[EXO] 独生子; Only Son (1/1)
Title: 独生子; Only Son
Fandom: EXO
Author: chiharu
Characters/pairing: Kris centric
Rating: G
wordcount: ~ 4.5k
Summary: Kris tries to grasp what it means to be a leader, an idol, and a son. Leadership doesn't come naturally, but friendship and camaraderie do. Kris + EXO-M fic.
If truth be told, Wu Fan was always less enthusiastic about the numerous leadership lessons consisting of veteran managers and marketing representatives dissecting the proper way to handle situations. Joonmyun, on the other hand, always took notes diligently on the back of old sheet music while nodding in a poor imitation of Seunghwan-hyung's bobble head.
Wu Fan doesn't know why Joonmyun is always fretting: Joonmyun doesn’t deal with language barriers. Nor does Joonmyun live in a state of anarchy with Yixing's insufferable sense of humor and Lu Han's knowing smiles. Wu Fan lives in constant fear of Jongdae or Minseok wandering off under his watch. Translator Noona is helpful, but she seems to have been recently recruited by Yixing and Lu Han in their campaign to make Wu Fan's life harder. There's also the matter of Zitao's overactive lacrimal glands, but Wu Fan understands the importance of baby steps.
"You'll be fine," Wu Fan says wearily when they part ways, casting a small glance at Joonmyun. The words sound reassuring enough. "You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes."
Joonmyun laughs a little, letting Chanyeol tug him towards Gate 4 until Wu Fan loses sight of them. From PEK to ICN to CSX, Wu Fan walks a little taller from terminal to terminal. It's a defense mechanism, if anything-the careful preparation of tousled hair and perfectly buttoned shirts for the space bridging the plane and their van.
Lu Han texts Sehun from time to time, but it's Jongdae who keeps everyone updated, chuckling delightfully in waiting rooms as he punches rapidly into his touch screen. They give him space, letting Jongdae relish in moments of comforting familiarity until he feels ready to join the world again, scooting towards them and draping himself over Yixing, SMS still flashing on his screen as he hands the phone over.
Yixing and Lu Han take turns reading messages from Joonmyun, who jumps excitedly from topic to topic, as if he can no longer distinguish Sehun's dry humor from D.O.'s humming and the way Chanyeol miraculously trips while going up the stairs.
"They seem to be having fun," Minseok hums pleasantly when Lu Han returns Jongdae's phone. He nearly sneezes when their makeup artist pats an extraneous amount of powder on his face, smiling brilliantly when she frowns at him.
"We're having fun too," Wu Fan says absently, noting the copious amount of gel currently setting in his hair.
"Thank you for deciding for us." Yixing grins. He shares a look with Lu Han, which causes Zitao to glance curiously between them before returning to his own phone.
The occasional defiance is what Wu Fan likes the most about them. Lu Han and Yixing display a lack of reliance that persists through debut. It’s a reminder of what it felt like to be a trainee: gangly, raw, and determined. They used to spend precious break time sitting in the hallways, sharing ear buds and trading Show Luo for Sodagreen. Wu Fan's trainee life consisted of rehearsal days gone in the flash of an eye and periods of unbearable idleness. Those were the moments he remembered the most, the desire to speak Chinese metallic in his mouth.
Kyungsoo sprains a finger after jamming it against a car door and Baekhyun gets shin splints from dancing too hard. It's nothing Wu Fan would bat an eyelash at, but that doesn't stop Joonmyun from SMSing him with resigned guilt.
"Put an ice compress on Kyungsoo's finger and buddy-tape it," Wu Fan says, looking up when Hyunkyun-hyung makes an impatient gesture from the door way. "And tell Baekhyun to stretch after practicing. Look, I gotta go." He doesn't wait for Joonmyun's reply before handing the phone to their manager, who proceeds to speak to Joonmyun in rapid fire Korean.
In the living room, Jongdae is doodling in the margins of his notebook. He recites something about scallion pancakes in Chinese when Wu Fan enters, which reminds Wu Fan about dinner. He finds an opened envelope and begins taking orders on the back, quickly deciphering the dishes Jongdae recites in stilted Chinese. Lu Han rounds the corner and peers around Wu Fan's shoulder, making a comment about Wu Fan's hand writing.
"Do you want food or not?" Wu Fan barks when Zitao and Yixing get in a serious debate over the appropriateness of eating zongzi in June.
Hyunkyun-hyung appears a few minutes later, handing Wu Fan a familiar wallet before Wu Fan dials the number of their favorite delivery restaurant. The owner, a middle aged man, doesn’t care for pop music and once accused them of looking too feminine after Lu Han answered the door to receive the delivery. It was a refreshing sort of honesty that Wu Fan had come to miss.
Yixing's injury acts up again a few days later. He denies any hint of pain, but stays silent as Wu Fan fishes out the medicinal compress packs. "Stop trying to be brave," Wu Fan mumbles when he seals the edges, giving Yixing's back a soft slap.
"No words of encouragement?" Yixing asks, but doesn't get off the bed or roll around to face Wu Fan. His voice is quiet but flat. "No praise for what a good boy I am for bearing the pain?"
Wu Fan wants say a lot of things, but the guilt of making Yixing stay an extra hour to rehearse and the inadequacy he feels for not stopping an energetic fan from accidentally pushing Yixing make Wu Fan's voice die. He thinks about Zhang Yixing's mother, smiling faintly as the lines around her eyes tighten, the last time she delivered them food.
They call him duizhang so often that Wu Fan almost forgets they are friends. There are times when Wu Fan wants to trade with Joonmyun, who fumbles with his words but is generous with hugs. Joonmyun is good with sharing-sharing his laughter and sadness and determination. From the space of a few breaths away, Wu Fan can only grip Yixing's shoulder solidly.
Yixing gets the message, regardless.
In the flurry of shuffling from interviews to photo shoots, Wu Fan collides with a sliding door in his sleepwalking state. He ignores the hoots of raucous laughter behind camera lenses as he quickly enters the building.
As always, Hyunkyun-hyung is on the phone with Seunghwan-hyung. Their Coordi Noona tsks at the dark circles under Zitao's eyes, not noticing the emerging bruise on Wu Fan's forehead when he ducks inside. Translator Noona is explaining something to Minseok at the kitchen table as they wait for Hyunkyung-hyung to end the call and start the briefing.
Lu Han just grins at Wu Fan, pulling a bag of mini jelly cups from the freezer. "Left your brain at home this morning?”
Wu Fan brings the bag to his face, noting the laundry clip keeping it shut. He wonders who picked out all the taro flavored cups again and presses the coldness to his eyes silently.
"That's going to be on the internet in five minutes," Yixing whispers before the meeting officially starts. Wu Fan ignores him and watches their manager flip through files, switching between Chinese and Korean without a second thought.
"Oh," Hyunkyun-hyung adds when he finishes outlining their next round of interviews, the numbers from this month's sales peeking from the bottom of his papers. "The others say hi. Jongin asks if we can bring back more of that Chinese ointment and Joonmyun wants Wu Fan to reply to his messages. Apparently Chanyeol's pants tore on stage and he's on strike against the stylists until someone qualified commiserates with him on the pains of being too tall."
Their Coordi Noona tries to hide her laugh behind an odd cough, but Wu Fan gets the message.
Chanyeol is taking a shower when Wu Fan calls, so he endures seven minutes of Joonmyun retelling their last costume mix up fiasco until Wu Fan makes up an excuse to hang up. He sets the phone on the counter, pressing the heels of hands into his eyes. The bag of jelly cups is no longer cold as it drips feebly in the sink, but Wu Fan's headache has only escalated since his face met stainless steel.
"Having a rough day?" Lu Han asks, his hands finding their way to Wu Fan's shoulders as he massages firmly. Lu Han only does this when he feels particularly kind, so Wu Fan relaxes into his grip and doesn't complain. "Things don't have to be so hard all the time, you know," Lu Han adds.
"That's rich," Wu Fan mumbles.
"Just because you're taller doesn't mean you can ignore the wisdom Ge has gathered," Lu Han replies easily.
"Ge," Wu Fan repeats, rolling the word over his tongue. Lu Han is only playing, but the word tastes stale in his mouth. China's one child policy has stilted him in more ways than one, the loneliness etching into the lines on his palms.
Wu Fan knows that Lu Han understands it too. It’s in the way Lu Han avoids meeting people's eyes, as if the weight of his own thoughts is heavy enough. Lu Han seldom calls his parents. Wu Fan knows about the worn backpack under Lu Han's bed, stuffed with his favorite pair of sneakers and random notes placed in tiny candy tins. His parents’ landline is scribbled in the centerfold of an old Taiwanese magazine that Lu Han leaves lying around, as if deliberately waiting for someone to trash it.
It's hard to be the only son and even harder to leave home. “独生子,” they call him, the words carrying a special privilege that eludes Wu Fan. It sounds almost looming to him, the characters demanding filiality with certainty.
Minseok and Zitao lose atrociously in rock paper scissors and are sentenced to breakfast duty. Off camera, Zitao always has one arm wrapped around Minseok's shoulder as if Minseok is in danger of getting lost in their temporary apartment. The role reversal never ceases to amuse Wu Fan.
Minseok cooks quail eggs while Zitao boils water in a kettle, mixing the powder for zhimahu with intense concentration. They high five each other on a job well done while setting the plates, Zitao shooting Jongdae a mutinous look when Jongdae complains that it's too hot for sesame soup.
Lu Han is half asleep in his bowl when his ringtone sounds. Zitao reaches over Lu Han’s back and snatches the phone. After the initial look of surprise wears off, he shows Wu Fan the caller ID and thrusts the phone in his general direction.
“No,” Wu Fan says firmly.
“Duizhang,” Zitao insists, looking uncertain as he glances back at Joonmyun’s name.
“Shrugging off your responsibilities, I see,” Yixing says, chewing idly at his quail egg. He spits pieces of the egg shell out, smiling sheepishly.
“I only signed up to babysit half of you,” Wu Fan declares, but Lu Han had awoken from his zombie like state and answered the call for him, tossing the phone at Wu Fan. It falls on the floor when Wu Fan dodges, skidding to a stop halfway across the room. They pause when Joonmyun’s voice comes out of the speakerphone. Everyone ducks on instinct, as if Joonmyun can see them.
Jongdae takes his food and hurries back to his room, followed by Zitao and Yixing. Minseok looks after their retreating forms testily and makes a comment about needing to make someone’s bed, disappearing quickly. Wu Fan engages Lu Han in a game of hissing “you answer it”, “No, you answer it” until Hyunkyun-hyung steps into the room and picks up the phone.
“Stop wasting long-distance minutes,” he says, ending the call.
Beijing is blazing and humid, causing the back of Wu Fan's shirt to stick to his body. Their idol status affords them air conditioning that Wu Fan has long since forfeited during his summers in China, back when dusty fans and cold mung bean soup were the only remedies for the sun.
Lu Han returns from their afternoon off, looking ill. He heads to the bathroom wordlessly before their manager trails in, explaining that fans were waiting outside of Lu Han's parents’ house and had camped there previously. Jongdae and Zitao pace back and forth across the corridors curiously while Wu Fan catches bits of Lu Han's conversation with Yixing from his spot on the couch, the email he was working on now forgotten.
"As if they didn't hate me enough before," Lu Han says slowly, his voice muffled by the sound of running water. Lu Han and Yixing seem to be engaged in a battle as they repeatedly turn the taps on and off. Personally, Wu Fan would prefer Lu Han wasted water rather than resume his habit of clawing at his skin in unease. "They never fail to remind me that I'm a fucking inconvenience."
Lu Han is quiet again at dinner, and no one dares to challenge him. The sound of his hollow voice, however, burns in the back of Wu Fan's memory.
Two days later, they're squeezing through crowds of DSLRs and trying to locate the right van when Wu Fan spots them. He recognizes the trio from award shows, outside of countless buildings, and behind the darkened windshields of the taxis that follow them. One of their camera lenses wedges between Minseok's head and Wu Fan's face, causing him to grimace. Someone leers about Lu Han hiding his pretty face by not looking up, and Wu Fan suddenly remembers all the things he should have said to Lu Han. Words of gratitude filling him like hot water as they walked silently to rehearsal for the last two years of his life. Hours spent finding the most authentic Chinese restaurant in Seoul. All those nights spent on the roof of their dorm as Lu Han slowly stamped out every remaining stick of cigarette.
Explosive rage seizes him. When one of the offenders pushes Wu Fan, he shoves back.
"That was very brave," Minseok says, setting a bottle of pills next to Wu Fan hours later, when every possible person of authority is done shrieking at Wu Fan for his blatant act of violence. "Brave, but also horribly stupid. Take this, it'll help with your headache."
Even worse than the gasps and nonstop clicking was the fight that broke out in the van.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lu Han hissed behind a concerned Zitao and shocked Jongdae.
Lu Han’s rage felt like a slap in the face. "What's wrong with me-"
"Do I look like I need a fucking rescuer?" Lu Han continued, eyes large but drained of mirth. "You think you can handle everything because you’re the fucking leader-"
Wu Fan rose in the cramped space of the van, temper flaring as he ignored Yixing's attempts to drag him back down. "Great. This is my favorite game, watching you victimize yourself and get mad-"
"Be quiet," Hyunkyun-hyung's growling from the passenger seat had shut them up, but the damage was done.
"This is unacceptable," one of the project coordinators bellowed over the speakerphone as Wu Fan sat through another video conference. "PR will have to work overtime on this. You may need to make a public statement depending on how this plays out. Christ. You've only debuted how many months ago?"
The others, sans Lu Han, are crowded outside when Wu Fan leaves Hyunkyun-hyung's room. He parts a path with his long arms and collapses on the bed in his room. Wu Fan inserts the sim card back into his phone and pauses. He's probably too old for this, but his mother picks up on the third ring regardless.
"I thought you weren't allowed to make calls from this number anymore," she answers, her voice static.
"Ma," he replies slowly. "I did something stupid."
She hums, and he can almost hear the familiar cluttering of knifes on a cutting board. "Well, did you apologize?"
"No." He used to hate her ability to make him feel simple minded, rebelling violently in his youth. He wishes he had been kinder to her. Adolescence was such a threat.
Her voice is softer than he remembers. Wu Fan cannot recall the last time he came to her for advice. He thinks about those childish temper tantrums, bruised knees, and they way his father used to shout at him to stop talking to your mother like that. "When you're young, everything may appear out of control, but I promise that things are never as difficult as they seem."
Wu Fan tries to say something intelligent (“I’m not young anymore”), but is interrupted by the insistent knocking on his door. "I have to go," he says instead.
"Child," she replies meaningfully. "You'll work it out. Check your mail box soon. I've sent something that may cheer you up."
Zitao is at the door when he opens it. "I've never seen anything like that," he says, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Were you that angry for Lu Han ge?"
Wu Fan wonders who that grand gesture had really been for. His anger was like flowing water; there was nothing wrong as long as he let it flow. His rage was water that he gathered in one place and left to forget, stagnant like the crowds that engaged them in this tug of war at every possible instance. Outside of gates. Inside of restaurants. Behind faceless icons on the internet. Calling him, beckoning him. In front of these spectators, Wu Fan is always a vision clad in white- his face pressed into the perfect expression, the right answer always rolling off the tip of his tongue.
But those who wear many masks cannot remove them without taking off their own skin.
Lu Han comes into the room a few hours later, standing quietly next to Wu Fan until he looks up from the laptop.
"Are you really not going to speak to each other?" Hyunkyun-hyung calls from the doorway, giving them pointed looks. He turns to Wu Fan. "The general response from fans have been supportive, but you are going to issue an official statement on the fanboard apologizing for your behavior. It won't hurt to say something about how you tripped."
"That's it?"
"Don't look so miffed," Lu Han half snorts. "It wasn't that heroic of a deed. All you did was push a fat man and his friend."
Wu Fan wants to say that he wasn't just a man. He was a stalker, a potential predator, his face twisted into an ugly jeer every time he saw Lu Han.
Lu Han seems to choose his next words carefully. "Just because you're the leader doesn't mean you have to shoulder everything. You're just a normal person too." He pauses. "A tall one, maybe."
"The others-"
"We're grown ass men, Wu Fan," Lu Han says, and Wu Fan remembers a similar conversation he had with Joonmyun weeks prior. "Sticks and stones, you know."
"Have you been studying proverbs again? To make up for your atrocious performance during that interview?" Wu Fan asks.
Lu Han gives him a hard shove, and Wu Fan knows they're good again.
They meet up with their other halves in Changsa, the reunion muddled with coordi noonas fixing collars as make up artists attack their faces with designer palettes. A photographer travels around the room, snapping shots idly.
Wu Fan drops his arms after posing with Joonmyun, watching the photographer move away to a group playing games on Baekhyun's phone.
Hyunkyun-hyung appears with an armful of fan presents from the crowd outside and various items he collected up from their official mail box. He hands Wu Fan a letter before heading towards Yixing with paper bags decorated in xingpark's logo.
Wu Fan opens his mother's letter to find a photograph of his family and relatives, huddled near his grandparents. It’s a recent shot from their last family reunion.
Upon further inspection, Wu Fan realizes that his relatives seem older, grayer. In times like this, Wu Fan is torn between miffed pride and worry. Pride for getting so far by himself. Worry for wasting his teenage years, wasting time. He's not brave enough to question the extent of his parent's love. Wu Fan never knows if they are more proud of his fame or the number of times he makes it home for Chinese New Year-the way he interacts with his cousins, the perfect width at which he rolls the dumpling peels, and the way he massages his grandmother's hands after she pulls leek from the garden. There is no method of gauging his success as a person, as a son.
Being in China is somehow suffocating. It's a necessary evil, he knows, for leaving. Everybody who left suffered a broken heart. "I'm coming back some day," they all said, but it's not the same even after returning to the mother land. His old life was too small to fit anymore.
Somehow, the future no longer seems so certain.
"Hyung?" He hears Joonmyun's voice hovering near him. "What's wrong?"
Wu Fan looks up, straightening himself. He thinks that Joonmyun wouldn't understand, but then decides to take Lu Han's advice. If not Joonmyun, then who? "Aren't you ever afraid that we may not get there in the end?"
Joonmyun smiles that infuriatingly warm smile, setting one hand on Wu Fan's arm. "But Hyung. The virtue of the horizon is that we never reach it. That's what makes it so exciting."
It takes him a moment to digest Joonmyun's words. "That's clever."
"It is," Joonmyun hums in agreement. "You're the one who told me so. Don't you remember?"
Wu Fan has given Joonmyun a lot of advice in the last few months. It might be time, he thinks, to practice what he preaches. He ends the smiling war with Joonmyun when Baekhyun and Chanyeol bounce over, Baekhyun moving a bowl of watermelons under Wu Fan's nose.
"Duizhang," Chanyoel says, excitement in his voice despite the accented Chinese. "We heard about how you parted a sea of people with the sheer power of your authority. I read one fan account that claims a storm of flowers appeared when you threw yourself between that fan and Lu Han-hyung. Apparently the scent of potpurri lingered even after you left."
"Was that a fan account or fan ficton?" Joonmyun asks. "Have you been reading those again?" He shoots Wu Fan a pleading look, as if Wu Fan knows the solution to Chanyeol’s oddness.
“You can always save us if Lu Han-hyung doesn’t appreciate your efforts,” Chanyeol continues, snatching a piece of watermelon. “In fact, I think you should save Jongin from his own ego and save Kyungsoo before he poisons Jongin’s spaghetti in rage. Joonmyun-hyung is doing an awful job at it so far.”
“I have not been trying to poison my roommate. That’s slander,” Kyungsoo’s soft voice carries from behind Wu Fan. He gives Baekhyun a small look, a smile appearing on his face when Baekhyun grins at him. “Although, there may be some truth in the comment about Joonmyun-hyung.”
“Sounds like he’s got a hefty job,” Lu Han says, joining the group with one arm wrapped around Sehun’s waist. They pause temporarily when the photographer returns to snap a group shot.
Joonmyun looks to Wu Fan in support, but Wu Fan just smirks at him, silently mouthing your responsibility while waving around. He points a thumb at the other corner of the waiting room, where Jongdae is reading a book propped on Yixing’s lap while Minseok practices last minute pronunciations. My responsibility, Wu Fan adds.
Joonmyun seems marginally offended, but relaxes when Kyungsoo laughs. Baekhyun and Chanyeol lean in closer towards Wu Fan, shooting him identical grins. Lu Han simply regards him with an amused expression, always good at reading in between the lines.
“Being leader is hard,” Sehun says quietly, a rare smile on his face as he looks at Wu Fan.
When Wu Fan thinks about where he is now and where he began, he can’t help but smile back.
fin
a/n: !! A million thanks to the lovely parametre for betaing! Suho's line was inspired by black_silver~
独生子 : only child, a son.
zongzi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zongzi
zhimahu (black sesame soup): http://asiansupper.com/recipe/black-sesame-soup
My writing soundtrack, if anyone cares: 1. 2. 3.
Apparently I have enough China feels to fill three whole fics. I blame this on living away from home for so long and not being able to eat my mother's cooking. PLEASE SEND ME CHINESE FOOD ;~;
Oh! And if anyone would like to leave me anonymous feedback/cc, please go here.
♥ Want to talk EXO? Meta? EXO Meta?? Talk to me on twitter!
Love it? Hate it? Please leave some feedback, even if it may be a little late. You can also join the community, since I'll be locking up NC17 fics.
Fandom: EXO
Author: chiharu
Characters/pairing: Kris centric
Rating: G
wordcount: ~ 4.5k
Summary: Kris tries to grasp what it means to be a leader, an idol, and a son. Leadership doesn't come naturally, but friendship and camaraderie do. Kris + EXO-M fic.
If truth be told, Wu Fan was always less enthusiastic about the numerous leadership lessons consisting of veteran managers and marketing representatives dissecting the proper way to handle situations. Joonmyun, on the other hand, always took notes diligently on the back of old sheet music while nodding in a poor imitation of Seunghwan-hyung's bobble head.
Wu Fan doesn't know why Joonmyun is always fretting: Joonmyun doesn’t deal with language barriers. Nor does Joonmyun live in a state of anarchy with Yixing's insufferable sense of humor and Lu Han's knowing smiles. Wu Fan lives in constant fear of Jongdae or Minseok wandering off under his watch. Translator Noona is helpful, but she seems to have been recently recruited by Yixing and Lu Han in their campaign to make Wu Fan's life harder. There's also the matter of Zitao's overactive lacrimal glands, but Wu Fan understands the importance of baby steps.
"You'll be fine," Wu Fan says wearily when they part ways, casting a small glance at Joonmyun. The words sound reassuring enough. "You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes."
Joonmyun laughs a little, letting Chanyeol tug him towards Gate 4 until Wu Fan loses sight of them. From PEK to ICN to CSX, Wu Fan walks a little taller from terminal to terminal. It's a defense mechanism, if anything-the careful preparation of tousled hair and perfectly buttoned shirts for the space bridging the plane and their van.
Lu Han texts Sehun from time to time, but it's Jongdae who keeps everyone updated, chuckling delightfully in waiting rooms as he punches rapidly into his touch screen. They give him space, letting Jongdae relish in moments of comforting familiarity until he feels ready to join the world again, scooting towards them and draping himself over Yixing, SMS still flashing on his screen as he hands the phone over.
Yixing and Lu Han take turns reading messages from Joonmyun, who jumps excitedly from topic to topic, as if he can no longer distinguish Sehun's dry humor from D.O.'s humming and the way Chanyeol miraculously trips while going up the stairs.
"They seem to be having fun," Minseok hums pleasantly when Lu Han returns Jongdae's phone. He nearly sneezes when their makeup artist pats an extraneous amount of powder on his face, smiling brilliantly when she frowns at him.
"We're having fun too," Wu Fan says absently, noting the copious amount of gel currently setting in his hair.
"Thank you for deciding for us." Yixing grins. He shares a look with Lu Han, which causes Zitao to glance curiously between them before returning to his own phone.
The occasional defiance is what Wu Fan likes the most about them. Lu Han and Yixing display a lack of reliance that persists through debut. It’s a reminder of what it felt like to be a trainee: gangly, raw, and determined. They used to spend precious break time sitting in the hallways, sharing ear buds and trading Show Luo for Sodagreen. Wu Fan's trainee life consisted of rehearsal days gone in the flash of an eye and periods of unbearable idleness. Those were the moments he remembered the most, the desire to speak Chinese metallic in his mouth.
Kyungsoo sprains a finger after jamming it against a car door and Baekhyun gets shin splints from dancing too hard. It's nothing Wu Fan would bat an eyelash at, but that doesn't stop Joonmyun from SMSing him with resigned guilt.
"Put an ice compress on Kyungsoo's finger and buddy-tape it," Wu Fan says, looking up when Hyunkyun-hyung makes an impatient gesture from the door way. "And tell Baekhyun to stretch after practicing. Look, I gotta go." He doesn't wait for Joonmyun's reply before handing the phone to their manager, who proceeds to speak to Joonmyun in rapid fire Korean.
In the living room, Jongdae is doodling in the margins of his notebook. He recites something about scallion pancakes in Chinese when Wu Fan enters, which reminds Wu Fan about dinner. He finds an opened envelope and begins taking orders on the back, quickly deciphering the dishes Jongdae recites in stilted Chinese. Lu Han rounds the corner and peers around Wu Fan's shoulder, making a comment about Wu Fan's hand writing.
"Do you want food or not?" Wu Fan barks when Zitao and Yixing get in a serious debate over the appropriateness of eating zongzi in June.
Hyunkyun-hyung appears a few minutes later, handing Wu Fan a familiar wallet before Wu Fan dials the number of their favorite delivery restaurant. The owner, a middle aged man, doesn’t care for pop music and once accused them of looking too feminine after Lu Han answered the door to receive the delivery. It was a refreshing sort of honesty that Wu Fan had come to miss.
Yixing's injury acts up again a few days later. He denies any hint of pain, but stays silent as Wu Fan fishes out the medicinal compress packs. "Stop trying to be brave," Wu Fan mumbles when he seals the edges, giving Yixing's back a soft slap.
"No words of encouragement?" Yixing asks, but doesn't get off the bed or roll around to face Wu Fan. His voice is quiet but flat. "No praise for what a good boy I am for bearing the pain?"
Wu Fan wants say a lot of things, but the guilt of making Yixing stay an extra hour to rehearse and the inadequacy he feels for not stopping an energetic fan from accidentally pushing Yixing make Wu Fan's voice die. He thinks about Zhang Yixing's mother, smiling faintly as the lines around her eyes tighten, the last time she delivered them food.
They call him duizhang so often that Wu Fan almost forgets they are friends. There are times when Wu Fan wants to trade with Joonmyun, who fumbles with his words but is generous with hugs. Joonmyun is good with sharing-sharing his laughter and sadness and determination. From the space of a few breaths away, Wu Fan can only grip Yixing's shoulder solidly.
Yixing gets the message, regardless.
In the flurry of shuffling from interviews to photo shoots, Wu Fan collides with a sliding door in his sleepwalking state. He ignores the hoots of raucous laughter behind camera lenses as he quickly enters the building.
As always, Hyunkyun-hyung is on the phone with Seunghwan-hyung. Their Coordi Noona tsks at the dark circles under Zitao's eyes, not noticing the emerging bruise on Wu Fan's forehead when he ducks inside. Translator Noona is explaining something to Minseok at the kitchen table as they wait for Hyunkyung-hyung to end the call and start the briefing.
Lu Han just grins at Wu Fan, pulling a bag of mini jelly cups from the freezer. "Left your brain at home this morning?”
Wu Fan brings the bag to his face, noting the laundry clip keeping it shut. He wonders who picked out all the taro flavored cups again and presses the coldness to his eyes silently.
"That's going to be on the internet in five minutes," Yixing whispers before the meeting officially starts. Wu Fan ignores him and watches their manager flip through files, switching between Chinese and Korean without a second thought.
"Oh," Hyunkyun-hyung adds when he finishes outlining their next round of interviews, the numbers from this month's sales peeking from the bottom of his papers. "The others say hi. Jongin asks if we can bring back more of that Chinese ointment and Joonmyun wants Wu Fan to reply to his messages. Apparently Chanyeol's pants tore on stage and he's on strike against the stylists until someone qualified commiserates with him on the pains of being too tall."
Their Coordi Noona tries to hide her laugh behind an odd cough, but Wu Fan gets the message.
Chanyeol is taking a shower when Wu Fan calls, so he endures seven minutes of Joonmyun retelling their last costume mix up fiasco until Wu Fan makes up an excuse to hang up. He sets the phone on the counter, pressing the heels of hands into his eyes. The bag of jelly cups is no longer cold as it drips feebly in the sink, but Wu Fan's headache has only escalated since his face met stainless steel.
"Having a rough day?" Lu Han asks, his hands finding their way to Wu Fan's shoulders as he massages firmly. Lu Han only does this when he feels particularly kind, so Wu Fan relaxes into his grip and doesn't complain. "Things don't have to be so hard all the time, you know," Lu Han adds.
"That's rich," Wu Fan mumbles.
"Just because you're taller doesn't mean you can ignore the wisdom Ge has gathered," Lu Han replies easily.
"Ge," Wu Fan repeats, rolling the word over his tongue. Lu Han is only playing, but the word tastes stale in his mouth. China's one child policy has stilted him in more ways than one, the loneliness etching into the lines on his palms.
Wu Fan knows that Lu Han understands it too. It’s in the way Lu Han avoids meeting people's eyes, as if the weight of his own thoughts is heavy enough. Lu Han seldom calls his parents. Wu Fan knows about the worn backpack under Lu Han's bed, stuffed with his favorite pair of sneakers and random notes placed in tiny candy tins. His parents’ landline is scribbled in the centerfold of an old Taiwanese magazine that Lu Han leaves lying around, as if deliberately waiting for someone to trash it.
It's hard to be the only son and even harder to leave home. “独生子,” they call him, the words carrying a special privilege that eludes Wu Fan. It sounds almost looming to him, the characters demanding filiality with certainty.
Minseok and Zitao lose atrociously in rock paper scissors and are sentenced to breakfast duty. Off camera, Zitao always has one arm wrapped around Minseok's shoulder as if Minseok is in danger of getting lost in their temporary apartment. The role reversal never ceases to amuse Wu Fan.
Minseok cooks quail eggs while Zitao boils water in a kettle, mixing the powder for zhimahu with intense concentration. They high five each other on a job well done while setting the plates, Zitao shooting Jongdae a mutinous look when Jongdae complains that it's too hot for sesame soup.
Lu Han is half asleep in his bowl when his ringtone sounds. Zitao reaches over Lu Han’s back and snatches the phone. After the initial look of surprise wears off, he shows Wu Fan the caller ID and thrusts the phone in his general direction.
“No,” Wu Fan says firmly.
“Duizhang,” Zitao insists, looking uncertain as he glances back at Joonmyun’s name.
“Shrugging off your responsibilities, I see,” Yixing says, chewing idly at his quail egg. He spits pieces of the egg shell out, smiling sheepishly.
“I only signed up to babysit half of you,” Wu Fan declares, but Lu Han had awoken from his zombie like state and answered the call for him, tossing the phone at Wu Fan. It falls on the floor when Wu Fan dodges, skidding to a stop halfway across the room. They pause when Joonmyun’s voice comes out of the speakerphone. Everyone ducks on instinct, as if Joonmyun can see them.
Jongdae takes his food and hurries back to his room, followed by Zitao and Yixing. Minseok looks after their retreating forms testily and makes a comment about needing to make someone’s bed, disappearing quickly. Wu Fan engages Lu Han in a game of hissing “you answer it”, “No, you answer it” until Hyunkyun-hyung steps into the room and picks up the phone.
“Stop wasting long-distance minutes,” he says, ending the call.
Beijing is blazing and humid, causing the back of Wu Fan's shirt to stick to his body. Their idol status affords them air conditioning that Wu Fan has long since forfeited during his summers in China, back when dusty fans and cold mung bean soup were the only remedies for the sun.
Lu Han returns from their afternoon off, looking ill. He heads to the bathroom wordlessly before their manager trails in, explaining that fans were waiting outside of Lu Han's parents’ house and had camped there previously. Jongdae and Zitao pace back and forth across the corridors curiously while Wu Fan catches bits of Lu Han's conversation with Yixing from his spot on the couch, the email he was working on now forgotten.
"As if they didn't hate me enough before," Lu Han says slowly, his voice muffled by the sound of running water. Lu Han and Yixing seem to be engaged in a battle as they repeatedly turn the taps on and off. Personally, Wu Fan would prefer Lu Han wasted water rather than resume his habit of clawing at his skin in unease. "They never fail to remind me that I'm a fucking inconvenience."
Lu Han is quiet again at dinner, and no one dares to challenge him. The sound of his hollow voice, however, burns in the back of Wu Fan's memory.
Two days later, they're squeezing through crowds of DSLRs and trying to locate the right van when Wu Fan spots them. He recognizes the trio from award shows, outside of countless buildings, and behind the darkened windshields of the taxis that follow them. One of their camera lenses wedges between Minseok's head and Wu Fan's face, causing him to grimace. Someone leers about Lu Han hiding his pretty face by not looking up, and Wu Fan suddenly remembers all the things he should have said to Lu Han. Words of gratitude filling him like hot water as they walked silently to rehearsal for the last two years of his life. Hours spent finding the most authentic Chinese restaurant in Seoul. All those nights spent on the roof of their dorm as Lu Han slowly stamped out every remaining stick of cigarette.
Explosive rage seizes him. When one of the offenders pushes Wu Fan, he shoves back.
"That was very brave," Minseok says, setting a bottle of pills next to Wu Fan hours later, when every possible person of authority is done shrieking at Wu Fan for his blatant act of violence. "Brave, but also horribly stupid. Take this, it'll help with your headache."
Even worse than the gasps and nonstop clicking was the fight that broke out in the van.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lu Han hissed behind a concerned Zitao and shocked Jongdae.
Lu Han’s rage felt like a slap in the face. "What's wrong with me-"
"Do I look like I need a fucking rescuer?" Lu Han continued, eyes large but drained of mirth. "You think you can handle everything because you’re the fucking leader-"
Wu Fan rose in the cramped space of the van, temper flaring as he ignored Yixing's attempts to drag him back down. "Great. This is my favorite game, watching you victimize yourself and get mad-"
"Be quiet," Hyunkyun-hyung's growling from the passenger seat had shut them up, but the damage was done.
"This is unacceptable," one of the project coordinators bellowed over the speakerphone as Wu Fan sat through another video conference. "PR will have to work overtime on this. You may need to make a public statement depending on how this plays out. Christ. You've only debuted how many months ago?"
The others, sans Lu Han, are crowded outside when Wu Fan leaves Hyunkyun-hyung's room. He parts a path with his long arms and collapses on the bed in his room. Wu Fan inserts the sim card back into his phone and pauses. He's probably too old for this, but his mother picks up on the third ring regardless.
"I thought you weren't allowed to make calls from this number anymore," she answers, her voice static.
"Ma," he replies slowly. "I did something stupid."
She hums, and he can almost hear the familiar cluttering of knifes on a cutting board. "Well, did you apologize?"
"No." He used to hate her ability to make him feel simple minded, rebelling violently in his youth. He wishes he had been kinder to her. Adolescence was such a threat.
Her voice is softer than he remembers. Wu Fan cannot recall the last time he came to her for advice. He thinks about those childish temper tantrums, bruised knees, and they way his father used to shout at him to stop talking to your mother like that. "When you're young, everything may appear out of control, but I promise that things are never as difficult as they seem."
Wu Fan tries to say something intelligent (“I’m not young anymore”), but is interrupted by the insistent knocking on his door. "I have to go," he says instead.
"Child," she replies meaningfully. "You'll work it out. Check your mail box soon. I've sent something that may cheer you up."
Zitao is at the door when he opens it. "I've never seen anything like that," he says, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Were you that angry for Lu Han ge?"
Wu Fan wonders who that grand gesture had really been for. His anger was like flowing water; there was nothing wrong as long as he let it flow. His rage was water that he gathered in one place and left to forget, stagnant like the crowds that engaged them in this tug of war at every possible instance. Outside of gates. Inside of restaurants. Behind faceless icons on the internet. Calling him, beckoning him. In front of these spectators, Wu Fan is always a vision clad in white- his face pressed into the perfect expression, the right answer always rolling off the tip of his tongue.
But those who wear many masks cannot remove them without taking off their own skin.
Lu Han comes into the room a few hours later, standing quietly next to Wu Fan until he looks up from the laptop.
"Are you really not going to speak to each other?" Hyunkyun-hyung calls from the doorway, giving them pointed looks. He turns to Wu Fan. "The general response from fans have been supportive, but you are going to issue an official statement on the fanboard apologizing for your behavior. It won't hurt to say something about how you tripped."
"That's it?"
"Don't look so miffed," Lu Han half snorts. "It wasn't that heroic of a deed. All you did was push a fat man and his friend."
Wu Fan wants to say that he wasn't just a man. He was a stalker, a potential predator, his face twisted into an ugly jeer every time he saw Lu Han.
Lu Han seems to choose his next words carefully. "Just because you're the leader doesn't mean you have to shoulder everything. You're just a normal person too." He pauses. "A tall one, maybe."
"The others-"
"We're grown ass men, Wu Fan," Lu Han says, and Wu Fan remembers a similar conversation he had with Joonmyun weeks prior. "Sticks and stones, you know."
"Have you been studying proverbs again? To make up for your atrocious performance during that interview?" Wu Fan asks.
Lu Han gives him a hard shove, and Wu Fan knows they're good again.
They meet up with their other halves in Changsa, the reunion muddled with coordi noonas fixing collars as make up artists attack their faces with designer palettes. A photographer travels around the room, snapping shots idly.
Wu Fan drops his arms after posing with Joonmyun, watching the photographer move away to a group playing games on Baekhyun's phone.
Hyunkyun-hyung appears with an armful of fan presents from the crowd outside and various items he collected up from their official mail box. He hands Wu Fan a letter before heading towards Yixing with paper bags decorated in xingpark's logo.
Wu Fan opens his mother's letter to find a photograph of his family and relatives, huddled near his grandparents. It’s a recent shot from their last family reunion.
Upon further inspection, Wu Fan realizes that his relatives seem older, grayer. In times like this, Wu Fan is torn between miffed pride and worry. Pride for getting so far by himself. Worry for wasting his teenage years, wasting time. He's not brave enough to question the extent of his parent's love. Wu Fan never knows if they are more proud of his fame or the number of times he makes it home for Chinese New Year-the way he interacts with his cousins, the perfect width at which he rolls the dumpling peels, and the way he massages his grandmother's hands after she pulls leek from the garden. There is no method of gauging his success as a person, as a son.
Being in China is somehow suffocating. It's a necessary evil, he knows, for leaving. Everybody who left suffered a broken heart. "I'm coming back some day," they all said, but it's not the same even after returning to the mother land. His old life was too small to fit anymore.
Somehow, the future no longer seems so certain.
"Hyung?" He hears Joonmyun's voice hovering near him. "What's wrong?"
Wu Fan looks up, straightening himself. He thinks that Joonmyun wouldn't understand, but then decides to take Lu Han's advice. If not Joonmyun, then who? "Aren't you ever afraid that we may not get there in the end?"
Joonmyun smiles that infuriatingly warm smile, setting one hand on Wu Fan's arm. "But Hyung. The virtue of the horizon is that we never reach it. That's what makes it so exciting."
It takes him a moment to digest Joonmyun's words. "That's clever."
"It is," Joonmyun hums in agreement. "You're the one who told me so. Don't you remember?"
Wu Fan has given Joonmyun a lot of advice in the last few months. It might be time, he thinks, to practice what he preaches. He ends the smiling war with Joonmyun when Baekhyun and Chanyeol bounce over, Baekhyun moving a bowl of watermelons under Wu Fan's nose.
"Duizhang," Chanyoel says, excitement in his voice despite the accented Chinese. "We heard about how you parted a sea of people with the sheer power of your authority. I read one fan account that claims a storm of flowers appeared when you threw yourself between that fan and Lu Han-hyung. Apparently the scent of potpurri lingered even after you left."
"Was that a fan account or fan ficton?" Joonmyun asks. "Have you been reading those again?" He shoots Wu Fan a pleading look, as if Wu Fan knows the solution to Chanyeol’s oddness.
“You can always save us if Lu Han-hyung doesn’t appreciate your efforts,” Chanyeol continues, snatching a piece of watermelon. “In fact, I think you should save Jongin from his own ego and save Kyungsoo before he poisons Jongin’s spaghetti in rage. Joonmyun-hyung is doing an awful job at it so far.”
“I have not been trying to poison my roommate. That’s slander,” Kyungsoo’s soft voice carries from behind Wu Fan. He gives Baekhyun a small look, a smile appearing on his face when Baekhyun grins at him. “Although, there may be some truth in the comment about Joonmyun-hyung.”
“Sounds like he’s got a hefty job,” Lu Han says, joining the group with one arm wrapped around Sehun’s waist. They pause temporarily when the photographer returns to snap a group shot.
Joonmyun looks to Wu Fan in support, but Wu Fan just smirks at him, silently mouthing your responsibility while waving around. He points a thumb at the other corner of the waiting room, where Jongdae is reading a book propped on Yixing’s lap while Minseok practices last minute pronunciations. My responsibility, Wu Fan adds.
Joonmyun seems marginally offended, but relaxes when Kyungsoo laughs. Baekhyun and Chanyeol lean in closer towards Wu Fan, shooting him identical grins. Lu Han simply regards him with an amused expression, always good at reading in between the lines.
“Being leader is hard,” Sehun says quietly, a rare smile on his face as he looks at Wu Fan.
When Wu Fan thinks about where he is now and where he began, he can’t help but smile back.
fin
a/n: !! A million thanks to the lovely parametre for betaing! Suho's line was inspired by black_silver~
独生子 : only child, a son.
zongzi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zongzi
zhimahu (black sesame soup): http://asiansupper.com/recipe/black-sesame-soup
My writing soundtrack, if anyone cares: 1. 2. 3.
Apparently I have enough China feels to fill three whole fics. I blame this on living away from home for so long and not being able to eat my mother's cooking. PLEASE SEND ME CHINESE FOOD ;~;
Oh! And if anyone would like to leave me anonymous feedback/cc, please go here.
♥ Want to talk EXO? Meta? EXO Meta?? Talk to me on twitter!
Love it? Hate it? Please leave some feedback, even if it may be a little late. You can also join the community, since I'll be locking up NC17 fics.