars stealing a car and heading out east.
He’s lucky that Jongdae has never been subtle. Temperamental and strong, versatile with how he can use his power. Jongdae always pushed the limits of what he could do – he never wanted to settle with just summoning a lightning strike. He wanted to press his hands over everything that had a current, see where he could go with it.
Junmyeon runs his fingertips along the side of his coffee cup, remembering how he had put Zitao to sleep hours before. The first time he had ever tried that was with Jongdae years upon years ago – who had looked up at him, ‘don’t worry, hyung, you’re just controlling the water in my blood.’
Idly, he wonders which one of them is stronger – him or Jongdae. He wonders if he’ll have to find out.
-
The gas station bathroom is filthy as Jongdae looks upon himself fully for the first time in days. The rearview mirror of the car only gave him a flash of his eyes, but now. Now, Jongdae can bask in how utterly clear the scars are.
Softly, with the pads of his fingers, he traces one of the branches across the bridge of his nose, down the gaunt curve of his cheek, to the source – an ugly open circle on the side of his neck that is at least healing at the edges.
At least Yixing and Zitao’s skin wasn’t this disfigured, he supposes bitterly. Maybe he hadn’t messed up that bad.
-
These days, the local news reports of cases of temporary paralysis. Like they’ve been hit with a taser, except there are no burn marks, no point of contact. Junmyeon follows Jongdae’s trail across kilometres, passing from town to town, realizing that Jongdae has a path. That he’s chasing the weather as best as he can find it.
Minseok calls him on his phone once. ‘What are you going to do when you catch up to him?’
Junmyeon scratches at the stubble growing on his chin, reminds himself to buy a disposable razor in the next convenience store he passes. ‘I don’t know yet. Maybe kill him, or drag him back home.’
‘Usually, it was both of you who dragged the kids back home.’
He closes his eyes. ‘This is different, don’t you think?’
The line crackles with Minseok’s sigh. ‘Zitao is up and about. Healthy now. Maybe you should talk to him.’
‘If I talk to him, he’ll ask me to come back home, and...’
‘And you’d come home.’
‘I would.’ Junmyeon can’t deny Zitao anything.
Minseok pauses. ‘Junmyeon, doesn’t this sound like you’re running away too?’
Junmyeon hangs up.
-
Windstorms are annoying because they’re all wind and rain, with no thunder, no lightning for Jongdae to play with. Instead he huddles in a cheap twenty four hour restaurant, letting it pass as he drinks tepid, watered down coffee. He might have to switch cars soon. This is his fifth one. If anything, at least this trip has taught Jongdae to trip wires and open power locks faster than before. To snatch a car without breaking a window in.
The bathroom is empty when he goes in. It has three stalls and two sinks. Jongdae unrolls the toilet paper, wetting it under the tap and balling it together. He stuffs it into the drains, plugging them, before turning the taps all the way and letting the water rush out, fill up the sink.
Slowly, the water rises – up, up, up – and spills onto the counter, falls off the edge, pooling around Jongdae’s feet.
His fingers drag ripples through the water in the sink, waiting, wondering.
It’s been weeks. The absolute silence from all the others – no screaming wind from Sehun, no familiar sight of Jongin’s face, not even the thundering crack of Kyungsoo – only means one thing: Junmyeon is chasing him.
The least Jongdae can do is tell him where he is.
-
Junmyeon cups his hands under the tap of the sink in the motel bathroom when he closes his eyes and chases the water. Slips through the pipes, into the veins of the city, stretching out through countryside and empty land, into the cracks of everywhere.
He’s clearly close when it only takes a breath before he catches the glimpse of Jongdae’s hand, his shoes, the glint of his ring. Faint details ringed around Jongdae’s connection to the water. Junmyeon sucks in a breath and focuses on the location.
He needed to get this over with quick.
-
The scars heal up. In time. No longer blistering or flaking. The burnt skin has peeled off, left the discolouration behind. Jongdae can still clearly trace each pockmark, each branch and spindle, but he’s getting used to seeing it now.
If he went back, Yixing could heal them, clear them away, give him back the pale skin before this mess. Could take it all away.
Not the memories, of course. Impossible to heal over the fact that Zitao had flinched when Jongdae tried to come near. That Yixing was wary. That Minseok would choose Zitao over Jongdae if pressed, because Zitao is the one who needs protection, and now Jongdae is a thing that can hurt him. And Junmyeon. And Junmyeon.
He doesn’t know what Junmyeon will do when they finally meet. Somehow, that’s the most terrifying thing.
-
Is it running away if Junmyeon chases?
He thinks of calling someone for company. Goes through his list of options. Has to cross out Chanyeol for his fire, Baekhyun for his light. Sehun would be too torn between Junmyeon and Jongdae, and Jongin too impatient to travel via any typical means. The last is Kyungsoo. Jongdae’s powers don’t hurt Kyungsoo – who is earth, constantly grounding the current that Jongdae would shoot at him, neutralizing it in an instant. He should’ve brought Kyungsoo. He’d sit quietly in the passenger seat of the car, murmur ‘hyung’ every once in a while, vanish away when Junmyeon needed some time to think without interruption.
Yet. Junmyeon stares at his phone and doesn’t call. Because Minseok is right. Whenever Junmyeon left to do something like this – to chase, to find, to hunt, to stop… it is usually Jongdae that goes with him.
This time it is Jongdae that must be chased, found, hunted, stopped. It’s only fitting that Junmyeon is alone to do it.
-
They meet amidst a storm.
Jongdae walks through the lazy heat of pressing summer, letting it wash over him, as he feels a storm approaching – as unnatural as the first one he had experienced what feels like lifetimes ago. The day begins bright and cloudless, but quickly becomes grayscale under the dark clouds, as the citizens around him scramble to get to shelter.
This time… This time, Jongdae won’t lose. He tries not to think about how he has nothing to lose – that he’s alone and better off away from them all.
Fake storms resisted Jongdae’s orchestrations the last time. So now, he will swim through the heavy humidity of the air and find the centre of it, the eye of the storm. He’ll figure out how to conquer before he is conquered again. And if he dies in the process, the better.
-
The storm is in full-swing by the time Junmyeon is out of his car and walking through the pelting rain, feeling his entire being shake as the thunder snarls out in the distance. He pushes the water away from him, refusing to let himself get wet when he’s in the middle of something.
The storm is huge – expands kilometres with its cloud cover. Bright and powerful too – as a storm should be. Even if this wasn’t reported in the news earlier, as unexpected as the one from weeks before, Junmyeon can still feel that it’s as real and as powerful as any other storm would be.
He finds the eye of the storm before Jongdae does.
At first it is terrifying, with the wind whipping up around him, the rain angled sharply. The clouds are darkest here, and the lightning strikes burst out from above dangerously close to Junmyeon. Over and over. Thunder too – a deafening sound, surrounding Junmyeon entirely, making him lose his sight of which way he was going, which way he was coming from. Direction lost, daylight and time lost too. Everything.
This is where he is found – lost and in wonder, thinking, oh, this is where Jongdae lives. Jongdae’s loudness the thunder, his brightness the lightning. The cut of his tongue as sharp as this wind, the pelt of his words as gentle or as cold and cruel as any type of rain. Jongdae the boy and the storm. The Jongdae everyone seems to know except him.
Until now, of course. Until he stands in the empty street and sees Jongdae turn the corner from an alley to witness him.
‘It’s been a while,’ he says.
Jongdae is wearing a black button-up, probably something stolen, and the first few buttons are undone because of the humidity of this place. It makes his scars stand out – stretching up from the open curve of the shirt to his collarbones and along his neck, carved out over his cheek and across the bridge of his nose.
Zitao was right then, thinks Junmyeon. Of the three caught in that first storm, Jongdae walked out of there with the worst injuries. And he still managed to run. Like a damn coward.
‘Where have you been?’
Jongdae seems more interested in looking around than answering Junmyeon. It takes a minute before Jongdae stands a metre away from Junmyeon, looking at him, expression stretched tight with worry. ‘I need you to get out of here, hyung.’
As if. ‘So you can run away again?’
That makes Jongdae flinch. ‘I’m sorry.’
That isn’t the answer Junmyeon wants. ‘Where were you all this time? Why didn’t you come home?’
Jongdae takes a step back. ‘Please leave, hyung.’
‘No.’ He takes a step forward, just to match Jongdae. ‘I have chased you across countries, Jongdae.’
‘No one asked you to,’ snaps Jongdae before his eyes widen and he’s stepping back again. ‘You should just let me go.’
Except Junmyeon can’t. He can’t. ‘You think you can burn Yixing and Zitao and get away with it?’ He raises a hand and the rain droplets come to him, solidifying into a sphere above his open palm. ‘Do I need to handcuff you and drag you back, Jongdae?’
‘Don’t – hyung. Hyung.’ Jongdae is taking another step back. ‘You’re water and this is a storm and I – ’ His voice cuts off. Junmyeon can only stare at him – helpless and confused – before Jongdae is suddenly lunging at him.
He drops the water in surprise, except Jongdae is running past him, sprinting down the street to the middle. Right in the eye of the storm.
Jongdae tips his head back, spreads his hands, before glancing over at Junmyeon. Junmyeon can’t help it – stares at Jongdae like he always has, sees the curve of his throat, the sharp arch of his cheek, the tilt of his mouth in a sad, soft smile –
– before a lightning strike slams down and swallows Jongdae whole.
It takes a second before Junmyeon realizes he’s screaming.
-
The first summoned burst hurts – but it doesn’t burn. Jongdae grits his teeth, vaguely hearing the echo of Junmyeon’s yell, as he tries to redirect the current in his system. If he can keep it flowing – always flowing – then it won’t burn him up from the inside.
For a fake storm, Jongdae really doesn’t understand why it’s so damn overwhelming compared to the natural ones, but he won’t fall for this again. Especially not with Junmyeon – goddamn vulnerable, water-based Junmyeon – standing outside. Jongdae can’t hurt him. He can’t.
He manages to redirect the strike back upwards and the lightning around him snaps away, leaving him exposed. Jongdae coughs from exertion, breathing hard, as he looks over.
In the middle of the street, Junmyeon is slumped on his knees, watching with wide, terrified eyes, before he registers that light is gone and Jongdae is still alive.
Jongdae can’t look for too long. He needs to redirect the storm. Taking a deep breath, he summons another lightning strike – smaller – and lets it slam down in a different street than before. Needs to build up the current, and then guide the storm to follow it.
The smaller currents are easier, even if they still leave Jongdae completely winded with each redirect. He works at it – has the storm turning from its initial path to Jongdae’s, slowly pulling away from its own inertia.
He doesn’t even realize he’s on his knees until Junmyeon is crouching in front of him, his hands fluttering over Jongdae’s cheeks, cupping his jaw. ‘Jongdae, Jongdae.’
‘Hyung,’ Jongdae manages, before coughing from his dry throat. Junmyeon is flustered enough that he splatters rain drops onto Jongdae’s chin before inhaling sharply and slowly easing the water past Jongdae’s lips and letting him drink.
‘What are you – you don’t have to do this, whatever this is,’ says Junmyeon, brows furrowed, looking terrified and worried all at once.
‘Hyung,’ says Jongdae again. Waits for Junmyeon to snap his mouth shut, go still, and look at him. ‘You’re in this storm. I need to control it so you won’t get hurt.’
‘I can take care of myself, Jongdae,’ replies Junmyeon immediately. ‘You don’t even know if I can’t handle your electricity hitting my water.’
This is an old argument. Feels lifetimes old, the words practiced on Jongdae’s tongue as he repeats them for nth time at Junmyeon. ‘I’m stronger than you.’
‘And I have better control than you,’ is the automatic, practiced reply. ‘Why is now the first time I’ve seen your power up close like this? We’ve known each other for years.’
‘Because – ’ Jongdae feels the words flood up his throat, but something else too. A hard, clawing emotion that feels like it’s going to rip Jongdae’s heart to shreds, squeeze his lungs until he suffocates. ‘Because I hurt Yixing. I hurt Zitao.’
Junmyeon draws his hands away, letting them drop in his lap, as he stares at Jongdae and Jongdae feels like he’s going to drown in the disappointment, the betrayal, the terror swimming behind Junmyeon’s gaze.
Kneeling in the middle of the street, with a storm screaming all around them, Jongdae stares helplessly at Junmyeon. ‘They’re scared of me. People I should have been able to keep safe, to protect – they’re fucking scared of me.’
There is no reply. Junmyeon only looks back, expression crumpling, but still obstinately silent. With nothing left, Jongdae gives up. Lets the flood take him as it rushes through him, makes his eyes burn.
‘I would rather die than hurt them.’ Jongdae’s voice cracks. ‘But I fucking did. And I’m not dead.’ He laughs – broken. ‘Because of this goddamn power that keeps my heart beating and my brain alive.’
‘Jongdae,’ says Junmyeon quietly, but Jongdae shakes his head.
‘Look at my face, hyung.’
He doesn’t expect for Junmyeon to reach up, to cup his jaw between both his hands – the touch cool and soft and gentle. For the first time in years, Jongdae cries – ugly and awful, warm tears tracking down his cheeks, one smooth and the other scarred.
After that, it’s a torrent – unstoppable and frantic, needing Junmyeon to understand. ‘If I hurt you, hyung – if I hurt you, I would fucking die.’ Jongdae sobs. ‘I can’t hurt you. I can’t fucking hurt you. I would rather die than hurt you.’
‘You won’t, you won’t,’ says Junmyeon quickly, quietly, wiping at Jongdae’s cheeks with his fingers. ‘You don’t have to do this. Don’t have to punish yourself like this.’
‘I have to.’ Jongdae looks up at the sky. ‘This isn’t a natural storm. I have no control if it will hurt you or not and now – now you’re in the damn eye. The centre of the fucking thing.’
Junmyeon freezes. ‘Did you come here to die?’
Jongdae smiles wryly. ‘It wasn’t the goal, but it’s not something I planned on avoiding either.’
‘You can’t. Jongdae, you can’t.’ Junmyeon looks around, frantic now. ‘I’m going to get us out of here. Get us out so I can kill you myself – you idiot, I cannot believe you – ’
‘Let me deal with this, hyung. Just. Stand back. Please.’ Jongdae presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, sucking in a breath, before he’s standing up again, looking up and around him. ‘I’m not going to let this damn thing hurt you. Not you.’
Thankfully, Junmyeon obeys, scrambling backwards and swallowing hard as he watches.
Jongdae closes his eyes this time. The air is heavy with ozone as it wraps around him, curling around him. Holding him close. This is familiar, this is home. This is where Jongdae belongs.
He stretches out his hands in front of him, thinks of everyone at home – of Minseok, of Yixing, of Zitao – of Junmyeon standing in front of him, needing protection so he can go back home to them – and Jongdae orchestrates his storm.
-
When Jongdae wakes up, he’s flat on his back in the backseat of a moving car.
‘G’morning,’ he mumbles as he sits up, seeing the soft sunlight filter through the windows, illuminating the tight hold of Junmyeon’s hand on the steering wheel.
At the sound of his voice, Junmyeon yelps in surprise, but thankfully pulls off the road relatively calmly, before he’s turning around in his seat, looking at Jongdae, mouth pressed tight in worry. ‘You’ve been out for an hour or so. I – I didn’t know what to do, I just wanted to get you back to Yixing, so I started driving without thinking, god, I’m sorry, do you need to go to the hospital? Are you okay?’
The sunlight casts Junmyeon in reds and golds, looking like every precious treasure in the world. Unthinking, Jongdae reaches out a hand, cupping Junmyeon’s neck, and pulls him forward to press their mouths together.
Only a second later and Jongdae pulls away to see Junmyeon crying, trying to cover his face with his hands, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was so scared – you left and I was so scared.’
‘Hyung,’ says Jongdae softly before he’s taking Junmyeon’s shoulders in his hands and tugging at him so that Junmyeon crawls out from the driver’s seat and into the back, curling up against Jongdae who holds him close.
‘When I saw Yixing and Zitao, when they came back, I was so angry at you,’ confesses Junmyeon, burying his face into Jongdae’s neck. ‘You hurt them and ran away, leaving them, leaving all of us, behind. But I wasn’t angry for long – because everyone knew you didn’t mean it, everyone knew you were worse off than how you left them.’
He presses closer against Jongdae, and Jongdae only tightens his grip, tries to envelop Junmyeon whole as Junmyeon keeps talking. ‘I kept pretending I was angry. But once Zitao and Yixing got better and you weren’t back yet, I was so scared. I thought you left us – me – forever.’
A bitter laugh then – half-broken and awful. Unable to help it, Jongdae presses kisses into Junmyeon’s hair, doesn’t know what else to do in order to not interrupt.
‘We should give more credit to Minseok, you know.’ Junmyeon’s sobs wind down until his breathing is only shaky. ‘He knew I was scared before I even did. I didn’t know until I saw you in that storm and the thought of losing you – god, Jongdae, I can’t lose you.’
‘You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried, hyung,’ says Jongdae quietly.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ Junmyeon lifts his face, pins him with a look. ‘Don’t ever go running into freak storms again.’
‘I won’t,’ promises Jongdae. ‘But if I get caught in one, at least we both know I can now control it.’
Junmyeon stares at him for a long moment before, ‘I still have better control than you.’
Huffing a small laugh, Jongdae presses his forehead against Junmyeon’s. ‘I’m still stronger than you.’
This time, Junmyeon smiles when Jongdae kisses him.
-
The nice thing about having Yixing around is that when Minseok’s fist breaks three of Jongdae’s ribs, he can at least have them fixed up by dinnertime.
‘We’ve been worried sick about you,’ says Yixing as he presses his palms against Jongdae’s chest. ‘It’s been weeks – this house, without you and Junmyeon both, is absolutely terrible.’ He presses his palms harder into Jongdae’s skin, ignoring his hiss. ‘And Zitao – moping, sad. Barely ate while you were both away. Min-ge and I sent him away to Sehun for a little bit. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Honestly, Jongdae, you think you can just leave?’
‘I’m sorry,’ manages Jongdae and only earns a sharp slap to the side for it. ‘Fuck, Yixing, I really am sorry.’
‘You’re young, Chen-ah,’ says Yixing, pulling his hands away and looking at him. ‘Young people can make mistakes. It’s okay.’
Jongdae feels his gaze skitter away, eyes burning. ‘I’ll never do that again. I never – I never want to do that again.’
‘And you won’t.’ Yixing reaches over and laces their fingers together. ‘I’m all healed up and okay and I still trust you.’
Jongdae squeezes Yixing’s hand between his own before they both hear Minseok calling them down to eat. ‘I better hurry before Minseok breaks my legs too,’ says Jongdae, shooting Yixing a grateful smile, before they both head downstairs.
-
Jongdae is washing dishes with Minseok, who begins and ends the conversation with, ‘you’re an idiot and I’m glad you’re back,’ when they hear the familiar pop of air that signifies Jongin’s arrival come from the living room. Junmyeon makes a surprised noise at the arrival, before the sound is drowned out by the familiar skittering footsteps accompany Zitao’s happy yelp of, ‘hyung’s back!’
Maybe rinsing the dishes takes a few minutes too long but it’s only because Jongdae wants to be thorough and not at all to avoid walking out of the kitchen to see Zitao again. The nervousness twists in his stomach, but eventually Minseok tugs at his arm. ‘You need to see the baby too.’
In the living room is a familiar sight. Aside from Jongin sitting on the arm of the couch, looking slightly uncomfortable, Junmyeon is crushed against one arm with Zitao’s head pillowed in his lap as he sprawls his legs all along the length of the couch.
When Junmyeon looks up to see Jongdae hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, Zitao looks up too, and his expression becomes passive, observant.
‘I’m back,’ says Jongdae weakly.
Zitao stands up in one swift motion, so tall and bigger than Jongdae, and he crosses the distance between in less than a few seconds, before stopping and standing in front of him. ‘You hurt me.’
Jongdae nods. ‘I did, and I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you ever again.’
‘Because,’ Zitao seems to hesitate, seems uncertain for a second. ‘Because I’m your Taozi, still? Right?’
Surprised, Jongdae nods and reaches up, cups Zitao’s neck. ‘Of course. Always.’
Zitao’s expression crumples and he’s folding himself all around Jongdae, dragging him into a hug so warm and tight. ‘You can’t leave ever again. You can’t.’
‘I won’t, I won’t leave, I wouldn’t leave you, none of you,’ reassures Jongdae hurriedly, holding Zitao close. ‘I was just lost for a bit, but Junmyeon-hyung found me, brought me home.’
-
They’re all crowded in Jongdae’s bedroom when Jongdae strips his shirt off, exposing his scars splintering all over him – from cheek all the way down to his abdomen, some branches of the scar stretching down his leg too. The deep pockmarks are as healed as they ever will be, as are the thin branches too – dark and disfigured over his pale skin.
Yixing’s hands glow as he presses one against Jongdae’s chest, right over a pockmark. After a long minute, Yixing’s brows furrow and he pulls his hand away. The scar is still there, unaffected. ‘Let me try again,’ says Yixing.
After two more tries, Yixing drops his hands into his lap and stares. ‘There’s… There’s a force blocking my healing.’ He looks up at Jongdae. ‘After the first storm, me and Zitao healed off our scars. But you went chasing for a second storm.’
Jongdae nods. ‘I learned how to control that one.’
Minseok clicks his tongue. ‘From what Junmyeon says – you barely controlled it.’
Zitao presses close to Minseok. ‘Don’t say that – Chenchen will get all huffy and run away again to try to prove us wrong.’
Rolling his eyes, Jongdae turns back to Yixing. ‘It took a few tries before I got full control.’
Yixing nods. ‘I think it fused the scars with your power. I think your lightning is blocking me from changing something that is now essential to it.’ He looks at Jongdae. ‘The scars are permanent. Even the one that goes all the way to your cheek.’
Jongdae exhales loudly, leaning back on his hands against the bed. ‘I thought about if I even wanted it healed while I was storm-chasing. It was like a punishment – seeing it every day, to remind myself what I did to you both.’
Zitao makes a noise of protest but Minseok quiets him down with a murmur. Jongdae takes it as a sign to continue. ‘But if this is the lightning’s choice, then, I guess… it’s a scar of power, isn’t it?’ He gives a cheeky grin.
Yixing sighs in exasperation. ‘You and wanting to be the strongest. Honestly.’ Then he tips his head to the side. ‘It’s not a bad scar.’
‘Well,’ Jongdae shrugs. ‘What I look like never worried me much before. The scar is cool.’
‘I think,’ says Junmyeon finally, his voice quiet and cheeks pink. ‘I think it sort of looks… hot.’
Minseok bursts into laughter as Zitao makes offended noises, all, ‘I’m still the handsomest,’, as Yixing tries to hide his smile behind his hand. Jongdae looks over at Junmyeon with a grin, ‘then why don’t you show some hands-on appreciation, hyung?’ and yelps as Junmyeon controls the water from the glass on the table and dumps it on his head.
All in all, Jongdae is glad to be home.
-