Lovesitting (ii)
“I heard someone submitted the articles in early.”
Joonmyun looks up to see Jongdae walking into his cubicle with a kittenish grin on his face. He shrugs off his best friend’s arrival, going back to concentrate reviewing the pile of papers in front of him instead.
“Kyungsoo didn’t stop talking about that, you know,” Jongdae tries again, but only to receive an half-hearted raise of eyebrows in return. “He said you are his favorite employee now.”
“Stop it. Don’t think you can coax me into paying you another round of soju this time.”
Jongdae whistles lowly as he walks closer to Joonmyun’s desk. “Soju is an extra, I didn’t even aim for that. I just want to say that I smell a promotion getting closer.”
Joonmyun frowns when he looks up at the grinning man in front of his desk. He waves his hand, gesturing Jongdae to go away. “Please, all I did was to send in the works on time.”
“You mean ‘early.’” Jongdae laughs, his eyes turn into a cute line with crinkles. “‘Early’ means gold in this publishing business, Joonmyun.”
“I didn’t do much,” Joonmyun shrugs. His face is starting to flush red from the compliment. He normally would respond with witty comments, but today is just not the day. He has spent the previous nights engrossing with the articles and all he wants is to have some nice, long sleep. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Now that’s an intelligence coming out of you. Kyungsoo wants to see you in his office now.” Jongdae is never the one who’s able to hide his grin well.
“Ha ha. That’s funny. Try something smarter.”
Jongdae pouts. He slams his hand onto Joonmyun’s hand for a dramatic cause. “Do you think I would be lying to my best friend? Am I that low in your eyes? Do you really--”
Joonmyun manages to shut the other man up by kicking his leg below the desk.
A series of whines and complaints leave Jongdae’s pouting mouth. His hand is busy rubbing the sore spot on his leg. Joonmyun laughs, apologize is muttered quickly as he reaches out to pat Jongdae’s arm. His said best friend only frowns at his direction, but it’s a familiar gesture Joonmyun wouldn’t get worried of. “Anyway, it’s totally serious. If I were you, I’d be in his office like, right now.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there after I finish with this page.” Joonmyun waves a sheet of paper that he gets to review only half. He doesn’t like to leave things unfinished, that is.
Jongdae grins in victory. He raises up his hand to have a high five with Joonmyun, who shakes his head in disbelief before he gives Jongdae a hard high five. Feeling satisfied, Jongdae finally makes his way out of Joonmyun’s cubicle only to stop at the doorway.
“Do you think you’re up for ramyeon? There’s a new one opening up near the subway and--”
“Okay.”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows. “Did you just agree--”
“Yes. Jongdae, just get out.”
“I love you!” he shouts, laughing loudly, and sets off his feet before Joonmyun manages to throw the ball-shaped crumpled piece of paper he always has in stock for Jongdae.
Meeting with Kyungsoo turns to be very fast, for the chief editor has to meet with the printing press’ representative. The wide-eyed man has smiled warmly at him when he showed up in the chief editor’s office. Kyungsoo asked him about his day, and threw him small praises here and there. Joonmyun remembered what Jongdae said, and he suddenly felt very nervous.
In the end, Kyungsoo rewarded him a day off and dismissed him from his office.
That’s how Joonmyun ends up in front of the ice cream parlor, seriously browsing the menu for the perfect flavor Zitao should like. He recalls Yifan buying the boy a scoop of chocolate mint flavor, but remembers how his eyes widened the most at the sight of cookies and cream one. Joonmyun manages to buy a quart of that with the thought of Zitao’s happy face.
His walk home feels lighter once he has the treat in his hands. He stops briefly at the front door, thinking of ways to surprise the little boy waiting in the apartment. Should he hide the ice cream in the refrigerator first? Or bringing it up right in front of Zitao’s face would be better?
After a good amount of two or three minutes debating with himself, Joonmyun decides to just come in and act according to the situation happening inside. If Zitao doesn’t catch him sneaking into the apartment, he would hide the ice cream, and vice versa.
He nervously unlocks the front door, hoping that Zitao would be too engrossed in whatever he’s doing to even notice the small click of the door being unlocked. Surprisingly though, there is no dim sound of television or the clacks Zitao’s wooden toys usually make. Joonmyun pads towards the kitchen to save the ice cream in the fridge.
Maybe Zitao is having his nap, Joonmyun thinks, considering that it’s still around two and it’s normal for kids to have their naps around that time.
Joonmyun pours himself a glass of water. The apartment feels so empty, with only the sound of water being poured into the glass resonating in the room. Once he’s done drinking the water, Joonmyun decides to check on Zitao.
And no, he’s not missing the boy.
It just feels too quiet in the apartment, and Joonmyun hates silence.
(He pretends to forget how he got so used to being alone in the apartment before Zitao’s presence graced them.)
Joonmyun is about to check on the boy in his shared room with his dad when he hears soft writhing sounds coming from the living room. His freezes on his steps. Could it be a ghost?
He inhales deeply, trying to calm down the sudden fast beating of heart. The sound is still there, writhing and whining. There’s some choked out sobs, too. And Joonmyun knows that he eventually have to confront the source of the creepy sounds, either he likes it or not. He tries hard to shove away the scaredy cat in him as he turns to the direction of the living room.
It’s actually Zitao, sprawled on the couch. The toys are scattered all over the floor, a sight Yifan would not very much approve of.
What scares Joonmyun is how Zitao’s face is so red; his breathing is uneven and his skin is wet from sweating. The boy’s eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s having a bad dream. Joonmyun’s only option is to wake him up and move him to his room.
But the skin under his touch is burning when Joonmyun reaches out to touch the boy. Zitao has caught a cold.
“Zitao-ah, wake up,” Joonmyun worriedly shakes the boy out of his nightmare, and that only makes Zitao tosses and turns even worse. He doesn’t really respond to Joonmyun, but there are tears gliding from the corner of his eyes.
Joonmyun is frantic. He didn’t know how to take care of a sick kid, and he has heard a lot about how a fever could be a symptom of worse disease. He keeps shaking the boy’s hot body, trying to wake him up. “Zitao, Zitao, please, wake up.”
When Zitao is awaken, he cries at the first sight of Joonmyun. Suddenly there are small hands clinging onto Joonmyun’s shirt.
“Joonma, it’s hot,” Zitao whines between his sobs, and Joonmyun’s heart breaks into little pieces.
“Sshh, I know, I know.” He doesn’t even try to smile as Zitao is now burying his face into the crook of his neck. He can feel the wetness of the kid’s eyes seeps onto his exposed skin, but Joonmyun doesn’t care.
It’s all a blur; how he manages to keep the crying kid in his arm securely, despite all the kicking and struggling, and successfully puts him onto his own bed.
He figures that putting Zitao in his dad’s room would be better, but it’s a rule he has set with Yifan the first time they moved in together; no one is ever to enter the other’s room without permission. And Joonmyun still values the rule until now.
Now that Zitao is in the bed, still wailing and crying, Joonmyun runs off to the bathroom to take a clean towel and fill in the basin with warm water. He also checks the medicine cabinet, and grabs a thermometer and the cold medicine with paracetamol in it.
Zitao’s eyes are closed when Joonmyun enters his room, but his furrowed eyebrows give a sign that he’s deep in pain. Joonmyun slips the thermometer into Zitao’s mouth before he wets the towel and puts it on the boy’s forehead.
“I’ll make you porridge, you need to take the medicine,” Joonmyun says as he worriedly checks the thermometer. It doesn’t reach the temperature where he should be alerted, but it’s high enough to make Zitao feels miserable that all Joonmyun wants to do is to take the fever away from him.
“Joonma,” Zitao stares up at him with a pleading look. “Don’t go.”
The words surprise Joonmyun. It’s rare for him to receive such an earnest request, especially coming from a kid. Jongdae might whine if he wants something from him, Kyungsoo will put his best scowling expression if there’s something goes not according to himself, and Yifan will talk him into buying him dinner; but no one has ever asked him specifically to stay.
“Just a moment, okay?”
Zitao looks so reluctant to nod his head and sink deeper into the fluffy pillow. Joonmyun gives him an assuring smile before he exits the room.
Thoughts are huddling over his head as he prepares the porridge for the sick boy. It’s now around three, and Yifan would be home in two hours. Joonmyun thinks he should let the taller man knows of the condition of Zitao, so he fishes out his phone from his trousers’ pocket and makes a call.
Yifan usually picks up at the third ring, but this time he doesn’t. Joonmyun frowns as the line gets into mailbox. This is the first time Yifan doesn’t pick up when he calls.
He wants to make a call again, but the porridge is done cooking and he needs to prioritise the sick kid now.
If Joonmyun is to be glad about one thing that day, that would be how Zitao eats the porridge well and takes the tablet without complaints. Joonmyun wants to say that he’s proud of the little boy, but he’s in no place to do that. So he stays in the bed, next to Zitao, with one of his hand holding the bowl and the other hand stroking the boy’s hair soothingly until he falls asleep.
He resists the urge to press a light kiss onto the kid’s burning cheek, and pats on his head instead.
“Please get well soon, Zitao-ah.”
It’s around six when Joonmyun is done cleaning up the apartment; mostly consisting of putting back Zitao’s toys into the box and washing the dishes. He also manages to cook soup and chicken, Zitao’s favorite of his cooking. Yifan has been furious at first when he found out his son likes his roommate’s cooking better than his, but he eventually gave up and admitted that he likes Joonmyun’s soup, too.
Speaking of which, Yifan hasn’t come home yet. Joonmyun starts to worry over his roommate. Yifan has never once comes home past six pm since Zitao happened, and Joonmyun has forgotten how Yifan was almost a different man before he adopted the boy.
He tries to make a call again, but this time instead of the dial tone, he’s directed straight into the mailbox. That only means Yifan has his phone turned off.
Joonmyun tries to distract himself by turning on the television at a high volume. The show isn’t as interesting at he would like it to be, but anything is okay for now. There is no work to do, Kyungsoo has been persistent on giving him a short break, and he gets laughed at by Jongdae for that. Really though, his best friend laughs at everything that happens to him.
He decides to call Jongdae and lets his best friend humors his time.
When he hungs up on Jongdae’s annoying laugh (it’s always annoying, why is he keeping up with it anyway?), there’s a hand tugging on his sleeve. He turns to look at Zitao, who still looks so weak despite the fresher look on his face.
“Hello, how are you feeling?” Joonmyun asks as he reaches out to feel Zitao’s forehead. The temperature has lowered down, but Joonmyun knows that the little boy still has to take the medicine to recover completely.
“I’m hungry,” Zitao pouts.
“I have food for you,” he smiles, ruffling Zitao’s already messed up hair. “Go to my room and sit down on the bed nicely, I’ll come with your favorite soup if you do so.”
Zitao nods and is quick to run off to Joonmyun’s room. His step falters a bit and Joonmyun warns him about him being sick and not allowed to do much activities. Zitao protests, but he lets himself being carried up by the older man anyway.
“Wait here,” Joonmyun makes Zitao promises him that he would stay on the bed, because a sight of the little boy walking around with fever has weakened his own heart. At Zitao’s nod, Joonmyun smiles up. This time, he doesn’t resist to press a kiss onto the kid’s forehead. “Good boy.”
Zitao’s face lights up, and Joonmyun thinks that maybe, maybe it’s okay to cross over the boundaries.
It’s so easy to fall back to the same scene; him feeding the food to Zitao and the little boy eating so eagerly. This time, though, the boy is more talkative than he was in the noon. Joonmyun has slipped in the thermometer again, and praised Zitao for successfully has his body heat lowered. Zitao whines slightly from the bitterness of the tablet he now could taste as his taste bud starts to recover, but he takes it nonetheless.
However this time, when Joonmyun fixes the blanket around Zitao’s frame as the medicine starts to kick in and makes him sleepy, Zitao doesn’t fall asleep right away.
“Joonma,” he starts. Joonmyun raises his eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. “Why isn’t Papa home yet?”
Joonmyun steals a glance at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s only eight, but it’s an hour away to Zitao’s night hour and Yifan really should be here soon. He looks down to Zitao, who is biting on his lower lip nervously. “He’s on his way,” Joonmyun says like he’s so sure of that. “Go to sleep, if he arrives I’ll have him to wake you up.”
“He isn’t going to read me a story tonight?”
“Do you want me to?”
Zitao appears to look thoughtful for a while, before he shakes his head. “It’s okay, Papa will read it to me later,” he yawns, “maybe.”
Of course, Joonmyun, you’re not his papa.
“I will tell him that,” he smiles, despite the weird twist in his stomach. “Good night, Zitao.”
“Night, Joonma.”
The clock in the living room turns its hands to precisely ten o’clock. Joonmyun feels drowsy; his eyes are half-lidded already, and the sound of the television is the only thing that keeps him awake.
Yifan is still not home yet. He could care less and just go to sleep without waiting for the taller man, but right now in his very own bed lies a little boy with fever and he really needs Yifan’s assistance.
Joonmyun rubs his tired eyes. Kyungsoo didn’t give him the day off for him to waste away, really.
He starts to plot a revenge against Yifan, stealing ideas from the dull thriller movie the television is showing. Maybe he could put a bomb in Yifan’s shoe or puts venom into his americano. Or he could slit Yifan’s throat open--no, that would be too far. He should blackmail the taller man to buy him the ramyeon Jongdae talked about before.
That’s it. Anything--Yifan should do anything for him to pay the time he has wasted on waiting for him.
Just as he reaches out for his phone to dial Yifan’s number again, Joonmyun hears the front door being unlocked. His ears perk up, he becomes more alert and listens more intently at the sound.
Soon the familiar figure of Yifan appears, and not in the condition Joonmyun would like him to be.
He looks tipsy, and Joonmyun knows at the first glance that his roommate has gone out drinking again. It’s not unusual, but ever since Zitao--
Joonmyun shakes his head disapprovingly as he approaches Yifan, who is almost losing his balance. “Where were you?” He asks softly.
“Out,” Yifan chuckles. He is staring at Joonmyun through his lashes, head hung low, and, fuck, he must be so drunk that he is almost out of his mind. Joonmyun can smell the strong alcohol coming from the other man.
“Out where?”
“Somewhere,” Yifan shrugs. He pushes himself past Joonmyun and makes a beeline towards the couch. Once he flops down, he grabs the remote and starts to flips between the channels. “Why? Did you miss me?”
Joonmyun turns his head away, despite the fact that Yifan still can’t see the hue of pink decorating his cheeks. “Your son did,” he replies calmly. ‘I did, too’, he wants to say, but it’s not an important piece of information.
Yifan pauses at his channel flipping. He is stopping at a comedy show that isn’t really funny. Joonmyun suddenly wonders what makes people so desperate for cheap laughters. Perhaps it’s the bitter reality of society.
“Come here,” Yifan pats on the spot next to him with his eyes still glued onto the television. Joonmyun doesn’t really have another option, so he settles comfortably on the couch close enough to smell the faint hint of perfume Yifan wore in the morning, but not close enough to have their shoulders brush.
It’s Yifan who makes the move to get closer to him, and leans his head onto his shoulder. Joonmyun stiffens up.
“Go away, you smell of alcohol.” He tries to shove Yifan’s head away half-heartedly, only to be laughed at by the older man. Joonmyun snorts and lets the weight of Yifan’s head presses down on his shoulder.
“Is it always this hard, being a single parent?” Yifan starts to talk, and even if his eyes are still on the screen, Joonmyun knows that his mind is elsewhere.
“You’re drunk, Yifan. Just go clean up or something--”
“No. Listen to me this time, Joonmyun. I’m sick of this, sick of having to take care of someone. I hate that I have to be strong for him when I know I’m not. I’m so tired of pretending to be a superdad that I decided to be a bad father and came home late and drunk and--” he pauses to take a deep breathe, “I just wish I have someone whom I can lean on to, someone to share all these heavy burdens on my shoulders.”
“Yifan, you’re not a bad father--”
“Sometimes I look at Yixing, and see how his face lights up when he makes a call with his wife and I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m drunk.”
“You’re drunk,” Joonmyun agrees immediately. He is thankful that Yifan has his eyes somewhere else, not on himself, because right now his face would be a mess from all the mixed feelings Yifan has (obviously) given him. “So why don’t you look someone to date?” He can’t help but to ask out of curiosity.
“Too burdensome to have someone new,” Yifan says tiredly, his eyes is starting to flutter close, “I need someone I trust enough with Zitao, someone I know.”
“You mean Baekhyun,” Joonmyun says calmly, despite the typhoon happening in his chest.
“I don’t know…”
“Ask him for a date, a second chance, I don’t know. I’m sure he would love Zitao,” he flashes a brief smile, too brief even for him that he’s not sure he did smile at all. But Yifan wouldn’t even notice that. “Speaking of Zitao, he’s sleeping in my room now.”
The sudden twist of topic catches Yifan right in the head. He straightens up from his position, eyes staring sharply at Joonmyun. “Why?”
“He caught a fever. I found him shivering on the couch when I came home today. I couldn’t bring him to your room so he is settled down in my bed instead.”
“A fever?” Yifan’s face shows horror, and Joonmyun knows him well enough to know how the thoughts of him being a real bad father running through his head.
“It wasn’t that bad. He will wake up feeling fresh as new tomorrow, I promise you,” he pats on Yifan’s thigh reassuringly. “I made him took the medicine, he’s now recovering.”
Yifan slumps into the couch, all his energy appears to disappear. “He’s okay now?”
“Seeing how he is now sleeping all safe and sound, I certainly hope so,” Joonmyun shrugs. He can’t promise anything since he is no doctor. But he certainly wishes for the kid’s recovery as well.
“Joonmyun,” Yifan sighs, “What would I do without you, really?”
Joonmyun shrugs, “Probably dying out of boredom.”
Yifan chuckles, sending shivers all over Joonmyun’s body, “Damn right. ‘Can’t imagine doing this without you.”
It hits straight into Joonmyun’s heart, though Yifan probably doesn’t even mean it.
“Go shower, you still stink,” Joonmyun pouts when Yifan is leaning on to him again, shrugging the words Yifan has just said away. He scrunches up his nose at the older man only to be shoved away.
“Okay, I’ll take Zitao from you after that?”
Joonmyun nods, “He also asked if you could tell him a story like usual.”
“I’m drunk,” Yifan blinks at the statement. It’s like he is convincing himself that he’s drunk when he’s not, but Joonmyun knows that it’s how Yifan is when he’s drunk.
“You are, I thought it’s so obvious already,” Joonmyun sighs dramatically, “Go shower.”
“Yes, Sir.”
There’s a loud thud caused by the cushion hitting Yifan straight on his head before the taller man disappears into the bathroom, laughing.
And Joonmyun finds himself wishing for things to be simple once again.
Zitao is sleeping soundly on his bed when Joonmyun checks on him while Yifan goes showering. The boy looks like an angel, sleeping so innocently like this. Joonmyun momentarily forgets about the times Zitao made him step on the lego pieces or the times Zitao refused his cookings because he wanted nuggets instead of healthy homemade food.
It’s funny how even Zitao is not Yifan’s biological son, he has the similar traits with his dad. Including the ones that make them irresistible in Kim Joonmyun’s eyes.
It only doubles his depression.
Dig the hole deeper, bury them deeper.
It doesn’t take long until Joonmyun is snapped out of his thoughts. Yifan barges into his room like there is never such a thing like privacy. Some strands of his blonde hair is still wet, and he only wears black tank tops to match his briefs. Joonmyun almost strangles himself at the sight.
His eyes widened when the blond, instead of scooping his son into his arms, flops onto the bed and snuggles with the little boy.
“Yifan--!” Joonmyun protests not too loudly. He doesn’t want to wake Zitao and have him crying all night long, thank you very much. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Sleeping,” Yifan mumbles, and Joonmyun hates how he makes it sounds like it’s so obvious. Well it is, but--screw that.
“You have your own bed.”
“My son is sleeping here.”
Joonmyun thinks that maybe if Yifan is not his roommate, not someone he knows over years, the other would be dead already.
“But where do I sleep if both of you are hijacking my space?” he hisses.
Yifan glances over his shoulder to look at him, before he yawns and snuggles deeper into his son. Then he pulls his son closer and scoots over so there’s a space next to Zitao on the bed. “There.”
“I--”
“Just sleep, Joonmyun. It’s late.”
Joonmyun thinks that Yifan is cruel for not leaving him any other option. He actually could camp on the couch but it would leave him feeling all cranky the following day, and the idea of having to walk over to Yifan’s room to hijack his bed suddenly sounds so tiring.
“Breakfast is on you.” is the last thing Joonmyun says before he finally gives in and carefully positions himself next to the sleeping kid. He can feel Yifan’s smile even though he can’t see it.
The space on the bed is cramped, but Joonmyun doesn’t mind. He actually likes it, how he could feel warmth from another body lying next to him.
His eyes are closed as he listens intently to the steady breathing of two other bodies in the bed. It’s so peaceful, and Joonmyun finds himself dozing into sleep quicker than usual.
“Joonmyun,” comes a whisper that stops his eyes from closing. “Are you still up?”
He is close from ignoring that and going to continue letting his eyelids drop, but he lets out an annoyed grunt as a signal that he’s indeed awake.
“You know, about the things I talked about earlier, sometimes I wish that the shoulders that I could lean on to are yours.” There’s a soft, awkward chuckle before it falls down into a complete silence again. “Good night.”
Little did Yifan knows, Joonmyun’s cheeks burnt red and he gets a little trouble of sleeping that night. The words keep repeating in his head.
He secretly hopes that it was the drunk side of Yifan speaking, and that he won’t even remember talking about it the next morning.
When Joonmyun wakes up the following morning, he is taken aback by a pair of shining eyes staring at him with such interest. He is not used to waking up next to another body, really. His life has been that lonely, except for some crappy ex-boyfriends he used to date.
“Good morning, Joonma,” Zitao giggles when Joonmyun’s fingers creep to tickle his sides. The boy looks brighter than yesterday.
“Morning to you too, Panda Boy,” Joonmyun smiles. He reaches out to feel Zitao’s forehead before continuing higher to ruffle the boy’s hair affectionately. “Do you feel better?”
“I do!” He shouts before he jumps off and tackles over Joonmyun. Damn kids and their infinite source of energy.
Joonmyun groans. The bouncing the boy is now doing on his stomach doesn’t help his waist from starting to releasing the sound of bone-cracking. Really, his old-aged-body doesn’t really match Zitao.
“What do you say after letting him taking care of you yesterday?”
Joonmyun cranes his neck to see Yifan at the door frame. His arms are folded in front of his chest, and there’s a glint of amusement in his face. Joonmyun throws him an SOS glare, but instead of helping peeling off the kid who is now clinging onto him like a koala, Yifan shakes his head. Joonmyun feels betrayed.
“Thank you, Joonma!” Zitao throws his arms and locks them around Joonmyun’s neck. Now he is barely breathing. “Thank you thank you thank you thank--”
“Careful, old Joonma almost died if you hug him too tight,” Yifan laughs. He feels too sorry for the other man and finally pulls Zitao away from Joonmyun.
Joonmyun sits up from his lying position, checking his waist to make sure that it’s okay after holding such a heavy weight. He glances up to see Yifan comfortably holding his son in his arms, like the talk they were having last night doesn’t exist.
Last night.
Suddenly Joonmyun is reminded of the last words the taller man said to him before he went to sleep. His cheeks are reddening, but Yifan doesn’t need to know. So he quickly gets off his bed and pads over the bathroom with a quiet excuse of ‘I need to wash my face,’ when he brushes past the taller man.
As Joonmyun splashes water to his warming face, he wonders if Yifan means those words, or if he remembers them at all.
Knowing him, he probably doesn’t.
Joonmyun knows he shouldn’t get his hopes high when it comes to Wu Yifan. He forces down his leaping heart because, no, it’s not allowed. He remembers the times where keeping his feelings for Yifan locked is too easy that he eventually agreed to room with him. He got used to the companies Yifan brought home and not even the tiniest bit of jealousy he felt.
But since Zitao, it is all worsening up.
Joonmyun has to hold himself from wanting to monopolise the blonde Chinese man for himself.
“Mine,” he wants to hear Yifan whispers in his ear, marking him as a territory. He wants to hold Yifan’s hand in his and never let anyone else do the same. He wants to be the one that Yifan shares all his life stories with. He wants to be the one whom Yifan addresses Zitao as ‘our son’ with.
And they are all terrible, terrible thoughts. Joonmyun quickly washes his face again to distract him from thinking too much. Cold water is good for your skin’s health, he read somewhere on the internet. Apparently it’s good for distraction, too.
When he has done enough cleaning up, Joonmyun’s stomach gives him a signal to have something to eat. He remembers the sandwich he spotted in the fridge when he put Zitao’s ice cream the day before. He could have it heated up, if Yifan is too lazy to make them breakfast. It’s Saturday, and Saturday is Yifan-is-lazy-day.
The dining table is as empty as he has predicted. Only dumbs would hope for Wu Yifan to cook on Saturdays. Joonmyun immediately spots the sandwich when he checks the fridge. He sniffs it to check that it’s edible, before he puts it in the microwave and heats it up. Humming a commercial’s song on the television he found catchy, he takes an empty glass and pours himself cold milk.
He lights up when the microwave alerts him that the sandwich is done heating up. Happily, he takes the sandwich out and places it on a plate. One, two, three, and easy breakfast is ready.
He has intended to eat in front of the television, with the companion of Zitao who is now having his eyes glued to the screen, but Yifan steps into the kitchen with a serious look on his face, and Joonmyun knows that he would have to say goodbye to the peaceful breakfast he wanted.
“Can you eat here? I need to talk to you,” Yifan says.
Joonmyun shrugs, putting back the plate and the glass onto the dining table. “Sure,” he replies as he pulls himself a chair and sits down. He waits for the taller man to sit across him with raised eyebrows. But it’s just a covering gesture for his thumping heart.
“How drunk was I last night?” Of course, Yifan has to ask when Joonmyun is taking his first bite, causing him to choke a little. Yifan helps him with the glass of milk worriedly. He looks sorry.
“Drunk enough to say things about Zitao,” Joonmyun replies calmly after he drinks his milk.
Yifan’s face falls. “What did I say?”
Joonmyun glances up from his sandwich to look at Yifan’s face. He debates with himself if he should tell him the truth or not. But with Yifan, it has always been the truth anyway. “That you are not a good father for him,” he says softly, “But I think you are. So please don’t argue with me about this. I trust my feelings.”
“You do,” Yifan smiles, and Joonmyun has to busy himself eating before he could allow blush to spread over his cheeks.
When they fall into silence, Joonmyun thinks that maybe Yifan was that drunk and there is no way he could remember what he said last night. It’s half-relieving half-worrying for Joonmyun though; relieving because he wouldn’t get to hear them anymore, and it’s good for his heart, and worrying because knowing Yifan, he tends to talk more truthfully than anytime when he’s drunk.
Joonmyun hopes it’s not the latter.
“I could help you, if it’s too hard.” He somehow lets those words slip past his lips, and he can’t even believe himself. If it’s possible, he wants to take back his stupid offers because he is too stupid for thinking that Yifan maybe really wants him to help.
Stupid mouth, stupid brain, stupid heart, stupid Kim Joonmyun--
“Please,” Yifan says, and Joonmyun’s breath hitches. “I would like that a lot. I mean I--I appreciate your help yesterday. If you could help me, that would be great.”
“Okay.” Joonmyun is soon grinning, too wide and too happy. As his lips stretches, he unlocks the chest where he keeps all his feelings in, and lets those buried feelings a glimpse of sunshine and a chance to breathe.
Yifan is smiling, too, and maybe this time things are going in the right direction for him.
--fin.