Make love, not war

Chanyeol & Kai, CHANKAI, Mature.

Tags: Chanyeol = Richard, Jongin = Kai, Woodstock 1969, Hippie Culture, Hippie Aesthetics, Drug use mention, 1970s, Free Love, Music Festivals, Counterculture, Road Trips, Historical Fiction or smth like that

"Woodstock wasn’t about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. It was about spirituality, love, sharing, helping each other, living in peace and harmony." — Richie Havens

But they say there was so much ganja that everyone within a five-hundred-meter radius of the stage was high, whether they had a joint in their hand or not. And keep in mind, some of these guys were already stoned before they even got here. By any definition, it was a real freedom parade. There was so much energy in the soul that it burst into waves of endless happiness—really weird happiness. You couldn’t even tell what was driving you: the weed, unprotected sex, or Richie Havens finally opening the concert after such a crazy delay.

"So, are you two, like, together?"

Inside, the recent meal churned. A hungry stomach greedily tried to digest the food—thankfully, actual food, not just a cap of beer and a cigarette. Sitting on the car hood, eyes instinctively squinted against the blinding sun. Chanyeol fiddled with his fingers, the charming clinking of bracelets echoing with each movement.

"How do I put it... I like him, I enjoy being with him, I enjoy him." He glanced over at Kai lying nearby, and the camera operator quickly panned to his golden-glowing skin.

"Did you come here together?" The man kept asking questions, eager to fill the chronicle with events and, most importantly, people.

"I’ve known Chan for what... 4, 5, 6 months? We started living together in this group of guys I already knew. Yeah, we’re good—we fuck, sure." Kai cracked one eye open, catching a smirk, and Rich quickly adjusted the flower in his hair, smiling back.
"Basically, I have a lot of freedom, he has a lot of freedom." Said Kai. The camera zoomed back in on Chanyeol, lingering on his ears and big, slightly red eyes before the curly-haired guy sprawled out on the car next to Kai.

"...It’s really important because when you’re in love, it’s crucial that you keep your freedom." Chan was a little tired from the trip—after all, he’d been driving so much, and then they got stopped a few miles from the site and had to walk the rest. Neither of them even knew whose car they were lying on now, and they didn’t really care. Both their minds were just echoes of thoughts dulled by weed, but no less cherished. Memories of driving with Kai in nothing but pants and a belt made from the sleeves of his peasant shirt, smoking a joint behind the wheel. And Nini reminiscing about running his fingers through Richie’s curls, sitting there in flared jeans and a suede vest over his bare chest, flipping through Jimi Hendrix records with his other hand, dreaming of seeing him live soon.

And even if their skin was melting under the scorching yellow sun, mixing their natural scent with the smell of weed, Richard would just keep inhaling, soaking in this weird love. And Kai would keep crafting the illusion of a possible tomorrow, not knowing for sure if some system would crush them today, ripping them out of this hippie wonderland into brutal reality. Stupid thoughts creep in when your head’s messed up. And he wasn’t alone—after all, we smoked weed often, didn’t shy away from Lucy either. The society we rebelled against didn’t want us smoking weed. What better reason to light up? Peace out.