DAY 9: a liminal (dis)solution
Title: a liminal (dis)solution
Written by: one_if_by_land
Pairing: Kris/Yixing/Lu Han
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Yixing learns that breaking up doesn't have to mean breaking apart. Canonverse.
"We're not going to fit," Kris insists.
"Stop overthinking it," Lu Han says just before he pulls Kris into the tub, setting off a cascade of soapy water onto the bathroom tiles. Yixing barely ducks out of the way in time, one knee banging against the shower faucet as a mountain of bubbles slaps him in the face.
"Is this comfortable for anyone?" Kris doesn't even try to tuck his legs into the water, letting them dangle awkwardly over the ledge. He tries to shift deeper against the back of the tub and yelps when Lu Han's arm disappears under the surface.
"I don't know what you think you're squeezing, but that's my foot," Yixing informs him.
"When else will we have the dorm to ourselves?" Lu Han flicks water at both of them, pouting a little. "Unless of course duizhang has a better offer in Seoul tonight."
"You shouldn't be the one to make that joke," Yixing says wryly.
As if on cue, Kris' cell phone lights up on top of the sink and a tinny version of Baekhyun's voice ricochets off the walls, a souvenir from when Baekhyun replaced the text notification to a clip of him going, "I'm cute, right?" from their first interview in Thailand. Kris claims that he's kept it for diplomatic reasons; Yixing doesn't bother pointing out that he just never figured out how to change the setting back.
Kris thumbs past the lock screen with practiced ease. "It's Taozi," he announces. "Says he's on his way back and wants to know if we want him to pick up anything."
There's a slight overlay of guilt in his voice, which Yixing has learned to expect by now. Lu Han refers to it as Kris' special brand of "morning-after regret," when Kris wakes up to the uncomfortable reality that sleeping with two of his bandmates while trying not to let any of their other bandmates find out is perhaps not the kind of behavior befitting a leader.
"Tell him I want a milk tea!" Lu Han kicks his leg, sending another wave of suds into Yixing's mouth.
Kris taps a few keys, then lumbers out of the tub, displacing more water along the way. "Come on, Jongdae and Minseok are probably heading back now, too," he says and shakes his hair loose in front of the mirror. His skin glows pink from the steam trapped in the bathroom, and Yixing catches himself following the dips of Kris' body, his muscles smooth and sculpted under a film of wet sheen.
"Give us five more minutes," Lu Han cajoles, scooping up a handful of bubbles to shape into a makeshift beard.
"Fine," Kris says as he tugs his shirt over his head, and a grin emerges through the opening. "Last one out has to clean up, though."
He's already on the other side of the bathroom door by the time Yixing processes what's happening, and he tries to rise out of the water at the same moment Lu Han grabs his ankle, the two of them going down in a brawl of slippery limbs and clamors of foul play. It takes them three more attempts before they manage to pull each other up; Lu Han flips on the shower head and hooks a soapy arm around Yixing's neck, and the hot spray washes over them like a cocoon, as reassuring and revitalizing as the touch of warm skin.
When broken down in hard numbers, they spend more nights in Seoul than in Beijing. This only makes a difference because Kris gets approximately twice as tense about their hook-ups when they're back in Korea. True, Beijing offers the better set-up - they have the benefit of rooming arrangement, more opportunity for group bonding, less distractions. Some nights, Zitao leads everyone through yoga exercises in their living room; other nights Kris disappears into Lu Han and Yixing's room to practice a different type of stretching, the techniques a bit more stimulating but just as athletic.
This year's Lunar New Year is spent in Seoul, stranded by competing schedules and and a ceaseless string of preparations for their impending comeback. Jongdae and Minseok decide to stay at the dorm through the weekend out of solidarity, and the six of them tussle over spots on the couch as CCTV's Spring Festival Gala plays on the television in the background. They're buoyed by recent news that they'll get a half-week break before the next promotion cycle begins, and they run through their plans for freedom, the promise of lazy mornings, old friends, home cooking. Zitao already has a shopping list.
Yixing is sandwiched against the arm of the couch, flanked by Kris to his left and Zitao below. On the other end, Lu Han's playing his favorite game of dead weight, flopping over in people's laps and seeing which one will let him stay. His third try is Kris, who half-heartedly pulls at Lu Han's hair but only sighs when Lu Han blows a raspberry into his stomach.
"Are you done?" Kris looks down, unimpressed.
Lu Han smiles up at him. "What are you doing for the break? Going to Guangdong this time or back to Canada? Or is your mom flying here again?"
"Haven't decided yet," Kris says, jiggling his legs to try to roll Lu Han's head off. It doesn't work. "It must be nice to always know where you're going."
Lu Han hums and draws up his knees, forming a cannonball. "At least you have someone waiting for you on the other side of the airport."
Yixing can see the unease show up on Lu Han's face before he even finishes the joke, his immediate uncertainty, whether he went too far, said too much. They all know Lu Han's relationship with his parents; it's hard not to notice, the conspicuous absence at their Beijing showcase, the lack of phone calls, the fan photographs that surface of Lu Han alone at the departure gate after a visit home. Yixing reaches out to squeeze Lu Han's knee, just as he springs upright.
"Of course, Zhang Yixing is the most loved," he deflects, rebounding with a grin.
Yixing pretends to scoff incredulously. "You two are the ones who can't walk through an airport without looking like a gift shop threw up on you between the ticket counter and security check."
But they both know that's not that Lu Han means. Yixing has always been loved in all the ways that matter. The routine care packages from Changsha, his decade-old Baidu bar. How even at this moment he can feel the warmth from both Kris and Lu Han flush against his thighs. He runs a tongue over his lip and thinks about how to reply, what's left to say, when Zitao tugs on his pant leg from his position on the floor and whines, "I'm hungry."
Minseok unfolds himself as if on command and shuffles toward the kitchen, and there's a three-second delay before the gears creak into motion inside Yixing and he follows after him. The table is covered with tubs of neatly wrapped dumplings that Jongdae's parents had dropped off earlier, and Minseok peels off the lids, then clicks on the stovetop. Yixing fills a pot with water, waiting for it to boil as the rest of the group slowly gathers around, mobilized only by the temptation of food.
Lu Han comes up behind him and rests his chin on Yixing's shoulder, quietly observing as Yixing carefully drops dumplings into the bubbling surface.
"You should come back to Changsha with me sometime," Yixing blurts out, the reaction coming a few minutes behind when it probably would've been appropriate.
Lu Han is unreadable, a mixture of softening eyes and a hardening set of his mouth. "You don't have to-" he starts to say, when Jongdae interrupts, "Hey, are you going to invite all of us or just Lu Han-hyung?" He waves a spatula sternly at Yixing and exaggerates a frown. Lu Han laughs and uses the opening to slip away, attaching himself to Zitao on the other side of the table.
Yixing watches him go, before turning his attention back to Jongdae. "Okay, I'll wait until I can build my parents a bigger house and then I'll have all of you over," he backtracks, and Jongdae nods in approval, pacified by the compromise.
Minseok nudges them aside, peering down at the water with the last batch of dumplings in his hand. "The pot will overflow if we put in any more," he says, hesitant.
"You can leave out my share if it helps," Kris offers from where he's rinsing plates in the sink with one hand, the other arm trying to get Zitao and Lu Han to stop poking each other with their chopsticks.
"Don't be dramatic." Yixing raises an eyebrow and flips open the cupboard. "We have extra pots," he says pointedly, pulling out another one and switching on the second burner.
"Self-sacrifice is duizhang's whole concept," Lu Han pipes up slyly, and Kris forcibly wrangles the chopstick out of Lu Han's grip to swat him over the head with it. Out in the living room, the white noise from the television suddenly jumps a decibel, and Yixing registers the chanting that leads into the countdown to midnight. The Spring Festival Gala was the one night of the year that Yixing's parents would let him stay up until the last stage emptied, regardless of school the next morning. It's been four years since he last spent the holiday at home, and he didn't even manage to catch the celebration the previous two years, but as he looks at their fragile substitution of a family crowded around in the small kitchen, their own shouts mixed with the voices on the television, Yixing thinks it's a pretty fortuitous way to welcome in the new year.
The issue with idol life is that there are no boundaries. No distinction between work and play, personal and professional. The first time Kris had pressed Yixing against the door of their company dorm, a palm over the hardness in Yixing's jeans, the shot of adrenaline felt the same as unlocking a new cut of choreography, a test on the limits of his body. Lu Han's addition a few months later was more organic, almost inevitable. It's easier to sleep with you than keep a secret from you, Yixing had joked, but some mornings he wakes up and can't tell if the flush that skims to the surface of his skin comes from his veins or from the memory of Kris' fingers, if the smell that lingers over him is his own or instead oxidized from the scent of Lu Han's shampoo left on his pillow.
So maybe Yixing should've been better prepared when Kris calls him and Lu Han into a room a few weeks later, and says, "I've been thinking." His eyes focus on a point somewhere between the two of them, and the confrontation feels oddly like getting called into the principal's office with the way they fall quiet in front of Kris, unsure and expectant.
"Someone call a press conference," Yixing teases to break the silence, and he only starts to realize what's about to happen when Kris doesn't take the bait and looks away, his expression tightening into one of contrition.
"I think we should stop whatever we're doing - what we have - with the three of us," Kris says stiffly, never one for speeches unless they're scripted or rehearsed. "There's too much at stake if we get found out."
"For you or for us?" Lu Han asks, even though they all know it's not a fair question. Kris was one of the forerunners when EXO was still just a hypothetical five-point plan in development, before the subgroups were made official and the members finalized. Sometimes Yixing forgets that their natural friendship comes from a stroke of luck, that it's a superfluous gratuity in the grand idol scheme. There could've been a hundred different permutations for a lineup, and somehow the twelve of them found each other, like musical notes arranging into song through the discord.
Kris leans back on the table until they're at eye level, as if erasing the height difference would also level the playing field, diffuse the responsibility evenly among them. "This is bigger than just us."
"You think I don't know that?" Lu Han demands. "What we have is bigger than just the three of us."
Yixing instinctively takes a step forward to angle his body between them, interjecting, "We can be more careful."
"We've already been careful. That's not enough." Kris' voice is brittle with control, as though Yixing and Lu Han's faces are two sets of rolling cameras and there's only enough film for one take, one shot. Cut, Yixing wants to say. From the top. Let's try this again. Instead, he thinks about their years spent as trainees and the collective sweat they've shed like shared blood, enough to fill stadiums. The makeovers and constant monitoring, the lectures from their managers on the volatility of entertainment, how it only takes one misstep to unravel years of work.
Wordlessly, Lu Han spins around and leaves the room. Yixing starts to follow him, then reverses, looking back to see Kris' reaction. This time, he's not surprised when Kris doesn't give any.
Anyone with a signed contract at S.M. Entertainment knows the meaning of sacrifice: trading youth for a shot at glory, familiarity for fame, sleep for status, always hoping the payoff comes out ahead of the cost. Yixing still remembers standing at the arrival gate in Incheon International Airport for the first time, his tongue weighed down with a mouthful of words in a language that tasted as foreign as the look of heartbreak on his childhood sweetheart's face when he struggled to say goodbye. There's a price to pay for all of them, but Yixing doesn't pretend that everyone's risks are equal, that they gamble from the same set of chips.
Kris left behind an entire identity, a trail of discarded names and transcontinental memories. Lu Han knew when he bought his plane ticket to South Korea that the distance between him and his parents would be more than just the kilometers between Beijing and Seoul, that he was shutting the door to an alternate future that encompassed more than differing career paths. The three of them came to S.M. for different reasons, with different expectations - Kris, for the promise of starting anew without the baggage of the past, a chance for a reinvention; Lu Han, for the validation that his teenage conviction eclipsed the dismissals and doubts, that he could trust himself even when nobody else would; and Yixing, who wanted to chase a seven-year dream as far as it could take him.
None of their sacrifices were easy, but Yixing knows he started the competition with a handicap that the other two haven't even reached yet. And if he could stretch the limits of his anatomy even further, widen the span of his arms and force his heart to pump twice as fast and have his cells multiply at an accelerated rate, then maybe his body could grow to a size that would shelter both Kris and Lu Han, to give them each what they want.
But Yixing is just one person, with muscles that sprain and betray under pressure like anyone else, so instead he watches the three of them fall apart, piece by piece.
The reality check that Yixing is only human comes sooner than he expects when he overestimates a turn in the choreography at dance practice two days later and his spine collapses on the landing. The instructor presses two fingers into the small of his back, and Yixing nearly blacks out from the pain. The ride to the hospital is excruciating, and he tries counting his breaths in a failed attempt to stay conscious when the doctor examines him, his brain refusing to process the indistinct murmurs in Korean above him.
When he wakes up, his vision swims with four faces boring down at him, and it takes a few seconds for the image to sharpen down to two.
"Good, you're up," Lu Han says, relieved. Yixing blinks and fumbles with the thin hospital sheets, pushing down on his elbows to to sit up before immediately getting pushed down again.
"Don't move too much," Kris warns. "You're lucky that it's just a stress fracture, but you'll have to stay overnight."
"And no dance practice for the next week," Lu Han adds, curling his fingers over Yixing's as he swallows down the kneejerk protest.
"At least this didn't happen during promotions," Kris points out. He checks the IV drip hanging over the bed and tucks the blanket a little closer around Yixing's waist, turning to Lu Han. "Anyway, you can leave with the manager. I'll stay here for the night."
"Why are you the one staying?"
Maybe it's not an accusation, but Yixing can hear through the words that Lu Han isn't trying to dress up the question as anything else.
Kris smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle on the sheets. "I'm the leader. I should stay."
Suddenly Yixing is hyper-aware that this is the first time the three of them have been alone together since the conversation in their room two days ago, and he wishes desperately that his head didn't currently feel like the inside of a fishbowl from pain medication. He wonders if they'll remember this moment years later, their tension fracturing in the sterile air. If Yixing were to close his eyes, he could almost see the space between them still charged with electricity, the current trapped under the strain of curbed desire. He struggles back to a sitting position and purposely pulls his arm from both their grips.
"No one needs to stay with me overnight. Last I checked, I can still sleep by myself," Yixing says, defiant in a way that he didn't allow himself to be two days earlier.
The other two share a glance, and then Lu Han sighs, batting a fist against Kris' chest. "All right, you stay tonight. I'll come back tomorrow with Minseok. We'll bring you a change of clothes."
"Why do the two of you only work together when it's to gang up on me?" Yixing complains.
A small smile breaks across Kris' face. He extends a hand to Lu Han's cheek, the touch as close to deference as Kris gets. "Thanks," he says. "So we're good?"
Lu Han stiffens at the contact. None of them look their best, the stark overhead lighting washing the depth from their faces, but Yixing still catches the brief flash of conflict play out across Lu Han's features before he softens into the curve of Kris' palm. After he leaves, Kris stares at the empty space left behind, then back to Yixing.
"How long do you think he'll stay mad at me?"
"Who says I'm not mad at you, too?" Yixing counters.
"I shouldn't have let it go on as long as it did," Kris says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and drawing his legs up, as though by containing himself he could also shrink the impact of what he's saying. "I just think it's better that we quit while we're ahead, before we cause problems for anyone else."
Yixing takes Kris' hand in his own and thinks how they look like a badly re-enacted scene out of a mainland melodrama to anyone who can see them through the small window of the door. "We're not some one-night stands you picked up off the street," he says, sighing. "You don't need to explain yourself like this. It's all right. I get it."
"This doesn't have to be the end," Kris says softly. "We can try again when the stakes won't be as high, when the consequences are easier to handle."
For you, Yixing almost says, but doesn't. Maybe years later, the three of them will stop circling around each other like the hard edge of a mobius strip, an infinite loop that twists back to the same outcome no matter how many turns it takes. But he knows there's more than one way to arc to the same point. And while Lu Han needs physical assurance that what he has with his bandmates is significant, that their group bond is strong enough to build over the bridges that Lu Han had to burn when he made the decision to leave Beijing, Yixing thinks that the most generous gift he can give Kris right now is space. A space free of the pressure of a double life within a double life, one that doesn't guilt Kris into choosing between leading a band that depends on him and complicating that responsibility with competing desires.
"Work hard to show me a better image of yourself in the future," he says, grinning. Then, with the patience of someone who understands how long dreams can take to manifest, he lets go of Kris' hand. "I'll look forward to it."
Yixing comes back from brushing his teeth the next morning to find Lu Han burrowed in his hospital bed, casually tangled in the sheets as though he didn't have an ear tilted up to wait for Yixing's reaction.
"Pretty sure that's a violation of hospital code," he notes, pausing in the doorway. "And where's Minseok?"
"He went to the cafeteria to get you some juice." Lu Han rolls over to rub his face into the pillowcase. "Mmm, the smell of fresh linen and disinfectant."
"At least one of you still acts like a hyung." He slides under the blanket, and Lu Han relaxes into him, their bodies slotting together like the rough sides of two keys looking for a lock. The mattress isn't meant to handle their combined weight, and Yixing has to shift an arm to avoid getting an eyeful of over-processed hair, but he sighs a slow exhale into the groove of Lu Han's clavicle, grazing his chin along the raised bone. Their breaths sync, as if on reflex. Lu Han leans forward to close the distance between them before checking himself, letting his head fall back.
"Maybe we're pushing our luck by wanting more than what's already given to us," he mumbles into the hollow of Yixing's throat.
That's the danger of thirst, Yixing thinks. Age nine, his first experience with the adrenaline rush of a live audience. Age fourteen, Star Academy. Age seventeen, putting pen to paper on a contract that launched him across an ocean. Age twenty, waiting to meet the eleven people who would determine his future as much as himself. Each feat had felt like a milestone, an impossible leap from the step before, and the problem is that the more he reaps, the more he wants, because Yixing has never doubted how hard he can work, how long he can wait, how far he can push himself when the payoff is so close in reach.
"It's hard not to take what you want when it's right in front of you," Yixing murmurs and then braces a hand on either side of Lu Han's face, placing a kiss to his forehead.
"We still have years ahead of us," Lu Han finally says after the moment passes. "There's time, right?"
Age twenty-one, and Yixing is still learning how to balance how much he gives to how much he takes.
For now, he presses a thumb to Lu Han's mouth and brushes his own lips over it, the touch as good as a promise.
Written by: one_if_by_land
Pairing: Kris/Yixing/Lu Han
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Yixing learns that breaking up doesn't have to mean breaking apart. Canonverse.
"We're not going to fit," Kris insists.
"Stop overthinking it," Lu Han says just before he pulls Kris into the tub, setting off a cascade of soapy water onto the bathroom tiles. Yixing barely ducks out of the way in time, one knee banging against the shower faucet as a mountain of bubbles slaps him in the face.
"Is this comfortable for anyone?" Kris doesn't even try to tuck his legs into the water, letting them dangle awkwardly over the ledge. He tries to shift deeper against the back of the tub and yelps when Lu Han's arm disappears under the surface.
"I don't know what you think you're squeezing, but that's my foot," Yixing informs him.
"When else will we have the dorm to ourselves?" Lu Han flicks water at both of them, pouting a little. "Unless of course duizhang has a better offer in Seoul tonight."
"You shouldn't be the one to make that joke," Yixing says wryly.
As if on cue, Kris' cell phone lights up on top of the sink and a tinny version of Baekhyun's voice ricochets off the walls, a souvenir from when Baekhyun replaced the text notification to a clip of him going, "I'm cute, right?" from their first interview in Thailand. Kris claims that he's kept it for diplomatic reasons; Yixing doesn't bother pointing out that he just never figured out how to change the setting back.
Kris thumbs past the lock screen with practiced ease. "It's Taozi," he announces. "Says he's on his way back and wants to know if we want him to pick up anything."
There's a slight overlay of guilt in his voice, which Yixing has learned to expect by now. Lu Han refers to it as Kris' special brand of "morning-after regret," when Kris wakes up to the uncomfortable reality that sleeping with two of his bandmates while trying not to let any of their other bandmates find out is perhaps not the kind of behavior befitting a leader.
"Tell him I want a milk tea!" Lu Han kicks his leg, sending another wave of suds into Yixing's mouth.
Kris taps a few keys, then lumbers out of the tub, displacing more water along the way. "Come on, Jongdae and Minseok are probably heading back now, too," he says and shakes his hair loose in front of the mirror. His skin glows pink from the steam trapped in the bathroom, and Yixing catches himself following the dips of Kris' body, his muscles smooth and sculpted under a film of wet sheen.
"Give us five more minutes," Lu Han cajoles, scooping up a handful of bubbles to shape into a makeshift beard.
"Fine," Kris says as he tugs his shirt over his head, and a grin emerges through the opening. "Last one out has to clean up, though."
He's already on the other side of the bathroom door by the time Yixing processes what's happening, and he tries to rise out of the water at the same moment Lu Han grabs his ankle, the two of them going down in a brawl of slippery limbs and clamors of foul play. It takes them three more attempts before they manage to pull each other up; Lu Han flips on the shower head and hooks a soapy arm around Yixing's neck, and the hot spray washes over them like a cocoon, as reassuring and revitalizing as the touch of warm skin.
When broken down in hard numbers, they spend more nights in Seoul than in Beijing. This only makes a difference because Kris gets approximately twice as tense about their hook-ups when they're back in Korea. True, Beijing offers the better set-up - they have the benefit of rooming arrangement, more opportunity for group bonding, less distractions. Some nights, Zitao leads everyone through yoga exercises in their living room; other nights Kris disappears into Lu Han and Yixing's room to practice a different type of stretching, the techniques a bit more stimulating but just as athletic.
This year's Lunar New Year is spent in Seoul, stranded by competing schedules and and a ceaseless string of preparations for their impending comeback. Jongdae and Minseok decide to stay at the dorm through the weekend out of solidarity, and the six of them tussle over spots on the couch as CCTV's Spring Festival Gala plays on the television in the background. They're buoyed by recent news that they'll get a half-week break before the next promotion cycle begins, and they run through their plans for freedom, the promise of lazy mornings, old friends, home cooking. Zitao already has a shopping list.
Yixing is sandwiched against the arm of the couch, flanked by Kris to his left and Zitao below. On the other end, Lu Han's playing his favorite game of dead weight, flopping over in people's laps and seeing which one will let him stay. His third try is Kris, who half-heartedly pulls at Lu Han's hair but only sighs when Lu Han blows a raspberry into his stomach.
"Are you done?" Kris looks down, unimpressed.
Lu Han smiles up at him. "What are you doing for the break? Going to Guangdong this time or back to Canada? Or is your mom flying here again?"
"Haven't decided yet," Kris says, jiggling his legs to try to roll Lu Han's head off. It doesn't work. "It must be nice to always know where you're going."
Lu Han hums and draws up his knees, forming a cannonball. "At least you have someone waiting for you on the other side of the airport."
Yixing can see the unease show up on Lu Han's face before he even finishes the joke, his immediate uncertainty, whether he went too far, said too much. They all know Lu Han's relationship with his parents; it's hard not to notice, the conspicuous absence at their Beijing showcase, the lack of phone calls, the fan photographs that surface of Lu Han alone at the departure gate after a visit home. Yixing reaches out to squeeze Lu Han's knee, just as he springs upright.
"Of course, Zhang Yixing is the most loved," he deflects, rebounding with a grin.
Yixing pretends to scoff incredulously. "You two are the ones who can't walk through an airport without looking like a gift shop threw up on you between the ticket counter and security check."
But they both know that's not that Lu Han means. Yixing has always been loved in all the ways that matter. The routine care packages from Changsha, his decade-old Baidu bar. How even at this moment he can feel the warmth from both Kris and Lu Han flush against his thighs. He runs a tongue over his lip and thinks about how to reply, what's left to say, when Zitao tugs on his pant leg from his position on the floor and whines, "I'm hungry."
Minseok unfolds himself as if on command and shuffles toward the kitchen, and there's a three-second delay before the gears creak into motion inside Yixing and he follows after him. The table is covered with tubs of neatly wrapped dumplings that Jongdae's parents had dropped off earlier, and Minseok peels off the lids, then clicks on the stovetop. Yixing fills a pot with water, waiting for it to boil as the rest of the group slowly gathers around, mobilized only by the temptation of food.
Lu Han comes up behind him and rests his chin on Yixing's shoulder, quietly observing as Yixing carefully drops dumplings into the bubbling surface.
"You should come back to Changsha with me sometime," Yixing blurts out, the reaction coming a few minutes behind when it probably would've been appropriate.
Lu Han is unreadable, a mixture of softening eyes and a hardening set of his mouth. "You don't have to-" he starts to say, when Jongdae interrupts, "Hey, are you going to invite all of us or just Lu Han-hyung?" He waves a spatula sternly at Yixing and exaggerates a frown. Lu Han laughs and uses the opening to slip away, attaching himself to Zitao on the other side of the table.
Yixing watches him go, before turning his attention back to Jongdae. "Okay, I'll wait until I can build my parents a bigger house and then I'll have all of you over," he backtracks, and Jongdae nods in approval, pacified by the compromise.
Minseok nudges them aside, peering down at the water with the last batch of dumplings in his hand. "The pot will overflow if we put in any more," he says, hesitant.
"You can leave out my share if it helps," Kris offers from where he's rinsing plates in the sink with one hand, the other arm trying to get Zitao and Lu Han to stop poking each other with their chopsticks.
"Don't be dramatic." Yixing raises an eyebrow and flips open the cupboard. "We have extra pots," he says pointedly, pulling out another one and switching on the second burner.
"Self-sacrifice is duizhang's whole concept," Lu Han pipes up slyly, and Kris forcibly wrangles the chopstick out of Lu Han's grip to swat him over the head with it. Out in the living room, the white noise from the television suddenly jumps a decibel, and Yixing registers the chanting that leads into the countdown to midnight. The Spring Festival Gala was the one night of the year that Yixing's parents would let him stay up until the last stage emptied, regardless of school the next morning. It's been four years since he last spent the holiday at home, and he didn't even manage to catch the celebration the previous two years, but as he looks at their fragile substitution of a family crowded around in the small kitchen, their own shouts mixed with the voices on the television, Yixing thinks it's a pretty fortuitous way to welcome in the new year.
The issue with idol life is that there are no boundaries. No distinction between work and play, personal and professional. The first time Kris had pressed Yixing against the door of their company dorm, a palm over the hardness in Yixing's jeans, the shot of adrenaline felt the same as unlocking a new cut of choreography, a test on the limits of his body. Lu Han's addition a few months later was more organic, almost inevitable. It's easier to sleep with you than keep a secret from you, Yixing had joked, but some mornings he wakes up and can't tell if the flush that skims to the surface of his skin comes from his veins or from the memory of Kris' fingers, if the smell that lingers over him is his own or instead oxidized from the scent of Lu Han's shampoo left on his pillow.
So maybe Yixing should've been better prepared when Kris calls him and Lu Han into a room a few weeks later, and says, "I've been thinking." His eyes focus on a point somewhere between the two of them, and the confrontation feels oddly like getting called into the principal's office with the way they fall quiet in front of Kris, unsure and expectant.
"Someone call a press conference," Yixing teases to break the silence, and he only starts to realize what's about to happen when Kris doesn't take the bait and looks away, his expression tightening into one of contrition.
"I think we should stop whatever we're doing - what we have - with the three of us," Kris says stiffly, never one for speeches unless they're scripted or rehearsed. "There's too much at stake if we get found out."
"For you or for us?" Lu Han asks, even though they all know it's not a fair question. Kris was one of the forerunners when EXO was still just a hypothetical five-point plan in development, before the subgroups were made official and the members finalized. Sometimes Yixing forgets that their natural friendship comes from a stroke of luck, that it's a superfluous gratuity in the grand idol scheme. There could've been a hundred different permutations for a lineup, and somehow the twelve of them found each other, like musical notes arranging into song through the discord.
Kris leans back on the table until they're at eye level, as if erasing the height difference would also level the playing field, diffuse the responsibility evenly among them. "This is bigger than just us."
"You think I don't know that?" Lu Han demands. "What we have is bigger than just the three of us."
Yixing instinctively takes a step forward to angle his body between them, interjecting, "We can be more careful."
"We've already been careful. That's not enough." Kris' voice is brittle with control, as though Yixing and Lu Han's faces are two sets of rolling cameras and there's only enough film for one take, one shot. Cut, Yixing wants to say. From the top. Let's try this again. Instead, he thinks about their years spent as trainees and the collective sweat they've shed like shared blood, enough to fill stadiums. The makeovers and constant monitoring, the lectures from their managers on the volatility of entertainment, how it only takes one misstep to unravel years of work.
Wordlessly, Lu Han spins around and leaves the room. Yixing starts to follow him, then reverses, looking back to see Kris' reaction. This time, he's not surprised when Kris doesn't give any.
Anyone with a signed contract at S.M. Entertainment knows the meaning of sacrifice: trading youth for a shot at glory, familiarity for fame, sleep for status, always hoping the payoff comes out ahead of the cost. Yixing still remembers standing at the arrival gate in Incheon International Airport for the first time, his tongue weighed down with a mouthful of words in a language that tasted as foreign as the look of heartbreak on his childhood sweetheart's face when he struggled to say goodbye. There's a price to pay for all of them, but Yixing doesn't pretend that everyone's risks are equal, that they gamble from the same set of chips.
Kris left behind an entire identity, a trail of discarded names and transcontinental memories. Lu Han knew when he bought his plane ticket to South Korea that the distance between him and his parents would be more than just the kilometers between Beijing and Seoul, that he was shutting the door to an alternate future that encompassed more than differing career paths. The three of them came to S.M. for different reasons, with different expectations - Kris, for the promise of starting anew without the baggage of the past, a chance for a reinvention; Lu Han, for the validation that his teenage conviction eclipsed the dismissals and doubts, that he could trust himself even when nobody else would; and Yixing, who wanted to chase a seven-year dream as far as it could take him.
None of their sacrifices were easy, but Yixing knows he started the competition with a handicap that the other two haven't even reached yet. And if he could stretch the limits of his anatomy even further, widen the span of his arms and force his heart to pump twice as fast and have his cells multiply at an accelerated rate, then maybe his body could grow to a size that would shelter both Kris and Lu Han, to give them each what they want.
But Yixing is just one person, with muscles that sprain and betray under pressure like anyone else, so instead he watches the three of them fall apart, piece by piece.
The reality check that Yixing is only human comes sooner than he expects when he overestimates a turn in the choreography at dance practice two days later and his spine collapses on the landing. The instructor presses two fingers into the small of his back, and Yixing nearly blacks out from the pain. The ride to the hospital is excruciating, and he tries counting his breaths in a failed attempt to stay conscious when the doctor examines him, his brain refusing to process the indistinct murmurs in Korean above him.
When he wakes up, his vision swims with four faces boring down at him, and it takes a few seconds for the image to sharpen down to two.
"Good, you're up," Lu Han says, relieved. Yixing blinks and fumbles with the thin hospital sheets, pushing down on his elbows to to sit up before immediately getting pushed down again.
"Don't move too much," Kris warns. "You're lucky that it's just a stress fracture, but you'll have to stay overnight."
"And no dance practice for the next week," Lu Han adds, curling his fingers over Yixing's as he swallows down the kneejerk protest.
"At least this didn't happen during promotions," Kris points out. He checks the IV drip hanging over the bed and tucks the blanket a little closer around Yixing's waist, turning to Lu Han. "Anyway, you can leave with the manager. I'll stay here for the night."
"Why are you the one staying?"
Maybe it's not an accusation, but Yixing can hear through the words that Lu Han isn't trying to dress up the question as anything else.
Kris smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle on the sheets. "I'm the leader. I should stay."
Suddenly Yixing is hyper-aware that this is the first time the three of them have been alone together since the conversation in their room two days ago, and he wishes desperately that his head didn't currently feel like the inside of a fishbowl from pain medication. He wonders if they'll remember this moment years later, their tension fracturing in the sterile air. If Yixing were to close his eyes, he could almost see the space between them still charged with electricity, the current trapped under the strain of curbed desire. He struggles back to a sitting position and purposely pulls his arm from both their grips.
"No one needs to stay with me overnight. Last I checked, I can still sleep by myself," Yixing says, defiant in a way that he didn't allow himself to be two days earlier.
The other two share a glance, and then Lu Han sighs, batting a fist against Kris' chest. "All right, you stay tonight. I'll come back tomorrow with Minseok. We'll bring you a change of clothes."
"Why do the two of you only work together when it's to gang up on me?" Yixing complains.
A small smile breaks across Kris' face. He extends a hand to Lu Han's cheek, the touch as close to deference as Kris gets. "Thanks," he says. "So we're good?"
Lu Han stiffens at the contact. None of them look their best, the stark overhead lighting washing the depth from their faces, but Yixing still catches the brief flash of conflict play out across Lu Han's features before he softens into the curve of Kris' palm. After he leaves, Kris stares at the empty space left behind, then back to Yixing.
"How long do you think he'll stay mad at me?"
"Who says I'm not mad at you, too?" Yixing counters.
"I shouldn't have let it go on as long as it did," Kris says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and drawing his legs up, as though by containing himself he could also shrink the impact of what he's saying. "I just think it's better that we quit while we're ahead, before we cause problems for anyone else."
Yixing takes Kris' hand in his own and thinks how they look like a badly re-enacted scene out of a mainland melodrama to anyone who can see them through the small window of the door. "We're not some one-night stands you picked up off the street," he says, sighing. "You don't need to explain yourself like this. It's all right. I get it."
"This doesn't have to be the end," Kris says softly. "We can try again when the stakes won't be as high, when the consequences are easier to handle."
For you, Yixing almost says, but doesn't. Maybe years later, the three of them will stop circling around each other like the hard edge of a mobius strip, an infinite loop that twists back to the same outcome no matter how many turns it takes. But he knows there's more than one way to arc to the same point. And while Lu Han needs physical assurance that what he has with his bandmates is significant, that their group bond is strong enough to build over the bridges that Lu Han had to burn when he made the decision to leave Beijing, Yixing thinks that the most generous gift he can give Kris right now is space. A space free of the pressure of a double life within a double life, one that doesn't guilt Kris into choosing between leading a band that depends on him and complicating that responsibility with competing desires.
"Work hard to show me a better image of yourself in the future," he says, grinning. Then, with the patience of someone who understands how long dreams can take to manifest, he lets go of Kris' hand. "I'll look forward to it."
Yixing comes back from brushing his teeth the next morning to find Lu Han burrowed in his hospital bed, casually tangled in the sheets as though he didn't have an ear tilted up to wait for Yixing's reaction.
"Pretty sure that's a violation of hospital code," he notes, pausing in the doorway. "And where's Minseok?"
"He went to the cafeteria to get you some juice." Lu Han rolls over to rub his face into the pillowcase. "Mmm, the smell of fresh linen and disinfectant."
"At least one of you still acts like a hyung." He slides under the blanket, and Lu Han relaxes into him, their bodies slotting together like the rough sides of two keys looking for a lock. The mattress isn't meant to handle their combined weight, and Yixing has to shift an arm to avoid getting an eyeful of over-processed hair, but he sighs a slow exhale into the groove of Lu Han's clavicle, grazing his chin along the raised bone. Their breaths sync, as if on reflex. Lu Han leans forward to close the distance between them before checking himself, letting his head fall back.
"Maybe we're pushing our luck by wanting more than what's already given to us," he mumbles into the hollow of Yixing's throat.
That's the danger of thirst, Yixing thinks. Age nine, his first experience with the adrenaline rush of a live audience. Age fourteen, Star Academy. Age seventeen, putting pen to paper on a contract that launched him across an ocean. Age twenty, waiting to meet the eleven people who would determine his future as much as himself. Each feat had felt like a milestone, an impossible leap from the step before, and the problem is that the more he reaps, the more he wants, because Yixing has never doubted how hard he can work, how long he can wait, how far he can push himself when the payoff is so close in reach.
"It's hard not to take what you want when it's right in front of you," Yixing murmurs and then braces a hand on either side of Lu Han's face, placing a kiss to his forehead.
"We still have years ahead of us," Lu Han finally says after the moment passes. "There's time, right?"
Age twenty-one, and Yixing is still learning how to balance how much he gives to how much he takes.
For now, he presses a thumb to Lu Han's mouth and brushes his own lips over it, the touch as good as a promise.