Archive of Our Own

One Monday evening saw Gwangju trapped in an unrelenting deluge. The god of thunder bared his fangs in consecutive roars, temper following in quick flashes of light that illuminated the metropolitan city in the rain.

Somewhere along the derelict alleys of the slums, two boys no older than eight ran as fast as their little legs could take them. Neither their breathless pants nor the yells of the grown men chasing them were audible in the storm. None were exempt from the torrents of water that clawed at their faces, but unlike their pursuers, the little ones had had their fair share of running in such downpours, along with a bodily map of directions. Moreover, they had purposely picked out their targets among the fresher faces of Yangdong market, who weren’t yet familiar with the area.

After a few twists and turns down the alley, the boys had easily shaken off the vendors. They sought refuge in the garage of an abandoned building, its walls stained by dirt and claimed by ivy. Soaked to the bone, they sat there in the cold, listening to the ceaseless rain as they shivered and counted the money in their hands.

“Chanyeol, here,” one said, the smaller out of the two. His eyes were charming in a permanently puffy way, a glint in them that reflected a constant curiosity. In his hand was an apple, as red as the one they had seen in that film with the princess and the dwarves some time back.

The boy named Chanyeol reached for the apple happily, with even less inhibition than Snow White had. “Thanks!” he said, before biting into the crunchy fruit, sighing in bliss when the sweetness wrapped around his tongue before travelling further down to his stomach. After taking a few more bites, he extended it back. “Try some, Baekhyun!”

The other boy, Baekhyun, smiled at the gesture but rejected it with a shake of his head. “Nah, you can finish it.”

Chanyeol sulked, but didn’t press on. When he finally finished his apple, he laid the core down in sight, so he would remember to properly throw it away later.

Like that, they continued counting in silence.

Every now and then, Chanyeol felt the tip of his ears itch with every droplet of water that held on before sliding down. Between him and Baekhyun, the latter had bigger ears, but Chanyeol had elfish ones that stuck out, especially now that his hair was but a wet mop of black hugging his head.

Baekhyun was first to finish, exclaiming with a self-congratulatory smirk when he counted again, just to double-check. “Yes! Got more than enough. You?”

Chanyeol frowned. “Just barely.”

“Doesn’t matter. Even if I take five from my stash, they won’t notice.”

“Yeah but…” Chanyeol pouted. “You’re so much better at this than I am.” He knew stealing wasn’t exactly a skill to be proud of, but the fact that Baekhyun was always the one pulling the extra weight made him feel inept.

“I’ve just been doing this longer than you have,” Baekhyun said, with the obvious scars to prove it—every time he didn’t bring enough back, he’d get beaten up. He’d had a few years and a thousand chances more than Chanyeol to mess up.

Chanyeol rubbed his wrists together. “One day…”

Baekhyun shifted closer. “Hm?”

Chanyeol faced his friend with a newfound determination. “One day, I’ll be the one to take care of you!”

At Chanyeol’s bold outburst, Baekhyun couldn’t help the laugh that came after the initial shock. His laugh was pretty, teeth showing and eyes disappearing into thin crescents that made Chanyeol’s stomach flip in a weird way. “What’s so funny?” he mumbled, though he was happy that he’d made Baekhyun laugh.

“Nothing at all,” Baekhyun sang. “Alright, I’ll hold you to it. When we get out of here, yeah?” He held a pinky finger out.

Chanyeol nodded resolutely, curling their pinkies together. “I’ll definitely bring you to Seoul.”

Like clockwork, a distant rooster sounds the first of nature’s alarms, awakening the sun from its slumber. Sleepy fingers of light slowly drag away the blanket of darkness resting upon the district of Seongdong, signalling the start of a new day.

Baekhyun scurries around the apartment, getting ready for work. There’s still plenty of time left until he needs to leave for his shift, but he’s had his fair share of days of when he thought he’d have enough time, only to end up brushing his teeth with one hand while cooking breakfast with the other, before rushing out of the door with his hair tousled and collar crooked. Lucky for him, his boss is nice. Honestly, it’s hard to take Kyungsoo seriously when he’s the type to lecture you while combing your hair and straightening your shirt out for you.

Baekhyun is in the middle of brushing his teeth when there’s a series of knocks on the door. Spitting out a mouthful of foam, he gives his teeth a quick rinse and yells out, “Did you forget your keys again?”

There is a deep sigh on the other side of the door, barely audible. “Yeah,” the voice says, soft and ridden with fatigue.

Baekhyun checks his set of whites one last time before he makes for the door in large, quick strides. It’s the image of small-puppy-meets-tall-puppy when he swings it open, having to look up at the man standing at the doorway. He greets his friend with a toothy grin. “Welcome home, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol returns the smile. “I’m back,” he says. Although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it’s still sincere. He doesn’t waste any time taking his shoes and coat off, making a beeline for the bathroom. It’s obvious that there isn’t anything that tops his list of priorities right now other than a hot shower.

“Breakfast will be on the table!”

By the end of the fifteen minutes Chanyeol took to shower—Baekhyun doesn’t know how, he takes at least thirty to get all the grime off him at the end of the day—a plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and toast awaits him. Baekhyun is on his phone, switching between Instagram and Facebook. Mostly to check what Jongdae is up to ever since the man called in sick to work a few days ago.

There is the fresh, distinct smell of mint as Chanyeol sits himself down across Baekhyun. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he says, though the sentence carries no real weight. Not when they have started their meals together since forever, whenever they can. “Thanks for the food.”

A hum of acknowledgement. Baekhyun takes one last look at his Facebook feed before he pockets his phone, digging into his breakfast. It isn’t much; Baekhyun is no cook, and ever since that time he had set the fire alarm off attempting to recreate something fancy, they both agreed that the kitchen simply wasn’t his natural element. They had gotten away with a light admonishment since Junmyeon—their landlord—has a soft spot for them, but that hadn’t lessened the humiliating blow to Baekhyun at the fact that he had been the reason for the block’s residents gathering outside in the middle of winter.

The two finish their breakfast with orange juice. Before Chanyeol can protest, Baekhyun is already clearing up the plates in one fell swoop. “Hey, you cooked so at least let me wash,” he says, the chair screeching as he stands abruptly. Easily, he covers the distance of the kitchen, ensnaring the other between his arms and standing a full head taller than Baekhyun. “Go get ready for work.”

Baekhyun is as stubborn as he is, shouldering him away and even taking advantage of their height difference to head-butt his chin. “No.”

“Baekhyun.”

“You just got off a 12-hour shift, you should be resting.”

“Washing a few plates won’t take away my rest.” When all Chanyeol receives is another head-butt, he sighs in defeat. But he doesn’t move away, instead resting warm hands on Baekhyun’s shoulders, perching his chin atop the smaller man.

Baekhyun chuckles, the pressure on his head more comforting than anything. “Having fun there, big pup?”

“You bet, little pup.”

A familiar lullaby permeates the air, spreading through Baekhyun like a welcome warmth. There is no discernible structure to the tune, but there is beauty. Baekhyun loses himself in the melody, the sound of running water being reduced to nothing more than background static.

It takes him back.

Back to the days when they were still children on the road, running for their lives with purloined bags in their small hands. Baekhyun remembers the music player they’d found in one of the bags. Even more vividly, he remembers the look of fascination on Chanyeol’s face when he plugged the earphones in, looking as if aliens had started contacting him from outer space.

In his enthusiasm, Chanyeol had dialed the volume up too high, howling in pain as he pulled the earphones out, only for Baekhyun to point out with a laugh that he had mixed up the left and right buds.

“Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun snaps out of his trance. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been washing that same plate for about a minute now.”

One look at his pruning fingers and the squeaky-clean plate tells him that somewhere between the sound of water and Chanyeol’s singing, he’d lost all sense of time. Heat creeps up his face. “Oh, sorry about that,” he says, coughing the embarrassment down.

“You okay? Was my singing that bad?”

Baekhyun pretends to think for a while, washing the soap off his hands. “Hmm, not bad.”

There’s an audible pout in Chanyeol’s voice. “Not bad? My singing?”

“Mm.”

A snort, with no offense taken.

Baekhyun nearly misses the bus. He had only meant to stay for a little while longer, but he’d gotten distracted between Chanyeol’s lively complaints about Minseok overworking them during drills and Baekhyun’s own disastrous tales of the previous night at work when Seulgi had tried to teach him how to mix cocktails.

When he finally makes it on the bus, Baekhyun thinks to himself that he wouldn’t have minded catching the next one, if it meant he could stay longer to listen to Chanyeol sing.

Baekhyun arrives ten minutes before his shift starts. No one else is there, save for Kyungsoo who is currently finishing up preparations. He pops into the kitchen with a lively “Morning!”

Standing in front of the woks is a short, steady figure, seemingly in deep concentration. He’s barely fazed by the energetic greeting, returning the “Morning” with much less cheer. Even today, Kyungsoo’s face remains a canvas of indifference, only ever curious towards the mechanics of cooking.

“What’s today’s special, boss?” Baekhyun chirps, walking up to the other. In the large boiling pot is an orange concoction, from which Kyungsoo scoops a spoonful of into a saucer. He presses it against Baekhyun’s lips, who dutifully drinks the contents down. Pumpkin soup. “With… ginger?”

“It’s not too strong, is it?”

“Nope, it’s good.” Baekhyun means it. Kyungsoo knows this too, having seen how picky of an eater the other can be. Satisfied, he adjusts the flame to low and continues to prepare the braised octopus with the refined movements of an experienced chef, despite his young age. No doubt a grace borne from years of unofficial training under his father. Dior Café is a family business, after all.

Outside, Baekhyun prepares the café for opening. He begins with sweeping the floor, humming a melody he heard on the radio the other day. It’s a popular song, one that sticks even though he doesn’t know the actual title.

Soon after, a second voice joins him. At the doorway, Jongdae walks in with all the brightness of his curved smiles and crinkling eyes. Baekhyun grins; they break into the chorus, lungs competing, the mutual serenade itself a form of greeting.

The harmony tragically cuts off when Baekhyun forgets the lyrics of the second verse and starts mumbling gibberish over it. “Hey, do it properly!” Jongdae reprimands him for the first time in what has felt like ages. The atmosphere is always different when he’s not around.

“Good to have you back, Dae,” Baekhyun says.

“It’s good to be back. Who the hell knew a toddler could give you such a nasty cold?” Jongdae moans, grabbing the mop. Back when he had called in sick, he could barely get his words out through a blocked nose. He sounds much better now, if his ridiculously resonant whines are anything to go by—but he still sniffles a little every minute or so, the sounds not unnoticed by Baekhyun.

Dior is spacious to ensure the comfort of customers, but seats are relatively limited—at least compared to the bigger, neighboring cafes. That operations were not compromised in an employee’s absence happens to be a perk. It enjoys a steady flow of customers during the day, but the clientele they serve are often just business people and couples looking for a place to sit and chat at their leisure in the afternoons, not much bothered with the speed of the service.

Of course, that isn’t an excuse for laziness, as Kyungsoo reminds them occasionally.

But the real buzz that sets Dior apart is its night scene—one that Baekhyun is proud to be a part of. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, he takes off his uniform at six as per schedule, has dinner courtesy of Kyungsoo, and is by the grand piano at eight, singing and playing to the crowd’s entertainment.

A natural charmer with a sweet disposition and an even sweeter smile, Baekhyun is popular among customers, young and old. This usually makes for generous tippers, some of whom have even attempted to court him, though to no avail. Yet despite the rejection, most found themselves further enamored by the man.

Baekhyun had just turned down what would’ve been his 13^thsuitor, had he been counting.

Watching the scene unravel from behind the bar, Jongdae later commented, “You know, Baekhyun, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a virgin waiting for marriage!” His statement is followed up with a boisterous laugh. Unlike the more observant Seulgi, Jongdae did not see the way Baekhyun’s shoulders stiffened.

The pretty bartender was wiping the last of the cocktail glasses, sharp, quiet eyes observing the exchange. When her gaze crossed paths with Baekhyun’s, she smiled in what he wasn’t sure was kindness or pity. Or perhaps a mix of both.

There was no malice in his friend’s words, yet Baekhyun could not help but linger on the irony of the statement. It was as Jongdae himself said—he truly did not know better.

Behind the door dividing the servers and the chefs, Baekhyun lays down the last of the dirty dishes. As steady as he is, the cutlery still rattle between the plates that are precariously piled on top of one another. Not for the first time, Baekhyun wishes customers would leave the stacking to him. Turning the tap to wash his hands, he grimaces at the gunk pooling out of the dishes and onto the sink.

And that’s the last of his shift.

He changes into a fresh set of clothes, stepping back out in an oversized white shirt, the front loosely tucked into a pair of stonewashed jeans. In his excitement, he might have been a bit too liberal with his cologne, but it’s better than getting distracted by the smell of frying oil on himself when he’s up onstage later.

To his surprise, a familiar figure towers over the front counter, exchanging pleasantries with Seulgi who arrived just minutes ago for her night shift.

“Chanyeol? What are you doing here?” Baekhyun asks.

His best friend greets him with a smile. “Hey,” Chanyeol says, but there’s a drag in his voice, a subtle sigh trailing after it that’s enough to alarm Baekhyun. The latter cups his face in concern. Understanding the unspoken question, Chanyeol leans into the hand, finding comfort in Baekhyun’s cool touch. “Let’s talk over dinner?”

They take up a small table in the corner next to the piano. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind since the real crowd only arrives after half past seven, mostly to secure seats to watch Baekhyun. Kyungsoo offers them both food, telling Chanyeol that it’s on the house, much to the other man’s profuse gratitude.

“Your boss is a nice guy,” Chanyeol mumbles. He relishes in the warmth of the mushroom soup, not realizing how much he needed the sustenance.

“He used to be your boss too, you know,” Baekhyun says through his mouthful of baked rice. Junmyeon had been the one to recommend them to Kyungsoo, who trusted his friend enough to take the two in and train them, no questions asked. Since then, only Baekhyun has stayed while Chanyeol left six months ago to work at the local fire station. Kyungsoo, of course, had never been less than supportive, and only asked that Chanyeol come by every now and then to have a meal. “So, what’s up?” Baekhyun starts, “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Chanyeol groans. “You know I went to the clinic to try out for blood-taking? Yeah, I freaked out at the third patient because I couldn’t find her vein and ended up hitting her muscle—tendon? Ligament? I don’t even know.”

“Was there blood?”

“No, but it hurt, obviously! She was nice about it, since she was an ex-nurse. Still… it sucked because I got too shaky to continue. And the person in charge took over for the rest of the afternoon.”

Seeing the cloud of gloom hovering over his friend’s head, Baekhyun can’t help but feel bad. While he’s always telling Chanyeol not to overwork, he also wishes it didn’t have to happen this way. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Like you said, she was an ex-nurse. I’m sure she’s had her own fair share of nervous disciples.”

Chanyeol knows and understands that, but it doesn’t stop him from sulking. It’s not until he finishes his soup that he speaks again, this time in a soft grumble. “I just don’t like lounging around at home during the day while you’re working.”

Baekhyun softens. “Hey, you’re not just lounging around. You need the rest and you know it. It’s only been a few months.” A few months since Chanyeol had left his other part-time job and started taking medication. Working as a caretaker on the days he wasn’t firefighting had been a source of happiness for him, but when the doctor laid out how having to rescue people (and strays) half the week and tending to the sick elderly the other half was taking a toll on his mental health, Chanyeol couldn’t find an appropriate argument without sounding like he had a self-destructive savior complex.

Which he does, Baekhyun notes, though he would never voice it out loud.

In the end, Chanyeol settled with three packets of Prozac. He wasn’t exactly the living definition of happy about it—not to mention having to stay on them for six months—but decided that it was a far better solution than weekly therapy sessions with a stranger.

“How’s the dreaming?” Baekhyun asks, reaching over to trap Chanyeol’s thumb between his fingers, tracing the callouses and the fingernails littered with bite marks. He focuses on the irregularity of the nail tip, feeling the rough ridges with his thumb. At one point Chanyeol turns his hand over, letting Baekhyun trace his palm lines, eyes gazing over everything yet nothing.

Wiggling his fingers at the tickling sensation, Chanyeol replies, “Hmm, it’s okay.” He doesn’t elaborate; Baekhyun doesn’t prod. The question has been answered one too many times anyway, during the nights when the lucidity of Chanyeol’s dreams would get too much, waking Baekhyun up with his whimpers and gasps. But Baekhyun never complained, always scooting over to where Chanyeol lied, stroking his hair and humming a soothing tune.

“We’ll get there soon,” Baekhyun says, a shift in his tone that Chanyeol picks up on quickly. “Well, maybe not that soon, but one day you’re gonna be the best vet there is in this city—no, in this country!”

The enthusiasm in Baekhyun’s voice is contagious. Chanyeol already feels lighter. “And you’ll be able to show the rest of the world your voice!” he finishes, cheesy. Laughter spills into the air between them, transporting them to a time just like this, when they would talk about dreams and aspirations as little children, over food that hardly passed off as meals. Eventually, the laughter sizzles down into a meaningful smile.

Glancing at the time, Baekhyun asks, “Are you staying for the show?” He doesn’t want to pressure Chanyeol to stay, but he can’t help but sound hopeful.

Much to his delight, Chanyeol nods. “That was what I came for anyway.”

The subdued lighting from the overhanging lamp bounces off Baekhyun’s cheeks when he smiles. “Then let me go put on the show of your life!”

You, too, lonely like me, living with an empty heart.

On indolent evenings when some find it difficult to shrug off the burdens of their day’s work, they visit the little café hidden in one corner of Seongsu-dong, Seoul’s Brooklyn. A passerby who doesn’t know better might drive off, not appreciating the artistic ruins around it. But if they’re curious enough—and lucky enough, considering the number of seats—they would step into a dimly lit setting, the spotlight on stage directing their gaze to a man who performs like it’s his assigned purpose in life.

Welcomed with convivial smiles and rustic menus, they would join the crowd, captivated by the man who seems to carry sunshine in his cheeks, his voice bright and ringing as he ascends across the octave. The lyrics are those of longing, wistfulness clearly conveyed even through his peppy rendition of the song.

Then the music falls into a darker, more melancholic pace. The smile is gone, his gaze cast downwards, his opening note bringing to life a painful memory that resonates throughout the hearts of his audience, though they do not know the story.

Don’t cry in places without me.

Don’t cry.

The note ends with a glissando that ensnares the watching souls in a rapture. The haunting melody seems to last forever, but when it ends, it ends too soon, and the smile is back on the youth’s face, a mischievous beam as he salutes the applauding crowd. The light is generous, and it leaves hearts a little more filled, shoulders lighter.

But though his smile is for the world to see, his eyes search for one only, as they always have, as his heart always has, settling on the man leaning against the bar with a proud dimpled smile as he claps along with the rest of the room.

“Amazing as usual, little pup.”

Baekhyun laughs as he takes his scarf from the other man to wrap himself warm, the sound ringing throughout the empty parking lot. It’s one month into spring, and the night still calls for some extra layers. “Thanks, big pup,” he says, coming down from the high of the applause he’d received at the end of every song. It had been a full house at the time he started. Then over the next two hours it had dwindled down to ten people, then four, until the only ones left in the audience were Chanyeol and an older regular who sat by the window next to the stage.

Kyungsoo is the last one out after a final light check. He has on a blue scarf that shields his mouth from the cold and gives his owlish eyes an even bigger appearance through the frame of his glasses. “Are we all ready?”

“Yes!”

Once a month, Baekhyun finds his shared apartment with Chanyeol turning into a meeting point for his fellow staff members. And by ‘meeting,’ he means that Jongdae and Seulgi would smuggle in some booze from their parents’ wine cellars, while Kyungsoo would bring along the snacks. They usually do it on a Saturday night, as Dior doesn’t open until eleven on Sundays.

All five of them fill up Kyungsoo’s sedan nicely, Chanyeol naturally sitting in front for extra leg space. At the back, Seulgi is between Jongdae and Baekhyun, who are arguing over something insignificant for the umpteenth time. The girl, all too used to the scene, plugs her earphones in to drown out the sounds from both sides.

“You still working at the fire station?”

Chanyeol looks up from his phone. Although he heard the question clearly, the way Kyungsoo’s eyes never waver off the road makes him think he might have hallucinated him speaking. Still, he mumbles a soft, “Yeah.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything for a while, and Chanyeol is starting to think that he really did imagine things. He’s about to strike up a conversation, maybe ask about the café, anything to cut through the awkward silence when Kyungsoo speaks up again, “It’s okay, you know, to stick to just one job.”

The mindless row in the backseat ceases; even Seulgi peeks from behind her phone curiously. “That’s right! You’re still young, you can’t overwork yourself or you’ll die an early death!” Jongdae pitches in loudly, a sharp contrast to Kyungsoo’s mild tone.

Chanyeol, on the other hand, is becoming just the slightest bit uncomfortable. But he doesn’t get upset, because Kyungsoo means well, and well, Jongdae is just nosy. There’s the gentlest squeeze on his shoulder, and he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s from Baekhyun. He reaches a hand up, squeezing back in gratitude.

It’s true that he isn’t in a rush to go anywhere. The money he gets from firefighting is enough to comfortably settle the monthly rent andgroceries, which leaves Baekhyun’s salary to amass in their joint savings account.

But Chanyeol wants more. The process of getting into university is one thing; getting throughit is another. By next year, he would have saved enough to pay off the entirety of his tuition fees in one go. But that would mean not being able to contribute to rent anymore, so he wants to work as much as he can now to better help Baekhyun, who had been the one to stipulate that Chanyeol focus on being a full-time student when the time comes.

In hindsight, Chanyeol should have fought harder, but as in any contest of stubbornness, Baekhyun always came out victorious between the two. The latter just brushed Chanyeol’s concerns off with a wave of his hands, telling him cheekily, “Graduate and earn lots of money then! You’ll have ten, twenty years to spoil me rotten.”

Determined as he is though, Chanyeol has other anxieties regarding university. Can he even handle it, academically speaking? What if he can’t fix his current mood problems before then? He already hates that his stupid dreams cut Baekhyun’s sleeping hours short, even though the other insists that he’s fine.

Lost in his thoughts, Chanyeol doesn’t realize that his grip on Baekhyun’s hand is a bit too tight, not until a cool thumb runs itself across his skin. Chanyeol forces himself to relax, but continues holding onto the hand that has been his lifeline since they were children.

The next time Baekhyun performs, Chanyeol isn’t there.

He has a shift at the fire station, and although he comes back looking deadbeat each time, Baekhyun doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail over every recruitment poster on the street, eager to busy himself again.

At least the dreams are getting better. Admittedly, the fact that Chanyeol had been experiencing side-effects even after a month of taking the pills meant that Baekhyun was just that much tempted to storm into the clinic and beat up the doctor and receptionist. It wouldn’t change the composition of the medicine, but hey, at least he’d feel better. Why did they have to give Chanyeol those specific ones, anyway? Didn’t they have any other that had less shitty side-effects?

Baekhyun wraps up another successful performance, to the applause of the last of his audience. As if they’d stayed just for him, a table of youngsters get up to leave just as he’s done, one of them waving enthusiastically at him and exclaiming “We’ll be back on Saturday!” Baekhyun laughs at the youth, who blushes with glee.

In the corner by the window sits an older man with his glass of whiskey. Baekhyun recognizes him from the last few Saturdays; he’s a fairly new customer, always staying behind until the end of Baekhyun’s performance, never failing to leave a generous tip. He catches Baekhyun’s gaze over the rim of his glass, smiling. His features are refined, but the deeper than usual circles indicates that he probably has a good decade over Baekhyun. The pianist smiles back.

Often, the man tends to wander off silently by himself, so Baekhyun is surprised to see him again outside after the restaurant closes. Gazing up at the stars, a lit cigarette sitting pensively between his lips, the man seems lost in thought. When he registers Baekhyun’s presence, he turns to him with a gummy smile. “Ah! There you are!”

Baekhyun points to himself. “Me?”

“Look around you, does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?” the man asks, more casual sarcastic than snide. He’s barely halfway through his cigarette when he throws it down and squashes it out under his shoe. Baekhyun winces, if only because Chanyeol hates smoking and littering, and has instilled the same views into him too.

“Can’t be too sure,” Baekhyun mumbles, awkwardly playing with the strap of his bag.

“You play beautifully, by the way. Both the piano and your voice,” the man praises. Under the direct light of the streetlamp, the fine lines under his eyes are even more obvious.

Baekhyun flushes. “Thank you.”

“You like performing?” He sounds like he’s gauging something, but Baekhyun can’t tell what exactly, so he just nods. “Great! I’ll get on with it: how would you like to work at a much bigger establishment?”

Baekhyun is taken aback. He’d been preparing himself for all sorts of agendas, even reciting in his head the lines he always uses to reject his older, more generous suitors. In retrospect, he should have expected this—after all, the man is always donning an expensive-looking suit, never appearing anything less business-like since the first time he’d appeared at the restaurant. “And what kind of establishment is that?” he asks. Only when the words roll off his tongue does he realize how sketchy this whole thing is starting to look.

“You’ll work night shifts, and the pay you get in one night will be more than what you get in a week in this place.” He isn’t answering Baekhyun’s question, which adds to the latter’s suspicion.

Baekhyun forces out a laugh that he hopes can be considered polite. “Thank you for the offer, but I enjoy working at Dior too much to quit just like this.”

The man shrugs. “Like I said, it’s mostly night shifts, you can still work here during the day and come to ours afterwards.”

“I’ll have to—”

“How much do you get here anyway?” Baekhyun shuts up, unsure if he’s more surprised by getting cut off or the bluntness of the question. He’s also unsure why he goes ahead and divulges that information, which the man looks genuinely surprised by. Baekhyun assumes it’s because he didn’t expect a mere restaurant to pay so high until the man adds, “Only that much?”

Now it’s Baekhyun’s turn to mirror his shock. In truth, he gets much more than what he stated because of tips, but regardless, he knows that his pay is higher than the average server wage. Unable to help himself, he blurts out, “How much are you offering?”

The man sobers. “Well, technically I’m not the one paying your salary, but with your looks and charm, no doubt you’ll push through entry level in no time. You’re a born entertainer. You’ll get at least—” he pauses, seemingly racking his brain for the right information, before he offers a number that has Baekhyun’s eyes bulging out of his sockets.

“Wow.”

The other man’s lips stretch out over a gummy smirk, as if used to this kind of reaction. “So, what do you say, Baekhyun?”

But Baekhyun replays the words night shifts and mumbles lowly, “With all due respect, Sir, this conversation is making it sound like that kind of work.”

Not missing a beat, the older man replies, “It is.” Two words, shooting chills down Baekhyun’s spine; he meets the other’s eyes, as if looking for signs of bluffing. But the man’s face is neutral, not even a dangerous glint that one would suspect from a person recruiting people for this line of work. Seeing the way Baekhyun pales, he chuckles. “Relax. You don’t have to get into it straightaway. I want you mainly for your singing anyway. If you’re happy with that, I won’t pressure you to do anything else.”

Baekhyun is tempted, of course, by the numbers, by the prospect of being able to sing for a more affluent audience. But he also doesn’t know how these businesses operate, if they’re safe—or even legal. With Dior, he enjoys free food, friendships, and definite security. Even if he does take it up, how would he break the news to Chanyeol? With that name in mind, he takes a resolute breath and says, “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to reject your offer.”

“What? Why? Don’t you want to help out that tall friend of yours?”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen. “Who—”

“Chan-something? Chanyeol?”

Dread immediately floods Baekhyun, quickly replaced by a boiling anger. He hisses, “Don’t you dare tou—”

“Woah there, no need to get hostile! What kind of person do I look like to you?”

What kind of person do you think, you creep.

“Just that, I overheard your conversation last Saturday.”

Last Saturday?

Baekhyun thinks back to that day. It was the night they drove back to his apartment for their monthly hangout. This man had also been the last customer to leave. By the sound of it, he had been there since early evening, eavesdropping on the conversation Baekhyun and Chanyeol had over dinner. “So? What did you hear?” Baekhyun says, voice as chilly as the air around them, all traces of timidity overshadowed by caution.

“Tch, how cold. I’m just saying—from the looks of it, your friend wants to go to university, you want to be a star. He tried out for a job but it didn’t work out, which means he’s unemployed and you’re paying for facilities. You come and work for us and all that is fixed! One plus one is two, no?”

“Do you always go around getting into other people’s business?” Baekhyun doesn’t bother pointing out that Chanyeol does in fact have a job, not wanting to grant the other the privilege of gaining any more personal information about either of them.

The man sighs. For the first time that night, he looks exasperated. “Look, I’m just giving you a bit of incentive,” he says, making a pinching gesture, “I don’t know what relationship you have with that kid, but you need help, and I need a new piano guy who can sing.” Before Baekhyun can reject him a third time, the man’s brandishing a business card from his breast pocket. “If you ever change your mind, contact me here.”

Baekhyun is skeptical, but takes the card anyway. Birds of Paradise. It’s located somewhere in Gangnam, one of the higher-end districts, though Baekhyun has never been. Huh. If the place is in Gangnam, surely it can’t be that shady? “Alright then… Kim Heechul-sshi,” he reads.

The man known as Kim Heechul winks, like his job is done with the simple task of Baekhyun acknowledging him by name. “Well, that’ll be all. See you around, Baekhyun.”

The summer of that year was especially merciless.

Crickets and humans alike competed to see who could complain more, the latter eventually surrendering and passing out from heat exhaustion at some point in the afternoon. Every day, there was a reminder on the radio for adults not to leave their dogs and babes in the car without rolling the windows down first.

But the oppressive heat didn’t stop families from taking their kids out on excursions—Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s captors included.

The ten-year-olds lay side by side under the shade, the temporary taste of freedom as sweet as the ice cream they had devoured a while ago, the sticks resting lazily between their teeth. Chanyeol thought aloud, “You know what I don’t get? How these grownups can beat up kids like us, then use those hands to tuck their own kids in bed.”

Next to him, Baekhyun shrugged. “What’s not to get? They’re flesh and blood, after all.”

They resumed the silence, before Chanyeol mumbled, “Then what about our flesh and blood?”

Above them, a mother magpie perches on the edge of her nest, her arrival celebrated by her hungry chicks who have learned by now that with every return, came food.

Baekhyun, however, felt mocked by the incessant chirping.

Standing up, he walked around, looking for a big enough rock. When he found one, he picked it up and tossed it up in his hand a few times. Satisfied with the weight, he aimed it towards the nest.

Chanyeol scrambled to stop him. “Baekhyun, what are you doing?!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Baekhyun said, closing one eye for better measure.

But Chanyeol had grabbed his arm in time, forcing him to let go. “You can’t go around killing animals!” he said.

For once, Chanyeol sounded genuinely angry, drawing a look of disbelief from Baekhyun. “I’m not gonna kill them! I’m just gonna mess up the nest a bit. Those birds can build their nest from just about anything anyway.” Baekhyun bent down to pick the rock back up, but was stopped once again when Chanyeol shoved him hard enough to stumble backward. It was his turn to be angry. “Now what?!”

But his ire was quickly doused by the sight of Chanyeol glaring at him with tears in his eyes.

They stood facing each other, awkwardness suddenly sitting heavy with the humidity.

Baekhyun sighed in defeat. But his ten-year-old pride didn’t allow him to apologize, so he said, “Let’s go somewhere cooler.”

He walked ahead, following the path that would lead them to a more central area. A few steps behind him, Chanyeol was still sniffling. When his cries finally petered out, it was their unsynchronized footsteps that reassured Baekhyun that Chanyeol was still there.

By the time they reached their destination, the air had cooled down, courtesy of the clouds blocking the sun. The sign on the building was high up, and Chanyeol had to crane his neck and squint to read it, “Sajik library?”

Baekhyun pushed through the front doors. Immediately, they were greeted by a breath of cold air, and they sighed in unified relief. They walked through empty corridors, Baekhyun seeming to know his way around.

Although he was pissed at his friend, Chanyeol couldn’t help the envy that arose on a regular basis. Baekhyun knew so much more than he did, and although he claimed it was just because he’d been forced to survive much longer, Chanyeol doubted even adults had the city mapped in their heads the way Baekhyun did. Down to dead ends and shortcuts, Baekhyun could probably come up with a hundred and one different routes to get from the central area to the suburbs.

Baekhyun led him to what he assumed to be the adolescent reading area, judging from the more colorful furniture and graphics on the walls. As it was the summer holidays, the section was practically empty, save for a middle-aged lady who seemed to be on watch duty.

The books were arranged in alphabetical order, though there were some misplaced copies. Baekhyun picked one off the shelf without even reading the blurb. Chanyeol copied him.

In contrast to his outward disinterest, Chanyeol was secretly excited. Maybe if he picked up reading like his friend, he could be smart, too. The book he had randomly selected had the image of a person in bright bunker gear on its front cover, carrying an unconscious lady in his arms, back turned against a falling skyscraper in flames.

They sat in a corner with beanbags, happily sinking into the formless seats. Baekhyun opened the book at its center. Chanyeol copied him. He couldn’t help but ask, “You’ve read it before?”

“Nope,” Baekhyun said, adjusting himself until he was lying down, before placing the book on his face.

Chanyeol gawked.

As if he could feel the other’s stare, Baekhyun tugged his book down slightly, eyes peeking out. “What?”

“You’re sleeping?!” Chanyeol whisper-hissed.

Baekhyun quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re actually gonna read that?”

“O-Of course!”

“Really?” Baekhyun said, looking over his book to Chanyeol’s. “You should start from the first page then.”

Chanyeol flushed red. Baekhyun chuckled, blocking the light back out with his book.

Earlier forecast spoke of a clear sky, one of the warmer days in spring, but what would have been an otherwise beautiful day is plagued by clouds of smoke, reaching up high as if to drag the heavens down into the flames engulfing one of the blocks in the neighborhood.

Cries of desperate mothers and wailing sirens fill the air, blending together in textbook pandemonium. One of them breaks down in her husband’s arms, both helpless to do anything but watch the retreating back of the fireman who has recklessly runs back into the building to save their daughter.

Once inside, Chanyeol yells out for the little girl. His mind is in a frenzy, senses overwhelmed by orange and black and dust. He tries to focus, channeling his energy into distinguishing the array of sounds around him, hoping to make out any voice that might belong to a little girl.

It isn’t until he walks a couple more meters that he hears it.

Someone’s voice. But it isn’t that of a girl—in fact, he recognizes it all too well.

Chanyeol rushes forward. “Hyung!”

Past a ruined doorway, he spots his colleague trapped under a fallen pillar, a tiny unmoving bundle in his arms. The face that looks up at Chanyeol is ashen. “Chanyeol—cough—c-come get her.”

Minseok’s entire body is buried, save for his head and his arms that hold out the unconscious girl for Chanyeol to take. Immediately, the latter checks for a pulse, and is relieved to find it there, albeit faint. “Hang on, hyung,” he says, settling the girl down gently before reaching for one end of the pillar.

“What are you—!” The splurge of energy backfires on Minseok, the smoke taking the chance to invade his lungs. Even coughing is painful, his chest having no space to move under the crushing weight. Still, he manages to wheeze out, “Take the girl and go!”

But Chanyeol is adamant. He pushes at the column from down below with his might, but what feels like an eternity passes and it barely budges. Minseok is getting desperate. “Chanyeol, please—get out of here!”

“No! I’m not leaving you, hyung!”

“This whole place is about to—!” Minseok’s words are cut off by another cough, replaced instead by a spurt of blood from his mouth.

Chanyeol feels his soul leave as Minseok’s head slumps down. He rushes back, gripping the other’s trembling shoulders—or maybe it’s hishands that are quivering. There isn’t any time to think as he shakes the smaller man softly, though his own voice is anything but. “Hyung! Hyung, hang in there—”

A firm hand grips Chanyeol’s wrist, and he nearly exclaims in relief until Minseok snaps his head up to glare at him, the light in his eyes steadily fading away with every word he forces out. “Take. Her. And. Go.”

And then Minseok’s body goes lax.

Chanyeol’s heart stops. No, no no no no—“Hyung! HYUNG!” He lifts his superior’s head up, but Minseok’s eyes remain closed. His fingers go to the side of his neck, but no matter how long Chanyeol waits, how hard or soft he presses, there is no pulse under his shaking fingers, not even the tiniest.

It’s like the world has fallen silent, before a shrill cry cuts through the air. It goes on and on forever before Chanyeol realizes that the sound is coming from him. Yet he does not stop, the anguish swallowing him the way the surrounding flames lick up the debris.

He only snaps out of it when he hears the smallest of cough on his right, and remembers the little girl.

Take her and go.

As if Minseok’s voice is still ringing brightly right by his ear, Chanyeol’s instincts immediately kick in, and he gathers the child in his arms, making a beeline for the exit. He runs, but the tears fall faster, and Chanyeol tries not to look back, not to think about the colleague he couldn’t save.

I’m so sorry, hyung, I’m so, so sorry—

The clock strikes six, and Baekhyun has never been happier to take his apron off.

For the afternoon, Dior Café had been closed off to the public, booked by a whole family of twenty-four for their great-grandmother’s birthday. Twenty-four! Not that Baekhyun knows any of his own relatives to compare notes with, but he’s pretty sure any number higher than twenty isn’t exactly average.

Naturally, families meant babies, and Baekhyun has never met a more evil set of infants. He wonders if being placed on those high chairs gives them some sense of superiority, because two little monsters were enough to create a whole geographical structure on the floor out of rice and cut up meat.

It had taken Baekhyun at least fifteen minutes to clean up, and another ten to wash and sanitize the stools. Jongdae, too, shared his headache, groaning about how giving birth should be illegal by now for the sake of reducing pollution and maintaining their sanities.

That evening, Baekhyun doesn’t stay to have dinner with Jongdae. He gets takeaway, including an extra container for Chanyeol. After such a long day, he just wants to get out as soon as possible. On his way home, even the mechanical whirring of the bus sounds infinitely better than wailing babes. The sky is already dark; he wonders if it has anything to do with the fire that reportedly broke out earlier on in the day in a nearby district.

He shoulders the door to the apartment open, and as if the rambunctious way he enters and throws his bags down isn’t enough indication, he yells out, “I’m home!”

Usually, this is met with Chanyeol playfully berating him for being so loud, but the flat remains void of any other sound. Belatedly, he realizes that the lights aren’t switched on either, which means Chanyeol’s either asleep or coming back from work late—which Baekhyun hopes isn’t the case or he’ll rain hell down on Minseok.

His footsteps are hollow against the wooden floor as he walks towards their shared bedroom. The door is ajar; he peeks in, and smiles upon seeing the big bundle of white on Chanyeol’s bed, black strands sticking out in all directions from the end where his head is. He calls out softly, “Chanyeol?”

“Mm.”

“I brought dinner.”

Pause. “Not hungry.”

The statement takes Baekhyun by surprise; Chanyeol’s never the type to turn down a meal after a long shift. “Okay, but I’ll leave it in the fridge alright?” he says, just about to leave the other to sleep when he hears his name called out in that soft, fluttering voice.

“Baekhyun…”

Baekhyun halts by the doorway. Chanyeol never calls him like this. Not even when his dreams vex him and he wakes up in a cold sweat, begging the other to stay with him. Chanyeol is never this vulnerable. In no time, Baekhyun strides over to where he is, the bed dipping with his weight. “Chanyeol?” He’s trying to get the covers down, just enough to see his face, but Chanyeol is stubborn, curling into himself like a centipede. “Chanyeol, look at me. What’s wrong?”

But even though he was the one to call out to Baekhyun, Chanyeol remains unresponsive. Baekhyun is just about to use brute force to fight the blanket off when he catches the sounds—faint, but there. Sniffles, not unlike a newborn cat whining for their mother.

Chanyeol is crying.

The sound grips Baekhyun’s heart, and he immediately crawls over Chanyeol, entangling his larger figure with all four limbs. He buries his head into what he thinks is Chanyeol’s neck, tightening his embrace, body shaking along with the tremors of Chanyeol’s shoulders.

They stay like that until Chanyeol calms down enough to lift his head up, his swollen eyes now visible and staring glassily at the other. “Baekhyun…” It’s that tone again, and it has Baekhyun running a hand through the mess of hair and wiping his tears away. Chanyeol squirms to the edge of the bed as if to make space, and Baekhyun understands all too well, getting under the covers with him.

“Hey, what happened?” he asks, hand still pressed against the other’s face. His cool skin is a welcome contrast on Chanyeol’s cheek, warm from crying.

“I-I-I couldn’t—s-save—” But as soon as he starts speaking, Chanyeol cries again, this time into Baekhyun’s neck. His tears and snot create wet patches on the other’s shirt, but Baekhyun only holds him tighter, hushing him. His fingers massage Chanyeol’s nape, hoping to alleviate any kind of tension. When Chanyeol is finally coherent enough to string the words together, Baekhyun's heart falls, recalling the small man who had made Chanyeol feel at home at the station. He's too shocked to cry, but continues to comfort Chanyeol.

Together, they are an awkward joint mass on the bed, but they cling to each other like the world might fall apart tomorrow.

It’s 10PM. Baekhyun centers his sight on the gap between the curtains, into the black lagoon that stretches over the night sky. If he concentrates hard enough, he can vaguely make out the sound of traffic happening below them; maybe a pedestrian crossing too late, maybe a driver getting distracted by their phone and not noticing the moment the light turns green.

Baekhyun hasn’t showered since he got back three hours ago. He feels sticky and gross, but the arms around him are set and firm, and he doesn’t have the heart to peel himself away. Not after Chanyeol broke down for the third time while narrating the events that transpired during his mission, with glazed eyes and shaky fingers. He choked up at every utterance of Minseok-hyung, as if his body wanted to keep the name a secret, let the guilt attached to it kill him from within.

There’s a whimper against his shoulder, and Baekhyun tightens his arms around Chanyeol.

I’m here.

I’m not going anywhere.

Baekhyun accompanies Chanyeol to the funeral.

In his picture, Minseok stands proud and tall, eyes carrying a cat-like curiosity and confidence. In reality, he had been a small man—though he could out-bench press his juniors without breaking a sweat. He had been the guy who’d preferred drinking quietly over raucous chatting, letting his colleagues take the spotlight. But his absence at events had always been noticeable, an empty space where he should be.

And today, the space he’s left behind is especially colossal.

Relatives and colleagues alike pool in, dressed in black. Families who had a loved one saved by Minseok during the fire approach the Kims, and upon recounting his heroic deeds, hug and cry over his sacrifice. After paying their respects, a family of three approaches Chanyeol, the child no older than six, holding her mother’s hand. The mother ushers her toward Chanyeol, whose height seems to intimidate the little girl as she shies away.

“Go on now,” the lady urges.

Her daughter’s eyes, round and curious, scan Chanyeol up and down, as if not knowing where to look, before settling on his face. Head craning upwards, she says, “Thank you for saving me the other day, ahjusshi.”

On normal occasions, Chanyeol would either start playing with the girl or bemoan the fact that he got called ahjusshi instead of oppa. But today, he can only stare down at the child with dead eyes. Her presence conjures too many scenes that are still raw and painful for him, reminding—no, mocking him for his incompetence.

Baekhyun feels the hand in his tremble, and when he looks up, Chanyeol has a pained look on his face, lips pressed into a thin line. So Baekhyun takes his place, getting on one knee to match the girl’s eye level. He smiles, and his free hand reaches up to play with one of her braids. “This and that ahjusshi,” he begins, gesturing to the casket, “saved your life, didn’t they?”

The girl nods.

“So you owe it to them to live it to the fullest. Do you know what that means?” When the girl shakes her head, Baekhyun continues, “It means to be a good girl and grow up to be—what do you want to be?”

Incongruous with a girl her age, she exclaims very seriously, “An astronaut!”

Baekhyun chuckles and pats her head. “Good, good—so you owe it to them to go up into space and make everyone proud. Okay?”

The girl nods furiously, and when Baekhyun sticks out a pinky finger, she happily links it with hers. “Yes!”

The family leaves; throughout the conversation, Chanyeol stays rooted to his spot, head hung low. His fingers are still entwined with Baekhyun’s in a numbing grip, but the latter doesn’t mind, even wishing there was a way for him to absorb the other’s pain through their hands.

Chanyeol is only one of many who take it especially hard. Minseok was, is, well-loved by everyone, and even the newbies at the station wear their heavy hearts on their sleeves, recalling how their superior had taken care of them.

Why do the good die young?

The question hangs in the air, and plagues Baekhyun’s mind again when they’re back in their apartment, curling up against each other, the sounds and colors from the television lost on them as they are in their thoughts.

The dreams get worse.

Nowadays, Chanyeol wakes up in cold sweat, screaming and kicking. Where his panic attacks were once infrequent and mild enough that he could manage them on his own, it now takes Baekhyun a solid ten minutes to calm him down, chanting low but lulling incoherencies against his temple.

Baekhyun is torn between asking Chanyeol to quit and letting him continue. At work, there’s the risk of practically everything triggering his attacks; at home, his thoughts might as well do the same. So Baekhyun takes matter into his own hands, and pleads Junmyeon and Kyungsoo to ask around for job vacancies.

While Kyungsoo agreed that it would be for the best, Junmyeon is a bit hesitant. “You know Chanyeol needs more than just a job that pays well, right? The guy likes helping people.”

Baekhyun almost snaps at him. Of course, Baekhyun knows. Heck, he knows better than anyone in the world. He’s seen firsthand how Chanyeol grew from the scared child he was, to the man who had organized their escape ten years later. All because he had overheard them discussing sending Baekhyun away to somewhere much, much worse.

Which is why Baekhyun also knows that that idiot’s savior complex is gonna get himself killed one day.

The doctor had called it posttraumatic stress disorder, and this time, prescribed a different medication. Baekhyun had shot her a dirty look, asking if the new pills would give Chanyeol the same shitty dreams he had been having even before his current nightmares. To his exasperation, she had just shrugged and said, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

It’s been a month since the day of the fire, and it’s only recently that Baekhyun has been able to get more than a few consecutive hours of shuteye. The medication seems to be working, but Chanyeol’s declining performance at work threatens his job security; after all, pills aren’t an off-switch for anxiety, and they certainly don’t return you to whatever previous state of mind you were in immediately.

Baekhyun is restless. It’s only a matter of time until Chanyeol is forced to quit his job at the fire station, and Kyungsoo and Junmyeon have yet to get back to him about any openings.

He’s grasping at straws, until one day hope walks in, donning a blue blazer and a brand-new haircut.

Baekhyun watches the man take his usual seat by the window, ordering a drink to start. When their eyes meet, Heechul flashes him a friendly smile and an encouraging thumbs-up. Baekhyun only has a few minutes left before the start of his performance, so he returns a polite smile and doesn’t bother going over to chat—not yet. He knows the man would linger until the very end anyway, holding onto his streak of being the last customer to leave each time.

Which Heechul does, when Baekhyun flicks his hand off the keys for a dramatic last note, and the older man’s applause is the only thing keeping the ensuing silence at bay.

“The stage is truly yours, Byun Baekhyun!”

Self-indulgence had been the essence of his performance that night, distracting Baekhyun from all the worries that plagued his recent weeks. Aside from Chanyeol, the stage has always felt like home to him. And Heechul seems to have noticed this too.

They barely exchange words, even when it is only the two of them outside, braving the near-midnight breeze. Heechul lights a cigarette like he did during their first encounter, except this time he doesn’t stop to speak until all that’s left between his lips is the bud. Baekhyun, on the other hand, is shuffling through potential conversation starters—at one point, he even ponders the rejection stack.

But then he remembers a soft boy and a promise shared, and any thoughts of abandoning what he came out to do are trashed.

He takes a deep breath. “When—”

“Thursday night.”

When Baekhyun meets his eyes, Heechul is smiling. But it isn’t a tyrannical sneer of someone who thinks he’s just conquered new land. It’s just a smile—a subtle upturn of the lips, more satisfaction than triumph. It’s self-indulgent, just like Baekhyun had been on stage.

It’s what leads him through his pounding heart and whirling mind to believe that maybe, maybe it won’t be all bad.

The night is mute; his trust is blind.

It’s a strange feeling, starting work at an hour half of the population goes to bed at.

Baekhyun takes the train to Gangnam with all the nervous energy he’s stored up since the Saturday he accepted Heechul’s offer. For the first time in his life, he had hoped his shift at Dior would last forever, but alas, it struck six o’clock, and he’d barely had the appetite for dinner.

In the few days leading up to his new job, Baekhyun had tried many times to tell Chanyeol about it, only to fail at every turn. And it hadn’t been because his friend was being difficult. Rather, it was Baekhyun who couldn’t bring himself to tell him the complete truth.

He tried convincing himself that he had his reasons. That he didn’t want to make Chanyeol’s anxiety worse. That he didn’t want Chanyeol to beat himself up over having one less job than Baekhyun; to feel bad that Baekhyun was in part, doing this for him, even if he would never admit it.

But underneath all those excuses lies a simple, raw fear. You’re scared he’ll judge you and call you dirty. You’re scared he’ll leave you after he finds out.

No, Chanyeol isn’t like that. Baekhyun recites that thought like a mantra. Yet no matter what, paranoia wins over rationality each time. He knows that it’s better that Chanyeol learns about it sooner than later, but whenever they’re in their room, opportunity presenting itself, he can’t seem to get the words out.

So Baekhyun resigns to keep it a secret. For now.

Besides, it isn’t like he’s doing anything questionable. He’ll just play the piano, sing a few songs and then be done with it. Come morning light, he’ll walk out of the place with a heavier pocket and hopefully, his chastity intact.

For now.

The moment he pushes through the backdoor of the club, Baekhyun already feels out of place.

The foyer is small and clean, all sanitized marble and reflective floors. The lighting is warm and bright, a contrast to the dark main hall that lay beyond the reception. Standing behind the counter is a petite lady dressed to the nines in a strapless white dress, embroidery glittering luxuriously in the light. Her hair, tied into two symmetrical braids, is obviously damaged from bleach, but Baekhyun thinks the platinum color suits her.

Only when he takes a few steps forward does the woman look up from whatever she’s doing. A charming smile decorates her face, showing off a perfect set of whites. Baekhyun thinks she’s beautiful. “Hi, is this your first time?”

Baekhyun nods. “Yes, but um, I’m not a customer. I’m here to work…?”

The woman blinks, unresponsive for a total of two seconds. “Ah, you must be Baekhyun!”

“Yeah, Kim Hee—”

But before he can finish, she yells out at a volume that rivals even Jongdae, “OPPA! BYUN BAEKHYUN’S HERE!” As if the shout didn’t just detonate from her tiny body, she turns back to Baekhyun, smiling unassumingly. “He’ll be here in a bit,” she says, stretching out a hand. “I’m Taeyeon.”

Baekhyun takes it, feeling how much smaller and smoother it is compared to his own. Compared to Chanyeol’s. “It’s nice to meet you.” He glances around nervously, unconsciously fixing the lapels of his jacket. “So I’ll be performing tonight, but what else am I supposed to do exactly…?” The set list he’s prepared spans three hours at most, but his shift is twice as long, and Baekhyun doubts Heechul expects him to be on stage the entire time—at least, he hopes not.

“Baekhyun! So glad you could make it!” Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Stepping into the light of the atrium, Heechul appears significantly taller than usual, and it takes a while for Baekhyun to register the fact that he’s wearing a pair of six-inch high stilettos. The red of his heels matches the red of the bodycon dress that Baekhyun isn’t hard-pressed to admit fits him. To complete the look, he has on a bob wig, of such high quality that it would have fooled Baekhyun had he not known better.

A compliment is on the tip of his tongue, but Baekhyun holds it in and replies, “You say that like I’m here for the party and not for work.”

“And that attitude, my friend, is what will result in your early death. Haven’t you heard of Confucius? Love your job, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life!”

Taeyeon snorts. “Doubt you even quoted the right guy.”

“Oh yeah? And you’re supposed to know better, Miss Smarty Pants?” Heechul taunts, bending at the waist to match her eye level. Taeyeon, in kind, sticks her tongue out. They argue for a bit more before Heechul leads Baekhyun away, through the bar and into a spacious backroom.

Inside the room are a group of other men, ranging from their early twenties to late thirties. They all carry an air of sophistication about them, clean-shaven with a clear face. One such Adonis stands out even from the rest, his bronze skin tight against his abs as he changes into his shirt. Heechul calls for him, “Jongin!”

The man named Jongin turns to them. At first glance, Baekhyun has already concluded that he might just be the best-looking man he’s ever seen—and that’s from an objective perspective. In the light, Jongin’s highlighter accentuates the height of his cheekbones, and the sharpness of his eyebrows is only matched by the structure of his jaw. His hair is dyed in an outlandish pink, but he pulls it off, somewhat. “Hyung?” he greets. His lips are in a constant pout even when he speaks, giving him a child-like countenance.

“This is Baekhyun. He’ll be starting today, but only on stage and as a basic host. Show him the ropes, will ya?”

Jongin nods, then turns to Baekhyun with a sweet smile. “Hi, I’m Jongin. My clients call me Kai. It’s nice to meet you.”

Heechul leaves them together to make acquaintances, and the first thing Jongin does is bring Baekhyun to the clothes rack to pick an outfit. It’s difficult, because what fits Baekhyun around the shoulders is too loose down the rest of his torso and hips. Even some of the sleeves are too long. But then Jongin makes him try on some leather pants, and wolf-whistles at the result. “Oh, look at you.”

Baekhyun checks himself out in the mirror and immediately blushes. His ass does look great. Jongin gives him a mesh undershirt and an almost off-shoulder blouse to finish off his outfit, showing off the ends of his collarbones. The foundation brush is just about to hit his face when Jongin pauses and says, “What’s your degree?”

Tilting his head, Baekhyun blinks in confusion. “I… didn’t go to school.”

When Jongin doesn’t reply, only frowns, Baekhyun starts feeling a bit self-conscious. He’s about to ask if he needed one for the job before the other bursts out in hysterics. It’s a maniacal kind of laughter, drawing looks from the whole room for a second. By the time Jongin is sane enough to compose words, they’ve returned to their business. He wheezes through the remnants of his laughter, “God, I can’t believe you.”

It’s Baekhyun’s turn to frown. “Is that such a problem—”

“I meant your eye degree, silly!”

Oh.

Oh.

Baekhyun turns away, covering his face in embarrassment. Frankly, he’s mortified. He’s trying to come up with some retort, but as words fail him, he mumbles, “Idonthaveany.”

“Hm?”

“I said I don’t have any!” Baekhyun snaps, but the red of his face just widens Jongin’s smile as he picks out a pair of light-colored lenses for the other to try on, before fixing him up with some charcoal liner and a dab of blue eyeshadow in the center of his lower lids. When he looks in a mirror again, Baekhyun barely recognizes himself. “Wow.”

In the mirror, Jongin only smirks proudly.

With fifteen minutes left to the club opening, Jongin takes Baekhyun on a detour, starting with where they usually sit and drink with the clients. Around them, everyone’s dressed in equally stylish clothes, though their individuality means no two hosts or bartenders look even remotely the same. Jongin himself is sporting a more boyish look, loose, white graphic tee tucked into high-cuffed jeans, showing off his taut waist, and to Baekhyun’s envy, the prettiest pair of ankles he’s seen on a human being.

Heechul isn’t the only one in typical women’s attire, Baekhyun notes, taking in the flared skirts and dresses around him, ranging from mini to maxi. Even the perfume they use has a more floral scent to it, as opposed to the typical cologne the other men are wearing. It makes for a refreshing sight, Baekhyun thinks with an appreciative smile. “I didn’t think women would be so into this kinda thing, though.”

Jongin quirks an eyebrow, amused. “As pretty as some of us are, we’re all men here. Well, save for Taeyeon-noona.”

“No, no—as in, the clients.”

Jongin stops in his tracks, echoing, “The clients.”

Baekhyun stops just a few steps ahead, looking back in confusion. “Yeah.”

The look on Jongin’s face is unreadable. “You do know what kind of club this is, right?”

Baekhyun turns pink. “Uhh, yeah… Heechul told me you guys provide that kind of service.”

Jongin steps forward. “To who?”

“Huh?” When Baekhyun looks up, Jongin’s eyes seem to be staring right into his soul. It makes him feel vulnerable, small.

“Who do we service? What kind of people?”

Baekhyun squirms uncomfortably. Is this a test? “Rich people?” he mumbles. When Jongin doesn’t say anything, he adds, “really, really rich people?”

Jongin is dumbfounded.

They stay there, facing each other in silence, both at a loss for words, though for two very different reasons, until a boisterous voice chimes in. “Hey, you two! What are you dillydallying around for? We open in five!”

That seems to snap Jongin out of his reverie. He rounds on Heechul, eyes accusing. “Hyung, did you not tell him what kind of club this is?”

It’s a variation of the question he threw at Baekhyun, and Heechul is just as confused. “A host club that serves the super-rich? Why?”

“Super rich what?”

“Super rich… and wealthy! Ding, ding, ding! What prize do I get?” Heechul laughs.

Baekhyun chuckles along to the bad humor, but Jongin is only left exasperated. “Super rich men!” He turns to Baekhyun once more. “This is a gay host club! Did you not look at our website?”

Heechul dismisses his outburst easily. “What’s there to look at? He’s only here to sing and chat anyway. Plus, I gave him my business card which says on the front, ‘We’re queer, we’re here, come say hello!’ Cool, eh?”

Jongin only rolls his eyes at his boss’s theatrics. “You literally stole that slogan.”

They begin arguing, both having forgotten the original discussion. But when they remember the third person in the room, Heechul addresses Baekhyun’s new look. “Forgot to say, you look amazing, by the way. Well, not as good as me, but who is? Why don’t we take your measurements later, yeah? We can tailor a suit for—”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Jongin sighs. Heechul blinks rapidly, confused. “What? Why not? Like I said, you only have to sing. And chat, but that can be unarranged. Is this about the gay part?”

“Of course, it’s about the gay part!” Jongin snaps.

Heechul looks positively scandalized, narrowing his eyes at Baekhyun. “Are you homophobic?”

The question breaks Baekhyun out of his thoughts. “No! No, I’m just—”

“In love with someone. A man, specifically.”

It’s as if someone’s pried into his brain, searching for the reason behind him wanting to back out and successfully finding it. Jongin’s voice is firm, leaving no room for Baekhyun to deny his statement. And he doesn’t need to. Because it’s true.

He is in love with someone. A man, specifically. Chanyeol, more specifically.

“Wait, wait, wait—first of all, how do you know that?” Heechul asks Jongin, who just shrugs in reply. “And you—” he turns to Baekhyun, “I was half-kidding when I was talking about your relationship with that kid, that—that—”

Baekhyun finishes for him softly, “Chanyeol.”

“That Chanyeol!”

An awkward silence befalls the three of them, paying no mind to the customers that are slowly but steadily trickling in. It’s Jongin who speaks up first. “The crowd is gonna be here any minute now. And we haven’t got a substitute piano guy lying around. Can’t you stick around for a day? Well, night.”

Baekhyun chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t know if I can—”

“You won’t have to talk or flirt with anyone. Just go up there and perform, then when you’re done, you stick with me. I’m booked by a friend for tonight, so he wouldn’t mind you there.”

Heechul clasps his hand together like he’s hit jackpot. “Jongin! You’re a savior!” he cries, throwing himself around the other man. With heels, he’s taller than Jongin, who’s wearing flats and nearly bent over backwards in his embrace.

With a cough that oddly sounds like he’s choking, Jongin says to Baekhyun, “You! What’ll your name be?”

Heechul pulls away, eyes shining as he turns to the reluctant man. “That’s right! Everyone here has a codename so they can be a Jongin at home, and a Kai here!”

Pulled along by the current with no way to escape, Baekhyun only sighs. He doesn’t see the harm in staying—most of it is just his guilt, and the addition of that unexpected piece of information. He really should have read the other side of Heechul’s business card. Without giving it much thought, he mumbles, “Maybe… Four?”

Heechul frowns. “Four? Like the number?”

On the other hand, Jongin nods approvingly. “You look like a Four.”

“Hey! Just because you’re a nine doesn’t mean you can go around saying things like that,” Heechul scolds.

“That’s not what I meant. And what do you mean I’m only a nine, you hag!”

They start bickering again, and Baekhyun contemplates taking advantage of their petty drama to escape without anyone noticing, until the only female voice in the vicinity blares at them like a siren from afar. “HEY, WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING?! GET BACK TO WORK! I HAVE A CLUB TO RUN, SHITHEADS!”

Jongin tenses up; Heechul rolls his eyes, but that warning from Taeyeon was enough to get them to stop fighting. And so, Baekhyun loses his only chance of escaping as he lets Heechul drag him onstage, Jongin going the other direction to greet his clients for the night.

It’s unnerving. It makes him go haywire, clutching onto the last thread of sanity that keeps him afloat, keeps his fingers moving on the piano at the right tempo. The eyes that pierce him in the club are not unlike the eyes in Dior, though they are hungrier, more curious. At least Jongin keeps his promise of steering Baekhyun away from any unwarranted conversation afterwards.

For the first time in the spotlight, Baekhyun performs not as Baekhyun, but as Four. And as he ends his final performance, adrenaline coursing through his veins at three in the morning, he has a feeling it won’t be the last.

“You never drink black coffee.”

Jongdae looks over in concern at his friend who’s just dumped some ice cubes into his hot Americano, stirring them around before downing his drink in one go.

I also never thought I’d be working at a host club, but there’s a first for everything, is what Baekhyun wants to say, but when he opens his mouth it’s to retch and curse the existence of black coffee. The only reason he didn’t bother adding milk and sugar is because he’s on his third cup and can’t afford the calories.

It’s been two weeks since his fateful first day at Birds of Paradise, and he’s gone back several times to perform, much to Heechul’s delight. As the latter promised, Baekhyun’s wallet is significantly heavier just from tips alone—but so are his eye bags.

These days, Chanyeol’s shifts at the station are from seven in the evening to seven in the morning, on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Naturally, Baekhyun overlaps his own hours at the club with Chanyeol’s to avoid having to tell his best friend about his new job. His schedule also means that he only has Fridays and Saturday nights to clear his newly accumulated sleep debt. He’s got it together. Sort of.

He’s never been the proprietor of good decision-making.

“Baekhyun.”

Kyungsoo’s voice cuts through Baekhyun’s caffeine-hazed mind. “Yeah?” he replies. When he turns to address his boss, the latter looks him up and down, and frowns. Damn, does he look that bad?

“Are you not getting enough sleep? If you want, you can take less hours—”

Baekhyun waves him off. “No, I’m good. It’s just one of those days you know?” Well, several of those days. “What did you need?”

Kyungsoo appraises him suspiciously, but doesn’t press the issue. He says, “You were asking for a job, right? My friend’s a principal at one of the nearby primary schools and says she’s looking for a new kindergarten teacher. I thought that it’d be the kind of thing Chanyeol would like so I—”

Baekhyun jumps at the opportunity. “Yes, yes! That’s perfect. Oh my god, you’re a saint. When do I need to get back to you by?”

“Right now, they have a sub but she’ll be gone after next week so maybe by the end of this week?”

Baekhyun can’t begin to describe his gratitude to the other man, but he thanks him profusely and with a hug, which Kyungsoo affectionately returns.

Outside, the clouds are morose and heavy, and maybe it’s the caffeine speaking, but Baekhyun doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

It’s a Tuesday evening, and Chanyeol should be at work by the time Baekhyun’s back at their flat. So, when Baekhyun shoves the front door open with a happy greeting directed at no one in particular, he thinks it’s completely justified that he screams when the air greets him back.

“C-Chanyeol?” he calls out, heart still pounding. He checks his phone—Tuesday, 7:05PM. Chanyeol’s shift should have started five minutes ago, but that voice was definitely his. Praying that whatever ghost haunting their apartment doesn’t suddenly manifest itself, Baekhyun shuffles towards the kitchen.

To his relief and confusion, Baekhyun finds Chanyeol sitting at the dining table, drenched in the light of the sunset. The curtains are pulled open, threads of orange stretching across the room, casting a haunting hue against the tall man. It’s a beautiful image—if not for the listlessness on his face.

The air has never felt heavier. Baekhyun is about to take a seat next to him when Chanyeol says, “I got fired.”

Three words. Spoken in the bare frame of a second. Baekhyun almost asks for a repeat before realizing how cruel it would be. The next thing he knows he’s on Chanyeol’s lap, the latter’s forehead resting between his collarbones. His hair has no doubt been subjected to some vigorous finger-racking, and Baekhyun tries to smooth the strands out, pressing his lips against the other’s bared forehead.

“I’m useless.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Minseok-hyung died because I couldn’t save him. Now I’m not fit enough to save anyone,” Chanyeol says. There are no tears like the last time, but what replaces them is a kind of fatigue that even weighs down on Baekhyun’s shoulders. He wishes he could take it all away.

“You don’t need to save everyone.” You saved me. Isn’t that enough?

“I got put on indefinite leave.”

“Everyone hits slumps.”

Chanyeol laughs without humor. “I don’t even know if I’ll get out of this one—” He’s cut off by hands cupping his cheeks and making him face upwards, Baekhyun’s eyes gently but resolutely piercing into him.

“You will,” Baekhyun says, pressing their foreheads together. “You always do.” His voice is a breeze-like whisper, thumbs stroking the sides of Chanyeol’s face. “The dreams?” Chanyeol shakes his head; even without words, Baekhyun understands that Minseok’s death still haunts his friend. Desperation grips him, so he takes his chance and says, “I… managed to ask around for a job for you.”

Chanyeol snaps his head up, and Baekhyun can see the flurry of emotions in his large eyes. There’s a tint that seems to reflect the light wrongly, almost negatively, but Baekhyun doesn’t want to name it, is too scared to. “Why?” Chanyeol finally asks, and the way he chokes around the word makes Baekhyun wish he didn’t bring it up. “You didn’t think I’d make it, did you? You thought I couldn’t handle it?”

Chanyeol hits the nail on the head, accusing, and the guilt strikes Baekhyun like a speeding truck, faster than he can deny it. “No! I was just worried—”

“Of course, you were!” Chanyeol explodes, slamming his fist down on the table by Baekhyun’s sides, the bang making the smaller man jump. He hangs his head low, but his shoulders are tense and trembling. “Ever since we were kids, you always—” he’s interrupted by his own sobs, but when Baekhyun lifts his head up again, there are no tears, just glassy, stubborn eyes asking him the same question.

Why?

And Baekhyun wants to tell Chanyeol that it’s because he loves him. That he’d rather watch the world burn before he lets the flames even have a taste of him.

But he can’t. He can’t lay his heart out, can’t tear it open and burden Chanyeol with its contents, can’t let himself trap his best friend with the shackles of his greed—Chanyeol deserves more than that. So, Baekhyun lies. “Actually, I got a job for the both of us. I knew you were looking around for a second job, so I asked Kyungsoo. I thought…”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get another job.”

Baekhyun chuckles drily. “That wouldn’t have stopped you now, would it?”

Chanyeol looks at him, and Baekhyun hates that this is one of those rare times where he can’t read what the other’s thinking. It takes everything not to squirm under the scrutiny, his fingers tightening and loosening their hold on the hem of Chanyeol’s shirt. Finally, Chanyeol asks, “Your second job… was that through Kyungsoo too?”

Baekhyun nods. This time, it’s half a lie. Or maybe it doesn’t have to be—technically, he met Heechul at the café, and the café belongs to Kyungsoo, so it is the truth, just not a very straightforward one. “Sort of? This guy liked my singing so he invited me to sing at his club,” he says, back to combing Chanyeol’s hair with his fingers. Then as an afterthought, he adds, “It’s nice. The people are nice.”

“How long have you been working there for?”

“A week or so.” Another lie.

“Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

Baekhyun doesn’t give anything away. “I wasn’t sure I’d last. But I’ll probably stick to it, since I only have to work three to four nights a week.” That part is the truth, though he wonders why he feels so burdened telling it.

Thankfully, Chanyeol drops the issue. He seems to have calmed down from his outburst, voice gentle when he speaks next. “What’s the job Kyungsoo’s offering?”

“Kindergarten teacher,” Baekhyun replies, along with details on working hours and pay. It’s less than what he got at the fire station, but it still covers the rent and inclusive, with enough to spare. “And you’ve always been good with kids, right?”

“I guess,” Chanyeol says, “but why are you taking two jobs? Shouldn’t you rest?”

“I like singing, and the manager was pretty persistent,” Baekhyun laughs, though Chanyeol just looks dejected.

“At least they want you,” he mumbles.

The hand in his hair stops. “Chanyeol…”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No, no, I shouldn’t have said that. You got that job for me, so I should be thankful. That was a dick move. I’m sorry,” he says, his sincerity reflecting in the eyes that look up at Baekhyun apologetically. It makes his chest tight, heart skip. Baekhyun wants to protect the world in those eyes.

Shifting forward in his lap, Baekhyun wraps his arms around Chanyeol, pressing their bodies together, bathing in the warmth the other emits. He whispers, “I’m sorry, too.”

In the beginning, there was hope.

Growing up in that old storage house, Baekhyun made many friends, some younger, some much older. But they would always leave at some point, one by one. From afar, he would watch them run into their parents’ arms, both sides crying once finally reunited. On the side, the loan shark peered into the envelope the parents had given, counting the dollars.

So, little Baekhyun, like any other child would, carried hope in his heart.

But weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and as he said goodbye to the only other boy who had stayed with him for more than a year, watching as he embraced his hunched grandmother, Baekhyun buried hope in the ground next to the dead bird he had found a few days back, its wings shattered.

No one was going to come for him.

No one would stay with him.

Until Chanyeol.

The sails of spring lower, the sun creeps higher and Baekhyun stuffs his scarves away in a dark corner of their shared wardrobe.

Bits and pieces of an uncertain melody glide around the apartment, the inexperience of its player evident. It melds with the wind blowing in through the windows, as Baekhyun happily welcomes the atmosphere of summer. Despite the fragmented tune, he recognizes it from the Japanese animated movie Chanyeol loves so much—something to do with a name.

Sundays are precious. Sunday means mutual free time, and this week, Baekhyun spends it on the couch next to Chanyeol who’s following a song tutorial on YouTube. Although Baekhyun knows next to nothing about the guitar, he likes to think that Chanyeol is making above average progress. He also likes to think that he’s being completely unbiased in his judgment.

Baekhyun’s moment of admiring Chanyeol’s studious side profile is rudely interrupted by a ping from his phone. He groans when he sees the username.

Kai: drinks tonight???

He contemplates leaving it be, but remembers how persistent Jongin can be and so, types up a quick response.

Baekhyun: cant, busy

Kai: ??? it’s a Sunday???

Baekhyun: precisely because it’s a Sunday

He almost forgets that they’re texting in the group chat until Heechul’s message chimes in.

Heechul: oho? going out with lover boy by any chance?

Kai: omg did chanhyuk like the guitar!!!!

He rolls his eyes.

Baekhyun: a) it’s Chanyeol b) yes he likes the guitar very much

Kai: hmmm maybe when he gets better we can get him to work for us hehe

Baekhyun should put his phone away. He knows Jongin is baiting him, that there’s no real substance in his words, and so Baekhyun should just switch off the damn phone and get back to enjoying his rare Sunday relaxing with Chanyeol.

But god damn it if his jealousy when it comes to his best friend isn’t his biggest vice.

Baekhyun: remotely suggest that again and i’ll tear ur favorite fishnets to pieces

Kai: no not the fishnets!!!!!

Heechul: hah serves you right

Kai: ur so mean hag

Kai: *hyung lol autocorrect

The banter continues for the next dozen messages or so, and before Jongin has the chance to bring up Chanyeol again, Baekhyun pockets his phone with a sigh. There’s movement in his periphery, followed by a weight against his right. “Why the long face, little pup?”

Baekhyun clicks his tongue in irritation, but snuggles closer to Chanyeol. “Just my friends at work being annoying.”

Chanyeol chuckles. “Well, they can’t be that annoying if they let you take this guitar back with you.”

Baekhyun hums. “Not like they needed it.”

“But still, it looks—and feels—new,” Chanyeol says, absently playing a few chords.

“Really? I wouldn’t be able to tell,” Baekhyun replies. “Play me a song then.”

Chanyeol snorts. “Yeah because I’m totally still not on chords.” He doesn’t play a song, but the random strumming lulls Baekhyun into an unguarded bliss nonetheless. The wind outside picks up slightly, and he’s more than mindful of the scent of Chanyeol’s deodorant.

Save for Chanyeol’s lawless playing, they enjoy a peaceful silence until Baekhyun cuts through it, though so gently it’s as if he’s barely spoken. “You nervous for tomorrow?”

“Yes and no? I’m also pretty excited,” Chanyeol answers. There’s a smile in his voice that Baekhyun hasn’t heard in a while, and it fills his heart in ways no music can.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, Chanyeol focused on his tutorial and Baekhyun focused on him. The latter wonders if the rapid thrumming of his heart can be felt through their joined sides, or if Chanyeol remains oblivious to his emotions. He can’t help feeling slightly deflated when he peeks at the other and sees him lost in his own world. It hurts just a bit to entertain the possibility that Chanyeol’s affections toward him are purely platonic.

Still, he hopes that maybe it’s because he hasn’t learned how to thoroughly read the other man just yet.

(Case in point, in their years of living together, Baekhyun has never learned to touch Chanyeol’s ears that burn up every time the little pup nuzzles against his shoulder.)

It’s an oddly quiet night at the club, and Baekhyun takes the opportunity to slip away from the group of hosts and clients to order a mocktail for himself at the bar. He’s had half a glass of whiskey already, and that little bit of alcohol was enough to send a gentle buzz coursing through his veins. He’s always been a lightweight, a fact that puts him on the receiving end of Jongdae’s endless teasing. Ironically enough, no one bothers him about it at the club, since Jongin himself still retches at the taste of beer, and almost un-ironically always orders apple juice.

Baekhyun takes on his non-alcoholic margarita with appreciative sips, reveling in the fruity punch without the usual alcoholic burn. It adds to the sweetness of the atmosphere, taste buds tingling while his mind is taken to cloud nine by Taeyeon’s voice. She’s covering a Beyoncé song; the ending note rings bright and high, captivating the crowd. When it finally trails off, everyone releases a collective breath and begins the applause and whistling.

Although he’s sad that it ended so soon, Baekhyun stands to clap and cheer along. As a fellow singer, his lungs carry his praise to the stage easily and Taeyeon looks back at him, laughing. She joins him shortly after and Baekhyun orders a mocktail for her, much to her displeasure. “Come on, that performance calls for at least one beer, don’t you think?” she whines.

“Yeah, nuh-uh. I didn’t listen to Heechul-hyung that one time and that got me a hell of a scolding. Can’t believe I let you trick me into thinking that tiny body of yours could handle more than a shot of tequila.”

“You’re just gullible,” Taeyeon snorts, reaching for her drink.

Baekhyun pouts, because normally it’s Chanyeol who gets called any and every variation of that descriptive. “Where are they anyway? Heechul-hyung and Jongin.”

“Oppa’s meeting with one of the sponsors, I think? And Jongin is booked by a client,” Taeyeon answers, making crude gestures with her hands to go with the last part. Baekhyun scrunches his nose, but doesn’t say anything, instead taking another sip of his drink. At his unusually lukewarm reaction, Taeyeon can’t help but become curious, doe eyes scrutinizing. “What’s this? Where did your customary slut-shaming rhetoric go?”

Baekhyun flinches, jerking back slightly. Ever since he let slip what he thought about sex workers when he started working, Taeyeon has been giving him hell about it—and always with the sweetest of smiles, as if there is no venom behind her silky voice. Heechul had only sighed like he was used to it, though he had to step in when Jongin nearly punched Baekhyun for implying that the former’s earnings were “dirty money.”

He wants to claim that it had been the stress talking, but thinking back to it, it really was just a super major mega dick move on his part. He’s lucky he only got away with a warning from Heechul, and even then, he feels bad for the lack of a punishment.

Baekhyun forces the words out, “I was wrong.” He’s apologized for what he said a few times, but he hasn’t reflected on it fully—until now.

Taeyeon quirks an eyebrow but keeps mum, lips occupied with the rim of her glass. The longer the words hang between them, the heavier the air seems to get—but Baekhyun knows it isn’t his right to end the silence. So, he waits. Finally, an eternity and an empty margarita glass later, Taeyeon asks, “What makes you say that?”

It’s not like he has a fancy speech prepared, but Baekhyun sure hopes he doesn’t fuck it up again this time round. “Jongin enjoys what he’s doing, I enjoy what I’m doing. He’s good at what he does—well, at least I assume so—and I’m good at what I do. Heechul-hyung checks all the clients’ background like he’s a one-man FBI, so it’s not like it isn’t safe…” he pauses to clear his throat, catching his rambling. Taeyeon’s expression doesn’t give anything away; Baekhyun feels like a child laying out his conscience to his mom, trying to convince her that he’s learned his lesson. “My point is, what I said was shitty, my beliefs were shitty, and there shouldn’t be any difference between the money I earn and the money Jongin earns. Because in the end, if people are willing to pay, why shouldn’t we sell, right?”

“Right.”

Baekhyun’s face burns, and he downs the rest of his drink in hopes of cooling himself off. “Of course, as long as both parties are okay with it.”

“Did you lay this out to Jongin?” Taeyeon asks. Baekhyun nods. “Good.” She orders another round of mocktail for them both.

Baekhyun doesn’t know how to the best open the next topic, so he just bulldozes through it. “I’m thinking of becoming a premium host, too.” Taeyeon snaps her head to stare at him, bug-eyed. “Like Jongin.” He clears his throat; under his boss’s eyes, the room is suddenly too hot, the band music blurring into the background.

Taeyeon doesn’t tear her gaze away. If not for her blinking, Baekhyun thinks she’d easily pass off as a mannequin, all pale skin without an ounce of excess fat. When she finally gathers her bearings, she takes a deep breath and downs her second glass in one go, groaning at the brain freeze. Still, he waits for her response. “That… is a lot to unpack,” she sighs. “Alright, have at it. Tell noona what’s on your mind.”

And he does. About how it’s been two weeks since Chanyeol started his job as a teacher; his first week was full of smiles and stories about which kid did what but on his second week, he was back to being a vibrating ball of anxiety, always thinking about what he can do next. These days, not even the guitar is enough to appease him. His moods are still manageable, and the dreams are becoming less frequent, but—

“You’re scared he’ll relapse.”

Baekhyun nods glumly. They both sip their drinks in silence, this time Taeyeon with water.

“Jongin told me how much I’d earn if I became a proper host,” Baekhyun says, “if I can do it, I’ll be able to get Chanyeol to university next spring.”

Taeyeon snorts. “So let me get this straight,” she starts, pointing a manicured finger at him, “you, a virgin, are gonna sleep with guys for money, to provide for the love of your life no less, all the while making him think that the money that goes to his tuition fees is coming from overly generous tippers rather than plain ol’ sex.”

Baekhyun squirms in his seat. “It definitely sounded better in my head,” he grumbles.

Taeyeon throws her hands up in exasperation. “He’s not a child!” she berates, eyes wide in disbelief. “I get that you want to protect him, but how long can you keep all this from him?”

As long as I have to, Baekhyun thinks. But he doesn’t let the thought leave his lips because he knows it’ll just earn him a lambasting. Instead, he replies, “I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll tell you now. The answer is: not long at all. Word of advice, Byun Baekhyun? The longer you bury the truth, the uglier it is when it comes digging itself back out.”

“Chanyeol, stop crying, they’ll hear you.”

The floors were cold and hard, the walls traitorously thin. Chanyeol and Baekhyun were just two of the children living in the attic, with only a flimsy blanket protecting them from the chill.

Bruises littered the sides of Chanyeol’s face and along the length of his arms, from earlier on in the day when he had jumped in front of a semi-conscious Baekhyun to protect him from the beatings. Although he had shown them off at first, calling them marks of a warrior, the pain and soreness didn’t fully settle in until he was lying on the ground, injuries throbbing.

Baekhyun sighed. “Why did you do it, dummy?”

Chanyeol tried to match the low volume of Baekhyun’s voice, but his whispers were still punctuated by a sob every now and then. “Y-You’re always getting hurt b-because of me.”

Ever since Chanyeol had joined the litter, yet another unknown kid from a debt-ridden family, Baekhyun had been the one protecting him at every turn. Even though they were the same age, the latter was one of the first children there, and knew the inside-outs of the operation. He was quick-witted, and understood what and what not to do to survive.

Chanyeol, on the other hand, had been—still was—naïve, unable to comprehend why his parents had let those strange men take him away from his home. Not until Baekhyun had spelled it out for him on his second day there. “You were ‘sold,’ like me. Like everybody else here.” It had taken Chanyeol a day to believe, and weeks to get over.

Despite Baekhyun’s blunt attitude, he was the only one who went the extra mile to care for Chanyeol. The latter never knew why, but he appreciated the kind gestures, always going to him when he needed help or advice. To him, Baekhyun was the older brother he never had, though the first (and last) time he had called him ‘hyung,’ the other had visibly blanched, telling him never to say that ever again.

Baekhyun was his protector, his light in a world that seemed to them a never-ending tunnel. Even earlier on, when Chanyeol had jumped to shield him, it was because Baekhyun had stolen extra rations for him after the latter complained about feeling weak from hunger. That was why even though his arm was starting to form ugly black bumps, even though the pain robbed him of any sleep, he thought he’d do it all again. For Baekhyun.

If Chanyeol were to describe depression, he’d say that it’s like waking up to a world without color, as if a pair of monochrome-filtered lenses had been surgically implanted onto his eyes in his sleep.

On good days, he can still catch a glimpse of them—maybe he’d see a field of flowers and be able to distinguish the red from the purple from the blue. If he gets up even closer, then maybe he’ll also be able to tell that the petals, the filaments and the anthers on the filaments are all different colors. But they fade as soon as he moves away, and the chemicals in his brain are messed up enough that he wouldn’t be able to recall them, even if it’s only been a minute.

On bad days, it’s not just the colors that fade into a monotonous background—it can be the middle of summer, and he’d barely be able to feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

Just like today.

He sighs mutedly, slumping back down against the couch. Tomorrow, there will be more activities to run, more homework to mark, and worse, more parents to call. He looks at the time, and his excitement at the prospect of Baekhyun returning in half an hour is the most positive thing he’s felt all day, though it’s quickly squashed when he checks himself. Stop being so damn clingy.

He doesn’t realize that he’s fallen asleep until there’s a gentle hand on his face, familiarly cool against his skin. “Chanyeol?” the voice calls out.

“Welcome home,” Chanyeol mumbles in his sleep-laden state. There’s a peck on his forehead before the presence leaves altogether, footsteps making their way to the stove. “What are you cooking…?”

“Soo gave us beef marinara so I’m just gonna boil some pasta. You okay with that?”

“More than okay,” Chanyeol answers through a yawn. Has it really been only twenty-some minutes since he fell asleep? Pushing himself off the couch, he drags his feet toward where Baekhyun stands, overlooking the boiling pasta. Despite his earlier self-reprimand about not getting too clingy, he wraps his arms around Baekhyun from behind, fitting the smaller man against him. “Baekhyuuuuuun.”

The man in question laughs. “Is big pup tired?”

The way Baekhyun lets Chanyeol hold him is indulgent, but the latter can’t bring himself to pull away, enjoying the feel of the soft strands against his face like a pillow. Through the fatigue that clouds his head, Chanyeol vaguely makes out a distinct smell on Baekhyun. He hums, “New cologne, little pup?”

“Just someone at work letting me try a sample is all,” Baekhyun replies.

“It’s nice,” Chanyeol remarks, taking a whiff. “What is it?”

“You think so? It’s Ferrari Black.” Patting his arms, Baekhyun adds, “Chanyeol, let go, I need to stir the pasta.” But the taller man only tightens his hold around him, swaying back and forth. “Chanyeol—”

Before Baekhyun knows it, they’re falling backwards, and although he’s technically cushioned by Chanyeol, the impact still sends a sharp pain down his lower back. He yells out, body going rigid.

“Baekhyun?” There’s panic in Chanyeol’s voice as he shifts their positions so that Baekhyun’s lying on the ground, but the moment his backside touches the floor he yelps again. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Baekhyun says tightly. “Just—help me stand?” Chanyeol does so, and the smaller man manages to bite back another hiss when he straightens his body. He smiles at Chanyeol, though the pain probably isn’t very well concealed on his face either. “Lay out the table, please?”

Chanyeol wants to say more, but Baekhyun pulls out the kind of please wherein he means let it rest, so he begrudgingly goes to prepare the table. When he looks back, he’s relieved to see that Baekhyun isn’t having any difficulty moving around. He should have been more careful—it’s a Tuesday, which means Baekhyun had gone to the restaurant for opening straight after leaving the club at some ungodly hour. He must be tired.

After wolfing down his dinner, Baekhyun takes a nap before he has to leave for the club again. He claims that the three hours is enough, but Chanyeol knows that on his Fridays off, Baekhyun hits the sack and stays there from morning to night, only waking up when Chanyeol comes back and cooks them dinner.

There have been times when Chanyeol would pester Baekhyun to let him go visit his new workplace, but the latter always refused, saying that the club has strict rules when it comes to letting new people in. It doesn’t sit well with him, that there’s an aspect of Baekhyun’s life that he barely knows anything about—Baekhyun doesn’t even mention his workmates by name, only referring to them as boss, lady boss and colleague. The only thing Chanyeol knows about the place is its name—which doesn’t even show up on Google—and that it’s in Gangnam.

Is he being obsessive? He tries to reel it in, but he can’t. He’s always been sure about the things regarding Baekhyun, but nowadays the doubt eats at him.

On his bed, Baekhyun is fast asleep, making cute whining sounds that aren’t unlike a kicked puppy. It’s what prompted to Chanyeol to give him his ‘little pup’ nickname in the first place. He strokes the smooth bangs back, leaning down to touch their foreheads together, Baekhyun’s breath tickling his cheek.

I wish you’d trust me more.

Baekhyun was twelve when his eyes began to wander.

Always an observant child, he enjoyed watching people. Studying their expressions. Imitating the way they spoke. When their captor fell asleep on the couch in the TV room, Baekhyun would continue watching from the door through the slightest gap. He was never focused on the storyline—just the characters and how they acted.

One time, he had gotten too absorbed, forgetting his surroundings before the door swung open and he flew back with a kick to his gut.

But then he would reenact the scene to Chanyeol the next day, and the fits of laughter he got in turn momentarily made him forget the pain.

As he grew older, his eyes wandered further. Beyond the characters’ idiosyncrasies, he wanted to see how they interacted with other people. How do people get others to like them?

It was an acidic hunger that gnawed at his stomach walls, made him risk beatings just to continue watching the way the main characters onscreen closed their eyes, angled their heads—how did they get it so perfectly?—and slid their lips against each other. It was always a man and a woman, but as he thought of his best friend, he wondered if it was possible for two boys to do it, too.

Baekhyun was twelve when he learned what a kiss was.

It was one of the girls in the neighborhood whom he rescued from a bunch of older boys. Chanyeol and Baekhyun had been running with the money of their latest victim, when the former stopped him in his tracks.

“Baekhyun, she needs help.”

Baekhyun gave his stash of money to Chanyeol for safeguarding. “Here.”

“Wait, what are you—Baekhyun, wait!”

But Baekhyun did not wait, taking matters into his own hand before Chanyeol could get involved and make it messy. Chanyeol was righteous, but he was far from a fighter.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, took the boys down easily, barely breaking a sweat.

“You alright?” he asked, handing the girl’s bag back to her.

The girl was still crying. Wasn’t this like one of those dramas the old bastard always watched? Remembering the scene, he patted the girl’s head, smiling down at her when she finally looked up. “You’re safe,” he repeated the actor’s words.

Like a miracle, she stopped crying.

Baekhyun hadn’t expected to see her ever again, so when she called out to him in the middle of his errands the next day, this time without Chanyeol, he blanked. “Me?”

She was much happier this time round, eyes bright and clear. She skipped towards him, a shy smile on her face. “Do… you know what a kiss is?”

A kiss?

Before Baekhyun could reply, the girl went on her tiptoes to bump their mouths together. It was hardly a kiss—more a peck than anything else. A clumsy touch.

But the feeling lingered until he returned; throughout dinner, when he slurped on his instant noodles noisily, hoping the stain would go down with the grease; at night in bed, when he rubbed his face furiously against his pillow, scrubbing his lips raw until white dust collected on his fingers. When Chanyeol asked if he was okay, Baekhyun refused to speak.

Baekhyun was twelve when he cried himself to sleep over a first kiss lost to someone not-Chanyeol.

The room is quiet. Portraits commissioned from unknown artists and expensive vases atop sturdy tables seem to peer curiously at the figure on the bed, curled in on himself. He lies with the evidence of love-making that stains what were once white unassuming sheets, and despite the summer solstice lurking in the corner, it’s the coldest he’s ever felt.

His body is coming down from a trip to paradise, yet his heart is already lying on the floor of the abyss.

Baekhyun falls asleep at some point, too tired to mind the smell of sex and strange cologne that makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, but when he awakes it’s to the gentle nudge of a friend. Jongin is there, out of his work clothes and sporting a white tee and high tapered pants. Baekhyun groans, “What time is it?”

Checking his watch, Jongin reads out, “6:15. What time is your shift at the café?”

Baekhyun rolls over to bury his face into the pillow. It still smells nauseatingly like the man who took him a few hours ago, but he’s past the point of fatigue to care. “8AM.” The air around him is still; his colleague is rooted to the spot, no doubt with a dozen questions running through his head. They stay like that, both silently daring the other to make the first move.

In the end, Jongin only says, “Alright. I’ll come get you again at 7 if you’re not down by then.” With that, he leaves.

Jongin is mindful when he closes the door behind him, but the sound that echoes through the room is still too loud, too heavy on Baekhyun’s ears. He’s hyperaware of everything around and about him. When the sheets start feeling like layers of ants crawling up his skin every time he moves, he throws them off, dragging his body to the shower. At the floor of the bed, there is a bag of fresh clothes, including his uniform for Dior, courtesy of Jongin.

As promised, Baekhyun is down before seven. He isn’t used to the club like this—empty and spacious with the chairs and stools all stacked together and huddled in a corner. Only one part of the room is still fully lit, illuminating three figures sitting round a table by the bar, chatting away without any awareness of his entrance. The chatter dies down when he takes up the fourth seat, all pairs of eyes turning to him at the same time.

Taeyeon is the first to ask, “Are you okay?”

She offers him a glass of water, and Baekhyun takes it gratefully. “Yeah, I just feel—”

“Dirty?” Jongin offers.

There is no malice in his voice, just a sort of mock understanding. Baekhyun neither confirms nor deny, just tightens his grip around his glass. “I hated it,” he spits out.

“Why?”

“Because it felt good.”

The man who took him was a regular—one of Heechul’s friends, Changmin. His touch was tender, opening Baekhyun up thoroughly and patiently, and before he knew it Baekhyun was moaning in pleasure. It was different from the prior days when Jongin would “help” him by getting him used to the stretch of different toys. Jongin was a friend, a helping hand, and they could still banter while making out in bed. Changmin was a customer, an experienced gentleman, and made Baekhyun look him in the eye when he grinded against that spot that made Baekhyun’s toes curl, heat pooling in his pelvis. Changmin was the best person you could lose your virginity to.

And Baekhyun hated it.

He’s never considered himself a romantic, especially not one who would put so much weight on his virginity. Was it because he lost it to a stranger? Or because that stranger was a paying customer? If he were to sleep with more customers, would that feeling eventually wane into something more neutral, or would he just feel worse each time?

“Do you want to quit?” Heechul asks.

Yet the high he experienced was one unlike any other, and Changmin’s tip sits heavy in his back pocket.

Pushing Chanyeol’s face to the back of his mind, he answers, “No.”

You’re a born entertainer.

Those were the words that Heechul had said to Baekhyun during their first encounter. In hindsight, Baekhyun wonders if he had been referring to his skills on stage, or potentially in bed.

Ever since their first time, Changmin has returned a few times to seek his company. Although apprehensive at first, Baekhyun comes to find a wise, snarky brother in the older man, not unlike his own relationship with Heechul. He supposes it does help that Changmin is also amazing at sex.

He learns that Changmin and Heechul go way back, and that the former is just one of the many friends the latter keeps in his eccentric circle. In the beginning, Baekhyun’s lack of stamina meant that he often passed out right after coming, but when he finally learns to stay up, he finds it easy to chat incessantly with the other man.

Today, Changmin inquires his reason for entering this line of work, because Baekhyun seems happy enough taking the stage and working at Dior. “Heechul-hyung told me that after the first time we fucked you ran to him crying.”

Baekhyun pales, mortified. “I did not cry. What else did he say? I’ll kill that hag.”

His reaction pulls a laugh out of Changmin, and Baekhyun tries to ignore the way his eyes mismatch with mirth like Chanyeol. “Don’t worry, I know he tends to exaggerate. But I really didn’t hurt you, right?”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. I liked it. I just…”

Changmin ruffles his hair affectionately. “I get it. Society is weird about putting meaning in sex, especially when you’re on the receiving end. But you just gotta remember that the act itself is just two bodies rubbing together. It only means something when you want it to, but it’s okay even if it doesn’t mean anything.”

Baekhyun puffs his cheeks, lightly slapping his hand away. “And where did you get that from, Mr. Philosophical?” But he appreciates Changmin’s words, already feeling less bad about the next stranger he has to sleep with for money.

“So?” Changmin says, settling back into bed. He looks at Baekhyun knowingly. “Guys like you tend to have a story. Tell me about it.”

That night marks the first time Baekhyun brings up Chanyeol’s name within the walls of the room he uses to entertain clients. It feels wrong, but he remembers what Changmin said, that it doesn’t mean anything unless he wants it to, and so he tells him about their dreams. Baekhyun’s sort of living his, but Chanyeol hates the instability, wants to go to university more than anything.

“He doesn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure he wants to live that college life you see in movies, you know? And he’s scared that if he delays it for too long he’ll be too old to fit in with everyone else.”

Changmin hums in understanding. “And you want to help him, that right?”

“If you’re gonna lecture me about how he isn’t a child, save it. Noona already yells at me enough about it,” Baekhyun sighs, “But what’s wrong with it? It’s not fair that I’m the only one content with how things are.” He’s left out the bit about Chanyeol’s mental illness, and the dark past they shared before they ran away from it.

“Fair. How far are you in your savings though?”

“We have almost enough for the first two years, actually. Chanyeol’s main concern is that he won’t be able to help pay for rent and food once he’s in uni. If I could somehow cover for the first three years…”

“Question. Why are you so against Chanyeol finding out about this job?”

Baekhyun pauses. The answer to that is a bit more personal than what he’s used to, but in the end, he figures there’s no harm in talking about it, now that so many years have passed. “When I turned sixteen, I almost got pimped out by… well, I suppose you could call them my caretakers,” he says, recalling how his abusers had been far from such, but Changmin doesn’t need to know that level of detail. “Chanyeol was the one who got me out of it.”

Changmin turns to lie on his side, supporting his head with his arm and looking much more interested. “And since then, you guys have been living together?” Baekhyun nods. “Huh. What about his own family? He just ran away from them?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Baekhyun says without elaboration. To his relief, Changmin takes the hint, and changes the subject.

There’s an hour until Baekhyun needs to start getting ready for work, and they spend it going back and forth between their lives. Nothing that can be considered overly personal, though. Changmin talks about his sisters and his work, and how his parents are pressuring him to get married. He laughs, calling it typical Korean family talk, though Baekhyun doesn’t know what typical family talk would consist of at all.

Before he leaves to shower, Changmin tells him, with a faraway look in his eyes, “I know you’re doing this for him. I won’t stop you. But speaking from experience, sometimes all people want, no matter how painful it is, is the truth.”

When Baekhyun steps out smelling like generic hotel shampoo, Changmin is gone, in his place an envelope that has enough in it to shock Baekhyun into dropping it on the floor.

“Are you ready?”

Chanyeol meant it rhetorically, because at that point, they didn’t have much of a choice left. When he turned back to see Baekhyun fidgeting, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Baekhyun was playing with the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t know. I just—never expected to leave this place.” There was confusion, disbelief and most of all, shame, that he was even second-guessing himself.

Chanyeol had read it all, heard it more than once, but his heart broke the same. Besides Baekhyun, what had kept him going during the past ten years were memories of the outside world before he had been thrown into this nightmare. But it wasn’t the same for Baekhyun. They will both turn eighteen in two years; unlike Chanyeol, Baekhyun’s earliest memory was in this very house.

Baekhyun knew nothing about his family, or if he even had one, but the sharks had threatened to have their heads if he didn’t follow their orders, and that had been enough to enslave him for the first decade of his life. It wasn’t long before he came to realize that it had all been a farce, but by then, what did he have? He had no money, no form of identity. In the sickest twists of tales, the shitty attic and the shittier food eventually became a semblance of home for him.

What was the point of his wings if he didn’t know how, or even bothered to use them?

But it had been Chanyeol who told him that he could. That he should.

It was Chanyeol who drew him into his arms like he always had, in a safety net. Even more so in the recent years when he shot up more than a few inches to tower over Baekhyun. No matter how big he grew however, his voice was always soft. “Do you want to leave?”

Baekhyun’s voice was muffled, cheek pressed up against Chanyeol’s shoulder. “I do. It’s just—the money isn’t even ours—” Stealing had always been one thing; stealing for his own benefit—especially such a large amount, no less—was a different thing.

“Hey, look at me,” Chanyeol said, pulling away and cupping his cheeks. “Money is money, alright? I got our passports back, they can’t do anything anymore.”

Baekhyun chewed on his lip. “You sure?”

Chanyeol pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do you trust me?”

Baekhyun breathed. It was the one question he had always found easiest to answer.

“Yes.”

The rest of the year passes by in a flash.

Chanyeol spends his summer vacation pouring over books and online resources in the library, quiet in his concentration, a contrast to the children playing outside in the sun. There’s only so much time he has before the national exams in November, and he has no plans to quit his job anytime soon either.

There’s a new fire burning in him, and although there are times when his moods are off, he wakes up to a less desaturated world day by day. Baekhyun makes a point to tell him how proud or happy he is for Chanyeol, but the latter gives himself no credit at all. He can’t forget the night Baekhyun came back from work, bright as a halo as he threw his arms around Chanyeol and changed his life.

Okay, maybe he’s being sappy, but objectively speaking, Baekhyun is an angel.

Chanyeol still doesn’t know much about this club called Blissful Ignorance, but months have passed and Baekhyun is fine, so he drops it. He’s a bit more understanding when Baekhyun tells him about the celebrities that frequent it, hence its low-key existence and why Baekhyun can earn so much in a night.

There is no envy in his admiration, just a strong sense of competition; he wants to better himself, so that ten years down the road, Baekhyun won’t have to work at all. It’s an unrealistic dream, because Baekhyun does like his job, but it’s a dream that keeps Chanyeol going.

They still argue every now and then, specifically about work. Baekhyun thinks Chanyeol should just stay at home so he can focus on studying, while Chanyeol wants Baekhyun to quit his job at Dior so he won’t be so tired all the time. In the end, they compromise—Baekhyun cuts down his shifts at the café; Chanyeol doesn’t do overtime.

Autumn rolls around like dried leaves in the wind, painting the sidewalks in red and brown strokes. The temperature drops, but Chanyeol’s nerves are on constant edge as time creeps closer to the date of the exam.

Baekhyun, of course, plays the part of bestest best friend Chanyeol can ever ask for, going through his flashcards with him and even refilling his mug of coffee every few hours. He suspects that Baekhyun might have switched it to decaf after his second mug, but his anxiety is enough to keep him up until Baekhyun has to physically wrestle him off his books.

Winter comes, and Baekhyun retrieves the scarves he had previously tucked away in their shared wardrobe. Even through his sky-high jitters, Chanyeol finds it endearing that Baekhyun needs to tiptoe to wrap the scarf around him. When he points this out, Baekhyun snorts, threatening to kick his balls before they even have a chance to freeze and fall off.

The road they take to Chanyeol’s results is solemn, surrounded by students who are much younger but equally as nervous. He has on at least three layers of clothing, but Chanyeol’s still shivering to the bone, only soothed slightly by Baekhyun taking his hand in his, channeling ease and confidence through the little squeezes. Neither pay any mind to the looks they receive.

At the venue, Baekhyun takes the paper first. Chanyeol can’t bear to look; at least even if his results aren’t that great, he figures somehow hearing them from Baekhyun’s mouth would lessen the blow.

But all Baekhyun says is “Oh my god,” and Chanyeol, unable to take it, sneaks a glance.

Like a parrot, he gawks at his results and echoes, “Oh my god.”

The shared joy is reflected in both their eyes as they stare at each other in disbelief, only snapping out of it when Chanyeol’s heart prompts him to pick Baekhyun up and swing him around. Both are screaming, one in joy, the other in joy and fright. Carried away, Chanyeol accidentally slips on frost and falls backward onto the bushes, Baekhyun following suit and landing on his chest.

Chanyeol groans. Above him, Baekhyun only laughs heartily. There’s beauty in the sound and in the way his cheeks flush red from the adrenaline and the cold. His eyes form little crescents as he smiles down at Chanyeol toothily, and the latter thinks that fangs have never looked so cute on another human being as they do on Baekhyun.

For a second, Chanyeol is possessed by the overwhelming urge to kiss his best friend.

But the moment is interrupted before Chanyeol has the chance to cover the distance between their lips.

“Oi, you two! Get off those bushes!” an old man—probably the gardener—yaps from a distance.

Chanyeol curses and Baekhyun scrambles off, pulling him along. They don’t stay for a lecture about public indecency, instead running away as quickly as they can. At one point, one of them snickers and bursts out into a breathless laughter. The sound is infectious, and it quickly escalates into a series of guffaws from both of them as they ignore the scandalous looks from onlookers and try not to trip on the icy sidewalk.

Winter is here, but with the sun by his side and in his heart, Chanyeol is as warm as can be.

“Aren’t you a chirpy little one tonight,” Jongin comments as Baekhyun joins him and Sehun in one of the booths, soju in hand.

Baekhyun takes a quick swig of his drink, popping the rim from his mouth with a loud breath. His eyes are glittery as he turns to Jongin with a grin. “He started university today.” It goes without saying that he is Chanyeol, but in the presence of clients that aren’t Changmin, Baekhyun is Four and Chanyeol is nameless.

“Oh? Mama hen is proud then?” Jongin teases.

Baekhyun sticks his tongue out. “Very.”

Sehun looks on in silent amusement. He’s a regular client of Jongin, though the two seem to have a crossed the lines of friendship long ago. Baekhyun has never been alone in a room with him, but Jongin is a good enough mediator that awkwardness is hardly an issue. Sehun is the type to alternate between bouts of silence and endless chatter, and Baekhyun has learned to adjust to both. He’s also the type to think before he speaks, rarely ever giving his two cents when it comes to someone he isn’t personally familiar with.

So when Sehun asks, “Is he a friend or a boyfriend,” Baekhyun’s first reaction is to choke on his drink. As if he didn’t just prompt Baekhyun to burn his own windpipe with alcohol, he continues, “Or maybe not the right question. Do you have feelings for him?”

Baekhyun looks at him in disbelief through his tears. If not for the fact that Chanyeol is being brought up, he’d probably find Sehun’s deadpan expression whilst asking such a question comical. “I—Yes.”

Jongin snorts. “Why even ask such an obvious question?”

Sehun shrugs. “It’s always good to be sure,” he says, before addressing Baekhyun again, “do you have any plans on pursuing him?”

Eyes downcast, Baekhyun takes a sip of his drink, conscious of the other’s watchful gaze. “No? Yes? I don’t know, why are you asking all of this?”

A contrast to Baekhyun’s squirming, Sehun maintains his careless demeanor, finger circling the rim of his wine glass to make it sing. “Just that if you do, this is all a kind of roundabout way of doing it, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” Jongin says, “When Four first got him a guitar, he’d told him that the guitar came from us! And that idiot really believed it!”

“Call him an idiot again, I dare you,” Baekhyun says with a cold glare.

Jongin raises his hands in surrender, but Sehun presses on, “I’m just saying, doing all this for him, isn’t it just collecting emotional debt? So, when you confess to him, how can he say no?”

Baekhyun is shocked speechless. But when the words finally come back to him, he spits them out with venom. “What the fuck are you even accusing me of? Why do you think I keep all this from him a secret?”

Jongin looks between them in alarm. “Hey, Four—”

Sehun lays a hand on Jongin’s shoulder, reassuring, “It’s okay.” It riles Baekhyun up, how calm he is when he turns back to him. “And what happens once the secret is out? Or do you think you can keep it a secret forever? If—when he finds out, he’ll just feel even worse that you’ve been babying him all this while. You have to consider what to do next, you know?”

Baekhyun stands from his seat abruptly, eyes so cold that even Jongin shrinks back against Sehun. “I do know. But what do you?” he hisses, before turning to leave.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck that fucker—

Who does Sehun think he is? In all the times they’ve met, Baekhyun barely brings Chanyeol up, and now he’s already jumping to conclusions about their relationship? He tries to bury the conversation, burn it with a shot of vodka that he hates but needs because Sehun’s words won’t stop playing in his head and he has half a mind to—

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Baekhyun’s fingers tighten around his glass, but he forces a smile into his voice without looking up. “Nope, go ahead.” He doesn’t bother pointing out the dozen free seats in his periphery.

“Thanks. You come here often?”

Baekhyun is irritated by the clearly flirtatious advance. Why must this guy approach him now of all times? But he thinks about his job, and by direct extension his salary, and by indirect extension Chanyeol, and that name is enough to make him put his anger aside and entertain the newcomer. “I work here, actually,” he says, turning to the other with a practiced smile.

The man is younger than most clients, probably even younger than Baekhyun. However, that isn’t what surprises the latter about him—it’s the fact that Baekhyun recognizes him, and from the look on his face when their eyes finally meet, this man definitely recognizes him too, shock turning into glee as he exclaims, “I knew it! You’re Baekhyun!”

Baekhyun looks around nervously, hoping that the other clients didn’t hear his outburst. “I’m Four here, actually. Do I know you?”

“Oh right, sorry! I’m Seungkwan,” the man says, as if that explains everything. It’s only when Baekhyun doesn’t reply, staring at him expectantly does he add, “I’m a regular at Dior!”

So that’s where Baekhyun’s seen him. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, faking nonchalance.

“Yes! I started coming here last week, but the moment I heard you onstage I just knew it was you! But I didn’t have the chance to talk to you since you seemed busy,” he explains with a laugh. The sound grates on Baekhyun’s eardrums; he just wants to be left alone. But the overly enthusiastic man doesn’t seem to get the hint as he continues to ramble on, “By the way, I overheard you arguing with those two guys over there. Is everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

“Really? It didn’t seem that way to me. But what do I know, right? Oh, by the way, I think I saw your friend earlier on today, that super tall dude? Slouchy, big ears, kind of handsome?”

Baekhyun freezes. He knows exactly who he’s talking about. But he doesn’t give his name away, only chugging his drink and slamming the glass down harder than necessary. “I don’t know such a person,” he says, before ordering another shot. God, he can’t stand the taste.

“Are you sure? Don’t you have a friend that usually visits you in the café? The guy, um, Chan-something. Crap, I forgot what his name is…”

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have drunk so fast, the alcohol dancing through his system, detaching his head from his body as he starts to feel floaty. He barely registers grabbing Seungkwan by the collar, pulling him forward to glower at him. “Where did you see him?”

Seungkwan gulps. “I-In university. I’m in my final year, and he stood out because he’s tall and handsome, you know?”

Baekhyun hiccups. “Listen here, S-Seung—Seung—”

“Seungkwan,” Seungkwan offers meekly.

“Listen here, Seungwan. Not a word about this to any of the guys at Dior, you hear me? And especially not a peep to Chanyeol.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Of course, whatever you say, Baek—Four! Whatever you say, Four! Pleasedonthitme—”

Baekhyun releases him, turning back to down his third glass.

Although instilled with a new fear, Seungkwan still watches with concern. When Baekhyun orders yet another shot, he speaks up, “You might wanna take it easy with the alcohol—”

Baekhyun hisses at him, jabbing his chest with a finger. “Don’t—hic—tell me what to do!”

From a distance, someone is calling out Baekhyun’s name. It sounds awfully like Heechul and the words what do you think you’re doing with that client but Baekhyun is too far gone to discern any aspect of reality. Even Seungkwan who’s next to him barely gets through his drunken stupor. “Four? You don’t look so good. Do you need me to get—”

Leaving his drink untouched, Baekhyun gets down from his stool, gripping the island for support. When he lets go, he rocks back and forth on the spot once, twice, and he’s out before he hits the floor.

It’s 7AM, and Chanyeol has just finished laying breakfast out.

First day of university had been fun, but nerve-racking. He’d tried to reel in his excitement but still managed to make a fool out of himself from time-to-time, mostly because his pop culture references, he realized, were dated. Within fifteen minutes of talking to his course mates, he became determined to create a Twitter account to catch up with all the slang they were using.

His enthusiasm makes him feel like a little kid, but he can’t help it—he even woke up earlier than usual today, eager to start his second day. Not bothering with any more sleep, he’d gotten to work in the kitchen, making two sets of English breakfasts. It’s a feast compared to what they usually have in the morning, but Chanyeol thinks both he and Baekhyun deserve it.

The door clicks open. Forgetting the bacon, Chanyeol rushes to the corridor, tongs in hand and smile on his face. “Welcome back—” The words die in his throat when he sees not one but two persons at the doorway. Baekhyun is one of them, but Chanyeol is pretty sure he’s unconscious, arm pulled over the stranger’s shoulders as he’s carried inside.

The stranger is drop-dead gorgeous, despite his messy hair and oversized blazer. Chanyeol is no less of a looker himself, but can’t help feeling envious of the other’s chiseled jaw, giving him the impression of a man. “Wow, that smells amazing. Is that bacon?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol answers absently before the words reregister in his head. “Oh shit!” He runs back to the stove, getting the bacon out just in time.

When he returns to the doorway, both hands free, Baekhyun is sitting against the wall, lightly snoring while the stranger attempts to take his shoes off. Although Baekhyun has his coat and scarf on, they still allow Chanyeol a peek of the translucent white shirt underneath, and the latter physically turns his head away to tear his gaze off the belly button, heat creeping up his neck and ears. Is that the kind of thing he has to wear at the club…?

“Hey, Chanyeol! You’re Chanyeol, right?”

Schooling his expression, Chanyeol turns to the stranger. “Yeah, and you are?”

“Just one of his coworkers,” he says, finally undoing the last of Baekhyun’s shoestrings and pulling his boot off. “I’m Jongin.”

“I’m Chanyeol,” he blurts, more out of instinct than anything.

“I know,” Jongin replies, eyebrow raised. In that moment, Chanyeol wishes the ground would just crack open and swallow him whole. “Anyway, come get him, will ya? I’m tired as it is.”

Chanyeol goes to kneel by Baekhyun’s side, cringing at the vague but distinct smell of vomit. “Shit, how much did he drink?”

Jongin shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Wasn’t in my sight when he was poisoning himself with Absolut.”

Chanyeol frowns. Why would Baekhyun drink that? He hates vodka. “Okay, well… thanks for bringing him home. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” Jongin says, standing up and dusting himself. He extends a friendly hand toward Chanyeol. “Nice meeting you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol smiles, standing up to shake the hand in kind. “Nice meeting you, Jong—” he stops, catching a whiff of the other’s cologne. It triggers a specific memory from last year; it shouldn’t bother him, he shouldn’t bother with it but asks nonetheless, sniffing the air, “What’s that you’re wearing?”

“You mean my cologne?” Jongin dips his head down to smell himself. “Oh, this is Ferrari Black. You like it?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol replies, hand in Jongin’s going slack just a bit. He fights to keep his smile, dread and an ugly green pooling in his stomach. “Yeah, I do.”

“New cologne, little pup?”

Baekhyun tenses up, shoulders rigid and arms clenching. Chanyeol doesn’t notice.

“Just someone at work letting me try a sample is all.”

There is strain in Baekhyun’s voice. Chanyeol doesn’t notice it.

“It’s nice. What is it?”

Baekhyun remembers a little black flask, with a black and yellow logo of a horse on it.

“You think so? It’s Ferrari Black.”

Baekhyun wakes up feeling like his head’s been struck by a comet, having lost bits and pieces of his senses in the aftermath. His arms are heavy and uncooperative, but when he finally pushes himself up a sharp pain shoots up his side. He vaguely remembers the fall before the blackout.

Like any other millennial, his first instinct is to reach for his phone, finding it on the coffee table at his bedside. There’s also water and painkillers, and despite his homicidal migraine, Baekhyun smiles at the thought of Chanyeol fussing over him. But the smile contorts when he tsks, reading Jongin’s messages.

Kai: got u home safely. WELCOME

Kai: oh and lover boy sure is a sight for sore eyes ;9

He comes up with a viable hundred and one ways to get back at Jongin, but Baekhyun decides that revenge probably isn’t best exacted on a hangover and an empty stomach, so he leaves Jongin on read.

It’s well past noon. Thankfully it’s one of his off-days from Dior, though he probably would’ve called for one if it hadn’t been. He wants to fall back in bed, but the smell of vomit that clings to him is strong enough to get him out and headed towards the shower.

In a matter of minutes, steam diffuses throughout the bathroom to create humid fog. The hot water scalds his skin but Baekhyun welcomes it, letting the heat wrap around him in a hazy embrace. It’s only when his skin prunes does he switch the temperature to cool, matching the outside chill of the spring air.

Baekhyun steps out refreshed and molted. He has the whole day to himself so he strips his beddings off and tosses them into the washing machine along with his set of clothes from the previous night. The translucent white shirt he borrowed from the club probably needs a bit more tender loving care, but he’ll take the risk. If it tears or comes out an ugly green, he can just buy a new one for them.

His hangover today is probably one of the worst he’s had yet, screaming and clawing at him to get something greasy to appease it. There’s a little note on the table, and like an angel sent from heaven, it’s a message from Chanyeol telling him to heat up the English breakfast he made.

Baekhyun grins unabashedly, knowing that the walls witnessing his giggles will never snitch.

As he heats up the last of the hash browns, the smell of deep fried things wafting through the air, Baekhyun feels his hunger catching up on his hangover. He happily digs in, already forgetting about his whole fiasco with Sehun and Seungkwan from the previous night. It’s a pity he was too out of it to enjoy breakfast with Chanyeol before the latter left for university, but he figures there will be more than a few occasions for them to have a meal together.

Except, they don’t.

Weeks have passed since then, and Chanyeol’s rarely at home by the time Baekhyun is, whether it’s 7AM and Baekhyun stumbles into the apartment slightly tipsy with an aching bum, or 7PM and he’s just returned from Dior smelling like fried poached eggs.

In the mornings, all he’d find is a single note telling him to enjoy breakfast, to have a good day, to stay hydrated.

In the evenings, all he’d get is a text from Chanyeol explaining that he’s at the library or worse, out with his friends.

Jealousy is a monster. Baekhyun is Dr. Frankenstein.

He wants to call bullshit, but Yonsei University is a notoriously difficult university and no doubt Chanyeol would have been roped into freshers’ week. Still, it doesn’t stop him from replying with the occasional sad emoji every time Chanyeol shuts him down.

Even on Sundays! The precious Sundays they used to share, all taken up by some club activity or vet society event, leaving Baekhyun to sulk alone in their apartment and rant in the group chat until one day, he caves and joins Jongin, Taeyeon and Heechul for a night out.

“It’s been a month! Has he forgotten that I’m his friend too?!” Baekhyun cries into Jongin’s shoulder.

Jongin pushes him away, disgusted. “It’s only been a month. What, did you expect him to be a loner at uni?”

“Speaking of, I can’t believe I’m the only one who hasn’t seen how he looks like. Why the hell are you so stingy?” Taeyeon says, pouty.

But the question goes unnoticed by Baekhyun, who short-circuits after the first part of her sentence. He glares at Jongin. “You! You brought me home that night, right? You must have said something weird!”

“The fuck? I said nothing of the sort. Just because you’re bordering on drunk right now doesn’t mean I won’t fight you!”

They continue bickering, their bosses watching over in amusement. “That apprentice of yours really inherited your dramatic flair,” Taeyeon snorts.

“Please, take some credit for yourself,” Heechul retorts.

On the other side of the table, Jongin and Baekhyun don’t cease in their fighting, the latter challenging, “Okay, then lay out the whole convo you had with him!”

Jongin groans. “It’s been a fucking month.”

“It’s only been a month!” Baekhyun parrots Jongin’s words back at him, and the glare he receives in turn just makes him smug.

“Fine,” Jongin grunts, “So I laid you down at the doorway to take your shoes off. He was cooking something, then he came out looking like the happiest birdie before he saw me—wipe that smile off your face, it’s creepy. Anyway, then got your shoes off, we exchanged greetings, yada yada…”

“Greetings only? Just hello and goodbye?”

Jongin rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, idiot. I told him my name—”

“Which one?”

“Jongin! Shit, is that even important?! Anyway, told him to get you, then he was like oh shit, how much did you drink, then I was like, I don’t know, I wasn’t watching you, stood up, shook hands, then he was like, oh nice smell, then I was like thanks, it’s Ferrari, then he was like, oh nice, then done! I was out of the door before you knew it!” Jongin says in practically one breath.

Baekhyun frowns. Taeyeon slurps her drink noisily, deadpan. “Huh, how boring.”

“Right? I would’ve said some shit like, hey, I’m Baekhyun’s boyfriend! Steal him from me if you wish!” Heechul says, earning a slap on the arm from Taeyeon.

The trio fall into a chorus of laughter. In the corner however, Baekhyun’s gaze is fixed onto his drink, eyebrows furrowing. Noticing this, Jongin pokes him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re not still upset, are you?” Heechul cuts in. “Give it time, he’ll come back eventually. It’s not fair that you’ve been hogging him to yourself for what, years now?”

“Or you can think of it as karma,” Taeyeon adds, mild tone not matching the candor of her words. “You’re upset that he’s not letting you into his new life, but how is it any different from you keeping this whole thing a secret from him for almost a year?”

Heechul turns to his friend, gawking. “Wow, you’re bitchy.”

Taeyeon shrugs. “You’re only saying that because I’m a woman.”

Heechul gawks even more. “Wow, I’m bitchy.”

But their conversation is lost on Baekhyun who’s trying to justify his newfound reasoning to the best he can. “What if… he thought Jongin was my boyfriend?” In all honesty, when said aloud, Baekhyun thinks it sounds a bit ridiculous. But then he sees the look on the other three’s faces, and pales. “You don’t think…”

Heechul gasps, “Is he homophobic?”

“What? No! I mean, I don’t know, but I highly doubt he is?” When he receives looks of doubt in return, Baekhyun reaffirms, “No, Chanyeol is not homophobic! This, I’m sure of!”

“Then he’s jealous?” Jongin proposes.

Taeyeon’s eyes glitter with mischief. “There’s only way to find out.”

“I am not confessing to him!” Baekhyun exclaims, though the prospect makes him flush red nevertheless. “Not yet, anyway. I can’t…” He doesn’t finish, but the message is clear as day.

Not until I quit this job.

Taeyeon turns her head away, clicking her tongue. “Stubborn.”

Heechul sighs. “Okay, okay, so you won’t confess. But you still want to know why he’s avoiding you, right? So talk to him. And clear things up about Jongin while you’re at it. Or else our number one bachelor’s face is always gonna hover over him like a threat.”

It’s his fifth time in a club in a month, and honestly, Chanyeol hasn’t reached a verdict on it yet.

He doesn’t particularly mind it. Sure, the music is questionable, the meth dealers even more so, but all he needs is a seat in an unbothered corner with a tall glass of lager, and he’s more than happy to just people-watch. The voice in the back of his head tells him that the only reason he can’t enjoy it to the fullest is because a certain pup isn’t there, but he pays it no mind. He’s a university student now, he can’t act like a baby forever.

Yet every time that handsome stranger—Jongin—pops into his head, he can’t help the arising jealousy. But what’s he to do? Compete with a guy who could dress in pajamas and still rock the runway?

Baekhyun deserves better. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth—or maybe it’s just the beer.

Chanyeol only stews in the depths of his lovesickness until his friend plus entourage join him at the booth, shoving him to a corner. Chanyeol groans, “Hey, respect your elders a bit.”

The man snorts. “Sorry, ahjusshi. Forgot to take your calcium today?”

The whole table laughs, and Chanyeol lightly slaps the guy’s head—Jackson, one of his more hyperactive friends on the course. He speaks with an accent, having migrated from Hong Kong, but it doesn’t stop the man from making cheeky jabs at him in broken Korean. Not that Chanyeol minds—he’s never been hung up on honorifics. “What took you so long?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t appear to have heard Chanyeol’s question, but as if remembering something important, perks up immediately. He says, “Oh, hyung, let me introduce you to my friends! We’re the international gang!”

The last part was said in robust English, and Chanyeol’s watched enough western films to know that he means that the friends he’s brought along today are foreign, one way or another. There are three girls and a boy—no doubt Jackson thought this would be the perfect opportunity to play matchmaker. He starts with the boy on his left, “Hyung, this is Mackenyu, he’s Japanese but mostly lived in America.”

Mackenyu reaches a hand out toward Chanyeol; the latter takes it, surprised by the strength of his grip. He’s a pretty boy, but one need only venture downwards to observe his broad shoulders and pumped chest. He introduces himself in English, in an accent that Chanyeol always hears American actors use in Hollywood, “Nice to meet you.”

And of course, like a dumbass, or what he’s pretty sure Americans call dweeb, Chanyeol replies, “Chanyeol. Hajimemashite.”

Mackenyu blanks, taken aback, before his grip loosens, head thrown back in a laugh. Chanyeol reddens, reprimanding himself internally. At least now he knows the other boy laughs pretty; plus, there’s the shitty club lighting that helps shield the pink in his cheeks. “Hajimemashite, Chanyeol-san! Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” Mackenyu says, though unlike Chanyeol, it’s without a trace of accent.

Jackson moves on to the girls. Like Mackenyu, the two sitting across him and Jackson are both Japanese, exchange students from Tokyo and Kyoto, respectively Mina and Momo. Finally, they get to the last girl—bubbly, though slightly nervous from the way she constantly tucks her hair behind her ears. She takes the opportunity to introduce herself, this time in Korean. “I’m Wendy. Nice to meet you, Chanyeol.”

Wendy, Chanyeol finds out, spent her adolescent years moving between Canada and the States, before finally settling in Korea. Though Chanyeol initially preferred the sharp curvature of Mackenyu’s brows and cheeks, by the end of the night, he finds himself equally drawn to Wendy’s laugh and the way her cheeks bunch whenever she smiles.

Not unlike a certain pup.

For reasons unknown to Chanyeol, Jackson decides it would be a good idea to bring up the topic of his lovesickness. He wants to blame the alcohol, but he also really wants to punch Jackson in the face. In the end, Chanyeol just internally resolves to never tell his friend about any of his personal affairs again.

“My man here’s been moping around over some chick! Isn’t that sad? What are you, man, thirteen?” Jackson laughs, throwing an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulder.

Mina frowns. “There’s nothing wrong with pining after someone,” she says in a soft yet firm voice.

Next to her, Momo nods in agreement. “It shows that you care enough to let yourself be hurt, rather than run away from person to person.”

At Momo’s contribution to the conversation, Jackson frowns. Chanyeol hides his smirk behind his drink, mumbling low enough for only his friend to hear, “Guess you won’t be getting the girl, asshole.”

“Shut up!” Jackson hisses. The blow he delivers to Chanyeol’s chest barely packs a punch, but it still has Chanyeol choking on his drink and spitting it out onto the table, some of it dribbling down to what Chanyeol assumes horrifyingly to be Wendy’s skirt.

Fuck.

He really, really wants to punch Jackson in the face.

But avenging himself should probably come later, Chanyeol thinks as he hurries to wipe the spilled contents, Wendy taking out some of her tissues to help him out. “I’m so sorry,” he groans.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, and the laugh that accompanies it makes Chanyeol feel just slightly less bad about himself.

Despite the little mishap, the rest of the night goes well, bar some communication errors. Chanyeol naturally slides into the role of Korean teacher, with the occasional help of Wendy. Mina is especially serious about learning new vocabulary, while Jackson is mostly interested in new cuss words.

As they order another round of drinks, Chanyeol thinks he can get used to this.

Past the stroke of midnight, Chanyeol and Wendy are the last to leave, awkwardly standing outside in the cold as they wait for the girl’s taxi. She is clearly interested in him, but Chanyeol isn’t sure if he should go with it or keep his distance. He doesn’t want to be that asshole who uses other people as rebounds after a heartbreak.

But then Wendy clasps his hand between her smaller ones, not looking at him directly as she mumbles, “Despite what Momo said, if you think you want to try and get over that pain, I can be the person you run away to.” Her words are barely above a whisper, and if not for the silence in the air, Chanyeol might not have caught them from where he stands over the petite girl.

They have him thinking—not about himself, not about her, but a certain beauty with moles sprinkled across his face in an erratic constellation, who’s been there almost every waking moment of his life, whose smile was his source of light, no matter how deep in the abyss he found himself.

Baekhyun, who Chanyeol has given his heart to long ago.

Can he really move on with this girl, without even trying first? Yet the thought of risking what he already has with Baekhyun, frightens him—no matter how badly he wants to wake up with Baekhyun on joined beds instead of two; no matter how much he wants to tell Baekhyun he loves him and kiss him until his heart’s content.

The fear is enough for him to lace Wendy’s fingers with his. The hand is unfamiliar, but he squeezes it in a practiced manner.

Chanyeol still isn’t sure, but for both their sakes, he’ll try.

“Good job today!”

The roaring engine of Kyungsoo’s sedan consumes the silence of the Wednesday night, tapering off to a soft purr seconds after. Baekhyun watches idly from the café entrance as Kyungsoo pulls out of his spot, before driving away and leaving him to face the cold spring night alone.

It had been a Wednesday like this one. He had stood at this same spot, a year younger, a world away from the one he’s living in now, when Heechul had offered him a job at the host club.

In hindsight, he wonders if it was the best course of action to take.

No, he’s asking the wrong question. Working at Birds of Paradise has by far been the best decision he’s made. If he hadn’t grabbed the opportunity, it would have taken another year or so before Chanyeol could even start applying for university. The guilt of being the only one between them to enjoy what he was doing had pushed him to the brink.

And he’d do it all over again, no questions asked.

Yet one question nags at him from the back of his mind. It’s a months-old question, first brought up by colleagues and clients alike in the club. He’s locked it in a wardrobe, isolated it from his everyday thought process since then. But recently, with the crushing weight of missing Chanyeol on his heart, the question resurfaces, hungry and accusing.

What if he had told Chanyeol the truth?

It isn’t a question of if it would be different, but rather how different. As he thinks about each turn of the road he’s taken, Baekhyun finds a new hypothetical that he doesn’t want to answer. But he wonders if there had been any option at all, that would have allowed him to be a host and support Chanyeol without keeping the latter in the dark.

He doesn’t want to do the math, but he finds solace in the improbability. He’s well aware how pathetic it is, wanting to justify his actions so late into the run of things.

But goddammit, he misses Chanyeol.

As he takes the late train back to their shared apartment, he keeps his gaze on the plastic bag he has at hand, inside it two containers of food. He’s had dinner, and no doubt Chanyeol is probably out again, but when Kyungsoo offered, Baekhyun had taken it in hopes that maybe the universe will pity him and send Chanyeol back home early so they can have supper together.

A pitiful wish of a pitiful man.

These days, Baekhyun doesn’t look forward to going home anymore. At least in the restaurant or the club, there are customers and friends to talk to, keeping his thoughts occupied so he can pretend the same for his heart. At home, the walls feel like prison, hard and cold without Chanyeol’s laugh or guitar-playing to sing to them. Yet, Baekhyun still takes his apron off on time, leaves the club on time, with the same thought each time.

Maybe today. Maybe today, Chanyeol is here.

But for the past month or so, Chanyeol never is.

Which is why when he turns the key to find that the door is already unlocked, his heartbeat picks up in his ribcage.

He pushes the door open, and sure enough, Chanyeol’s favorite pair of shoes is there by the doorway. On any other occasion, Baekhyun would scold him for not placing them on the rack properly, but he’s too elated to care now, hope shining like the light from the other side of the bedroom door. He feels like a teenager in those movies Chanyeol would always drag him to watch, but hell, he thinks it’s justified, considering it’s been the longest he’s gone without seeing the other man.

Schooling his expression into a mild smile, Baekhyun steps into their shared room, heart blooming when he sees Chanyeol sitting there in his pajamas, tapping away on his phone. “You’re here,” Baekhyun says. It sounds way keener than how he’d practiced it in his head, but he can’t bring himself to care.

I’ve missed you.

I brought you food.

How’s the course going?

But as if being lovesick comes at the cost of a fair bit of brainpower, Baekhyun adds on, “You’re… not usually here.”

Chanyeol puts his phone away and sits facing him, though his eyes are looking anywhere but. “Oh, yeah. I finished most of my work so I thought I’d come back a bit earlier. And…” he trails off, finally deciding to meet the other’s eyes as he says, “I want to talk to you about something.”

Baekhyun gulps, and suddenly his excitement is replaced by a pool of dread, remembering his agenda. “Yeah… me too,” he mumbles, setting his bag down, “I’ll shower first, yeah?”

Chanyeol nods.

Before he leaves the room, Baekhyun looks back to ask, “Do you wanna have supper together?”

“Oh… no thanks, I already had pretty late dinner.”

Baekhyun nods. “Right.”

The shower does nothing for Baekhyun’s nerves. For almost half an hour, he thinks over what Chanyeol would want to tell him. Is it about the night Jongin brought Baekhyun home? Or maybe something university-related?

Realizing that staring at the shower head isn’t going to make it come to life and answer his questions, Baekhyun turns it off, heart beating fitfully even as his skin cools. When he’s back in the room, he finds Chanyeol in the exact same position he had been in before Baekhyun left for the shower.

Towel draped over his damp hair, Baekhyun takes a seat next to Chanyeol. He hates that he’s automatically placed a one meter gap between them, but does nothing to bridge it. For all he knows, Chanyeol may hate him right now, which would make the fact that he can even sit on his bed a privilege.

Don’t be ridiculous. He isn’t that kind of person.

“Do you wanna go first?” Chanyeol asks, pulling Baekhyun out of his reverie.

Baekhyun shakes his head. “No, you first.” He doesn’t want his confession of Jongin isn’t my boyfriend, but I’m still gay to make it too awkward for Chanyeol to continue, if he were to go first.

“Alright then,” Chanyeol says, strained. It’s obvious that he had wanted to go last, too. He clears his throat. “Ever since that night you came back with Jongin, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Baekhyun’s heart skips a beat. Here it goes. “Yeah?”

Chanyeol nods. “Yeah. And I guess I just needed time to wrap my head around it… sort of. But then I thought, we’re bound to meet other people, become intimate with them, and that it’s selfish of me to have thought I’d have you all to myself.”

So he was jealous. Baekhyun starts, “Chan—”

“No, let me finish!” Chanyeol says, eyes fixed on his twiddling thumbs. But Baekhyun sees the pain even in his side profile. “I just want to say that I’m happy for you. For you and Jongin. I mean, yeah I’m sad you didn’t tell me sooner, but this isn’t the kind of thing that’s so easy to talk about, I get that.”

“Chanyeol—”

Chanyeol finally looks at Baekhyun. “Which is why I’m also giving it a try.”

Baekhyun can’t breathe. It’s as if a bee has invaded their room and is buzzing right in his ear. It’s too loud, too warm. But he forces himself back to the conversation, trying to refocus his vision. “What do you mean?”

Chanyeol turns back to fiddling his fingers, eyes downcast and voice soft. “I met a girl. She’s nice. Her name is Wendy.”

Suddenly, the bee is gone. The honey that tasted so sweet just a few seconds ago, coating the back of his tongue turns rancid, as if all along he’s been swallowing venom instead. It stings his tongue, turns it swollen, making it hard for him to force the words out. “A… girl.”

Chanyeol nods, still not looking up. “Yeah. I mean, I think I swing both ways, but I won’t know if I don’t try, right? She’s cool. She plays the guitar and sings, too.”

Baekhyun wants to cut off his tongue. Or maybe he’d try an alkali solution first. Bee venom is acidic after all, if he remembers correctly. “A straight guy doesn’t need to try a girl to know he’s straight.” He doesn’t know why he said that. Maybe because it’s something Taeyeon would say, and right now Baekhyun is incapable of forming any coherent thoughts of his own.

“I guess you’re right,” Chanyeol chuckles, but it sounds pained. Why is he in pain? Baekhyun’s the one who’s been stung. Chanyeol should look like he’s suckling on the sweetest honey in the world. Always. Even if it’s not because of Baekhyun. “So what about you? What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I forgot,” Baekhyun blurts out. Chanyeol frowns at his reply, but Baekhyun doesn’t elaborate. Can’t. His tongue is on fire. The pain is enough to make tears well up in his eyes, but he holds them back. Holds them back until they both exchange goodnights, facing away from each other as they lie down in their respective beds.

When Baekhyun awakes the next morning, Chanyeol is gone, and so is his tongue. Or maybe it’s healed. He can’t tell. There’s a moving mass in his mouth, salivated and slimy. But can he really call it a tongue? He tries calling out Chanyeol’s name, but nothing comes out. What use is a tongue like that?

He heats up the leftovers from last night, frowning when he can barely taste them. It can’t be Kyungsoo, because Kyungsoo is an amazing cook. He takes another bite, and another, and another. Nothing. What use is a tongue like that?

By the time his plate is empty, his stomach pushes slightly against the belt of his pants. It’s a Thursday, which means he has the afternoon off. He hates it, wants to go to Dior, sing a duet with Jongdae when no customers are around. Maybe then his tongue will cooperate.

But he doesn’t. Doesn’t step outside the apartment until the sun sleeps and the moon comes out to play, telling him to get ready for his job at the host club.

At the club, happy faces greet him, but they switch to concern when Baekhyun tries to greet them back but can’t, the words stuck in his throat. Taeyeon, beautiful snarky lady boss Taeyeon, comes up to him. Baekhyun thinks her eyeliner and lipstick combo is amazing. “Is everything okay?” she asks. Baekhyun thinks her voice is amazing.

Is Wendy’s voice amazing too?

For some reason, Baekhyun imagines a girl of Taeyeon’s stature, pressed up against Chanyeol as they play the guitar side by side. But Baekhyun can’t picture her face, can’t hear her voice. All he sees is Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

What if he had told Chanyeol the truth?

chanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeol—

He doesn’t know when the name leaves his mind, leaves his lips. His tongue is growing back, and it hurts. The pain. The taste. He can only taste one thing as he cries on Taeyeon’s shoulder, and he hates it. More than vodka, more than tobacco when Heechul let him try a cigarette the first (and last) time, more than the cucumbers that even Chanyeol can’t get him to eat.

He hates the taste of heartbreak.

Chanyeol learns, in due course, that first times aren’t as frightening as they make it seem on TV.

Granted, the only lips he’s ever thought about kissing were Baekhyun’s, but when Wendy tells him to close his eyes, slots her mouth against his, he learns that it’s easy. Almost natural.

It’s just parts of your bodies pressing and rubbing against each other, right?

He lets her guide him, the fact of his inexperience remaining unspoken between them. He lets her teach him to part his lips, use his tongue, angle his head right so they don’t bump noses. It feels nice, if he closes his eyes long enough and forgets who he’s kissing.

Does Baekhyun kiss like this too? Is Jongin even his first?

Wendy is like a manual, but Chanyeol is clumsy. And he feels bad because she tries. So does he, but sometimes he finds it’s like following a list of instructions with no clear end-goal. Not even a purpose or direction in the steps he takes.

It isn’t bad. Nothing about Wendy is bad. Her soft waist, her perky breasts, her long neck, the slope of her jaw leading to a nibble-worthy ear—none of it is bad. Wendy is good. Wendy is a lazy cruise along the Caribbean Islands, soft winds against his skin, nothing but calming blue that ends on white shores.

But Chanyeol doesn’t want a cruise; he wants home.

And he doesn’t find it in the too-warm body pressed against him.

“Chanyeol?” Wendy says, concerned, shaking him out of his trance. He looks at her—at her flushed cheeks, down to the hand that was wrapped around him seconds ago.

He mumbles, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can today, either.”

Wendy bites her lower lip, disappointment clear in her features. But she puts on a smile easily, reassuring him, “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll take it slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Slow.

Chanyeol wonders how slow she’s willing to go. She’s reiterated the same words the past three—four?—times they’ve been alone together, the mood set up and broken off not a moment later because Chanyeol couldn’t get it up. He can’t even bring himself to feel ashamed. Is this relief?

In the end, they settle for watching a movie, Chanyeol connecting his laptop to the big screen. It’s still 8PM, and as long as they get out before Baekhyun is back, he should be fine. The prospect of his current flame meeting his lifetime love makes him nervous for reasons he can’t explain.

But he feels bad for what happened earlier—or rather what didn’t, so he lets Wendy pick, and she chooses some musical film in English starring Keira Knightley and the guy who plays the Hulk in the Marvel films. Thankfully, it has Korean subtitles.

It’s a fun and fairly upbeat movie, not very long, but it’s around the part where the Maroon 5 guy and Keira Knightley’s characters start to argue that he starts dozing off, unaware of the little bubble of notification popping up on screen from the contact little pup.

Baekhyun: Dae, Soo and Seulgi are coming over tonight.

Baekhyun stares at the message that he sent Chanyeol during his performance break. It’s 10PM, he’s clearing up the restaurant and there’s still no reply. The other man hasn’t even read the message.

He isn’t sure what to feel. On the one hand, he can’t stand the likelihood of Chanyeol bringing his girlfriend along to the hangout, in their house. On the other, it’s been weeks since the day they last met, and even though it had been to relay his relationship status to him, Baekhyun’s longing was the final hand to push him to send that text to Chanyeol in hopes that he’d show up, girlfriend be damned.

He’s still staring at his phone screen when they finally get into Kyungsoo’s car, joining Jongdae in the backseat. “Did Chanyeol reply?” Jongdae inquires, but is met with a headshake. “Damn, the bastard has no time for us anymore huh?” he says offhandedly, but the words sink a knife into Baekhyun’s heart, twisting it.

The truth, whether intentional or accidental, is still the truth.

Well, at least he’ll be able to spend the night drinking and singing his sorrows away, and bitch about today’s round of rude customers with the other three.

Or so he thinks, until he steps into the flat and hears the TV playing, the kitchen obviously illuminated behind its closed door.

“Oh, Chanyeol!” Jongdae’s voice blasts louder than any alarm one can encounter at the fire station, jolting the man in question from his sleep.

Chanyeol wakes like he’s been electrocuted, and he thinks he must be dreaming when he sees his friends from Dior staring down at him, peering. But their gaze seems to be going back and forth between him and another subject. When he follows their line of sight, he realizes that Wendy had fallen asleep along with him, lightly snoring against his arm. How she managed to sleep through Jongdae’s shout is a mystery. Or a miracle.

The first question Chanyeol asks, bile already rising with his panic is, “Where’s Baekhyun?”

“Getting changed. What’s up? I mean I know you just woke up, but you kind of look out of it.”

Shit shit shit. “Wendy? Wendy, wake up,” he says, shaking the girl gently. It takes a few tries but she comes to, blinking and mumbling gibberish in English.

When she registers the three new faces, she yelps in surprise. “Oh, uh, hi?”

Jongdae grins. “Hi, I’m Jongdae!”

But before Wendy can introduce herself, Chanyeol cuts in, “It’s getting late, how about I send you home?”

Unaware and especially unhelpful to Chanyeol’s cause, Jongdae whines, “Don’t be a spoilsport! Hey, we’ll just be drinking but do you wanna stick around?”

Wendy smiles. “I don’t see why n—”

“There won’t be enough beds.”

Jongdae quirks an eyebrow. “There’s never enough beds. I’m sure we can fit in the living room while the girls sleep inside.”

As if on cue, Baekhyun steps into the kitchen. He scans around until his eyes land on Wendy. Chanyeol’s heart skips a beat.

“Hey, Byun Baekhyun! She—what’s your name?” Jongdae asks, turning to Wendy.

“Wendy,” she says.

“Wendy will be staying with us for drinks, you don’t mind if she takes the bed later, right?”

Baekhyun is still staring at her, as if appraising the girl. It’s probably his overprotectiveness kicking in, but Chanyeol knows he’d never be rude to her, always a gentleman first. Baekhyun heads towards the dish drainers to get them cups, back facing them when he says, “Why don’t you ask Chanyeol? She’ll be sleeping on his bed, won’t she?”

Eh?

Chanyeol doesn’t hope. Chanyeol cannot hope.

But he can objectively speculate, right?

Baekhyun’s rather gifted with his voice. And it’s not just singing, but speaking, too. He can be pretty convincing with how he oscillates his voice, sets his tone when he wants to sound a certain way, convey a certain emotion, but twenty years of living with the man has taught Chanyeol how to at least tell when he’s being considerate or insincere.

Like a bastard, the edges of his lips twitch upon the realization that it’s the latter.

In the end, Jongdae’s insistence overrides any other verdict. Soon enough they’re squeezed around the table, Kyungsoo pouring drinks for all of them. The chatty server asks Wendy about practically everything, and Chanyeol is ashamed to admit that he’s learned more about Wendy in one night than he has in the past few weeks. At least she seems to enjoy the attention.

Chanyeol’s attention is elsewhere, and it doesn’t help that the object of his affection is sitting right across him, eyes and fingers never once leaving his phone. It’s the first time he’s seen him in a while, noting the other’s new perm that makes him look even more puppy-like than ever. Chanyeol wants to ask him about it, tells him he looks cute, but the words are stuck in his throat.

For the next two hours, Baekhyun’s lifted his head up twice in total, even leaving his glass of soju untouched. Chanyeol only stares mindlessly, watching his nose twitch, lips pout before they stretch over his teeth in a wide smile at something he reads onscreen, fingers picking up speed to type up a response.

Who is making you smile like that, little pup?

It pains Chanyeol as much as it delights him. But for now, he’s content to just watch the quick change of emotions on Baekhyun’s face, trying not to think about once upon a time when this was a regular occurrence and not something that happened by accident.

It’s cut short by the man himself when he stands to leave. “I have to go.”

“What? Hey, Byun Baekhyun, where the hell do you think you’re going? Hey!” Jongdae yells from his seat.

“Out!” Baekhyun says, going into the adjacent room. Wardrobes opening and drawers being slammed can be heard from the kitchen, and Jongdae only continues to shout.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘out’?! It’s one in the morning, shithead!”

When Baekhyun reappears by the kitchen door, he’s dressed in all black—from his turtle neck, down to his leather jeans and combat boots. Even the mustang coat he has on is black, just of a lighter shade. As a final touch, a pair of round-framed glasses sits atop his nose bridge, the eyes behind them fixed onto Chanyeol, making his stomach flip.

“Right, see you guys,” Baekhyun says, dismissive of the bulging eyes directed at him.

Seulgi is the first to snap out of it. “Oppa, how are you gonna get to… wherever?”

Baekhyun’s gaze on Chanyeol is unwavering, and he is as beautiful as he is devastating when he delivers the blow to Chanyeol’s heart. “My boyfriend is coming to pick me up.”

With that, he storms off. The sound leaves with him as the whole flat falls into stillness.

“Huh,” Kyungsoo starts, reaching for another slice of pizza. “So Byun Baekhyun is gay? Who knew?”

“Like, everyone else?” Seulgi mumbles into her cup.

Jongdae gawks at her. “I didn’t,” he says in dismay before turning to Chanyeol. “Did you?”

Chanyeol nods awkwardly. “He told me… sort of.”

Jongdae points an offended drumstick at Seulgi. “Why did he only tell you and not me or boss? I thought we were friends!”

Seulgi rolls her eyes. “He didn’t tell me. I found out. It’s not hard when you have a pair of eyes either.”

It’s a tug-of-war between Jongdae’s loud berating and Seulgi’s sharp but quiet comebacks, but Chanyeol minds neither, instead replaying Baekhyun’s cold eyes in his mind, the way he had emphasized the word boyfriend, like a knife he kept in his mouth, sharpening it with his tongue until the time came for him to use it, effortlessly cutting through Chanyeol.

Another voice pierces his consciousness, but this time it’s softer, higher, stranger. “Chanyeol? Are you okay?” Wendy asks, hand on his arm, soothing.

Chanyeol forces a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.” With a newfound taste for self-affliction, he realizes that he already misses the pain.

I think I’m losing my mind, trying to stay inside the lines.

The isolated bass from Jongin’s Bluetooth player beats against Baekhyun’s eardrums in a pleasant rhythm. It’s an energy that embeds itself into every inch of the car’s interior, one that’s easy to lose himself in. His eyes are closed, Bazzi’s voice manifesting into purple lines behind his eyelids, crossing paths and entangling to sit heavy between his brows, before they drop along with the pre-bridge.

“So let me get this straight,” Jongin says, not taking his eyes off the road, timbre blending in with the music but still distinct. “Not only does he still think I’m your boyfriend because your stupid ass didn’t clear it up when he told you about his girlfriend a month ago, but said girlfriend came into your apartment tonight, and you got pissed so you left? And you told them that said boyfriend—a.k.a. me—was picking you up?”

“Ten out of ten for memory,” Baekhyun drawls.

“You’ve got issues, man.”

You can say that again.

Baekhyun remembers walking into the kitchen, his gut immediately churning upon seeing the two cuddled up, fast asleep. He had stormed into his room, screamed into his pillow and very nearly ripped it in two. Maybe he should have, considering he nearly bore holes into Wendy when he went back into the kitchen and realized that she was wearing Chanyeol’s fucking jersey.

Jealousy isn’t a monster. He is.

Looking out, the vast expanse of Han river that’s visible is threatening and dark, but the moon hangs high above it, casually, as if it knows that Earth’s gravity will never be able to pull it down. He wonders if it ever feels lonely, coming out only at night when everyone’s asleep, always receiving the sun’s light, but never seeing it in its true glory when it breathes color into the sounds that saturate the city during the day.

Baekhyun continues to stare into nothingness until Jongin pulls up by the river bank, to his confusion. “Why are we here?”

Jongin gives him a look. “You wanted to go back to the club to fuck.”

Baekhyun snorts. “Yeah, so?”

“So, as your amazing boyfriend who just wants the best for his stupid ass boyfriend, I’m saying no, don’t fuck your way through heartbreak,” Jongin says, ripping open a fresh stash of beer and handing a can to Baekhyun. “Here.”

Baekhyun takes it. He doesn’t say it, but deep down he knows Jongin’s right. It’s a shame, considering the fit he’s put together. “Oh? And you’ve had so much experience, smarty pants?”

“Hmm, not really. A bit too smart to have gotten into a position like yours in the first place.”

“Fuck you.”

“But,” Jongin says, pulling out a pack of apple juice, its bright and tacky graphics a comical contrast to his sleek image, “I’ve seen others. By the end of a dozen one-night stands, they find that they barely have a heart anymore.”

“Jongin, we literally have sex for a living. Pretty sure you and I still have a heart.”

“Yeah, because when we do it with that mindset, we do it for money. We’re supposed to separate affairs of the heart, not run away from them.”

Baekhyun groans, taking a swig of his beer. He’s gonna need at least three cans if he wants to get through Jongin’s scheduled philosophical bullshit tonight.

“That jerk!”

Except after the fifth can, Baekhyun is crying, snot running down his nose and threatening to freeze if not for Jongin wiping it off for him with a sigh. His hand is trembling around his can of beer, barely having the strength to make more than a weak dent on it.

“Let it all out,” Jongin hums, slurping on his apple juice, the sound of trapped air being sucked out echoing noisily.

“You know he practically told me he was bisexual that day? Bisexual! Which means he could’ve gone for me! But noooo, instead he goes for that—that—”

“Wendy,” Jongin offers helpfully.

“That Wendy!” Baekhyun wails, wheezes growing heavier and erratic.

Jongin had always assumed that Baekhyun’s level of ugly crying—over a love interest, no less—would be the kind you’d only ever see in movies; maybe behind the scenes, the director tickles the actor’s nose with some chili before sending them off to face the camera, during which the actor would barely even need a cue to start crying. He was wrong.

Ignoring the prickly cold pavement, he takes a seat next to Baekhyun, who’s leaning against the front of his sedan, face puffed up from crying. He asks, “What would you have done anyway, if Chanyeol had confessed to you? Hypothetically speaking.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Dunno.”

Jongin chuckles, the answer not at all a surprise. Baekhyun, who’s always charging into everything new head-on, except his own wretched feelings. Until now, the other has never divulged the full history between him and Chanyeol, but Jongin understands that it’s one that runs even deeper than love. Deeper than blood. “Wanna know something?”

Baekhyun sighs, but slumps against Jongin’s side, head heavy on the other’s shoulder. “Shoot.”

“I lied about not knowing heartbreak. The first time Sehun rejected me, I was… well, I was devastated,” Jongin laughs, chest tightening just the slightest at the memory. “I’d been convinced he loved me back, but when he told me he’d only ever wanted my company, to have someone to talk to… I cried. I cried, I drank, I puked, I starved, I fucked my way through heartbreak.” He pauses, laying his head against Baekhyun’s. “For the first time in my line of work, I felt dirty. I kept it all from him, even though we had grown close enough for him to call me Jongin instead of Kai. It wasn’t until I’d woken up on a hospital bed that I realized how much I’d fucked up. I’m not saying you’d end up like me, but I’m telling you this so you won’t. You and Chanyeol are close enough that he wouldn’t let you suffer alone if he knew his rejection was affecting you so badly—if he rejects you in the first place. Trust him, and give him a chance, won’t you?”

When Baekhyun doesn’t reply, Jongin assumes he’s just too stubborn to, but when he turns to see the other’s chest and shoulders rising and falling steadily, eyelids shut in the perfect picture of peace, he sighs. “Of course, you’re not listening.” Jongin easily pulls Baekhyun up, pulling the latter’s arm around his shoulder in a manner that’s already familiar.

Let’s get you home.

It’s five in the morning. Everyone is sound asleep but Chanyeol, who’s staring absently at the ceiling, counting little puppies instead of sheep. Specifically, little puppies with a mole above their lips, who wag their tails in excitement over fresh strawberries.

Chanyeol thinks about university. Although he’s used it as an excuse to keep his distance from Baekhyun in the recent months, he was—is—being swamped by a load of work. It’s exhausting, it threatens his future if he were to drop it, yet he’s all too happy to carry it. After all, it’s a load that doesn’t even come close to the weight of a human—all those times he ran out of a collapsing building, a child on his back or a fellow fireman by his side.

Or the weight of human memories, recalling the old lady at the nursing home who struggled to remember the face of her nephew even though he had visited just days prior.

Or when Chanyeol was but a child, and the lighter the stolen bag of coins was, the heavier his punishments.

Compared to the past twenty years of his life, university is weighed in mere books and the depth of his eye bags.

Then he thinks about Baekhyun. He remembers when he broke the news of him dating Wendy to his best friend—Baekhyun didn’t say much; Chanyeol didn’t ask for his opinion either. One would think finally getting a significant other after twenty years was something to celebrate. At least Chanyeol had thought so—which was why he had forced out the words I’m happy for you even when it had been a blatant lie.

In hindsight, he’s glad that Baekhyun didn’t say them back.

Annoyingly, the more he thinks about Baekhyun, the more Jongin’s ridiculously handsome face doggedly pops up in his mind. Chanyeol tries to will it away, but can’t. Instead, he’s stuck wondering where they are right now and what they’re doing, the questions fanning the flames of his jealousy.

Did Jongin bring Baekhyun back to his place?

Did they kiss the way she and I did?

Did they fuck the way we didn’t?

He’s broken out of his cage of thoughts by the light of his phone screen, indicating a new message. His heart skips a beat when he sees that it’s from Baekhyun, with a simple one-word message: Outside.

Barely keeping himself together, Chanyeol tiptoes into his bedroom where Seulgi and Wendy are sound asleep, nabs a thick, long coat and is outside in—

“That took you like, less than twenty seconds.”

Baekhyun is unconscious for the second time, and Chanyeol can’t help feeling suspicious. “You didn’t do anything to him, did you?”

Jongin rolls his eyes. “Do I look like some freak to you? Here, take him,” he says, pushing Baekhyun onto Chanyeol.

As he catches Baekhyun by the torso, scooping him up bridal style, Chanyeol feels a strange warmth surging in him, despite the cold and Baekhyun’s even colder skin. This is a weight he likes carrying, too. One that feels like home. “Thanks. For bringing him back,” Chanyeol mumbles. He’s about to bring Baekhyun inside when Jongin says:

“Wait.” He’s wearing a difficult expression on his face, but it’s clear he wants to tell Chanyeol something. “You like him, don’t you?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen, heartbeat picking up. Was it obvious? Or maybe Jongin’s jealous.

As if he can read his mind, Jongin answers, “I’m not jealous. I don’t even like the guy.”

That statement makes Chanyeol see red, thinking back to all the dramas he’s watched of that one asshole guy. “You—”

“We’re not boyfriends.”

Chanyeol splutters. “What?”

Jongin crosses his arms, assuming a stance like he’s lecturing a child. “I said, we’re not boyfriends. He doesn’t like me either. We just work together.”

The new information is too much for Chanyeol to process, and he nearly drops Baekhyun. The words are out of his mouth before he knows it. “Sex friends?”

Jongin snorts. “Doubt that’s the right term for it. But here,” he says, pulling a card out of his coat pocket. He presses it against Chanyeol’s lips, and the other begrudgingly bites on it since his hands are full. “I know you’ll never leave him, but this guy here doesn’t seem to get that,” he says, gesturing to the sleeping beauty in Chanyeol’s arms. Without even waiting for a response—not that Chanyeol can give one in his state—Jongin turns on his heels and leaves, footsteps dense against the floor, drawing the light of dawn from its wake.

A few hours later, Chanyeol is out of the door once more, this time to escort Wendy out. “Thanks for last night,” she says.

Spring mornings are chilly, but at least the sun rises more easily than in winter. It casts the subtlest of orange against Wendy’s side, illuminating her in a honeyed glow. Even when her appearance is a mess from having stayed overnight, she’s still pretty.

It’s just too bad Chanyeol can only appreciate, not adore. “No problem at all. I hope Jongdae didn’t scare you too badly. Or Baekhyun.”

Wendy chews on her lip, thoughts brewing. “When Jackson said you were heartbroken over someone… was it Seulgi?”

“What? No!” Chanyeol laughs, not expecting the question. “The guys—and girl—at Dior are just friends.”

The gleam in her eyes reflects the turning cogs in her head, and even though he’s the one looking down, Chanyeol can’t help but shrink under her burning curiosity. “Then… is it Baekhyun?”

A hitched breath.

You like him, don’t you?

Has he really been that obvious?

His silence is enough of an answer for Wendy, who just smiles—out of kindness or pity, Chanyeol’s not sure. “I don’t wanna overstep my boundaries since he has a boyfriend but… I don’t see why you shouldn’t fight for him.”

“Why do you assume I haven’t already been rejected?”

Wendy blinks in surprise, before laughing, a sweet sound to match a sweet girl. “I didn’t think of that! Maybe because I can’t imagine rejecting you?”

Chanyeol sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Wendy, you’re too good for me.”

“Maybe I am, but who am I to choose who I like?”

They say their goodbyes. As Chanyeol watches her retreating back, he has a feeling he won’t be hearing from the girl for a while.

When he steps back into the flat, it’s quiet. Kyungsoo has already driven the other two Dior kids back, which leaves the original two residents to soak up the morning light by themselves, one in bed and the other cleaning up the residual mess.

It’s about noon when Chanyeol is done, covered in grime and dust. Baekhyun is asleep when he leaves for the shower and still is when he walks out, steam billowing behind him. He’s shimmying into a pair of gym shorts when the alluring business card catches his eye from the dressing table where he left it. He picks it up, tracing the white roses printed on its borders. It reads in English: ‘we’re queer, we’re here, come say hello!’ on one side and on the other: Birds of Paradise, with its Gangnam address and a contact under the name Kim Heechul.

Chanyeol isn’t sure where he’s seen the word queer before; he assumes Birds of Paradise is the name of Jongin’s club, but didn’t he say he was Baekhyun’s coworker? Did that mean Baekhyun was working at more than one club?

There’s an alternative possibility: one that twists his windpipe into a hard knot, making it difficult for him to breathe.

He sits down at the kitchen table with his laptop open, the silence around him suddenly heavier. What he cannot hear around him, he hears within him. The entirety of his body dissolves into his heart, not just feeling but becoming its uncontrollable beating.

He googles the name.

South Korea is renowned for its fast internet, yet nothing could be slower than the microseconds it takes between a click of his mouse and the link of the page flashing open.

Birds of Paradise is a gay host club—that much he gets from the website, but it’s only when he goes through a blog page about a person’s experience there does he feel his heart drop.

He stands abruptly, as if a demon had jumped out from the screen of his laptop, a million thoughts running through his head.

Isn’t this basically prostitution?

How long has he been working for?

His mind is a storm in the sea, currents clashing, blinded by the lightning and deafened by the thunder. Amidst the chaos, he vaguely remembers Baekhyun telling him about his second job when he’d just gotten fired from the station.

He forcibly pulls out another memory from the feral waves—a happier one, when Baekhyun had told him—

What did he tell him?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The panic rises, Chanyeol thrown into a war with himself. He’s gasping, falling on his knees, forehead pressed against the heated floor. He’s too deep underwater, the pressure crushing his chest, shoulders, back—why can’t he remember?

I don’t want to remember.

Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun’s smile. Good news. He clings onto the last one. What had the good news been? Something about university—

Classes start at 8AM tomorrow.

The money. Where had the money come from? What did Baekhyun do to get the money?

It was just singing.

On stage, or in bed?

It was just singing.

Baekhyun always insisted on showering in the club.

It was just singing.

But the loudest question, wailing like a banshee, claws sinking into his lungs—

Why didn’t you tell me?

Chanyeol had just turned fifteen when he overheard the fateful conversation.

“They’re the only two left.”

“Hmm, don’t worry about it. We’ll keep them for another year. I got a friend who’s interested in Baekhyun.”

“That woman who runs that disgusting brothel?”

“Hey, you got any better ideas? He may be our best kid since he does all our work so obediently, but how long do you think we can keep him before he wants to see more? At least if she gets him, we’ll get more than a couple of thousands.”

“Then what about that other kid? That tall one who hangs around him.”

“I was thinking…”

But Chanyeol’s brain had long frozen since the mention of ‘brothel.’ He remembered reading it in one of the library books he had picked up; the descriptions weren’t explicit, but the allusions were enough for him to understand that it wasn’t a great place to be.

And now, the horrors of the place seemed a hundred—no, a thousand times magnified to him, after learning that they planned to put Baekhyun in one.

He ran back to the attic, chest suddenly heavy. His breathing was labored, which was unusual because how could running a few dozen steps leave him panting? He fell to his knees, and he wondered if he was going to die like this.

No!

He couldn’t!

He had to save Baekhyun!

But the more he thought of it, the more his throat squeezed. He clawed at his chest, thinking that maybe if he could rip his ribcage open he would be able to let the air into his lungs.

In the minutes where he couldn’t move, Baekhyun had returned to the attic, immediately rushing to his side. But when he appeared in front of Chanyeol, the latter looked like he’d seen a ghost, clutching Baekhyun’s arm in a bruising grip.

“Bae-Baekhyun—”

Baekhyun laid a hand over Chanyeol’s eyes, pushing him onto his back. He wrestled his trapped arm away easily, instead grabbing Chanyeol’s wrist and pinning it down.

Baekhyun hushed him. “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, listen to me, listen to me!”

“Baekhyun—Baekhyun—” Chanyeol kicked out, gasping around his cries. His other arm came up to grasp the back of Baekhyun’s shirt.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Baekhyun laid his weight over Chanyeol, head next to his as he continued whispering into his ears. Finally, after some long seconds, Baekhyun felt the chest beneath him settle into a more regular rhythm, as the cries of his own name died down.

“Do you want me to get up?” he asked. Chanyeol shook his head. “Okay.”

They stayed in that position until Chanyeol flipped them on their sides, arms secured around each other. “Remember the promise I made you?” he asked, voice more steady now.

Baekhyun chuckled. “Which one? You’ve made quite a few.”

“That I’ll bring you to Seoul.”

Baekhyun froze, consciousness thrown back to a rainy day and an apple. “Yeah.”

Chanyeol pulled away, eyes boring into Baekhyun. “I’m gonna make it happen. Just you wait.”

Concern was painted all over Baekhyun’s features. “Chanyeol, why are you suddenly saying all this?” The other boy bit his lip and told him about the earlier exchange between the adults. Chanyeol watched as the color drained from Baekhyun’s face. “I… I don’t get it. They were planning to kick me out?”

Chanyeol took his hands. “I’ll get us out of here, don’t you worry.”

But Baekhyun jerked back from the hold as if burned. “What if your family gets here before then? What will you do?”

“They won’t.”

“But what if?!” Baekhyun yelled, sitting up. “What if you leave me, like everyone else?!”

“Baekhyun, look at me!” Chanyeol said, grabbing his face. “I won’t leave you. Not even if my family comes.”

It was then that Baekhyun realized the magnitude of his outburst. He panicked. “No, no, Chanyeol, you can’t do that. You don’t deserve that.”

“Then I’ll tell them to come get you, too.”

Baekhyun laughed weakly. “They’ll have taken ten years to come get you, what makes you think they’ll have enough money for another child?”

But Chanyeol was adamant. “I’ll get you out, somehow.”

Baekhyun sniffled. “Before they sell me?”

Chanyeol nodded, holding his pinky out. “Do you trust me?”

Looking at the finger that contained half of the promises he had made with the other over the years, Baekhyun softened at the memories. Despite the lingering doubt, he took it in his own.

Because it was Chanyeol. If he had to have his heart and a thousand promises broken, he wouldn’t choose it to be by anyone but Chanyeol. “I do.”

A month and some is way too short of a time frame to get blackout drunk twice, but Baekhyun wakes up feeling like shit anyway.

He’s staring at a ceiling he recognizes through his hangover. It’s not as bad as before—five beers are still no match for mouthful of vodka, after all. He’s back on his bed and Chanyeol’s is empty, which means that the gang plus Wendy have probably left. Or so he hopes. Preferably without Chanyeol.

Baekhyun speculates that that would be the case if he finds him in the kitchen, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. Instead of getting up, he takes the tablets and water by the bed and goes back to sleep.

When he leaves his bed an hour later and stalks into the kitchen, still feeling like shit, he’s surprised to see his friend lying on the sofa, arm over his eyes, seemingly asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, Baekhyun keeps the sounds to a minimum as he scrounges for food—the greasier, the better.

To his luck, there’s chicken and pizza in the fridge, and he promptly pops them into the microwave. While waiting for the one minute to be up, he glances around the kitchen—as expected of Chanyeol, everything’s back in place with practically no indication of the previous night in. In his periphery, there’s a little black card on the table by the sofa, and Baekhyun’s blood freezes with recognition.

He rushes to pick it up, eyes widening as he reads the all too familiar print.

How?

When Heechul first gave Baekhyun his business card, the latter had carefully kept it until the day he accepted the other’s offer, before disposing of it in the café bin. The one he’s looking at right now can’t possibly be his. Did Chanyeol come across one of the other hosts on the street? Or maybe at university? Or maybe—

A hand grabs his other arm, cutting Baekhyun’s thought short. Chills run down his spine as his gaze falls upon Chanyeol, his eyes slightly swollen as he weakly glares up at Baekhyun. Before he has the chance to say anything, to feign ignorance, Chanyeol says, “We need to talk.”

Baekhyun gulps. Not too obviously, he hopes. “Hm? Sure, what’s up?”

Chanyeol sighs, pushing himself up to sit, not letting go of Baekhyun’s arm. “You don’t have to use that tone on me. Jongin told me everything,” he says, cutting straight to the point.

Baekhyun’s throat is suddenly dry. Too dry. He thinks about the glass of water by his bedside that he should have finished. The options play over his head like choices in a game, except the consequences have never felt this catastrophic. Chanyeol waits for him, as always.

Baekhyun chooses the option he’s been neglecting for the past year. “How… much?” he asks, voice cracking.

The sardonic chuckle that leaves Chanyeol’s mouth grates on Baekhyun’s heart. “Well, he just told me that you guys weren’t actually dating. And he gave me the card you’re holding. I did the rest on my own.”

“Chanyeol, I can—”

“Why?”

Why?

A Tuesday evening.

Baekhyun remembers Chanyeol looking beautiful in the sunset.

But that beauty had been invaded by the pain of helplessness, and Baekhyun had made it worse by not trusting Chanyeol enough, by making decisions in anticipation of events without even talking to Chanyeol about it.

At the time, Baekhyun had gotten away with a white lie—or two, or three. But those lies, like little termites, grew into a colony every passing day, eating through the heartfelt wood of their home. Every layer of blindfold Baekhyun placed over Chanyeol’s eyes added to the web of lies, until a monster burst out of its silky cocoons, eager to pounce.

To his clients, Baekhyun whispered false words of love, but his body was true.

To Chanyeol, Baekhyun gave everything but the truth.

“Don’t say it.” Chanyeol sounds broken. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Don’t say you did it for me.”

He can do that. He can deny that he did it for Chanyeol. He can say he wanted to try out a new job. Meet new people. Some bullshit like that. He can lie.

He opens his mouth.

The words are stuck in his throat.

He closes it back.

Why?

Why can’t he lie?

Lying has been nothing but second nature to him for a year. He opens his mouth again. But his throat constricts stubbornly. Has he run of words to say? Do humans even have such a limit? Is it because lying costs more words than the truth? He can’t tell. He can’t speak.

“Baekhyun, say something.”

Chanyeol never calls him like that. No—he has, when they were kids, and Baekhyun was lying half-dead from the beatings he took, too weak to even cry. Chanyeol had cried for him. The ghost of a memory comes back to haunt him—didn’t he swear to himself on that day that he’d never make Chanyeol cry for him again?

Yet with every tear that hovers in the corner of Chanyeol’s eyes, holding on before they eventually get too heavy and drop, meandering down his face—with every wrecked sob that leaves Chanyeol’s lip, the oath that Baekhyun made to himself burns brighter, hotter, disintegrating into nothing but ashes.

He looks at Chanyeol. When he opens his mouth to speak, he’s surprised to taste salt on his tongue. “Chanyeol, I—”

Don’t say you did it for me.

Tears stream down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Chanyeol’s reaches out for his other hand, gripping it tightly by his wrist. Baekhyun barely flinches. “Why?! Why did you do it?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun repeats before he can help it. This time, his voice breaks.

“We could’ve worked it out together. I could’ve waited another year. Hell, I could’ve waited a decade—”

“I couldn’t!”

“You—what?”

Baekhyun’s throat unblocks, and the rush of air escapes in wheezes and sobs. The oxygen attacks his head, his chest hurting too much, threatening to collapse on him. “I couldn’t wait! I saw how unhappy you were, how anxious you were—”

Chanyeol laughs. “So it’s my fault—”

“No!” Baekhyun gasps, another wave of hot tears spilling out. “No, of course not—”

“But you did it for me!”

“And?!” Baekhyun wrenches himself out of Chanyeol’s hold, taking a few steps back. “Why can’t I? Can’t I choose not to be the only one happy between us?!”

Chanyeol stands up to chase him. “You don’t get to make the decision for yourself if it affects the both of us! Don’t you get it? You should’ve told me!”

Baekhyun hiccups. “You—would have said no!” he forces out.

“So what? I should say yes to you selling your body for me?”

Baekhyun screams. “Why does it matter? Why would it matter what kind of job it is?”

“Of course, it matters! How long were you planning on keeping it a secret? Did you think about how I would feel? When I find out? Huh? Did you think I’d be happy knowing my best friend, whom I risked death for to help escape because I couldn’t stand the thought of them selling you to a brothel, went ahead and sold himself anyway? For me?”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “No—no—”

“Then, why did you?” Chanyeol asks, the edge in his voice growing more desperate by the second. He grasps Baekhyun’s wrists once more, this time more gently. “Why did you do it?”

Baekhyun sobs, tears blurring his eyes, snot blocking his sinuses. “I—hic—I knew you wouldn’t be happy so I—hic—kept it a secret!”

“But why?” Chanyeol pleads, echoing the same question once more. Baekhyun doesn’t know what he’s asking of him. He doubts Chanyeol knows himself, either.

Baekhyun answers with the only truth he knows. He inhales sharply, forcing himself to look at Chanyeol. It hurts. He wants to reach out to him, wants to close his eyes, convince him this is a dream.

But Chanyeol has seen the monster. There’s no putting the blindfold back on.

“Because I love you.” Baekhyun’s voice plays like a guitar out of tune, strings pulled too taut.

The grip around his wrist loosens, but Chanyeol doesn’t let go. He steps forward, and takes Baekhyun’s face in his hands. “If you love me,” Chanyeol begins, voice breaking. He presses their foreheads together, his own tears transferring to Baekhyun’s face through their noses. “If you love me… quit.”

Trembling hands clasp Chanyeol’s sleeves. Baekhyun shakes his head, rubbing a pink hue onto a patch of their foreheads. “I-I can’t.”

The fingers under Baekhyun’s ears twitch. “Why?” Chanyeol asks, the helplessness slithering back into his tone. “Why?”

Baekhyun whimpers. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“I can look for jobs—”

“No! You need to focus on university—” But Baekhyun is cut off when Chanyeol pulls him into a tight hug, a hand on his head, an arm around his waist.

“Please,” Chanyeol breathes, “Please… Just stop talking about it. Not when it comes from…”

As Chanyeol’s words fall off into the silence, Baekhyun’s hands, in a similar fashion, fall back down to his sides.

Ah.

He gets it now.

With every passing second, Baekhyun’s gaze loses its focus. His senses are muted, mind zeroing in on a memory from when they were sixteen, suffering in the hands of their abusers, but almost too afraid of the unknown to escape. His lips move involuntarily. His voice is but static to his ears.

“Money… is money, Chanyeol.”

The tremors of the body around him cease abruptly. Chanyeol grabs him by the shoulders, putting an arm’s distance between them. Anguish claws at his face, morphing it into something ugly, reflecting the betrayal he feels in his heart. He chokes, “That’s not fair.”

Baekhyun was—is—cruel.

“That’s not fair, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol weeps, stumbling back, hands running through his hair. There are no more tears, lost along with an extinguished hope.

Baekhyun doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. His body is keeping him alive just enough for it to be a gesture of mockery so he can watch the colors leave his world with every step Chanyeol takes away from him, before ultimately closing the door on Baekhyun.

The curtains are shut together, but the chill of the night somehow permeates the heated walls and floor of the apartment, freezing the lone occupant. It starts with his skin, seeping its way into his bones until it encases his heavy heart in a cold snare.

Or maybe, it’s just Baekhyun.

It isn’t the first time he’s slept alone. And neither will it be the last, he’s sure of that.

But often, when he comes back from work, he’s too tired to mind the absence on the bed next to his, easily drifting off to sleep. He supposes he’s taken for granted that at least when he wakes, Chanyeol would be there—though that hasn’t been the case recently.

Still, tonight, it’s lonelier than usual.

His phone comes to life with an incoming message, and it’s from Kyungsoo, giving him the O.K. to take leave from work the next day. He doesn’t ask why; Baekhyun is grateful.

Switching his phone off, Baekhyun lies on his back, staring into the void. He is in a state of unthinking. No—he does not want to think. Instead, he spreads his limbs out and closes his eyes, focusing on the sensations on his skin.

He starts with his head, remnants of his headache still there, eyes heavy and puffy. He steadies his breath, letting the energy swim freely in his skull, before it scuttles downwards onto his cheekbones, working its way into his sinuses that are still partially blocked. Then it wraps itself around his neck—like a scarf, warm without the stuffiness. It tickles his clavicles, making its rounds through each pair of ribs before settling into a gentle pool in his stomach. It stays there for a while, gaining traction as it concentrates around his navel and groin, hair down south tickling with static. As he relaxes his pelvic floor, it zaps through his legs, bubbling on the soles of his feet before finally evaporating from his toes.

There is no price he can pay to get rid of the pain. Not while he is Baekhyun, and written into his skin and under it, diffusing into his blood is Chanyeol. A name that threatens to melt the ice around his heart, making him relive the pain of being alive.

So, he lets go.

Of everything—his name, his life, the very essence that has accumulated to make him him.

For the sake of getting through the night, Byun Baekhyun does not exist.

I love you.

I have loved you in my waking hours, when I am blessed by the sight of you and the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand and the aroma of your clothes, the smile you show to the world and the smile you reserve only for me.

I have loved you in my dreams, when my mind gives birth to new dimensions, with robots and monsters, under the sea or far afield in a distant galaxy; in every universe, you are there beside me.

Time passes. The earth turns, so do I with it, shedding new skin come the end of a rotation. Every year, the contents of our shared wardrobe are slightly different. Every year, new chapters are written into our books, telling of the adventures and people we meet, each one never the same as before.

Yet in every chapter, your name remains the only constant, the most mentioned. It isn’t my story without you in it.

You, who have taken root in my heart since the day we met, claiming it as your home. No matter the changes of the heart, you weather through it all, finding space in the cracks in rocks to burrow yourself deeper for a lick of water. Even when droughts wrought my heart into a barren desert, you still find an oasis in me, never letting me go, never leaving me.

You, whose eyes I will always find, be it across cozy cafés, or across the gap we foolishly allowed to separate our beds, at night before the sandman claims us again.

You, whom I have loved in secret, like the stars that watch the moon from afar, longing but afraid of wanting more, afraid of coming closer, lest they ruin the one they adore with the flames of their love.

You, whom I love openly, through linked hands, forehead kisses and silent smiles.

My love, it has always been you.

Somewhere else in Seoul, Chanyeol is in a friend’s spare room, battling against the whispers of his demons. They tear open his skull, digging in for a fresh chunk of brain, one that has been juiced with traumas and anxieties. He sees the image of himself as a child, only to realize that he never grew up. He’s still the same, helpless kid that had to be protected by the one person he swore to take care of.

Even in his sleep, he is not safe from the voices, the fire, the faces of his captors.

When he awakes, it’s with a name on his lips and to a face that fades all too quickly. The fingers he had imagined running through his hair, the touch of soft lips against his forehead—they are not there.

Baekhyun is not there.

The last full week of April witnesses Mother Nature’s growing volatility, as snow rains on the city of Seoul in miniature white comets.

Outside the administrative building of his university, Chanyeol paces back and forth and curses the estranged weather, wishing he’d brought along a scarf and some gloves. It’s mid-afternoon; in a few hours, the deadline to withdraw from courses will be closed, but his legs are heavy like lead, as if repulsed by the ominous front doors that lie ahead of him.

He mindlessly kicks at the snow settling on the pavement. Until a voice brings him out of his daydream.

“Chanyeol-oppa?”

To his right, flushed face stuffed into an equally red scarf, is Seulgi. He blinks in surprise. “Oh, hey. What are you doing around here?”

When she tucks her scarf under her chin to speak better, her breath leaves in thin wisps. “Classes got cancelled so my friends and I went out for lunch around here. What about you? No class?”

If Chanyeol remembers right, Seulgi is attending Ewha, the women’s university just around Yonsei’s neighborhood. “I do. Right now, actually.”

“Oh,” Seulgi says cleverly, “then why aren’t you…?”

It takes Chanyeol a whole of three seconds to decide that he might as well tell the truth now, if not later. “I’m planning on withdrawing.”

Seulgi’s eyes grow into saucers. “Wha—why? I thought you were doing well? According to Baekhyun-oppa, I mean.”

The name is like a slap to his face. He contemplates lying, but Seulgi’s face is like the blank page of a notebook, enticing him to disclose all his secrets to her. He replies, “Because… of him, actually.”

Seulgi opens her mouth, before closing it. Her face gives nothing away as she stalks forward to grab Chanyeol by the arm. “Oppa, let’s go to a café over there,” she says, pointing in the direction behind him.

They walk in silence. Aside from the blasphemous snow, Seoul is as it is in April, with students occupying cafes and no shortage of tourists walking about with shopping bags and maps in hand, probably hoping to come across a field of cherry blossoms.

The café Seulgi leads him to is a small inconspicuous space hidden away from the main road. From the outside, the bare minimum lighting gives the impression that it’s closed, but when they step in, it’s still bright enough to show off the somber wooden walls and abstract paintings of western artists from the 70s to 80s. Miraculously, there are more than a few empty seats. Chanyeol studies the selection of gelato flavors on display; in the end, he settles for an iced Americano.

“You sure? The ice cream here is great,” Seulgi says.

“Nah, I’m good.” Chanyeol doubts he’ll be able to properly appreciate or even taste it anyway, given his mood.

When he makes to take out his wallet, Seulgi scolds him. “My treat!” she says, already whipping out her contactless card. “Hi, can I get an iced Americano and the red velvet cheesecake gelato?”

They take a seat by the window. His coat makes him look even broader than he already is, but under Seulgi’s curious gaze, Chanyeol shrinks into a makeshift cocoon. She cuts to the chase. “Why are you withdrawing from the course?”

Despite the cold weather, droplets of water collect on the surface of his takeaway cup, wetting his fingers. Chanyeol says, “It’s… complicated.”

Seulgi hums. “Don’t like it?”

“I do.”

“Struggling?”

“Not really? I’ve gotten a B the first two times, but that’s it.”

Seulgi looks at him meaningfully, though Chanyeol continues to focus on his numbing fingers, trying to keep them still as he probes the cup in light squeezes. “Is Baekhyun-oppa in debt?”

The question catches him off-guard. Chanyeol’s fingers slip with the perspiration, gripping too hard until the lid pops open. They both exclaim in surprise, but luckily none of his coffee spills out. “Sorry,” he sighs, fixing the lid back on. When he recalls Seulgi’s question, he can’t help the small bubble of laughter spilling out of him. “Nah, he’s not in debt.”

“So, none of you will be in trouble if you continue?”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No.”

Seulgi is halfway through her ice cream, what were three balls of bright red sweetness minutes ago slowly melting like icebergs in the forefront of the Cenozoic era. “You know, you and Baekhyun-oppa will probably stay together for the next ten to twenty years.”

It’s not a question but a statement, one that confuses Chanyeol. “Yeah, so?”

Seulgi sighs. “Oppa, in situations like these… you’re only stopping because of pride, aren’t you? Or am I wrong?”

Chanyeol huffs, but he can’t be angry. Not when it’s the truth laid out so frankly by someone as nonjudgmental as Seulgi. “You’re not wrong. But…” He doesn’t know how to tell Seulgi the entire truth without exposing Baekhyun’s side job. What he does tell her is that Baekhyun’s the one paying for his fees, but Chanyeol’s only just found out what his job entails and personally disagrees with it. He also mentions that they haven’t seen each other since.

It’s been three days. Despite everything, the heart misses whoever it wants to miss.

“Does his job involving hurting himself or others?”

Other than me? Chanyeol thinks back to all the times Baekhyun came back from the club in a good mood, tipsy and bubbly. “No,” he says, uncannily bitter.

“Is it his choice?”

Chanyeol blinks. “Yes.” He sighs, massaging the spot between his eyes. “I know where you’re getting at. But by that same reason, shouldn’t I have the choice to quit too?”

Seulgi scraps the sides of her cup for the last bits of liquid sugar. “So, your response to him not communicating his choice to you, is by making a choice without communicating it to him first?”

When she says it like that, Chanyeol can’t argue without sounding like he’s plotting some sort of petty revenge. She’s telling him to be the bigger person which he knows he should be, because he’s an adult, damn it. But he juggles that with the fact that Baekhyun has been living a secret double life for a year, and it becomes too easy to justify his pettiness.

Seulgi continues, “I’m not stopping you from quitting. And I’m not saying he should have kept it from you either. But with all that’s said and done, he did it for you. Baekhyun-oppa loves you, anyone can see that. You wanting to quit—you wouldn’t be doing it for him. Most importantly, you wouldn’t be doing it for yourself, either.”

Another non-question. Another statement that hurts Chanyeol’s brain, but mostly his pride. Because Seulgi is right. Which is annoying, because suddenly his pride seems like a stupid thing for him to prioritize, knowing it’ll just hurt both him and Baekhyun in the long run.

Chanyeol slumps forward in his arms. “I wish I could be mad at you.” The other laughs good-naturedly. “Thanks for talking to me about it though. You’re right, I just… need some time to get it together and process everything.”

Seulgi smiles. “With the kind of relationship you have with him, it’s only natural that you two get into disagreements because you assume something about the other. In the end, what’s important is that you talk it out and especially, don’t give up.”

Seulgi’s words cling to him like a shadow throughout the day, when Chanyeol returns to the apartment and finds no one there, up until he’s standing outside a slick establishment in Gangnam, minutes before its opening. He has on a mask and a pair of sunglasses at near-midnight, earning him some funny stares. In addition, to hide his ears, he tucks them flat into the beanie he’s wearing.

Chanyeol isn’t really sure what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to risk Baekhyun greeting him at the front door, but at the same time, he’s having trouble distinguishing client from potential staff among the crowd pooling in.

He’s about to give up when two men in lavish suits walk out, one of them whose face he recognizes all too well from the nights he’s lain in bed steeping in jealousy. Chanyeol brisk walks up to them. Though they look alarmed—Chanyeol doesn’t blame them, he is a big, burly man dressed in black with his face hidden, after all—the unfamiliar man still greets him politely. “Hi, can we help you?”

Lifting his sunglasses and pulling down his mask, Chanyeol points to Jongin, asking, “Can I talk to him?”

However, he doesn’t expect the unfamiliar man to joyfully exclaim, “Oh, Chanyeol! How’s it going? Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Chanyeol frowns. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m a regular at Dior! It’s how I got to know Baekhyun in the first place. I sometimes see you lingering around too, but guess you’ve been busy since university started!”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “How did you…”

Jongin shoves an arm between them, looking back at the other exasperatedly. “Do you run your mouth to everyone you’ve just met in point blank seconds?” he scolds. Then turning to Chanyeol he says, with an unreadable look in his eyes, “What do you need me for?”

“It’s about Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, shifting his gaze to the man beside Jongin.

The man, clearly much older than him and Jongin, snorts under Chanyeol’s judgment. “Please, I know all about you and Baekhyun. Whatever you say to Jongin, you can say to me.”

Chanyeol throws a questioning look at Jongin, who only sighs and nods in affirmation. “In that case…” Chanyeol digs something out from his pocket, “give this to him.” He drops it in Jongin’s hand.

“What’s this?” Jongin asks.

“His keys to our apartment. I don’t know whether he forgot or left them on purpose. I don’t want to pressure him to talk, but when he’s ready… tell him to come back home.” Chanyeol doesn’t say that he isn’t ready, but he doubts Baekhyun is going to reappear anytime soon.

The other man speaks up, playing devil’s advocate. “What if he’s never ready?”

“I’ll pick him up anyway.”

The older man oohs, impressed; Jongin sighs, pocketing the keys. He looks like he’s torn between punching Chanyeol in the face and hugging him. “You know he loves you, right? He has a weird way of showing it, which definitely needs fixing, but you know that, right?”

Baekhyun-oppa loves you, anyone can see that.

“I do,” Chanyeol answers softly.

I love him, too.

When he closed his eyes, letting himself fall into a state of deep concentration, Baekhyun could almost make out the buzzing of the bullet train. The soft, mechanic whirring of modern transportation. When he opened his eyes, the sight of green mossy hills peaking toward a deep distant blue greeted him, before saying goodbye in a flash once the landscape changed into flat fields of paddy.

Baekhyun was sixteen when he slotted his first paper ticket into the automated machine at the train station, watching in awe as the ticket went in one mouth and up another.

Baekhyun was sixteen when he boarded his first bullet train, Chanyeol by his side, both boys tittering nervously when they jumped in unison at the robotic female voice that boomed from the intercom, announcing that departure time was in five minutes.

Destination: Yongsan Station, Seoul.

Next to him on the train, Chanyeol was fast asleep, hugging his bag to his chest. Baekhyun, on the other hand, was too nervous to do anything but look around—at the people around them, at the sights that rushed past him in a blur.

It was the longest two hours he’d ever experienced. When he walked to the men’s toilet and back, he had nervously scanned the other car occupants’ faces, looking for but hoping he wouldn’t come across them.

When fear didn’t plague him, guilt replaced it. He stared at Chanyeol’s peaceful face, studying his features and the rhythm of his chest.

Did Chanyeol deserve to be chained to him?

It wasn’t Baekhyun’s fault that Chanyeol had ended up in that house, he knew that. Neither was it his fault that years had passed and Chanyeol’s family never showed up. He knew that. But there were times when he’d let anxiety rule him, making him wish that Chanyeol’s family never would.

And he hated himself for that.

Those nights, he would cry into his pillow, silently beating himself up over his relief that for another night, Chanyeol was next to him.

But was it so bad not to want to be alone?

Eventually, those thoughts withered with every passing year he spent with Chanyeol.

There were a few times when he brought up the topic of looking for the other’s family to Chanyeol, but his friend had merely shaken his head, expressing disinterest. “Does it really matter that much? You’re my family now.”

Those simple words were enough to erase Baekhyun’s anxieties.

The first few weeks were tough. They spent days in internet cafes, looking up cheap places to rent—or at least Baekhyun did, since some of his errands included using the computer under their captors’ watch. Chanyeol, on the other hand, was fascinated by the basic technology, though quickly got the hang of it with Baekhyun’s teaching.

Unfortunately, each time they went to check a listing out, they were turned away by the other party who refused to let minors rent a place without a letter of approval from a parent or guardian. Initially, Baekhyun came up with the idea of forging a fake letter, but when the leasers demanded to see passport copies, they abandoned it.

It wasn’t until the end of the second week that they met Junmyeon.

They had already gone through a dozen other places, and by then they had learned not to get their hopes up. Which was why they were surprised when Junmyeon didn’t turn them away after hearing their age, instead inviting them in for snacks and tea.

Baekhyun was suspicious at first—what if they were jumping out of the frying pan into the fire? In the end, desperation won over, with only the knowledge of his own fighting skills as minimal reassurance.

Junmyeon wasn’t the first person they had told their sob story to—they figured they had better chances of renting a place with it—but he was the first not to laugh or threaten to call the police on them. Instead, he said, “In that case, why don’t you live with me first? Save your money, I’ll find you jobs. Then when you turn eighteen, you can rent one of my flats.”

It all sounded too good to be true. “How do we know if we can trust you?” Baekhyun questioned.

Junmyeon shrugged. “You either do or you don’t. Whether you stay or walk out isn’t my loss.”

And that was how they came to stay in Junmyeon’s guest room for two years. In the first few months, their guards were always up, the paranoia that he might lock them up and sell them to a shady organization looming over their heads. At some point, Baekhyun had even contemplated stealing his money and escaping with Chanyeol, but the longer they stayed, the quicker his conscience discarded the thought.

Junmyeon was like the older brother they never had, despite the gap in their age. He was clearly well-off since he never once insisted on splitting the grocery bill and would even buy extra snacks for them. He had a small keyboard in the corner of his living room, and that was where he taught Baekhyun and Chanyeol how to play. The only thing they had to do was keep the house clean, though by god, was Junmyeon a messy person.

Their smooth transition from the slums of Gwangju’s outskirts to the big bustling city of Seoul was only possible thanks to Junmyeon, which was why at the end of their short-term stay with him, they had insisted on paying him back for the two years.

Junmyeon, however, refused a single cent. “Look, I know you guys still have secrets from your past that you haven’t told me, but the only thing I want from you is the promise that you’ll stay out of trouble. Okay?” When the two boys, now of age, nodded profusely, he smiled at them fondly before giving them the keys to their new apartment.

Stepping into their first flat, furnished with the money they had earned, was a special feeling that Chanyeol and Baekhyun knew they would never forget. They shouted and yelled as they ran around, pointing out and naming random commodities like they had never seen them before.

“Our beds!”

“Our fridge!”

“Our stove!”

“Our television!”

“Our couch!”

“Our toilet!”

“Our showerhead!”

Overtaken by the excitement, they had forgotten to go shopping for essentials, including groceries and bed sheets, which was how they ended up sheepishly knocking on Junmyeon’s door a few stories up asking if they could join him for dinner.

Junmyeon rolled his eyes but welcomed them anyway. They talked through the night, and by the time Chanyeol and Baekhyun were back in their flat, their energy had crashed into the negatives as they lay on their bare, naked beds.

“It all feels so surreal,” Chanyeol said, spread out like a starfish.

Baekhyun turned on his side. For the past two years, they had slept on the same bed, no sense of space between them, but when they had gone out shopping for beds with Junmyeon, it had felt awkward trying to shut down his recommendation of two twin beds.

The one-meter gap between them felt like a chasm.

“Hey, big pup?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for everything.” Saying the words was easy, yet once they left his mouth they took up the whole room, sitting heavy on them.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for not leaving.

Thank you for fighting for me.

Thank you for loving me.

Chanyeol chuckled, and there was an understanding there, of the hard times they had gone through, and the good times that had kept them going. He shifted to face Baekhyun. “I’m going to make you one more promise.”

Although Chanyeol had managed to fulfill all his promises so far—the important ones anyway, not ones like bringing back a piece of the moon with him because he had once thought it was made of cheese—his words still made Baekhyun nervous. “Haven’t you made enough? As long as we stay like this, I’m happy.”

Chanyeol smiled at him softly—the kind where his lips pressed into a knowing line, the curve of his dimples deep. It made Baekhyun’s heart skip a beat each time, especially when they lay like this, the world falling deaf on their ears. “That is my promise.”

“What?”

“To stay like this. With you. Always.”

Unwittingly, Baekhyun’s waterworks opened. “What—that’s so fucking cheesy,” he laughed, but his sniffles told a different story. And when Chanyeol reached out his pinky finger, like he had so many times over the years the spent together, Baekhyun happily accepted the oath.

That was the last promise Chanyeol had ever made, for it was the only promise that mattered.

Soaked in the motherly light of the moon, Chanyeol and Baekhyun dozed off together within minutes, both slipping into a dreamless sleep.

For the first time in their lives, they had each other and a place to call home.

June rolls around in heatwaves and the crusade of critters that seek out the sun after having spent the colder months in hibernation. With the solstice nigh, the days stretch across the dial, public pools are back in business and prices for flight tickets to the Caribbean are sky high for those who planned their itineraries a little too late.

Spring was a time for puppy crushes, blooming precipitously like the fields of azalea that dyed the gardens in an ocean of pink and purple. As the season packs up, so do fleeting adorations and fickle sentimentalities. But those that stay, grip at the heart of their victims in full throttle come the heat of summer.

One such victim spends his afternoon slaving away at the grand piano, wrists and bum aching but determined to finish the second half of his amateur composition for the show that night.

“Oi, Baekhyun! Come have a drink, you’ve been sat there all sweaty since noon,” Heechul calls from the bar.

The club only opens at midnight, but behind closed doors the four friends enjoy their mindless chatter over a good round of drinks—well, three, considering that one of them was struck by sudden inspiration halfway through the conversation and scrambled to the piano to hit middle C at quick-fire speed. As if he was the only one in the room, he then sat down to play the piece he had been working on for weeks, uncaring for his surroundings. The other three, used to the scene, shook their heads, before resuming their gossip.

Initially, there was no complaint. But after a few hours it became obvious that Baekhyun had fallen back into a rut, if him taking out his frustrations of having musician’s block by way of keyboard slamming was any indication, producing ungodly noises on the piano.

It’s Jongin who eventually hustles him back to the table, shoving a drink in his face. “Either take a break, or I pour soju over you and that goddamn piano.”

All too aware that Jongin is the type of person to do just that, Baekhyun reluctantly takes a seat and the drink, sipping on the soju. “I was almost finished,” he grumbles like a child.

“Like hell you were! The only thing you were gonna finish was our hearing,” Jongin berates.

Heechul chuckles. “I feel like our Kai has gotten even less impatient ever since they started living together.”

“Living together implies symbiosis. This guy’s a goddamn parasite! Who the hell spends an hour in the bathroom? My water bill went up like crazy!”

Baekhyun snorts. “Oh no, did that affect your Gucci shopping spree the other day?”

Like Tom and Jerry, they break into yet another fight, and Taeyeon and Heechul are the loyal viewers of the sitcom—not that they have much of a choice in that matter. It’s practically routine; the two bosses have learned to carry on conversation just fine over Baekhyun’s yelling and Jongin’s tirades.

There’s a vibration in Heechul’s pocket, faint but continuous, signalling an incoming call. “Oi, you two, shut up,” he says, and like obedient puppies, Jongin and Baekhyun cease immediately. He picks it up. “Hello? Oh nah, I’m just with my buddies at the bar right now,” he says, voice louder than usual. It must be an old man or a client who’s harder of hearing. Or both. “Yeah, sure thing!” he says, directing a Cheshire grin to Baekhyun. “I’ll have our top host ready and primed for you!”

Baekhyun blanches at the statement, yelling at Heechul the moment he hangs up, “What the fuck, did you just offer me up to some sick perv?”

Heechul waves his tantrum off. “No worries, no worries. He’s not looking to do anything, just a longtime friend.”

Baekhyun trusts Heechul, but is still doubtful. “You sure? Because if he tries anything on me you better not take his medical bills out of my salary.”

Heechul snorts. “Lighten up, will you? I’ve known this dude for quite some time. He’s the serious type, kinda like Changmin, but fluffier? You know?”

At the ‘kinda like Changmin,’ Baekhyun’s anger fizzles out. In the past month, he’s stopped taking new clients beyond the bar, only extending sex to those whom he’s slept with more than three times in the past. That limits his clientele to about five people, Changmin included, since Baekhyun has gotten really expensive really quickly.

There are special exceptions, of course—some clients may request a private audience with him in the VIP suite just to chat, and Baekhyun has accepted more than a few. Evidently, there will be those who try and cheat, but he just has to reinforce his boundaries to get them to understand—those who don’t are seen out of the bar with a revoked membership and more often than not, a wounded fifth limb.

Initially, Baekhyun had been too scared to continue, the notion of Chanyeol quitting university because of him enough to have him hurl up the contents of his meals the days following their argument. But then he had found a set of keys with a worn-out strawberry keychain in the room he’s occupying in Jongin’s apartment, and he had cried himself to sleep, hugging the keys to his chest.

Baekhyun did not know what it meant at the time; he isn’t sure if he even knows, now. But it had been enough for him not to quit, as if it was a green light from Chanyeol telling him that it was okay. They’re going to be okay.

But a month and a half has passed since then, and Baekhyun finds himself too much of a coward to return, much to Jongin’s faux irritation and very real water bill.

At Dior, every time the front door opens and jangles the chimes, Baekhyun experiences a mix of relief and disappointment when he sees that the new arrival isn’t a lanky giant with distinctly elfish ears.

Another day without confrontation.

Another day without Chanyeol.

Baekhyun is good at distracting himself, almost as good as he is at distracting others. Jongdae seems to live in blissful ignorance of their hiatus, but these days Seulgi’s gaze holds a greater cognizance, and Baekhyun wonders how much of everything she’s really caught on to. It became apparent one day when Jongdae asked about Chanyeol and Wendy, and Seulgi very loudly answered—loud enough for Baekhyun to hear it whilst on toilet duty—that they had broken up even before May.

When Baekhyun approached her afterwards, mouth gaping like a fish, she beat him to the chase with a smile and the simple words, “He’s waiting for you.”

Somewhere deep down his heart, Baekhyun knew that. That Chanyeol had forgiven him long ago—for keeping the truth from him, for not trusting him enough with it.

Now Baekhyun is living his truth, and he’s still a coward. All his life he’s been the type to take everything head-on, but when it comes to his own feelings—when it comes to Chanyeol—he’s afraid of the new and unknown.

But he knows he has to go back at some point, he wants to, which is why he writes his anxieties into chords, and the little things he loves about Chanyeol into every piano note.

Heechul called him cheesy.

Taeyeon complained that she’s yet to see Chanyeol’s face.

Jongin, who has to bear his belting and adlibs at the crack of dawn, called him a madman.

“But you know what Einstein said—it’s remarkable how often madness and brilliance coincide!” Heechul retorted.

“That’s from Pirates of the Caribbean,” the other three deadpanned in unison.

But who knew writing a song could be so laborious? Having met more dead ends than he can count, Baekhyun has developed a whole new level of respect for composers—and songwriters, considering the fact his own lyrics are starting to sound amateur at best, prepubescent at worst. Jongin has been of little help—although he offers creative descriptions of boring things, on paper, they start to read more like a Shakespearean soliloquy than a contemporary song.

His last bout of inspiration strikes two hours to opening, and Baekhyun furiously scribbles the final lines of his original sheet music. He plays the entire song again for good measure without break, ending the last note with a dramatic hair flip and his hands in the air. “WOOHOO!” he exclaims, only to scream when he topples back too far, and he falls with the chair, hitting his head onstage with a loud THUMP.

When he comes to, groaning, Taeyeon, Heechul and Jongin’s eyes are peering down at him.

“That was so cheesy I got goosebumps!”

“Are your ears working? He didn’t even sing. Play it again while singing!”

“Man, you sure are a dumbass.”

Baekhyun grunts as he pushes himself up, no thanks to his friends. A sharp pain shoots down his bottom, and suddenly he’s all too grateful to Heechul for getting him a guy who just wants to talk and not fuck. Not that he had been booked by any of his other clients in the first place for the night.

Baekhyun only has the next hour and a half to polish his new piece. Although it’s for Chanyeol, he still wants the message to be one that others can relate to. Not to mention, any kind of feedback he can get is good. There’s one particular client, a Chinese businessman by the name of Yixing, that Baekhyun knows would be more than happy to give his two cents about the song. Having said that, Yixing can be pretty strict with his criticisms, but at least they’re always backed up with a solid line of reasoning.

But first, he needs to entertain Heechul’s so-called VIP friend. “Did he request any kind of outfit?”

Heechul shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Suit or skirt kind of guy?”

“I think he’ll be fine with whichever.”

“A simple man, huh. Fine by me.”

Jongin snorts. “I highly doubt someone who’d hire you was just going for simple.” And he’s right, which is why Baekhyun takes his time to doll himself up in a long-sleeved leather crop top and a red checkered mini skirt, paired with knee high boots.

“How do I look?” Baekhyun asks, after dabbing the last of his favorite shiny highlighter around his eyes.

“He won’t know what’s hit him,” Jongin says, smiling with one eye lined.

Heechul knocks on the door of the backroom as he peeps in. “He’s ready when you are.”

“Already?” Baekhyun says, surprised, used to the lack of punctuality from the bloody rich.

He takes the elevator up to the sixth floor. Though the heeled boots do wonders for his legs, they’re also a major pain to walk in. His footwear snapping against the carpeted floor of the corridor should have announced his arrival if not for the fact that like every other room in the vicinity, Room 614 is soundproof.

As he walks in, he sees a man standing by the panoramic window. The room is dark, but the silhouette is clearly tall and broad-shouldered, albeit slouched as he overlooks the nightlife of Gangnam.

Safety first, introductions later.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind if I turn on the lights?” he asks sweetly, though his fingers are already on the switch.

The man continues staring out, as if unhearing. He’s not moving either, so Baekhyun just stays where he is, not making any sudden or loud movement. He’s about to repeat the question again when the voice says, “No, go ahead.”

His fingers on the switch freeze.

Slowly, they slip down to his side, his entire body going lax.

The room is still dark, but he no longer needs it not to be when he already knows who’s standing there. From airy whispers, to teary hiccups, to animated laughter—he’s memorized the voice, knows it better than the back of his hand. How can he not?

It isn’t the same high-pitched whine as when they first met almost two decades ago.

It doesn’t have the same slightly nasal twang it had when they first knocked on Junmyeon’s door, asking for a place to stay.

It barely even sounds the same as it did two months too long ago, when that voice had cried, yelled and begged Baekhyun.

That rich, baritone timbre that holds as much innocence as it does allure, hasn’t always been that way; at one point in Baekhyun’s younger years, when that voice sang him to sleep as kids, it was far from pitch perfect.

But there’s a certain quality to it that will always tell Baekhyun; that makes his nerves vibrate and heart soar when it laughs, husky and happy; that lulls Baekhyun into a sense of comfort, forgetting the world around them; that he has learned to associate with the fresh smell of mint—

And home.

The figure covers their distance easily with his lanky bowed legs, stopping before Baekhyun, larger than life—no, he has been life itself. Baekhyun’s.

By the promise they made some years ago on unmade beds, Chanyeol will always be.

He watches as the other lifts a hand up to the switch. “Don’t!”

The hand pauses. “Why not?”

God, that voice. “Because…” he trails off, but before he can think of an excuse, the lights are on, and Chanyeol is standing there before him in all his six foot some glory.

He nearly stumbles, though his eyes never leave Chanyeol’s face, drinking in the sight, memorizing it as if he doesn’t have the image carved into his mind down to the pixel. Baekhyun is overwhelmed. So much that he forgets why he asked the other not to switch on the light in the first place until Chanyeol smirks, an obnoxious dimple forming on his left cheek as he looks down at his outfit. “Cute.”

A gasp leaves Baekhyun, hand shooting out to switch the lights back off. “I said no!”

They’re back on. “Why not?” This time, Chanyeol wears a pout, and Baekhyun hits the switch again before he can succumb to those puppy eyes.

“No!”

“Yes.” On.

Off.

On.

Off.

On.

Chanyeol takes advantage of Baekhyun’s large movements to lift him up from under his armpits into the air, before catching his shrieking figure in an embrace.

“What the fuck, Chanyeol!” he yells, securing his limbs around the other, looking down at the other. Chanyeol’s eyes are mismatched, smiling with his lips pressed thin like he does when he’s feeling even a little excited.

Baekhyun may not have fallen on his butt, but he falls in love for the hundredth, thousandth time.

He falls in love again with the smug but endearing grin, cocky but never condescending.

He falls in love again with the dimples that he can’t resist digging his fingers into, watching his nails disappear into marshmallow cheeks.

He falls in love again with the one who has taken permanent residence in his heart, from childhood to present, from Gwangju to Seoul. Hell, Chanyeol doesn’t even pay rent.

Chanyeol seeks solace in the crook of Baekhyun’s neck, nose tickling the soft skin. It’s a pleasant itch that Baekhyun is acquainted with, but there’s something different about it tonight, after all that has been said and done. Maybe it’s the leather hugging his skin. Maybe it’s the skirt precariously bunched around his thighs. He has his answer when Chanyeol replaces his nose with his lips, grazing the skin above Baekhyun’s collarbone, enough to make him shiver.

“Chanyeol—”

“I’ve missed you.” Chanyeol lifts his head up, his eyes carrying a sadness that grips Baekhyun with guilt.

I’m sorry holds itself on the tip of his tongue, but it has a connotation that’s too cruel, too unjust to them both. Instead, Baekhyun replies, “I’ve missed you, too.” He sighs. “Like. A lot, a lot.”

Chanyeol smiles. “I’ve been told.”

Baekhyun gawks. “It’s Jongin, isn’t it? I’ll rip his favorite crop top apart, I swear—” But he gets cut off by a kiss on his cheek. “Wha—” And another one, on the other side. “Chanyeol, what are you—” One on his forehead, lips quickly peppering butterflies down the length of his scrunched nose, and when he stops at the tip, Chanyeol lingers to nip at the skin. He doesn’t stop until Baekhyun’s babbling is reduced to snorts and giggles.

Chanyeol makes sure to explore every inch, even pecking his closed lids and the skin where his jaw and ear meets. There’s only one area he leaves undiscovered, pulling away to meet Baekhyun’s eyes, questioning.

Heart beating in his ribcage, Baekhyun understands. He cups Chanyeol’s face, thumb tracing a full pair of lips. He’s stalling, nervous, instead strumming the lower lip, catching it under his finger that sweeps past a row of incisors. Pressed so closely together, he doesn’t doubt that his heartbeat can be felt by the other, all the pulse points in his body throbbing maniacally, singing in an expectation of ecstasy. As he leans in closer, Baekhyun hears his own breath hitch, closing his eyes seconds before their lips meet.

It’s electric. The static from their lips travels in rapids, making Baekhyun’s hair stand on ends, goose pimples forming. For a second, he cannot breathe, unprepared and drowning in the flow, but his hands cling onto the other, not wanting to let go, not even for air. It’s only when Chanyeol moves against him in guiding motions, pushing him back afloat that Baekhyun relaxes, before melting into the waves again. Gently, this time. A defibrillating kiss, one that sends hot energy thrumming against Baekhyun’s head, chest, viscera, lower body. It breathes life into him, his heart falling into a steady staccato.

Only when Baekhyun’s entirety is filled to the brim does he pull away, panting for breath, face flushed and head floaty in an agreeable buzz. He asks, despite himself, “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

Chanyeol snorts. “How didn’t you learn to kiss like that?”

Baekhyun balks, before laughing shyly. He pats Chanyeol’s chest and points to the sofa. “Your arms must be tired. Let’s go there.”

“You say that but I don’t see you getting off,” Chanyeol points out in mock accusation, though he’s already walking to the sofa, sitting with Baekhyun on his lap. “Kiss or talk?” he asks, brushing Baekhyun’s hair back.

Baekhyun huffs in the imitation of a bubble eye, albeit much cuter. “If we talk, will it get in the way of kissing afterwards?”

“Hmm, don’t think so,” Chanyeol replies, kissing his jugular notch.

Baekhyun sighs. “Then we’ll talk, I guess.”

Chanyeol scatters more kisses along the column of Baekhyun’s neck, laughing in between. “You don’t sound too happy about that.” He makes his way up the chin, his lips eventually finding the mole above the other’s lips.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t say no to another kiss now.”

“And who am I to deny you?” Chanyeol follows the gradient connecting the dots on Baekhyun’s face, brushing his cheekbones and finally pressing a deep kiss to his temple mole.

Baekhyun laughs when he sees the glitter messily sprinkled on and around Chanyeol’s mouth. “You got some shine on you,” he comments, wiping them with his sleeves, before closing the distance to claim Chanyeol’s lips once more.

It’s the longest they have gone without seeing each other, but Baekhyun’s weight is familiar. On Chanyeol’s lap, slender fingers outlining his jaw, noses brushing, Baekhyun is still home, and Chanyeol has finally found his way back.

The days without Baekhyun had felt lighter, but not in the great sense—rather, the kind of emptiness that’s hollow enough for his chest to feel numb, but not enough to chain him to the apartment to wallow over it. It’s the weightlessness of a ghost roaming, waiting for the body it calls home to return as he lives his days in and out of university.

Now, the body is back in his arms, and Chanyeol is whole once more.

The kiss grounds him. Baekhyun is a bit shy, surprisingly, hesitant to push, but isn’t afraid to play when Chanyeol’s tongue seeks his out, probing his lips open. He nibbles on the appendage, wet and messy. At the same time, Chanyeol strokes Baekhyun’s exposed waist, thumbing the sides of his belly button. Baekhyun’s breath hitches into the kiss, rutting against Chanyeol’s abdomen.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol hisses, pulling away to nibble along the expanse of Baekhyun’s neck. He adjusts himself to straighten his back, his grip on Baekhyun’s hips practically bruising as he grinds their crotches together, relishing in the whimpers spilling out of the other. When Baekhyun starts to move on his own, Chanyeol’s hands slip under his skirt, stroking the skin, thumbs kneading his sensitive inner thighs.

When Chanyeol positions his hand higher so that Baekhyun would rub against his palm, the latter gasps. “Oh—” He bites his lips, trying to keep still as Chanyeol massages his cock through his briefs to full hardness. “Chanyeol, more—” he pleads, choking when the hand finally slips inside to grasp his erection.

“Did they do it like this?” Chanyeol asks, deep voice cutting through Baekhyun’s haze.

“What—Chan—” But Baekhyun’s words are interrupted by his own moans when Chanyeol starts circling the head of his cock with his thumb, alternating with a few consecutive rough strokes.

“You’re pretty popular, aren’t you? Tell me how they did it.”

Baekhyun grunts, forcing the words out. “Just because I was popular doesn’t mean they were good.”

“Was?”

“I don’t—fuck—accept any new clients,” Baekhyun says, breathless as Chanyeol’s hand picks up speed. “I only keep four to five regulars now.”

“Your nickname is Four, isn’t it?”

“Just how much did Jongin tell—shit!” Chanyeol brought his other hand up to lay flat on the head of Baekhyun’s dick, rubbing the sensitive tip against his palm in a circular motion while maintaining the quick stroking motion.

“He also told me about the guitar,” the taller man hums, twisting his hand, feeling the first blob of pre-cum stain his hand.

“I’ll kill him—” Baekhyun whines, but the threat dies off into a moan as a familiar sensation gathers in his guts, his abdomen pulling taut. “Fuck, Chanyeol—”

Chanyeol nuzzles his nose against Baekhyun’s cheek. “Come on, little pup, give me a kiss.”

Baekhyun seals off his own noises with Chanyeol’s lips. It’s messy, not possessing nearly half the grace or languidness as before. There’s teeth and a ton more saliva, but Baekhyun is only focused on chasing his high, and Chanyeol on giving it to him. It gets too hot at one point, and Baekhyun makes to unzip his leather shirt, wriggling it off before his sweat stains it.

Chanyeol chuckles breathily. “Too bad, you looked hot.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Too bad I felt hot.” He moans when Chanyeol takes advantage of his newly acquired nudity, licking a strip up his chest and tonguing at a dusty nipple, before making his way back up to Baekhyun’s lips.

As he gets closer, pre-cum pools out of his tip, spreading across Chanyeol’s palm. Chanyeol switches hands, using the lube to better pump Baekhyun until the other is mewling into the kiss, nipping at Chanyeol’s lower lip, desperately asking him to pick up the pace. Chanyeol is rock hard in his own pants, Baekhyun’s melodic moans doing their work. The latter is trying his best to help himself, hips stuttering as he thrusts into Chanyeol’s grip in a pathetic rhythm.

“Chanyeol—” Baekhyun says, panting into Chanyeol’s neck.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” Baekhyun replies, breathy and high-pitched, the helplessness in his voice arousing Chanyeol even further. It only takes a few more strokes before Baekhyun’s voice cracks, dropping to a drawn-out groan as he comes in white ribbons all over Chanyeol’s hands and his skirt, knees squeezing the other’s hips.

Chanyeol slows down, until Baekhyun jerks away from the overstimulation, forcing himself to even his breath out. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun replies, sucking on a patch of skin under Chanyeol’s ear. “Great, actually.”

When Chanyeol brings his hands up to the light, they’re coated with the essence of Baekhyun’s orgasm. “Tissue?”

“Not yet,” Baekhyun says. He takes Chanyeol’s wrist, and not breaking eye contact with him, starts with his pinky, lips wrapping around the digit to suck the cum off. Chanyeol is transfixed, and when Baekhyun gets to his middle finger, tantalizingly hollowing his cheeks around it as he slowly drags his head back up, he watches Chanyeol’s Adam’s apple bob up and down in an obvious swallow.

When he’s finished with both hands, Baekhyun reaches for the tissues on the table behind him, offering them with an innocent smile that contrasts the image in front of Chanyeol just seconds ago. “Wow. Okay, you know what? Talk. Let’s talk before I lose it,” Chanyeol mumbles, face flushed.

Baekhyun throws his head back in laughter. “Oh, so now you act like a virgin.”

Chanyeol blows a raspberry, wiping his hands. “I don’t have to act.”

Freezing at his reply, the smile on Baekhyun’s twists. “What—you mean you’ve never done it? Not even with Wendy?”

“I couldn’t get it up,” Chanyeol says, scratching his nape awkwardly. “We tried like, what, four times?” Baekhyun suddenly looks glum. Before he can fall into a state of self-deprecation, Chanyeol changes the topic. “I came today because I wanted to show you something.”

Baekhyun perks up. “What is it?” Chanyeol points to the spot where the tissues were, where a piece of paper lies on its front. Taking it, Baekhyun reads aloud, “Dean’s List… What is that?” His eyes bulge as he continues reading the smaller print, before glancing between the certificate and Chanyeol’s proud face. “Top ten…?”

Chanyeol nods. “That’s right,” he says, heart swelling at Baekhyun’s uninhibited smile.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Baekhyun says, linking Chanyeol’s hands in his and swinging them around, though not before setting the paper safely down to the side. They lean in for another kiss, quickly learning that it’s the best way to celebrate anything and everything, the joy amplifying as it’s shared between two. Chanyeol devours his lips with vigor, teeth tugging at Baekhyun’s lower lip, cussing when the other retaliates by palming him through his dress pants.

“As much as I love to have congratulatory sex in this swanky VIP suite,” Chanyeol gasps, forcing himself to pull away, “we need to talk.”

Baekhyun pouts but removes his hand, slumping forward to lay his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Only if we get to cuddle,” he says grumpily.

Chanyeol chuckles, not doubting that Baekhyun’s still feeling clingy from his high. He shifts them so that he’s lying on his back, head perched on a pillow with Baekhyun resting on top of him. He has a hand on Baekhyun’s back, and another stroking his tresses. “So? Why did you suddenly stop taking new clients?”

“It wasn’t sudden. I went about normally for the first two weeks, then thought I should try out new things. Things that have… progress.”

“Like?”

“Like composing,” Baekhyun says, a bit shyly as he recalls the work in progress he has dedicated to Chanyeol. “I wanted to make more time for them, so I only accepted clients I was already familiar with.”

Chanyeol hums. “So, it has nothing to do with me?”

“Do you want it to have anything to do with you?”

“Well,” Chanyeol pauses, thinking, “I was hoping you wouldn’t quit because of me.”

Baekhyun pushes himself up on his elbows, a look of astonishment on his face. “That’s news.”

“When we fought, I wanted you to say you hate it, so I could play the white knight part and save you from it,” Chanyeol sighs, obviously ridiculing that previous train of thought, “But then I thought, how unfair would that be? In the end, I realized we weren’t fifteen anymore, that this was your choice and I should respect that.” His demeanor is tender, finger tracking the curve of the other’s cupid bow.

Baekhyun sulks at Chanyeol’s newfound wisdom. “How can you say that? I kept everything from you. I practically tricked you into going to university. How are you not mad at me?”

“Do you want me to be mad at you?” Chanyeol questions, tapping his nose.

“No,” Baekhyun says, solemn.

Chanyeol laughs, linking their hands and bringing them up to kiss Baekhyun’s knuckles. “Of course, I was mad for a while… Continuing university wasn’t easy in the beginning. But soon I realized that the hardest part was not having you there.”

His words strum the tendrils of Baekhyun’s heart, bringing forth fresh tears in his eyes. He sniffles. “Chanyeol, I, I’m—”

“There is something I’m mad about, though.”

Baekhyun’s face falls, but when Chanyeol thumbs his tears away, he knows it will be okay. “…Okay, have at it.”

Chanyeol shifts upwards, dragging Baekhyun along with him so that the latter’s chin rests on his sternum, glistening eyes looking up in nervous anticipation. “I’m mad at you for not trusting me. It hurts, you know?”

“I—”

Chanyeol hushes him. “But, I’m also mad at myself. You were right, I would have freaked out, I would have said no without question, I wouldn’t have understood. In a way, I gave you a reason not to trust me.”

Baekhyun throws his arms around Chanyeol, pulling himself up for another kiss. He’s already addicted. “I shouldn’t have treated you like a baby,” he says remorsefully.

Chanyeol hums in agreement, pressing petals all over Baekhyun’s face. “This time, it’s your turn to make a promise to me.” He holds a pinky finger up between them.

“How many years has it been? Five, six?” Baekhyun laughs, recalling the last time he saw such a sight. But he links Chanyeol’s pinky with his, the way he did when they were eight, eighteen, and all the years in between. “I promise not to keep anything from you, ever again.”

Chanyeol nods, feeling like a satisfied child. “Good.”

“And to treat you not as a baby, but as a big baby—” But he’s cut off by a kiss, and a “shut up” stuffed into it. After a few shallow pecks, Baekhyun pulls away, holding Chanyeol’s gaze with tender eyes. He brings his hands up to cup Chanyeol’s face. “I love you,” he says, the weight of the words heavy in the air surrounding them. It’s different to when he first confessed, crying and afraid because he had fucked up. This time, it sinks into both their hearts with resolution.

“I love you, too,” Chanyeol says just as softly, taking Baekhyun’s hands in his and kissing his wrists, right where life pulses beneath his skin. “I love you so, so much, ever since we were kids,” he whispers into Baekhyun’s palm.

Baekhyun makes a sound that’s trapped between a cough and a laugh. “Me too,” he says pathetically, “God, how did we not try sooner?”

Chanyeol smiles. “Maybe we just took it for granted,” he says, lips brushing against Baekhyun’s knuckles. He kisses his way up, to Baekhyun’s elbow, shoulder, traces his collarbone and the column of his neck before he captures the trembling petals in a deep kiss.

They make out for some minutes, lost in the heat of roaming hands and the blossoming affection between them. The pace eventually picks up when Baekhyun starts drawing little circles with his hips on Chanyeol’s hard-on, pulling a groan from him. “Keep this up and it’ll be hard for me to share,” he says brusquely.

“Who says you need to?” Baekhyun teases, biting the tip of the other’s ears as he unbuttons Chanyeol’s shirt.

“You’d be okay with that?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I only kept my old clients because we’re pretty much friends now. I’m sure they’ll understand if I stick to the stage,” he says, undoing the last of the pesky buttons. He drinks in the sight appreciatively. “You know, I thought you felt firmer, but have you been going to the gym?” he asks, noting the slightly puffed chest and the much firmer abs.

“Yeah, like it? Friend of mine is a gym freak so he brings me along,” Chanyeol says, feeling his arousal stir at the look of hunger in Baekhyun’s eyes. He grabs Baekhyun’s ass to meet his thrust, drawing a distracted moan out of him. “And I wasn’t talking about your clients, I was talking about you,” he adds gruffly, lightly slapping the bouncy cheek.

Fingers frolicking down the sculpted display of skin, Baekhyun makes to unfasten Chanyeol’s trousers, reaching into his underwear to take hold of his bare erection. “You’re really asking if I’ll be okay with just sticking to my boyfriend’s dick?”

“Boyfriend,” Chanyeol repeats with a goofy grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“God, you’re such a dumb giant,” Baekhyun says adoringly, before swooping in for another kiss as his hand gets to work on Chanyeol’s dick. He gives it a few pumps before he slides down to kneel on the floor, hands hooking onto the hem of Chanyeol’s pants. Getting the message, Chanyeol lifts his hips up, letting the other man drag his pants down to his ankles along with his briefs. “Wow,” Baekhyun says, “big pup is big.”

Rather than looking flattered, Chanyeol pales. “That is sacrilege of our precious nickname system.” Baekhyun barks out a laugh before settling his hands on Chanyeol’s thighs, inching forward to kiss the tip. When his tongue slips out to give it a kittenish lick, Chanyeol visibly shivers. The image of Baekhyun between his legs, tongue teasing his head with little nibbles and sucks, he quickly learns, is a dangerous one.

Baekhyun doesn’t put it in his mouth. Not yet. He doesn’t even move his hands, instead using the pressure point of the tip of his tongue to trace the vein on the underside of Chanyeol’s cock, before licking around the head in steady circles. The feeling teases him like surface waves edging upon a shore, before it’s gone the next second.

Chanyeol wants to talk, ask random questions, but the urge is overwhelmed by the sensation of Baekhyun kissing down to his balls, nibbling around the heavy sacs. Baekhyun maintains eye contact easily, and it’s Chanyeol who forces himself not to look away from the dangerous image. His cock is straining, curving towards his torso but Baekhyun doesn’t return to it just yet, making his way to Chanyeol’s inner thighs, leaving bite marks on the sensitive skin as his fingers move up to massage along Chanyeol’s pubis, dragging a groan from the man above.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol hisses when Baekhyun moves to take half his cock in in a moist warm vacuum. He sucks on the shaft like a popsicle, cheeks caving as his tongue laves at the skin, feeling every ridge and smoothness. It takes every fiber of Chanyeol’s body not to let his hips stutter when Baekhyun finally starts to bob his head up and down, letting the tip of Chanyeol’s cock rub against the roof of his mouth. Adding to the heat pooling in his groin, Baekhyun kneads along his legs, working on and loosening his muscles.

By the time Baekhyun pulls off, Chanyeol is reduced to a state of jelly. “Did you skip leg day or something?” Baekhyun teases, thumbs working on the knots in his calves.

If not for the fact that Chanyeol’s lower body is practically strung out, he would probably be able to come up with some intelligible response of sorts. As it is, however, he only retorts with a grunt, mumbling offhandedly, “Do you always tease?”

But then he sees Baekhyun’s face darken, and he blinks in surprise, before registering what he just said. Sighing—and putting aside his painfully hard erection—he scoops Baekhyun in his arms. “Come on, you know that’s not what I meant,” he says gently, kissing his cheekbones.

“I know,” Baekhyun says with difficulty, echoing the sigh. He lets Chanyeol draw him into a kiss, reassuring and apologetic, before tongues are introduced and Baekhyun feels the heat return to his stomach. Pulling away, the devilish smile is back on his face. It rouses something in Chanyeol, the way Baekhyun’s switch flips so easily. Against his best friend—and from hereon, lover—he is always unguarded. Resuming his position at Chanyeol’s feet, Baekhyun purrs, “Where were we?”

Chanyeol snickers. “Do your worst.” His smirk is promptly wiped off when Baekhyun dives in, even deeper than before. “Fuck,” Chanyeol curses, this time unable to control the jerk of his hips, pushing his cock further into Baekhyun’s mouth until he’s dangerously close to his throat. Baekhyun moans around the stretch, his own erection coming back to life. He ignores it in favor of dragging his mouth up until only the tip is left in his mouth, affectionately nipping at the bulbous head. He indulges himself, before he relaxes his throat to take Chanyeol’s cock all the way to the base. He hears a gasp above him, the litany of deep moans egging him on as he swallows around the cock, tongue dancing against the underside.

Soon there’s a hand in his hair, firm but hesitant. Baekhyun takes Chanyeol’s other hand to place it on his head, squeezing it to get the message across. It must have, because Chanyeol grips his hair and pulls him off halfway, before he starts thrusting into Baekhyun’s mouth.

Under Baekhyun’s hands, Chanyeol’s legs are taut as he strains to keep up the pace. Baekhyun isn’t passive either, hollowing his cheeks and moaning as the manhood scrapes the insides of his mouth, the tip just shy away from his throat. He looks up, and Chanyeol curses at the image of his cock disappearing into Baekhyun’s mouth, the latter’s face rosy and eyes teary. Even though he’s the one getting sucked off, Baekhyun looks equally elated. “Fuck, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Chanyeol grunts, his voice tight and signalling his impending release.

Baekhyun only moans in reply, increasing his suction force. He can tell that Chanyeol is close from the frequency of his gasps, so he times himself and pushes Chanyeol’s hips square against the sofa, breaking contact for a while.

“Baekhyun, what—”

“Come in me, okay?” Baekhyun says, before he’s back down with a vengeance. Earlier, Chanyeol was still being shy, careful not to thrust his dick all the way in. But now, Baekhyun leaves no room for caution, throwing it to the wind as he swallows down to the base, moaning as his throat is filled again. He’s desperate for the fullness, and he shows exactly that as he bobs his head in quick succession, alternating it with deep-throating Chanyeol, pubic hair tickling his nose.

The hand is back in his hair, and Baekhyun reaches his goal when Chanyeol gives one final thrust, spilling into his throat. He forces himself to swallow so he doesn’t choke, eyes rolling up as his oxygen is cut off. When Chanyeol finally pulls away, Baekhyun is woozy, coughing slightly.

“Shit, you okay?” Chanyeol says breathlessly, steadying Baekhyun by the shoulders. He tugs him back onto his lap, hand cradling his face.

Baekhyun grins headily, all swollen lips and reddened face. “More than okay,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss, but Chanyeol pulls away after a hot second, grimacing. “You were fine with my cum!” Baekhyun says, laughing.

“It’s different when you remember it’s your own,” Chanyeol complains, pulling a face.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t stop me.” He pulls Chanyeol into another kiss. Cringing at first, Chanyeol eventually falls into it, exploring the other’s mouth with his tongue.

Baekhyun wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s shoulders, scuttling forward, and soon there’s a warm appendage against his abs, hard and poking. Baekhyun’s legs are folded vertically on either side of Chanyeol’s hips, making it easier for him to rub himself against the other’s chiseled abdomen. “Need help with that?” Chanyeol asks.

“Just let me do this,” Baekhyun mewls into the kiss. He’s close enough from giving Chanyeol one hell of a blowjob, and with a few more thrusts he releases on Chanyeol’s chest. This time, he doesn’t make to clean it up, only purring into the crook of Chanyeol’s neck, satisfied.

“Messy,” Chanyeol sighs, grabbing the tissues and wiping himself down.

“I can’t wait until I finally ride your dick, by the way. Or you ride mine first, I’m not picky.”

Chanyeol snorts. “Aren’t you a horny little pup.”

“Now who’s dirtying our nickname system.”

“Calling you horny is very different to naming my dick,” Chanyeol says seriously, making the other chortle.

Baekhyun yawns. “What time is it?”

Chanyeol glances around for the clock. “You have about an hour before Heechul wants you back.”

Groaning, Baekhyun clings onto Chanyeol. “That hag can’t even let me have the night off?”

“He says he can’t possibly let you have both the night and the room for free,” Chanyeol laughs, securing his arms around Baekhyun and nosing the neck in front of him. “Plus, I heard you have a little special something from me,” he adds, tone teasing.

Baekhyun groans. “Can’t any of them keep a goddamn secret? It’s not even refined yet!”

“But you were gonna play it tonight anyway, right?”

There’s a grumpy breath against Chanyeol’s skin. “Yeah, I guess.”

Chanyeol clicks his tongue. “A song for me, and I’m not even the first one to hear it?”

“You would’ve heard it eventually! After I polish it!” Baekhyun says, dragging the ends of his syllables out in a whiny drawl, no doubt getting sleepier by the second.

Holding onto him, Chanyeol moves to lie down on his side, Baekhyun adjusting himself accordingly and snuggling into him. “Go to sleep, little pup,” he says, pressing a kiss against Baekhyun’s forehead. “I’ll wake you up in time.”

“You’re gonna stay for the show, right?” Baekhyun says, looking up. He wants Chanyeol’s face to be the last thing he sees before he sleeps.

Chanyeol hums, craning his head down to kiss his nose. “Of course.” I’ll stay forever.

Baekhyun leans up to chase one last kiss, this time on the lips, sweet and shallow. There will be more kisses from hereon; he cannot wait to wake up to them, and fall asleep after them, on beds that he hopes Chanyeol will agree to join once they get back—or maybe they can just get a new one, king-sized. Baekhyun grins, toothy and beautiful as he stares up at the only person his heart has recognized all his life.

“Then let me go put on the show of your life.”