Chapter 7: The Fire Remembers

...“They called me the flame, but no one asked how it felt to burn alone.” — Chanyeol...

The world always saw him laughing.

The giant with the guitar, the endless energy, the lighthearted mood-maker.

But no one saw the parts of Chanyeol that caught fire in silence.

Tonight, Seoul was sleeping, but Chanyeol wasn’t. He stood on the rooftop of his studio building, hoodie pulled up, cigarette burning down between his fingers—not for the high, just for the distraction. The cold wind didn’t touch him. Nothing did these days.

He hadn’t spoken to Baekhyun in weeks. Months, maybe.

Not really, anyway. Just a few texts. A few “You good?” replies.

But he wasn’t good. Not when something inside him was breaking open again.

The dreams had returned first. Red skies. Giant wolves with glowing eyes. Flames that curled up from his skin like second nature.

Then came the incidents.

He burned his guitar strings. Literally. Not like oops, friction. Like spontaneously combusted during rehearsal. One time his phone exploded in his hand when he got angry. The worst? The night his studio caught fire with no cause.

He got out just in time. But the fear lingered.

He thought it had all faded with time. That the Red Force, the powers, the other side of them—had disappeared when the group split. He was wrong.

And now… it was waking up again.

A soft knock behind him broke his thoughts.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” a voice said, calm and soft.

Chanyeol turned. His breath caught for a second.

Jongin.

Dark hoodie, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. But his presence was unmistakable. And dangerous, in the most beautiful way. Chanyeol had always thought Jongin walked like a panther—silent, fluid, calculating.

“You followed me?” Chanyeol asked, voice rougher than he intended.

“No,” Jongin replied. “I just knew you’d be where the fire was.”

They sat side by side on the rooftop edge, legs dangling like kids again.

Jongin said nothing for a long time. Neither did Chanyeol. Sometimes silence spoke louder between them. There had been a time when they were inseparable. Training days. Long nights. Shared secrets. And then—

Life tore them into different orbits.

“You’re burning again,” Jongin finally said.

Chanyeol clenched his fist, flames licking just beneath the skin. “It won’t stop.”

“Have you tried letting it?”

That made Chanyeol look at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

Jongin met his gaze, eyes dark but steady. “You can’t fight what you are forever.”

It had started years ago, even before EXO. Chanyeol’s affinity for heat. His high body temperature. His ability to walk through the summer like it was spring. No one thought anything of it—until the powers awakened during their debut days.

Back then, it had been fun. A gimmick. A concept.

Flames for the camera. Charisma on command.

But now, it was real. Dangerous. And deeply tied to his emotions.

Every heartbreak, every panic attack, every buried trauma made the fire grow stronger—and harder to contain.

“You think I haven’t tried to control it?” Chanyeol asked, voice shaking. “Every night, Jongin. I meditate. I breathe. I isolate myself. And yet—”

He raised his hand. The flame danced across his palm like a living thing.

“I’m scared I’ll burn someone.”

Jongin reached out, slowly, and touched his flaming fingers with his own.

“Then let someone burn with you.”

It wasn’t romantic, not in the way movies showed it. It was raw. Tense. Honest.

Jongin had always been the embodiment of calm chaos. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it mattered. His touch didn’t flinch at the heat. His power—the teleportation, the dark matter that moved around him—absorbed the burn like it belonged.

Chanyeol looked at him, really looked.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why come back?”

Jongin gave a half-smile. “Because it’s time. We’re reuniting. Not just as idols… but as who we really are.”

“EXO?” Chanyeol’s voice cracked.

Jongin nodded. “Baekhyun’s with us. Sehun too. Kyungsoo’s tracking something in the north. Junmyeon’s organizing. We need you.”

“Why?” Chanyeol whispered. “I’m the unstable one.”

“Exactly,” Jongin said. “And the fire that breaks can also forge.”

Later that night, they went back to Chanyeol’s burned-out studio.

He hadn’t set foot in it since the incident. The walls were scorched, the floor still smelled of ash. But his equipment—somehow—remained untouched in the center.

“Your power protected what mattered,” Jongin said quietly.

Chanyeol knelt beside his melted keyboard, heart pounding.

He reached out again—this time, not to destroy, but to understand.

The fire answered.

It curled around him gently, warming, not burning. It whispered instead of roared.

And for the first time in a long time, Chanyeol listened.

“I’ll come,” he told Jongin that morning, as the sun rose over Seoul.

“But I need one thing first.”

Jongin raised an eyebrow.

Chanyeol looked away, a little embarrassed.

“Baekhyun. I need to talk to him. I can’t come back without fixing that.”

Jongin smiled, just a little.