[advent 2013] fic: silver lining (you're the only thing getting me out of bed)
Title: silver lining (you're the only thing getting me out of bed)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Lay/Lu Han
Warnings: NOTHING HAPPENS (a thousand apologies).
Notes: Advent day 1 for anonymous! I am sorry it is, technically, a few hours late. I am also sorry that nothing happens. u___u Yixing and Lu Han work in their university's library, 1783 words.
There's one thing keeping Lu Han going into work everyday, and it definitely isn't his job.
Lu Han eyed the clock behind Kris’ head as he swiped his student card. T-minus two minutes to lunchtime, and it couldn’t come sooner.
“Book’s due in two hours, either here or the circ desk in South Forum.” He handed the book, something heavy and boring about microfinance, to Kris, who closed his hand around it, pinched look on his face.
“Two hours?” Kris repeated, sounding incredulous. “That’s barely enough time to get through the table of contents. Can I renew it when I come back?”
Lu Han ran a quick check on the book, came up with nothing, and flashed a grin at Kris. “No idea. Sorry.”
Kris groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Lu Han, come on, help a guy out here.”
The minute hand finally completed its slow, laborious trek to twelve, and Lu Han was finally home free. He slid Kris’ student card back across the counter, making sure to frame Kris’ unfortunate freshman picture in all its goth-black bangs glory with his thumb and forefinger. “Not my shift, not my problem,” he sing-songed, neatly unclipping his nametag and pointing at Jongin, who’d just come in through the employee entrance, yawning and running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Take it up with Jongin.”
Kris rolled his eyes, but a blush colored his cheeks as he snatched his student card back, stuffing it deep into his jacket pocket. “Your customer service is terrible,” he said. “I’m going to file a complaint.”
“Please,” Lu Han called, one arm of his hoodie trailing behind him as he made his way to the stairs. “Do both you and me the favor.”
*
“Yixing,” Lu Han said, banging through the door leading to the archives, making sure to catch the door just before it hit the wall behind it. Archivists were as protective as mother hens over their nests when it came to their workspaces, and Yixing’s supervisor had the terrifying ability of showing up whenever she felt even the slightest tremor of the possibility of damage to her precious archives. “Shift’s over, time for lunch.”
Yixing blinked up at Lu Han, forgetting that he’d clipped his bangs back, leaving his forehead vulnerable. “Is it twelve already?”
“It’s twelve already,” Lu Han confirmed, taking Yixing’s jacket from the hook next to the door. He held it up in the dim, carefully controlled lighting, examining it. “Is this new?”
Yixing craned his head around his shoulder, peering at the jacket from the door leading to the rare books collection as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Oh yeah, it is. My mom sent me a care package on Friday.”
Lu Han’s eyes lit up, or at least Yixing thought they did as they disappeared under the floppy hood Yixing’s jacket as Lu Han swapped his hoodie for it. “A care package?”
Yixing laughed at the hopeful turn of Lu Han’s voice as he pulled off his gloves, rounding the divide separating where Lu Han was and the actual archives vault began. He picked up Lu Han’s discarded hoodie, tugging at the strings of the jacket on Lu Han. “Yeah,” he said, grinning as he zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Lu Han’s back. “Come over for lunch. She sent some of those packaged walnuts you like so much.”
Lu Han pretended to think about it for a second, running the zipper of Yixing’s jacket up and down. “Oh, come on,” Yixing laughed, bumping his shoulder against Lu Han’s as he passed, smile easy. “You know you want to.”
“If you insist,” Lu Han said. The door caught his leg on the way out. Ahead of him, Yixing hunched his shoulders in the red hoodie Lu Han had owned since high school. Lu Han’s job wasn’t always such a drag.
*
i’m bored >__<, Lu Han texted Yixing from between D2700-D3000, Eastern European History. Re-shelving was the absolute worst, and he was pretty sure Jongin had purposefully left him an extra cartful in retaliation for having to deal with an irate Kris the day before.
Yixing’s response came ten minutes later, by when Lu Han had already moved on to E100, The Americas. and i’m working. so should you!!
you can’t be working that hard if you have time to text~, Lu Han shot back, deciding to give up. When it came to re-shelving, it didn’t take much. He sat down on the footstool he’d been dragging around, making himself comfortable.
i’m waiting on a call -__-, Yixing responded. A few seconds later, his second text came. we’re working on a new exhibit!!
bo-ring
No response. Lu Han probably deserved that. He sighed, shoving the first book he picked up, something heavy with a long-winded title on Japanese World War II history and the call number F439.2, between E122.1 and E122.3, which was right around eye level.
“Um, excuse me?” someone said, and Lu Han’s head snapped up, meeting the eyes of some freshman Lu Han recognized from his Introduction to Dance: Flexibility and Artistry class and pickup soccer. On the first day to Intro to Dance, which Lu Han had of course taken for the easy A, this kid-who Lu Han had noticed because of the statuesque nose, the well-trained spine, and the row of piercings on both ears-contorted his body into a shape Lu Han had been almost envious of, the line of muscle in his leg long and lean as he hooked it over his head. Then he’d shown up to indoor soccer a few hours later, and Lu Han and Minseok whooped his ass. Huang Zitao, that was his name.
“I’m trying to find this book-.” he started, pulling out his phone.
“Excuse me,” Lu Han interrupted, pulling F439.2 back out and waving it around. “I’m working.”
Huang Zitao looked at the book in Lu Han’s hand, and then at the way Lu Han had braced a leg against the bookshelf across from him, his other leg crossed casual over the knee. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But I thought you-”
“I’m working,” Lu Han repeated cheerfully, standing up and coming up short. Zitao’s eye line was still somewhere above his. Damn. He fixed him with his best upperclassman stare, the one he’d picked up from years of watching Kris as freshmen mistook him for a professor, or a grad student.
Zitao held the stare for a few seconds, longer than Lu Han had expected, before looking away, the crest of his ear turning pink under a line of piercings. “Okay,” he muttered, backing away. “I guess I have the wrong aisle. I’ll figure it out.” He bumped into Yixing, who’d just come up behind him.
“Hi,” Yixing said.
“Uh, hi,” Zitao said. At the same time, Lu Han said, “Can I help you?”
Zitao gave Lu Han a dirty look, which Lu Han returned with his sunniest smile, and then strode away down the aisles.
“Be nice,” Yixing chided, side-stepping the overflowing cart Lu Han was starting to dream about dumping back into the returned books chute for Jongin to deal with. “Stop scaring freshmen.”
“Freshmen should learn to survive on their own,” Lu Han corrected, throwing F439.2 back onto the cart. When Yixing got close enough, Lu Han threw an arm around his neck, pulling him in to rub his knuckles into his hair. Yixing complied willingly enough, jabbing Lu Han right under the armpit. Lu Han let go with a yelp, pulling a wounded face at Yixing. “Don’t you have a call to take?”
“Already took the call,” Yixing said, thumbing through the books on Lu Han’s cart. “And then boss let me off early. Come on,” he said, sliding E122.2 into place. When Lu Han looked up, Yixing was holding a stack of books out to him, lopsided grin on his face. “I’ll help you. It’ll go faster.”
*
“Why don’t you just quit?” Yixing asked later that night. The question came out garbled and a little distracted, preoccupied as Yixing was with getting all the tapioca bubbles at the bottom of his bubble tea.
“Quit what?” Lu Han asked around a mouthful of noodles.
Yixing sucked the last bubble up through his straw, then looked over at Lu Han. They were sprawled on Yixing’s couch, containers of takeout piled on the coffee table before them. On Yixing’s TV, Lu Han was playing a very lazy game of Grand Theft Auto V. “The library,” Yixing said, head tilted. “You don’t seem to like it very much.”
To say Lu Han didn’t like it very much was an understatement, in the same way it was an understatement to say Lu Han only spent about half his time in Yixing’s apartment, or that Lu Han’s favorite shirt was his favorite shirt because it was comfortable and fit him well, and definitely not because it was an old one of Yixing’s he’d taken a year ago and just conveniently never returned. Lu Han was all about understatements. It generally worked out pretty well for him. For example, when he was in the shower, one hand braced against the wall and the other palming himself, he could let himself think about Yixing’s mouth, his dimple, and still towel off fifteen minutes later, phone glued to his ear as he called Yixing to cajole him into going out for fried chicken before work.
“It’s not so bad,” Lu Han said, thinking about the look of concentration on Yixing’s face yesterday as he counted call numbers, his jeans pulled tight over his thighs as he crouched to rearrange two books.
Yixing snorted so hard his bangs levitated a good two centimeters off his forehead.
“I mean it,” Lu Han said, eyes still locked on the screen, where his little driver was running his motorcycle onto the deck of a yacht. He kept his right hand on the Xbox controller. His left hand he closed around Yixing’s ankle, casual where it’d been tucked against Lu Han’s thigh.
The ankle disappeared, and Lu Han curled his fingers into his hand, surprised to find himself disappointed. Then, there was an elbow in his thigh, and the scent of Yixing’s shampoo right under his nose. When he looked down, it was right into Yixing’s eyes, crinkled in amusement. Yixing’s hand was warm around his wrist, which he’d grabbed to dislocate the Xbox controller.
“Lu Han,” Yixing said, the picture of seriousness if not for the smile his twitching dimple betrayed. “I’ve met rabid dogs more helpful than you.”
“Ah,” Lu Han murmured, eyes falling shut. “But none as handsome, I’m sure.”
Yixing’s laugh was a puff of incredulity across Lu Han’s cheek. “None,” he agreed, easy and sure.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Lay/Lu Han
Warnings: NOTHING HAPPENS (a thousand apologies).
Notes: Advent day 1 for anonymous! I am sorry it is, technically, a few hours late. I am also sorry that nothing happens. u___u Yixing and Lu Han work in their university's library, 1783 words.
There's one thing keeping Lu Han going into work everyday, and it definitely isn't his job.
Lu Han eyed the clock behind Kris’ head as he swiped his student card. T-minus two minutes to lunchtime, and it couldn’t come sooner.
“Book’s due in two hours, either here or the circ desk in South Forum.” He handed the book, something heavy and boring about microfinance, to Kris, who closed his hand around it, pinched look on his face.
“Two hours?” Kris repeated, sounding incredulous. “That’s barely enough time to get through the table of contents. Can I renew it when I come back?”
Lu Han ran a quick check on the book, came up with nothing, and flashed a grin at Kris. “No idea. Sorry.”
Kris groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Lu Han, come on, help a guy out here.”
The minute hand finally completed its slow, laborious trek to twelve, and Lu Han was finally home free. He slid Kris’ student card back across the counter, making sure to frame Kris’ unfortunate freshman picture in all its goth-black bangs glory with his thumb and forefinger. “Not my shift, not my problem,” he sing-songed, neatly unclipping his nametag and pointing at Jongin, who’d just come in through the employee entrance, yawning and running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Take it up with Jongin.”
Kris rolled his eyes, but a blush colored his cheeks as he snatched his student card back, stuffing it deep into his jacket pocket. “Your customer service is terrible,” he said. “I’m going to file a complaint.”
“Please,” Lu Han called, one arm of his hoodie trailing behind him as he made his way to the stairs. “Do both you and me the favor.”
*
“Yixing,” Lu Han said, banging through the door leading to the archives, making sure to catch the door just before it hit the wall behind it. Archivists were as protective as mother hens over their nests when it came to their workspaces, and Yixing’s supervisor had the terrifying ability of showing up whenever she felt even the slightest tremor of the possibility of damage to her precious archives. “Shift’s over, time for lunch.”
Yixing blinked up at Lu Han, forgetting that he’d clipped his bangs back, leaving his forehead vulnerable. “Is it twelve already?”
“It’s twelve already,” Lu Han confirmed, taking Yixing’s jacket from the hook next to the door. He held it up in the dim, carefully controlled lighting, examining it. “Is this new?”
Yixing craned his head around his shoulder, peering at the jacket from the door leading to the rare books collection as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Oh yeah, it is. My mom sent me a care package on Friday.”
Lu Han’s eyes lit up, or at least Yixing thought they did as they disappeared under the floppy hood Yixing’s jacket as Lu Han swapped his hoodie for it. “A care package?”
Yixing laughed at the hopeful turn of Lu Han’s voice as he pulled off his gloves, rounding the divide separating where Lu Han was and the actual archives vault began. He picked up Lu Han’s discarded hoodie, tugging at the strings of the jacket on Lu Han. “Yeah,” he said, grinning as he zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Lu Han’s back. “Come over for lunch. She sent some of those packaged walnuts you like so much.”
Lu Han pretended to think about it for a second, running the zipper of Yixing’s jacket up and down. “Oh, come on,” Yixing laughed, bumping his shoulder against Lu Han’s as he passed, smile easy. “You know you want to.”
“If you insist,” Lu Han said. The door caught his leg on the way out. Ahead of him, Yixing hunched his shoulders in the red hoodie Lu Han had owned since high school. Lu Han’s job wasn’t always such a drag.
*
i’m bored >__<, Lu Han texted Yixing from between D2700-D3000, Eastern European History. Re-shelving was the absolute worst, and he was pretty sure Jongin had purposefully left him an extra cartful in retaliation for having to deal with an irate Kris the day before.
Yixing’s response came ten minutes later, by when Lu Han had already moved on to E100, The Americas. and i’m working. so should you!!
you can’t be working that hard if you have time to text~, Lu Han shot back, deciding to give up. When it came to re-shelving, it didn’t take much. He sat down on the footstool he’d been dragging around, making himself comfortable.
i’m waiting on a call -__-, Yixing responded. A few seconds later, his second text came. we’re working on a new exhibit!!
bo-ring
No response. Lu Han probably deserved that. He sighed, shoving the first book he picked up, something heavy with a long-winded title on Japanese World War II history and the call number F439.2, between E122.1 and E122.3, which was right around eye level.
“Um, excuse me?” someone said, and Lu Han’s head snapped up, meeting the eyes of some freshman Lu Han recognized from his Introduction to Dance: Flexibility and Artistry class and pickup soccer. On the first day to Intro to Dance, which Lu Han had of course taken for the easy A, this kid-who Lu Han had noticed because of the statuesque nose, the well-trained spine, and the row of piercings on both ears-contorted his body into a shape Lu Han had been almost envious of, the line of muscle in his leg long and lean as he hooked it over his head. Then he’d shown up to indoor soccer a few hours later, and Lu Han and Minseok whooped his ass. Huang Zitao, that was his name.
“I’m trying to find this book-.” he started, pulling out his phone.
“Excuse me,” Lu Han interrupted, pulling F439.2 back out and waving it around. “I’m working.”
Huang Zitao looked at the book in Lu Han’s hand, and then at the way Lu Han had braced a leg against the bookshelf across from him, his other leg crossed casual over the knee. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But I thought you-”
“I’m working,” Lu Han repeated cheerfully, standing up and coming up short. Zitao’s eye line was still somewhere above his. Damn. He fixed him with his best upperclassman stare, the one he’d picked up from years of watching Kris as freshmen mistook him for a professor, or a grad student.
Zitao held the stare for a few seconds, longer than Lu Han had expected, before looking away, the crest of his ear turning pink under a line of piercings. “Okay,” he muttered, backing away. “I guess I have the wrong aisle. I’ll figure it out.” He bumped into Yixing, who’d just come up behind him.
“Hi,” Yixing said.
“Uh, hi,” Zitao said. At the same time, Lu Han said, “Can I help you?”
Zitao gave Lu Han a dirty look, which Lu Han returned with his sunniest smile, and then strode away down the aisles.
“Be nice,” Yixing chided, side-stepping the overflowing cart Lu Han was starting to dream about dumping back into the returned books chute for Jongin to deal with. “Stop scaring freshmen.”
“Freshmen should learn to survive on their own,” Lu Han corrected, throwing F439.2 back onto the cart. When Yixing got close enough, Lu Han threw an arm around his neck, pulling him in to rub his knuckles into his hair. Yixing complied willingly enough, jabbing Lu Han right under the armpit. Lu Han let go with a yelp, pulling a wounded face at Yixing. “Don’t you have a call to take?”
“Already took the call,” Yixing said, thumbing through the books on Lu Han’s cart. “And then boss let me off early. Come on,” he said, sliding E122.2 into place. When Lu Han looked up, Yixing was holding a stack of books out to him, lopsided grin on his face. “I’ll help you. It’ll go faster.”
*
“Why don’t you just quit?” Yixing asked later that night. The question came out garbled and a little distracted, preoccupied as Yixing was with getting all the tapioca bubbles at the bottom of his bubble tea.
“Quit what?” Lu Han asked around a mouthful of noodles.
Yixing sucked the last bubble up through his straw, then looked over at Lu Han. They were sprawled on Yixing’s couch, containers of takeout piled on the coffee table before them. On Yixing’s TV, Lu Han was playing a very lazy game of Grand Theft Auto V. “The library,” Yixing said, head tilted. “You don’t seem to like it very much.”
To say Lu Han didn’t like it very much was an understatement, in the same way it was an understatement to say Lu Han only spent about half his time in Yixing’s apartment, or that Lu Han’s favorite shirt was his favorite shirt because it was comfortable and fit him well, and definitely not because it was an old one of Yixing’s he’d taken a year ago and just conveniently never returned. Lu Han was all about understatements. It generally worked out pretty well for him. For example, when he was in the shower, one hand braced against the wall and the other palming himself, he could let himself think about Yixing’s mouth, his dimple, and still towel off fifteen minutes later, phone glued to his ear as he called Yixing to cajole him into going out for fried chicken before work.
“It’s not so bad,” Lu Han said, thinking about the look of concentration on Yixing’s face yesterday as he counted call numbers, his jeans pulled tight over his thighs as he crouched to rearrange two books.
Yixing snorted so hard his bangs levitated a good two centimeters off his forehead.
“I mean it,” Lu Han said, eyes still locked on the screen, where his little driver was running his motorcycle onto the deck of a yacht. He kept his right hand on the Xbox controller. His left hand he closed around Yixing’s ankle, casual where it’d been tucked against Lu Han’s thigh.
The ankle disappeared, and Lu Han curled his fingers into his hand, surprised to find himself disappointed. Then, there was an elbow in his thigh, and the scent of Yixing’s shampoo right under his nose. When he looked down, it was right into Yixing’s eyes, crinkled in amusement. Yixing’s hand was warm around his wrist, which he’d grabbed to dislocate the Xbox controller.
“Lu Han,” Yixing said, the picture of seriousness if not for the smile his twitching dimple betrayed. “I’ve met rabid dogs more helpful than you.”
“Ah,” Lu Han murmured, eyes falling shut. “But none as handsome, I’m sure.”
Yixing’s laugh was a puff of incredulity across Lu Han’s cheek. “None,” he agreed, easy and sure.