Farfalle; 1/4
[Part I]
Chanyeol hopes this isn’t how he’s going to spend the rest of his summer.
He’s not really prepared for anyone to see him at the moment. Head down under a table, ass (or lack thereof, according to Jongdae) stuck in the air. He wriggles a little in concentration to reach the last Coke can that somehow lodged itself at the very back of a restaurant booth. Chanyeol vows internally to make sure he adds tonight to the list of things that Jongdae called Very Good Ideas but most people just called stupid. Or idiotic. Both, usually.
When Chanyeol’s mother had offered him the job of manager at the new branch of Viva Polo in Seoul, he was pretty sure there was nothing said about cleaning up after his fellow employees after they trash the restaurant. And this is all before the grand opening even happens, which is a miracle, really. But, Chanyeol finds, that’s what usually happens when he’s around Jongdae. Lots of miracles tend to pop up.
Before last month, the only Italian food Jongdae knew was pizza. Somehow, he’d gotten himself hired to work at Viva Polo, an Italian restaurant (Chanyeol doesn’t understand either). He probably charmed Chanyeol’s mother during the interview and sidetracked her with compliments because there’s no way Jongdae got the job for his table-waiting skills.
Beyond that, Jongdae had recruited a number of acquaintances that happened to all attend the same college as he and Jongdae, the Seoul Institute of the Arts. Chanyeol thought his mother would at least have the skill to pick out the people who were bullshitting from those who actually knew what they were doing. Apparently not, as it turned out.
Jongdae convinced him that it was a great idea to have a little get-together at Viva Polo for all the staff the night before the restaurant opened. “There’s only twelve of us, and that’s counting you and me,” Jongdae had pointed out. “Nothing’s going to get out of hand.” Despite what Jongdae said, one of the guys didn’t even bother to show up tonight, making only eleven of them. Chanyeol thinks it’s more of a testament to the consequences of underestimating what socially-awkward college students can do when locked in a restaurant with excessive amounts of soda.
He finally fishes the soda can out, grimacing at the leftover Coke that had left a sticky trail down the can’s side. The restaurant’s finally clean, though-He checks the clock. It’s just taken him about two hours since everyone left at midnight.
There’s no one around-not even on the streets outside, and definitely not in Viva Polo. Chanyeol figures he’s earned the right to slam-dunk the can into the trash and do a little victory dance. So he does.
And just as Chanyeol finishes pumping his fists in the air and runs out of breath to continue ranting at the trash can (hey, it’s two A.M.), he hears a cough from behind him. And if coughs could sound amused, this one sure did.
Chanyeol swivels around, trying resolutely not to be embarrassed. They can’t judge, he reminds himself defensively.
It doesn’t really help when he finally pinpoints the source of the sound. There’s a boy around his age at the door. While Chanyeol’s recovering, the stranger takes it upon himself to pull up a chair. He lounges like that, the oversized neckline of his shirt exposing sharp collarbones to the air conditioning running in the shop. Vaguely, Chanyeol registers the stranger’s dark eyes on him. It’s not intimidating, exactly, but it does something for the nervous fluttering in Chanyeol’s stomach.
“Sir,” he tries, “The grand opening’s on the first of June.” After a moment’s pause, he supplies helpfully, “You know. Tomorrow.” He winces. Of course he knows, idiot.
The stranger seems to be thinking along the same lines. “I do know, actually.”
“Right,” Chanyeol says, feeling the need to flash a thumbs-up. “Cool.” After a pause, he asks, “Can I help you?”
The silence drags on a few moments too long for Chanyeol’s liking. It might have something to do with the stranger’s open appraisal of Chanyeol’s face, and maybe Chanyeol breaks his gaze for a second because there’s just a single drop of sweat tracing down the boy’s neck and wow, he suddenly needs to catch a breath. Chanyeol swallows and feels immediately guilty for staring too long.
He misses how the other boy seems on the verge of saying something and speaks up again in hopes of getting his brain to shut up. “I can’t really serve you anything right now, but maybe you’re thirsty?”
Chanyeol adds hurriedly, “Not thirsty thirsty, of course. Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to imply anything, because of course you wouldn’t-I mean-“ He sighs in defeat. “Do you want anything to drink?” Chanyeol kind of wants someone, anyone, to just smack a hand over his mouth and keep him from saying anything worse.
Luckily, the male across from him seems not to be put off. He suppresses a laugh instead, and murmurs, “Cute.”
Involuntarily, Chanyeol can feel himself reddening, and he’s not sure what for at this point. “Uh, thanks?” he says very eloquently.
“You’re welcome. I’ll remind you anytime.” The guy flashes an easy grin. “Here.” He pulls out the chair next to his at the table and gestures at Chanyeol. “I’m not thirsty, but I could use something else.”
Chanyeol flops into the seat gratefully. “What do you mean?”
“Are you questioning me? Isn’t there something in your service policy about always pleasing the customer?” He keeps a straight face, but Chanyeol finds something mischievous in his look and his stomach drops just a little. “Wouldn’t you like to please me?” His voice drops then, low and warm and no, Chanyeol would absolutely not like to please anyone, especially not him, nope.
Wide-eyed and ears warm, Chanyeol tries to subtly scoot himself back a bit and nearly ends up at the next table. “Sir-“
“Baekhyun,” the boy supplies, smirk gracing his lips. “And I just want your name.”
“It’s Chanyeol,” Chanyeol says, and God, that took effort.
Baekhyun looks mildly surprised. “You wouldn’t happen to be Park Chanyeol, would you?”
“I would, actually.” Chanyeol points to his name tag out of habit, since he’d been doing the same thing over and over when he met the other employees earlier.
“That says ‘My name is Teeth-Rich.’ Just so you know.”
Chanyeol immediately slaps his hand over the tag. He makes a mental note not to ever let Jongdae near him when he offers to help. He coughs. “Thanks,” he says. “Seems like I’m saying that really often tonight.”
“What can I say, I’m always happy to help.” Baekhyun salutes to him before standing up. “Nice meeting you, Boss.” At the confused look on Chanyeol’s face, Baekhyun laughs, loud and full as he strides back out into the night.
***
It hit Chanyeol right as Baekhyun left that he was apparently the employee that didn’t turn up when everyone else did. At a normal time of night, that is. During the twenty-minute walk from his apartment to Viva Polo on June first (he cringes a little at the reminder), Chanyeol has a lot of time to reflect.
For more pressing matters, Chanyeol’s firstly not sure how he’s going to face Baekhyun every day at work from now on. Secondly (a considerably less pressing matter), Chanyeol’s not sure that his crew has much (or any) experience at working in a restaurant, hence the early meet-up at Viva Polo to prepare before the lunch shift.
As he pushes through the doors, Chanyeol finds that Jongdae had already unlocked them and let some of the workers in. Chanyeol tries to match the names to the faces. After all, they all look different when adhering to the dress code.
Currently, there’s Luhan, the upperclassman who looks like a freshman with his self-proclaimed “sparkly” eyes, leaning against the podium. He’s with Minseok, chatting animatedly about soccer.
It’s hard not to remember Minseok, actually. He’s quiet and innocent-looking with his small hands and childish smile, but all of that clearly changed as soon it got late the night before. Chanyeol distinctly remembers Luhan cheering on the sidelines when Minseok was dared to write his name in the air with his butt. For some reason, he also has a miscellaneous image in his mind of Luhan with his hand up Minseok’s shirt. Chanyeol shakes his head to clear his thoughts.
As he heads toward the kitchen, Kyungsoo, the head cook, opens the door with a sour expression that barely brightens when he sees Chanyeol. “Finally, you’re here,” he sighs, grabbing hold of Chanyeol’s arm. “Maybe you can help me with something.”
“My useless line cooks-“ Kyungsoo points at where Sehun and Jongin are huddled in a corner, “won’t stop laughing. It’s like SpongeBob and Patrick over here.”
“I doubt they know how to cook. I was just asking them their favorite Italian dish and-“
Joonmyun places a set of pots and pans on the counter and starts diligently adjusting the stove. “It’s true,” he calls, “I live in the same dorm as them, and Sehun is…” he coughs, “…famous for his pan-fried sugar ramen, let’s say.”
Kyungsoo closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “There are so many things wrong with that statement. For starters, ramen is definitely not Italian.”
“Hey!” Sehun sounds mildly affronted from the other side of the room. “I was under the impression that all pasta was Italian.”
“Obviously not because you’re not Italian, you noodle,” Kyungsoo retorts. Joonmyun makes a face like he’s about to sneeze, torn between laughing and coming to Sehun’s defense. Chanyeol’s seriously reconsidering his mother’s judgement in hiring employees.
“Anyway, they’ve shut up, at least,” Kyungsoo reasons.
“What were they doing anyway?”
“They wouldn’t stop playing with my stash of preserved urechis unicinctus.”
Chanyeol pauses. “You know what, never mind.”
The kitchen doors swing open once again and Tao enters, brushing by as Joonmyun exits, muttering something about “avoiding this conversation.”
“You guys are so loud that we can hear you shouting about the stupid penis fish from outside,” Tao says, annoyed. “Some of us are trying to have civilized conversation, you know.”
Silence suddenly ensues.
Until it’s broken not even two seconds later by a distinctly wet-sounding slap. Mildly disturbed, Chanyeol starts toward Sehun and Jongin’s corner just to make sure they’re okay while Kyungsoo and Tao remain looking unimpressed.
When he gets closer, he finds that Jongin is wielding some uncomfortably dick-like thing at Sehun like it’s a floppy sword. Sehun, backed against the wall, scrunches his face in distaste while Jongin nearly loses his grip on the fish.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says calmly from across the room, “get yourself and your pasty boyfriend out of here before I need a jar to preserve some real penises.”
Despite his deadpan threat (Chanyeol’s a little shaken if he’s honest), the two younger boys don’t seem abashed. Chanyeol catches Kyungsoo swiping half-heartedly at Sehun with a small smile on his face afterwards, and Chanyeol thinks it’s actually kind of cute how they pretend to be at each other’s throats.
The first thing Chanyeol notices after he finally leaves the kitchen is that Baekhyun had arrived. It’s good timing anyway, since they should all be prepared and waiting for the customers.
The second thing Chanyeol notices is that Baekhyun is actually dressed according to the dress code. Which is a pleasant surprise, because for some reason, Chanyeol had gotten the feeling that Baekhyun was the type to do only what he felt like doing.
Then Chanyeol takes a real look at Baekhyun. Deep breaths, he reminds himself. Simple white button-ups shouldn’t look like this. But on Baekhyun, with the topmost buttons undone and the sleeves messily rolled up, it looks unfairly good.
Chanyeol chokes a little when he notices Baekhyun’s jeans. They’re devastatingly tight, fitting closely to the sharp angle of his hips. Strategically placed tears and gaping holes tease an eyeful of exposed skin (probably doing more to show than to cover, really), all full thighs and slim calves.
Steeling himself, Chanyeol sets off in Baekhyun’s direction. Upon seeing him, Baekhyun waves back brightly.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Baekhyun says.
“It’s been ages, hasn’t it,” Chanyeol deadpans.
“Nice to see you’ve got a sense of humor,” Baekhyun retorts. “Thought you might’ve swallowed it yesterday, with all your gasping and wheezing.”
Chanyeol makes a face. “It’d be great if you could forget about that, thanks. Let’s restart. You don’t know me. I’m Chanyeol,” he says, tentatively testing his usual bright smile.
“Baekhyun.” Baekhyun inclines his head with a hint of mocking.
Here goes. Chanyeol starts, “Well, Baekhyun, I’m not sure that this is exactly what I had in mind when I explained the uniform. Maybe I didn’t send the information to you?” Chanyeol flails his arms for emphasis while fixing his eyes determinedly on Baekhyun’s face.
“No, it’s better than what you had in mind, isn’t it?” Baekhyun leans back with a satisfied expression as Chanyeol splutters.
“I’d almost be offended that you won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit.” Baekhyun pouts exaggeratedly. “I would be, anyway, if I didn’t know that you were checking me out earlier.”
Chanyeol feels a hot flush stinging his cheeks. It seems that some part of his body was always red these days. He’s guilty, too, on top of that. “I-I’m actually really sorry, you know what? I should just-That was kind of creepy, wasn’t it? Jongdae keeps telling me, but I keep ignoring him and maybe I should listen. I’ll absolutely stop doing that, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable-“
Baekhyun looks alarmed. Well, fuck, maybe he shouldn’t ramble like that either. But Baekhyun puts his hand lightly on Chanyeol’s arm and Chanyeol’s words die in his throat immediately.
“Whoa, slow down.” Baekhyun shakes his head. A small smile plays on his lips, not teasing or anything, just incredulous. “I swear, you’re too nice. Most people wouldn’t apologize half as much as you would.” He pauses contemplatively. “I don’t mind you staring anyway.”
At this point, Chanyeol just wants to go to Kyungsoo and ask for a couple penis fish to ice his face. “Oh. Oh. Well.” He can’t remember what he wanted to ask Baekhyun in the first place for the life of him.
Luckily, Baekhyun prompts him. “So you were saying?”
Chanyeol clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that technically, I don’t think your outfit fits the dress code, Baekhyun. Would you consider changing out of your jeans for a more…” he pauses, “waiter-like pair of pants?”
Luhan suddenly pipes in from the side. “What he’s trying to say is that you have a great ass. But your pants are like, ninety percent holes.”
“Uh-“
“Wasn’t aiming to get that compliment from you, Lu,” Baekhyun says, “but thanks.”
“And anyway, Sehun’s going to take that as a declaration of war.” Luhan gestures at Baekhyun’s lower half. “You know he takes his title of ‘bubble butt’ very seriously.”
Baekhyun steers Luhan aside. “You can tell Sehun if he complains that it’s game on.”
He turns his attention back to Chanyeol, who waited awkwardly through the whole exchange. “Right. Since you asked so nicely,” Baekhyun drawls, “No.”
“Great, so-“ Chanyeol stops. “Wait, what?”
Baekhyun goes on. “However, if at any time you feel compelled to peel the jeans off me yourself, you’re welcome to that. No need to apologize or blush, though I have to say it looks good on you.” With a disconcerting wink, he walks away.
***
The one perk of being manager is that Chanyeol gets to hang around the counter idly when there are fewer customers. There aren’t really any other upsides. Chanyeol has to wait tables and clear them like any other server, since they’re a little short on workers. It’s not bad, though. It doesn’t take much effort to keep a bright smile on since Chanyeol smiles too much anyway and it’s not like he minds picking up dirty dishes.
The lunch rush is wrapping up now, and there aren’t any new customers to serve.
Baekhyun is currently helping a table of girls. Though ‘helping’ isn’t exactly the right word. All of them have dyed hair in varying shades of brown and auburn, and the centers of their lips are dabbed with pastel lipstick. They’re pretty, really. And they hide their giggles in their drinks every time Baekhyun speaks.
Chanyeol sees Baekhyun lean subtly over the backs of their seats and he decides that he needs to save these girls somehow from Baekhyun. The girls have long since finished eating, anyway, he reasons.
He walks as naturally as possible to table three. Chanyeol tries to make it look casual when he nudges gently at Baekhyun’s back with his elbow.
“Focus, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol reminds him quietly, but he’s never been that great at whispering and his voice nearly cracks in the middle. He coughs to cover it up and attempts to leave before Baekhyun can ask what the hell he’s doing. But before Chanyeol can run away like Naruto, he’s stopped by one of the customers.
“Excuse me,” the girl with the burgundy lip tint calls out, “are you two together?” Her eyes flicker suspiciously from Baekhyun to Chanyeol.
“I knew it, Yeonhee,” her friend hisses under her breath. “There’s no way a guy like that can be single. Or interested in any of us.”
“Actually, we’re not,” Chanyeol cuts in a little too loudly. “It’s our first day, and I was just reminding him to clear your dishes.” He waves his hands to emphasize and nearly knocks over a drink.
“Really?” Yeonhee brightens. She throws a dirty look at her friend before leaning forward. “You’re kind of cute, too,” she says shyly.
Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “Thanks. You’re really…nice,” he finishes lamely. He spots their dishes. “I’ll just take these-“ he says hastily as he gathers the plates and stumbles toward the kitchen. “See you soon!” Chanyeol calls over his shoulder.
Baekhyun still stands at table three, looking confusedly after him.
Yeonhee pouts, but the rest of the girls seem to giggle and whisper among themselves even more intensely. “Baekhyun-ssi, don’t you think he’s cute?”
Baekhyun shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips. “That’s confidential.”
***
Jongdae flips the sign on the door with an exaggerated flourish. Now, the ‘Closed’ side faces outward.
“Finally,” he sighs. “No offense, but it’s been ten hours and your faces are only funny for the first few.”
A used napkin is thrown at Jongdae. “You shouldn’t be talking,” Sehun calls.
Jongdae bats the crumpled ball away and readies himself to shout back when Joonmyun sweeps in. He plucks up the napkin swiftly and glares at them both. “Why don’t you help clean so we can hurry up and eat dinner. Don’t make me count to ten,” he warns.
With a roll of his eyes, Jongdae grabs a rag and begins to scrub at the tables. “When did you start becoming such a mom, Joonmyun?”
Meanwhile, Chanyeol’s struggling to refill the salt and pepper shakers. “Which one of you put sugar in the salt shaker at table five?” Chanyeol stares accusingly at Jongdae. “The nice old lady sitting there kept asking about the recipe and insisting that the salt here tastes miraculously sweet.”
Jongdae shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
They finish the rest of their cleaning in relative silence. Minseok makes quick work of putting up extra chairs while Jongin runs under the tables with a mop. Having cleared the tables, everyone else is either busy in the kitchen washing dishes or cooking.
As Chanyeol finishes his job, he watches as Kyungsoo chases everyone out of the kitchen and slams the door shut, muttering about something about Sehun and violation of food safety regulations. “Just sit down,” Kyungsoo orders, “and wait for me to finish making something edible.”
There’s barely any reaction before the chatter starts up again. Joonmyun is the first to sit down. One by one, the other workers follow and collapse onto the seats with a series of groans and complaints about pain in various body parts.
As everyone’s squeezing themselves into two booths, Chanyeol wonders idly where he should sit. Just as he takes a step toward where Yixing is (because Yixing is nice and he won’t put condiments in Chanyeol’s drink when he’s not looking), Jongdae appears out of nowhere and shoves at his side.
“Get in, beanpole,” Jongdae grumbles. “I really need a fucking rest.”
And Chanyeol probably would’ve gotten in if he hadn’t spotted Baekhyun already seated in the same booth. He makes to walk to the other side of the table, but Jongdae’s not having it.
“Where are you going?” Jongdae holds onto Chanyeol’s elbow and forces him down.
Chanyeol takes care to leave two inches of space between himself and Baekhyun when he scoots in. Jongdae shoots him an annoyed look. “What’s your problem? Can you please move in further because three-fourths of my right ass cheek is still hanging-“
Chanyeol tries to signal with his face that no, he really doesn’t need to be that close to Baekhyun. He makes a point of shaking his head subtly. Jongdae appears unamused until something apparently clicks in his mind. His eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Jongdae winks extremely obviously. “I understand.” Chanyeol should know that it’s always a bad sign when Jongdae understands something.
Jongdae presses himself right into Chanyeol. Hard. So hard, in fact, that Chanyeol’s now flush against Baekhyun and he can feel the warmth seeping through his clothes and Baekhyun’s eyes are incredibly close as they blink up at him.
“Hi,” Chanyeol says conversationally. “I’ll move over a bit. Jongdae’s just being an idiot-“
“Like I said, I don’t mind,” Baekhyun nearly purrs. What the actual fuck.
Chanyeol feels suddenly way too warm again.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” Baekhyun laughs, eyes crinkled at the corners and no trace of the exaggerated suggestive tone from before. “You’re just really easy to rile up. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Can’t say that’s happened,” Chanyeol says. “It’s probably more because you’re great at riling people up.” He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Of course Baekhyun was only joking. He grins too.
“Hold up. Since when did the puppy grow claws?” Baekhyun asks in mock surprise.
Jongdae looks over with interest. “I’ve always said you act like a golden retriever.”
Chanyeol makes an indignant sound. “It was one time that I put a tennis ball in my mouth, Jongdae. You’re the one that dared me, anyway.” The table goes quiet. “I’m hardcore,” he declares awkwardly.
“I can’t believe that you can listen to rock music and then say shit like that.” Jongdae shakes his head.
“So, tell me about that tennis ball.” Baekhyun raises an eyebrow.
“That was a dark time. You’ll have to stick around to hear it.”
“I’ll be extra sure to stick around, then.”
Just then, there’s a loud commotion across the table. Yifan’s holding a fancy glass of orange juice, of all things. He attempts to casually prop an elbow on the table with a loud thump. He looks up suddenly over the rim of the cup with a longing stare and proceeds to mumble something inaudible into his cup.
“You said you were good at this.” Luhan watches apprehensively. “Only the juice can hear you talking. Unless you like flirting with fruit-flavored drinks. In that case, ten out of ten.”
“I said ‘Excuse me,’” Yifan corrects. “And it’s more about the aura than the words. You wouldn’t understand.”
“No? How many girls have you picked up with that line then?”
“None,” Yifan admits. “Yet.”
Everyone’s so loud and Kyungsoo’s still locked in the kitchen, probably poisoning the food, but it’s strangely somewhat nice. It’s good enough for a first day, Chanyeol decides.
***
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun calls. “Help me out with this?” He’s readying himself to climb on top of a spinning stool in order to reach one of the highest cabinets. To his frustration, he finds that he still can’t get the box of colored shell pasta that Kyungsoo wants.
Chanyeol’s presently lugging sacks of flour into the kitchen of a brand that Sehun specifically requested, claiming that it made the pizza and flatbread taste better. When Chanyeol asked why, Sehun replied haughtily, “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a chef thing.”
It’s too warm, given the heat of the summer sun outside plus the exertion of carrying fifty-pound bags of flour from Yifan’s truck, especially since Yifan insists on parking across the street to stay in the shade.
“One sec, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol straightens up to stretch and loosen his limbs.
Fed up with attempting to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt higher and higher, Chanyeol decides to strip off the annoying shirt altogether, leaving him in a thin wife beater underneath. It isn’t doing him much good anyway, plastered to his skin. Chanyeol grimaces. He feels a bit disgusting and not in any way presentable, if he’s honest. He bunches the material into a ball and wipes at the sweat forming at his temple as he makes his way toward Baekhyun.
Chanyeol gets the feeling that Baekhyun might think differently, however. As soon as he steps in, Chanyeol can feel Baekhyun’s gaze raking appreciatively over his arms, a hundred times more scorching than the sun outside. Heated up and slightly self-conscious from the attention, Chanyeol coughs softly.
Baekhyun’s eyes snap up to Chanyeol’s face and his mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. He’s completely unabashed to be caught staring while Chanyeol feels himself reddening and he hasn’t even done anything. It’s unfair.
“Good, you’re here,” he says cheerfully, like he wasn’t tracing the veins threading across Chanyeol’s biceps just then.
Baekhyun hops off the rotating stool and looks thoughtfully up at Chanyeol instead, and he can practically see the gears turning in Baekhyun’s head. All of a sudden, the breath’s being knocked out of him, soft thighs clutching around his waist and hands grasping none too gently at his shoulders.
Stumbling blindly for a moment with the weight of a person clinging to him, Chanyeol manages to recover his balance without dropping the boy in his arms. In that process, however, he finds himself much too aware of how close Baekhyun is, trying to catch his breath with his hands settled securely against Baekhyun’s lower back, holding him closer. Chanyeol feels decidedly lightheaded; the thighs around him pressing a little too tight, his own hands a little too dangerously low.
“Liking the free show, Chanyeol?” Eyebrow raised, Baekhyun looks as composed as ever, if not slightly breathless.
Eyes wide, Chanyeol feels hot all over. “No!” he protests, “I swear, I’m not trying anything!” In a desperate attempt to get his hands as far from Baekhyun’s backside as possible to prove that no, he wasn’t liking the show, he nearly loses his grip.
Baekhyun yelps, hands tightening on Chanyeol’s shoulders. After an awkward pause, Baekhyun tsks. “Since you show off those arms of yours so much, I thought you’d be stronger.”
“I wasn’t showing off,” Chanyeol says defensively. “I could say something about you and your jeans if you want to talk about showing off,” he retorts, ears pink nonetheless.
Baekhyun grins. “I never said I didn’t enjoy it.”
He’s settled comfortably now, legs locked around Chanyeol’s waist and this whole scene can get misinterpreted very easily, Chanyeol thinks.
“And if you think I’m showing off, you must be watching then.” Baekhyun hums through Chanyeol’s ensuing silence. “Not that I blame you, of course.” He wiggles teasingly in Chanyeol’s hold.
Chanyeol moves toward the counter without warning, earning him another surprised yelp from Baekhyun. Satisfied, he shifts Baekhyun up a little higher so he can finally pick up the box of pasta. Chanyeol really doesn’t get why Kyungsoo has to have that exact box.
When he lets Baekhyun down with a pasta box in hand, Baekhyun drags his fingertips down Chanyeol’s bicep, feather-light. He keeps his eyes locked on Chanyeol’s all the while.
“Thanks, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, and the way Chanyeol’s name slides off his tongue sounds mildly illegal.
Luhan stands behind the counter, watching skeptically when Baekhyun was perched precariously in Chanyeol’s arms. “He knows that Chanyeol can reach that by himself, right?”
Minseok sips his coffee. “He’s a sneaky bastard. Probably wanted to see Chanyeol’s arms up close, with the way he stares.”
***
It’s barely two weeks in when they discover the first chipped dish. It’s bound to happen anyway, with how much they’ve been dropping and clanging the plates. They find it out the hard way when someone cuts their hand on the sharp edge. That person being Baekhyun, unfortunately.
Baekhyun doesn’t notice anything at first. He pulls his hand back instinctively from the sting and promptly drops the dish with a loud crack. Thankfully, it’s only an empty plate and it breaks evenly into two on the ground. The customers flinch at the initial shock but are decidedly disinterested after Baekhyun bows quickly and assures them it’s nothing.
Meanwhile, Chanyeol opens the kitchen door with his hip, holding multiple drinks. The first thing he notices is Baekhyun sweeping up the broken plate right outside.
Just then, Baekhyun hisses slightly as he discovers the cut across his palm. He stares for a moment at the thin line of blood seeping from it. “I think I cut my hand,” he says calmly.
“Ouch,” Joonmyun winces. He quickly walks out from behind the counter. “One sec, I’ll grab you a Band-Aid.”
Immediately, Chanyeol hands his tray off to Jongdae (“I am not your servant, Park Chanyeol,” Jongdae complains) to check on Baekhyun.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chanyeol asks with worry.
“No. I think I’m bleeding to my death.”
Chanyeol frowns and ignores Baekhyun’s sarcasm. “Hey, it looks like it hurts. Is it deep?”
Without waiting for an answer, he picks up Baekhyun’s injured hand as gently as possible. Baekhyun looks up, more in surprise than anything.
“Really, Chanyeol, it’s nothing. You’re making the customers nervous,” he says lightly. He doesn’t pull his hand away, though. Chanyeol turns Baekhyun’s palm over to brush over his fingers for any other damage, taking care not to touch the cut. His fingers are delicate looking, pretty and slim with a definitely-not-cute little mole dotting the edge of his thumb. Baekhyun’s hand is much smaller than his own, Chanyeol notes curiously, but his grip is firm when he attempts to squeeze back in reassurance.
“I take it that you play guitar?” Baekhyun says, eyebrow raised.
Chanyeol’s eyes light up immediately. “Yeah, actually. How did you find out? Don’t tell me you’re psychic.”
It’s only when Baekhyun thumbs over Chanyeol’s fingertip that Chanyeol realizes their hands are still touching. It’s irrational that Chanyeol flushes pink at the thought of kind of, sort of holding hands while Baekhyun’s still bleeding, but he does anyway. He pulls back as quickly as he can without hurting Baekhyun.
“You can think of me as psychic, if you want.” Baekhyun blinks slowly up at him through dark lashes. A tiny smirk curls the edge of his mouth knowingly and Jesus Christ, Chanyeol hopes he’s imagining it. His heart is nearly jumping out of his chest and he needs to take a few steps back from the absolutely criminal way Baekhyun is looking at him right now.
“But it was obvious from the feel of your fingers.” Baekhyun steps back a bit too, surveying Chanyeol quietly.
“Oh,” Chanyeol says, and he’s not sure what else to say.
“It’s not an insult,” Baekhyun says quickly. “I like how rough your hands are.” For once, Baekhyun looks like he’s said something he didn’t mean to say out loud. Chanyeol enjoys this just a little.
Baekhyun tries to explain himself. “I think it’s cool that you have evidence of playing an instrument. Like, I don’t know, the guitar makes a little imprint on you.” He stares pleadingly at Chanyeol as if begging him to at least pretend he gets it. Baekhyun laughs at himself.
“Sorry, that was stupid.”
“No, no it wasn’t!” Chanyeol hurries to say. At Baekhyun’s unconvinced look, he adds, “Thanks. For not being grossed out by my hands.”
Just then, Joonmyun finally returns with a whole box of Band-Aids. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, out of breath, “I had to dig through the whole supply closet to find them.”
After a few moments of relative silence except for Joonmyun’s wheezing, Joonmyun finally realizes that Chanyeol is standing unnecessarily close to Baekhyun.
He pauses. “Is there…?” he trails off questioningly.
Not meeting Joonmyun’s eyes, Chanyeol quickly takes the box of bandages from him. “I’ll do it. Thanks, Joonmyun,” he says, probably louder than needed.
Joonmyun gives him a strange look before heading off.
Quickly, Chanyeol tapes a large bandage over the cut in Baekhyun’s hand, trying to make as little skin contact as possible. “There,” he declares, wincing internally at how lopsided it looks.
“I don’t know how I could’ve survived without your care, Doctor Park,” Baekhyun says dryly. Before he heads into the kitchen, though, he gives Chanyeol a real smile, warm and simple.
Chanyeol’s still lost in thought, looking dumbly in the direction Baekhyun went.
He barely notices when Sehun stops next to him. “Where were you when Tao broke my toe with his nunchucks, Chanyeol? And I thought we were friends,” he says in disappointment.
Chanyeol throws a rag at Sehun’s head.
***
Birthdays are nice, Chanyeol thinks. But Baekhyun’s voice is nicer. Viva Polo’s only received a few birthday reservations since its opening, but on the rare occasion that it happens, the staff makes an effort to sing a special rendition of “Happy Birthday” as Kyungsoo brings out the cake.
Today, they’re singing for a little boy, just eight years old.
Chanyeol himself stands back, but pauses in his serving to listen. Baekhyun’s done a number of obnoxious impressions and purposefully off-tune covers of Girls’ Generation songs while they prepare in the morning and close up in the evenings, but Chanyeol hasn’t ever heard him really sing.
When the background track starts, Baekhyun’s voice is easily heard over it, somehow smooth and rough at the same time. It settles in the air, clear, warm, like he’s smiling, and it drags Chanyeol in so easily. The harmonies he pulls with Jongdae complement each other and it has the birthday boy staring back and forth between them in awe.
Chanyeol’s never been particular to the birthday song before, but now he thinks it could be his favorite.
When they finish in a flurry of applause and cheers from on-looking customers, Jongdae and Kyungsoo get dragged aside by the admiring parents who thank them profusely and shower them in praises. Meanwhile, Chanyeol edges closer to Baekhyun.
He has to lean a bit closer than normal to be heard over the loud buzz of the restaurant. “Hey, Baek.” Chanyeol tries to sound casual.
“Yeah?” Baekhyun turns and Chanyeol realizes belatedly that they’re standing really close. There’s barely an inch between them and Baekhyun has to tip his head back to look up at Chanyeol, brown irises turned soft amber from the overhead lights. Something in Chanyeol’s stomach flutters even more nervously at seeing Baekhyun’s smile up close.
“Baekhyun, your voice is…” Chanyeol trails off, searching for the words. “Really nice,” he finishes. He has to add, “Really, really nice,” because he’s not sure Baekhyun gets it.
Baekhyun’s voice is more than nice, really, because it’s bright and mellow when he pulls a falsetto but so, so wickedly warm when he drops to a low rasp - but somehow, it seems too much and not enough at the same time for Chanyeol to say aloud.
“Thanks,” Baekhyun says, “You think so?” He sounds pleased, more pleased than when people compliment his looks or his outfit.
“Definitely,” Chanyeol replies immediately. The tips of his ears redden and he hopes he doesn’t come off too eager. If he does, Baekhyun says nothing about it. “Have you ever taken lessons?”
“I’m a music major at the Seoul Institute of Arts,” Baekhyun says, amused. “I’m kind of obligated to take lessons, training to be a vocalist and all.”
Chanyeol shakes his head. “Wow. Do you plan on being an idol? Or just…” Chanyeol makes some vague gestures, “Any singer?”
“It doesn’t really matter to me. I just want people to hear me. And enjoy it, hopefully.”
Chanyeol frowns. He reaches out to - well, he doesn’t know what he means to do, but Baekhyun moves suddenly and he finds himself brushing Baekhyun’s hand instead. Startled, he jolts back and manages to piece together a sentence.
“Not ‘hopefully,’ Chanyeol insists, more forcefully than he intends and it seems to surprise Baekhyun too. “Your vocal tone, your control-You sound…” he starts to say, and then he’s struggling to find words. “I would be your fan,” he blurts out a little too honestly. He’s already a fan.
Baekhyun doesn’t compose himself as quickly as he normally does. He first breaks out in his usual slow smirk but can’t seem to keep from somehow crumbling a little further. It’s clear in his grin, less purposefully charming and more tentative but Chanyeol thinks that when his eyes crinkle in the corners, it’s even better.
He’s not sure if it’s just the angle but from where he’s standing, it almost looks like faint pink tinges Baekhyun’s cheeks. Chanyeol swears his heart squeezes even tighter.
“You know anything about music?” Baekhyun asks suddenly. “It sounds like you’re experienced.”
“Yeah, actually. I’m in Seoul Arts for music comp and production,” he says. “But I play a few instruments.” Chanyeol half-smiles. “So I can appreciate an instrument like your voice, naturally.”
Fuck. Chanyeol freezes and all the blood rushes to his face because he didn’t just say that.
Baekhyun seems startled, but laughs anyway. “You’re turning the tables on me, aren’t you?” He tsks. “You act like an embarrassed puppy but you’re really a smooth talker.”
Chanyeol reddens even more.
“Well, show me what you can play sometime. I’ve got a thing for musicians.” Baekhyun gives him a cheeky grin and pats the side of Chanyeol’s face.
***
Chanyeol tells himself that it’s not for Baekhyun when he lugs his guitar case to Viva Polo a week later. And it’s definitely not because he keeps repeating the way Baekhyun says “I’ve got a thing for musicians” in his head.
***
It’s late. Chanyeol lets the rest of the workers go home a bit earlier than usual, hoping no one noticed the black case hiding in the supply closet. (Jongdae doesn’t leave easily. He keeps wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and looking purposefully in Baekhyun’s direction.)
Baekhyun’s still here. “Ready to serenade me, Chanyeol?” He hops up on the stool near the counter, legs swinging and eyes sparkling as he watches Chanyeol take out his guitar.
Chanyeol takes care as he props the instrument delicately across his lap and begins to tune it. “Don’t have high expectations,” he warns. “I’m not a professional like you, Mister Future Idol.”
Baekhyun sticks his tongue out. “I reserve judgement until I actually hear you play.”
He waits quietly for another minute while Chanyeol plucks experimentally through the strings before piping up again.
“Does it have a name?” Baekhyun’s mostly teasing, gesturing to the guitar.
“It’s a he, actually,” Chanyeol retorts. “And his name is Louis William Suga Adams Junior. The third.”
There’s a terrible moment where Chanyeol thinks Baekhyun just might walk away.
Baekhyun buckles over instead and laughs so hard he nearly cries. “That,” he says, “is what I’m naming my first born child.”
When they compose themselves, Chanyeol finally starts plucking out the first bars of Radiohead’s “Creep.” The notes sound twangy in the silence and Chanyeol isn’t really sure when he hears the sound of his own voice. He isn’t vocally trained. His voice is deep enough, Chanyeol knows that, and he puts whatever he has into the lyrics and following the simple tune that he’s played so many times before. It’s different this time, though.
Baekhyun’s watching with dark, attentive eyes and Chanyeol can’t focus on remembering English words when Baekhyun looks at him like that.
Something leaps in his chest when Baekhyun says, sounding slightly awed, “I could fall asleep to your voice.”
Needless to say, Chanyeol’s ears heat up.
It’s not until the second chorus that it happens, but Chanyeol is grateful when Baekhyun joins him.
Their voices fill the air and Chanyeol feels like his whole body is buzzing and everything is hazy but he’s not drunk. Not off of alcohol, at least, but he could be drunk off the sound of Baekhyun.
The lyrics aren’t true, though, Chanyeol wants to say. Not when Baekhyun sings them. Because Baekhyun’s not the creep; if anything, Chanyeol might be a creep and Baekhyun’s fucking special.
Baekhyun dips into his lower register, the subtly husky tone just enough to send a shiver down Chanyeol’s spine. Languidly, Baekhyun leans back against the counter, eyes half-lidded and melody falling lightly from his lips. For all of Baekhyun’s obnoxious impressions and purposefully off-tune covers of Girls’ Generation, the real sound of him is quiet, made of low, lazy hums and breathy falsetto.
Chanyeol thinks it’s a bit unfair the way Baekhyun sings. It starts from the heave in his chest as he breathes, the tremble in the long column of his throat, the entrancing shape of his mouth pressing around syllables as they escape into the air.
He can’t really bring himself to look at Baekhyun straight on like this when he can already feel the heat in the tips of his ears. So he keeps strumming the guitar.
Chanyeol’s not sure what’s happening, but his fingers seem to realize it first. They stumble on the strings, missing notes in a chord. He clears his throat over the sound. Baekhyun doesn’t stop humming, but there’s an amused smile in his voice. The second time, he misses the beat completely, dropping a handful of notes. Chanyeol is too aware of the blush probably spreading through his face. Goddamn it.
He feels it. Baekhyun’s stare, just a bit too heavy to be a simple glance. The singing stops.
Chanyeol gives up on trying to play. From the corner of his eye, he sees Baekhyun slide off his stool. Slightly alarmed, Chanyeol shuffles back, clutching his guitar.
“Need some help?” Baekhyun gives him his signature grin, soft and easy, curling his lips, but something distinctly predatory glints off his sharp canines.
He inches closer. “Distracted, hm?” Baekhyun’s voice is different now. Somehow darker, but still warm. Too warm, in fact, Chanyeol thinks. He’s almost whispering, tone lingering dangerously close to seductive.
“Uh-“ Chanyeol knocks over his own chair. He scrambles to pick it up. “Sorry, Baek. I’ve got to go. Lots of things to do. Reorganizing my fridge. Writing a grocery list. The works.” He waves apologetically as he nearly runs out the front door, leaving Baekhyun staring after him.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Chanyeol hopes this isn’t how he’s going to spend the rest of his summer.
He’s not really prepared for anyone to see him at the moment. Head down under a table, ass (or lack thereof, according to Jongdae) stuck in the air. He wriggles a little in concentration to reach the last Coke can that somehow lodged itself at the very back of a restaurant booth. Chanyeol vows internally to make sure he adds tonight to the list of things that Jongdae called Very Good Ideas but most people just called stupid. Or idiotic. Both, usually.
When Chanyeol’s mother had offered him the job of manager at the new branch of Viva Polo in Seoul, he was pretty sure there was nothing said about cleaning up after his fellow employees after they trash the restaurant. And this is all before the grand opening even happens, which is a miracle, really. But, Chanyeol finds, that’s what usually happens when he’s around Jongdae. Lots of miracles tend to pop up.
Before last month, the only Italian food Jongdae knew was pizza. Somehow, he’d gotten himself hired to work at Viva Polo, an Italian restaurant (Chanyeol doesn’t understand either). He probably charmed Chanyeol’s mother during the interview and sidetracked her with compliments because there’s no way Jongdae got the job for his table-waiting skills.
Beyond that, Jongdae had recruited a number of acquaintances that happened to all attend the same college as he and Jongdae, the Seoul Institute of the Arts. Chanyeol thought his mother would at least have the skill to pick out the people who were bullshitting from those who actually knew what they were doing. Apparently not, as it turned out.
Jongdae convinced him that it was a great idea to have a little get-together at Viva Polo for all the staff the night before the restaurant opened. “There’s only twelve of us, and that’s counting you and me,” Jongdae had pointed out. “Nothing’s going to get out of hand.” Despite what Jongdae said, one of the guys didn’t even bother to show up tonight, making only eleven of them. Chanyeol thinks it’s more of a testament to the consequences of underestimating what socially-awkward college students can do when locked in a restaurant with excessive amounts of soda.
He finally fishes the soda can out, grimacing at the leftover Coke that had left a sticky trail down the can’s side. The restaurant’s finally clean, though-He checks the clock. It’s just taken him about two hours since everyone left at midnight.
There’s no one around-not even on the streets outside, and definitely not in Viva Polo. Chanyeol figures he’s earned the right to slam-dunk the can into the trash and do a little victory dance. So he does.
And just as Chanyeol finishes pumping his fists in the air and runs out of breath to continue ranting at the trash can (hey, it’s two A.M.), he hears a cough from behind him. And if coughs could sound amused, this one sure did.
Chanyeol swivels around, trying resolutely not to be embarrassed. They can’t judge, he reminds himself defensively.
It doesn’t really help when he finally pinpoints the source of the sound. There’s a boy around his age at the door. While Chanyeol’s recovering, the stranger takes it upon himself to pull up a chair. He lounges like that, the oversized neckline of his shirt exposing sharp collarbones to the air conditioning running in the shop. Vaguely, Chanyeol registers the stranger’s dark eyes on him. It’s not intimidating, exactly, but it does something for the nervous fluttering in Chanyeol’s stomach.
“Sir,” he tries, “The grand opening’s on the first of June.” After a moment’s pause, he supplies helpfully, “You know. Tomorrow.” He winces. Of course he knows, idiot.
The stranger seems to be thinking along the same lines. “I do know, actually.”
“Right,” Chanyeol says, feeling the need to flash a thumbs-up. “Cool.” After a pause, he asks, “Can I help you?”
The silence drags on a few moments too long for Chanyeol’s liking. It might have something to do with the stranger’s open appraisal of Chanyeol’s face, and maybe Chanyeol breaks his gaze for a second because there’s just a single drop of sweat tracing down the boy’s neck and wow, he suddenly needs to catch a breath. Chanyeol swallows and feels immediately guilty for staring too long.
He misses how the other boy seems on the verge of saying something and speaks up again in hopes of getting his brain to shut up. “I can’t really serve you anything right now, but maybe you’re thirsty?”
Chanyeol adds hurriedly, “Not thirsty thirsty, of course. Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to imply anything, because of course you wouldn’t-I mean-“ He sighs in defeat. “Do you want anything to drink?” Chanyeol kind of wants someone, anyone, to just smack a hand over his mouth and keep him from saying anything worse.
Luckily, the male across from him seems not to be put off. He suppresses a laugh instead, and murmurs, “Cute.”
Involuntarily, Chanyeol can feel himself reddening, and he’s not sure what for at this point. “Uh, thanks?” he says very eloquently.
“You’re welcome. I’ll remind you anytime.” The guy flashes an easy grin. “Here.” He pulls out the chair next to his at the table and gestures at Chanyeol. “I’m not thirsty, but I could use something else.”
Chanyeol flops into the seat gratefully. “What do you mean?”
“Are you questioning me? Isn’t there something in your service policy about always pleasing the customer?” He keeps a straight face, but Chanyeol finds something mischievous in his look and his stomach drops just a little. “Wouldn’t you like to please me?” His voice drops then, low and warm and no, Chanyeol would absolutely not like to please anyone, especially not him, nope.
Wide-eyed and ears warm, Chanyeol tries to subtly scoot himself back a bit and nearly ends up at the next table. “Sir-“
“Baekhyun,” the boy supplies, smirk gracing his lips. “And I just want your name.”
“It’s Chanyeol,” Chanyeol says, and God, that took effort.
Baekhyun looks mildly surprised. “You wouldn’t happen to be Park Chanyeol, would you?”
“I would, actually.” Chanyeol points to his name tag out of habit, since he’d been doing the same thing over and over when he met the other employees earlier.
“That says ‘My name is Teeth-Rich.’ Just so you know.”
Chanyeol immediately slaps his hand over the tag. He makes a mental note not to ever let Jongdae near him when he offers to help. He coughs. “Thanks,” he says. “Seems like I’m saying that really often tonight.”
“What can I say, I’m always happy to help.” Baekhyun salutes to him before standing up. “Nice meeting you, Boss.” At the confused look on Chanyeol’s face, Baekhyun laughs, loud and full as he strides back out into the night.
***
It hit Chanyeol right as Baekhyun left that he was apparently the employee that didn’t turn up when everyone else did. At a normal time of night, that is. During the twenty-minute walk from his apartment to Viva Polo on June first (he cringes a little at the reminder), Chanyeol has a lot of time to reflect.
For more pressing matters, Chanyeol’s firstly not sure how he’s going to face Baekhyun every day at work from now on. Secondly (a considerably less pressing matter), Chanyeol’s not sure that his crew has much (or any) experience at working in a restaurant, hence the early meet-up at Viva Polo to prepare before the lunch shift.
As he pushes through the doors, Chanyeol finds that Jongdae had already unlocked them and let some of the workers in. Chanyeol tries to match the names to the faces. After all, they all look different when adhering to the dress code.
Currently, there’s Luhan, the upperclassman who looks like a freshman with his self-proclaimed “sparkly” eyes, leaning against the podium. He’s with Minseok, chatting animatedly about soccer.
It’s hard not to remember Minseok, actually. He’s quiet and innocent-looking with his small hands and childish smile, but all of that clearly changed as soon it got late the night before. Chanyeol distinctly remembers Luhan cheering on the sidelines when Minseok was dared to write his name in the air with his butt. For some reason, he also has a miscellaneous image in his mind of Luhan with his hand up Minseok’s shirt. Chanyeol shakes his head to clear his thoughts.
As he heads toward the kitchen, Kyungsoo, the head cook, opens the door with a sour expression that barely brightens when he sees Chanyeol. “Finally, you’re here,” he sighs, grabbing hold of Chanyeol’s arm. “Maybe you can help me with something.”
“My useless line cooks-“ Kyungsoo points at where Sehun and Jongin are huddled in a corner, “won’t stop laughing. It’s like SpongeBob and Patrick over here.”
“I doubt they know how to cook. I was just asking them their favorite Italian dish and-“
Joonmyun places a set of pots and pans on the counter and starts diligently adjusting the stove. “It’s true,” he calls, “I live in the same dorm as them, and Sehun is…” he coughs, “…famous for his pan-fried sugar ramen, let’s say.”
Kyungsoo closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “There are so many things wrong with that statement. For starters, ramen is definitely not Italian.”
“Hey!” Sehun sounds mildly affronted from the other side of the room. “I was under the impression that all pasta was Italian.”
“Obviously not because you’re not Italian, you noodle,” Kyungsoo retorts. Joonmyun makes a face like he’s about to sneeze, torn between laughing and coming to Sehun’s defense. Chanyeol’s seriously reconsidering his mother’s judgement in hiring employees.
“Anyway, they’ve shut up, at least,” Kyungsoo reasons.
“What were they doing anyway?”
“They wouldn’t stop playing with my stash of preserved urechis unicinctus.”
Chanyeol pauses. “You know what, never mind.”
The kitchen doors swing open once again and Tao enters, brushing by as Joonmyun exits, muttering something about “avoiding this conversation.”
“You guys are so loud that we can hear you shouting about the stupid penis fish from outside,” Tao says, annoyed. “Some of us are trying to have civilized conversation, you know.”
Silence suddenly ensues.
Until it’s broken not even two seconds later by a distinctly wet-sounding slap. Mildly disturbed, Chanyeol starts toward Sehun and Jongin’s corner just to make sure they’re okay while Kyungsoo and Tao remain looking unimpressed.
When he gets closer, he finds that Jongin is wielding some uncomfortably dick-like thing at Sehun like it’s a floppy sword. Sehun, backed against the wall, scrunches his face in distaste while Jongin nearly loses his grip on the fish.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says calmly from across the room, “get yourself and your pasty boyfriend out of here before I need a jar to preserve some real penises.”
Despite his deadpan threat (Chanyeol’s a little shaken if he’s honest), the two younger boys don’t seem abashed. Chanyeol catches Kyungsoo swiping half-heartedly at Sehun with a small smile on his face afterwards, and Chanyeol thinks it’s actually kind of cute how they pretend to be at each other’s throats.
The first thing Chanyeol notices after he finally leaves the kitchen is that Baekhyun had arrived. It’s good timing anyway, since they should all be prepared and waiting for the customers.
The second thing Chanyeol notices is that Baekhyun is actually dressed according to the dress code. Which is a pleasant surprise, because for some reason, Chanyeol had gotten the feeling that Baekhyun was the type to do only what he felt like doing.
Then Chanyeol takes a real look at Baekhyun. Deep breaths, he reminds himself. Simple white button-ups shouldn’t look like this. But on Baekhyun, with the topmost buttons undone and the sleeves messily rolled up, it looks unfairly good.
Chanyeol chokes a little when he notices Baekhyun’s jeans. They’re devastatingly tight, fitting closely to the sharp angle of his hips. Strategically placed tears and gaping holes tease an eyeful of exposed skin (probably doing more to show than to cover, really), all full thighs and slim calves.
Steeling himself, Chanyeol sets off in Baekhyun’s direction. Upon seeing him, Baekhyun waves back brightly.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Baekhyun says.
“It’s been ages, hasn’t it,” Chanyeol deadpans.
“Nice to see you’ve got a sense of humor,” Baekhyun retorts. “Thought you might’ve swallowed it yesterday, with all your gasping and wheezing.”
Chanyeol makes a face. “It’d be great if you could forget about that, thanks. Let’s restart. You don’t know me. I’m Chanyeol,” he says, tentatively testing his usual bright smile.
“Baekhyun.” Baekhyun inclines his head with a hint of mocking.
Here goes. Chanyeol starts, “Well, Baekhyun, I’m not sure that this is exactly what I had in mind when I explained the uniform. Maybe I didn’t send the information to you?” Chanyeol flails his arms for emphasis while fixing his eyes determinedly on Baekhyun’s face.
“No, it’s better than what you had in mind, isn’t it?” Baekhyun leans back with a satisfied expression as Chanyeol splutters.
“I’d almost be offended that you won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit.” Baekhyun pouts exaggeratedly. “I would be, anyway, if I didn’t know that you were checking me out earlier.”
Chanyeol feels a hot flush stinging his cheeks. It seems that some part of his body was always red these days. He’s guilty, too, on top of that. “I-I’m actually really sorry, you know what? I should just-That was kind of creepy, wasn’t it? Jongdae keeps telling me, but I keep ignoring him and maybe I should listen. I’ll absolutely stop doing that, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable-“
Baekhyun looks alarmed. Well, fuck, maybe he shouldn’t ramble like that either. But Baekhyun puts his hand lightly on Chanyeol’s arm and Chanyeol’s words die in his throat immediately.
“Whoa, slow down.” Baekhyun shakes his head. A small smile plays on his lips, not teasing or anything, just incredulous. “I swear, you’re too nice. Most people wouldn’t apologize half as much as you would.” He pauses contemplatively. “I don’t mind you staring anyway.”
At this point, Chanyeol just wants to go to Kyungsoo and ask for a couple penis fish to ice his face. “Oh. Oh. Well.” He can’t remember what he wanted to ask Baekhyun in the first place for the life of him.
Luckily, Baekhyun prompts him. “So you were saying?”
Chanyeol clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that technically, I don’t think your outfit fits the dress code, Baekhyun. Would you consider changing out of your jeans for a more…” he pauses, “waiter-like pair of pants?”
Luhan suddenly pipes in from the side. “What he’s trying to say is that you have a great ass. But your pants are like, ninety percent holes.”
“Uh-“
“Wasn’t aiming to get that compliment from you, Lu,” Baekhyun says, “but thanks.”
“And anyway, Sehun’s going to take that as a declaration of war.” Luhan gestures at Baekhyun’s lower half. “You know he takes his title of ‘bubble butt’ very seriously.”
Baekhyun steers Luhan aside. “You can tell Sehun if he complains that it’s game on.”
He turns his attention back to Chanyeol, who waited awkwardly through the whole exchange. “Right. Since you asked so nicely,” Baekhyun drawls, “No.”
“Great, so-“ Chanyeol stops. “Wait, what?”
Baekhyun goes on. “However, if at any time you feel compelled to peel the jeans off me yourself, you’re welcome to that. No need to apologize or blush, though I have to say it looks good on you.” With a disconcerting wink, he walks away.
***
The one perk of being manager is that Chanyeol gets to hang around the counter idly when there are fewer customers. There aren’t really any other upsides. Chanyeol has to wait tables and clear them like any other server, since they’re a little short on workers. It’s not bad, though. It doesn’t take much effort to keep a bright smile on since Chanyeol smiles too much anyway and it’s not like he minds picking up dirty dishes.
The lunch rush is wrapping up now, and there aren’t any new customers to serve.
Baekhyun is currently helping a table of girls. Though ‘helping’ isn’t exactly the right word. All of them have dyed hair in varying shades of brown and auburn, and the centers of their lips are dabbed with pastel lipstick. They’re pretty, really. And they hide their giggles in their drinks every time Baekhyun speaks.
Chanyeol sees Baekhyun lean subtly over the backs of their seats and he decides that he needs to save these girls somehow from Baekhyun. The girls have long since finished eating, anyway, he reasons.
He walks as naturally as possible to table three. Chanyeol tries to make it look casual when he nudges gently at Baekhyun’s back with his elbow.
“Focus, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol reminds him quietly, but he’s never been that great at whispering and his voice nearly cracks in the middle. He coughs to cover it up and attempts to leave before Baekhyun can ask what the hell he’s doing. But before Chanyeol can run away like Naruto, he’s stopped by one of the customers.
“Excuse me,” the girl with the burgundy lip tint calls out, “are you two together?” Her eyes flicker suspiciously from Baekhyun to Chanyeol.
“I knew it, Yeonhee,” her friend hisses under her breath. “There’s no way a guy like that can be single. Or interested in any of us.”
“Actually, we’re not,” Chanyeol cuts in a little too loudly. “It’s our first day, and I was just reminding him to clear your dishes.” He waves his hands to emphasize and nearly knocks over a drink.
“Really?” Yeonhee brightens. She throws a dirty look at her friend before leaning forward. “You’re kind of cute, too,” she says shyly.
Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “Thanks. You’re really…nice,” he finishes lamely. He spots their dishes. “I’ll just take these-“ he says hastily as he gathers the plates and stumbles toward the kitchen. “See you soon!” Chanyeol calls over his shoulder.
Baekhyun still stands at table three, looking confusedly after him.
Yeonhee pouts, but the rest of the girls seem to giggle and whisper among themselves even more intensely. “Baekhyun-ssi, don’t you think he’s cute?”
Baekhyun shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips. “That’s confidential.”
***
Jongdae flips the sign on the door with an exaggerated flourish. Now, the ‘Closed’ side faces outward.
“Finally,” he sighs. “No offense, but it’s been ten hours and your faces are only funny for the first few.”
A used napkin is thrown at Jongdae. “You shouldn’t be talking,” Sehun calls.
Jongdae bats the crumpled ball away and readies himself to shout back when Joonmyun sweeps in. He plucks up the napkin swiftly and glares at them both. “Why don’t you help clean so we can hurry up and eat dinner. Don’t make me count to ten,” he warns.
With a roll of his eyes, Jongdae grabs a rag and begins to scrub at the tables. “When did you start becoming such a mom, Joonmyun?”
Meanwhile, Chanyeol’s struggling to refill the salt and pepper shakers. “Which one of you put sugar in the salt shaker at table five?” Chanyeol stares accusingly at Jongdae. “The nice old lady sitting there kept asking about the recipe and insisting that the salt here tastes miraculously sweet.”
Jongdae shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
They finish the rest of their cleaning in relative silence. Minseok makes quick work of putting up extra chairs while Jongin runs under the tables with a mop. Having cleared the tables, everyone else is either busy in the kitchen washing dishes or cooking.
As Chanyeol finishes his job, he watches as Kyungsoo chases everyone out of the kitchen and slams the door shut, muttering about something about Sehun and violation of food safety regulations. “Just sit down,” Kyungsoo orders, “and wait for me to finish making something edible.”
There’s barely any reaction before the chatter starts up again. Joonmyun is the first to sit down. One by one, the other workers follow and collapse onto the seats with a series of groans and complaints about pain in various body parts.
As everyone’s squeezing themselves into two booths, Chanyeol wonders idly where he should sit. Just as he takes a step toward where Yixing is (because Yixing is nice and he won’t put condiments in Chanyeol’s drink when he’s not looking), Jongdae appears out of nowhere and shoves at his side.
“Get in, beanpole,” Jongdae grumbles. “I really need a fucking rest.”
And Chanyeol probably would’ve gotten in if he hadn’t spotted Baekhyun already seated in the same booth. He makes to walk to the other side of the table, but Jongdae’s not having it.
“Where are you going?” Jongdae holds onto Chanyeol’s elbow and forces him down.
Chanyeol takes care to leave two inches of space between himself and Baekhyun when he scoots in. Jongdae shoots him an annoyed look. “What’s your problem? Can you please move in further because three-fourths of my right ass cheek is still hanging-“
Chanyeol tries to signal with his face that no, he really doesn’t need to be that close to Baekhyun. He makes a point of shaking his head subtly. Jongdae appears unamused until something apparently clicks in his mind. His eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Jongdae winks extremely obviously. “I understand.” Chanyeol should know that it’s always a bad sign when Jongdae understands something.
Jongdae presses himself right into Chanyeol. Hard. So hard, in fact, that Chanyeol’s now flush against Baekhyun and he can feel the warmth seeping through his clothes and Baekhyun’s eyes are incredibly close as they blink up at him.
“Hi,” Chanyeol says conversationally. “I’ll move over a bit. Jongdae’s just being an idiot-“
“Like I said, I don’t mind,” Baekhyun nearly purrs. What the actual fuck.
Chanyeol feels suddenly way too warm again.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” Baekhyun laughs, eyes crinkled at the corners and no trace of the exaggerated suggestive tone from before. “You’re just really easy to rile up. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Can’t say that’s happened,” Chanyeol says. “It’s probably more because you’re great at riling people up.” He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Of course Baekhyun was only joking. He grins too.
“Hold up. Since when did the puppy grow claws?” Baekhyun asks in mock surprise.
Jongdae looks over with interest. “I’ve always said you act like a golden retriever.”
Chanyeol makes an indignant sound. “It was one time that I put a tennis ball in my mouth, Jongdae. You’re the one that dared me, anyway.” The table goes quiet. “I’m hardcore,” he declares awkwardly.
“I can’t believe that you can listen to rock music and then say shit like that.” Jongdae shakes his head.
“So, tell me about that tennis ball.” Baekhyun raises an eyebrow.
“That was a dark time. You’ll have to stick around to hear it.”
“I’ll be extra sure to stick around, then.”
Just then, there’s a loud commotion across the table. Yifan’s holding a fancy glass of orange juice, of all things. He attempts to casually prop an elbow on the table with a loud thump. He looks up suddenly over the rim of the cup with a longing stare and proceeds to mumble something inaudible into his cup.
“You said you were good at this.” Luhan watches apprehensively. “Only the juice can hear you talking. Unless you like flirting with fruit-flavored drinks. In that case, ten out of ten.”
“I said ‘Excuse me,’” Yifan corrects. “And it’s more about the aura than the words. You wouldn’t understand.”
“No? How many girls have you picked up with that line then?”
“None,” Yifan admits. “Yet.”
Everyone’s so loud and Kyungsoo’s still locked in the kitchen, probably poisoning the food, but it’s strangely somewhat nice. It’s good enough for a first day, Chanyeol decides.
***
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun calls. “Help me out with this?” He’s readying himself to climb on top of a spinning stool in order to reach one of the highest cabinets. To his frustration, he finds that he still can’t get the box of colored shell pasta that Kyungsoo wants.
Chanyeol’s presently lugging sacks of flour into the kitchen of a brand that Sehun specifically requested, claiming that it made the pizza and flatbread taste better. When Chanyeol asked why, Sehun replied haughtily, “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a chef thing.”
It’s too warm, given the heat of the summer sun outside plus the exertion of carrying fifty-pound bags of flour from Yifan’s truck, especially since Yifan insists on parking across the street to stay in the shade.
“One sec, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol straightens up to stretch and loosen his limbs.
Fed up with attempting to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt higher and higher, Chanyeol decides to strip off the annoying shirt altogether, leaving him in a thin wife beater underneath. It isn’t doing him much good anyway, plastered to his skin. Chanyeol grimaces. He feels a bit disgusting and not in any way presentable, if he’s honest. He bunches the material into a ball and wipes at the sweat forming at his temple as he makes his way toward Baekhyun.
Chanyeol gets the feeling that Baekhyun might think differently, however. As soon as he steps in, Chanyeol can feel Baekhyun’s gaze raking appreciatively over his arms, a hundred times more scorching than the sun outside. Heated up and slightly self-conscious from the attention, Chanyeol coughs softly.
Baekhyun’s eyes snap up to Chanyeol’s face and his mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. He’s completely unabashed to be caught staring while Chanyeol feels himself reddening and he hasn’t even done anything. It’s unfair.
“Good, you’re here,” he says cheerfully, like he wasn’t tracing the veins threading across Chanyeol’s biceps just then.
Baekhyun hops off the rotating stool and looks thoughtfully up at Chanyeol instead, and he can practically see the gears turning in Baekhyun’s head. All of a sudden, the breath’s being knocked out of him, soft thighs clutching around his waist and hands grasping none too gently at his shoulders.
Stumbling blindly for a moment with the weight of a person clinging to him, Chanyeol manages to recover his balance without dropping the boy in his arms. In that process, however, he finds himself much too aware of how close Baekhyun is, trying to catch his breath with his hands settled securely against Baekhyun’s lower back, holding him closer. Chanyeol feels decidedly lightheaded; the thighs around him pressing a little too tight, his own hands a little too dangerously low.
“Liking the free show, Chanyeol?” Eyebrow raised, Baekhyun looks as composed as ever, if not slightly breathless.
Eyes wide, Chanyeol feels hot all over. “No!” he protests, “I swear, I’m not trying anything!” In a desperate attempt to get his hands as far from Baekhyun’s backside as possible to prove that no, he wasn’t liking the show, he nearly loses his grip.
Baekhyun yelps, hands tightening on Chanyeol’s shoulders. After an awkward pause, Baekhyun tsks. “Since you show off those arms of yours so much, I thought you’d be stronger.”
“I wasn’t showing off,” Chanyeol says defensively. “I could say something about you and your jeans if you want to talk about showing off,” he retorts, ears pink nonetheless.
Baekhyun grins. “I never said I didn’t enjoy it.”
He’s settled comfortably now, legs locked around Chanyeol’s waist and this whole scene can get misinterpreted very easily, Chanyeol thinks.
“And if you think I’m showing off, you must be watching then.” Baekhyun hums through Chanyeol’s ensuing silence. “Not that I blame you, of course.” He wiggles teasingly in Chanyeol’s hold.
Chanyeol moves toward the counter without warning, earning him another surprised yelp from Baekhyun. Satisfied, he shifts Baekhyun up a little higher so he can finally pick up the box of pasta. Chanyeol really doesn’t get why Kyungsoo has to have that exact box.
When he lets Baekhyun down with a pasta box in hand, Baekhyun drags his fingertips down Chanyeol’s bicep, feather-light. He keeps his eyes locked on Chanyeol’s all the while.
“Thanks, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, and the way Chanyeol’s name slides off his tongue sounds mildly illegal.
Luhan stands behind the counter, watching skeptically when Baekhyun was perched precariously in Chanyeol’s arms. “He knows that Chanyeol can reach that by himself, right?”
Minseok sips his coffee. “He’s a sneaky bastard. Probably wanted to see Chanyeol’s arms up close, with the way he stares.”
***
It’s barely two weeks in when they discover the first chipped dish. It’s bound to happen anyway, with how much they’ve been dropping and clanging the plates. They find it out the hard way when someone cuts their hand on the sharp edge. That person being Baekhyun, unfortunately.
Baekhyun doesn’t notice anything at first. He pulls his hand back instinctively from the sting and promptly drops the dish with a loud crack. Thankfully, it’s only an empty plate and it breaks evenly into two on the ground. The customers flinch at the initial shock but are decidedly disinterested after Baekhyun bows quickly and assures them it’s nothing.
Meanwhile, Chanyeol opens the kitchen door with his hip, holding multiple drinks. The first thing he notices is Baekhyun sweeping up the broken plate right outside.
Just then, Baekhyun hisses slightly as he discovers the cut across his palm. He stares for a moment at the thin line of blood seeping from it. “I think I cut my hand,” he says calmly.
“Ouch,” Joonmyun winces. He quickly walks out from behind the counter. “One sec, I’ll grab you a Band-Aid.”
Immediately, Chanyeol hands his tray off to Jongdae (“I am not your servant, Park Chanyeol,” Jongdae complains) to check on Baekhyun.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chanyeol asks with worry.
“No. I think I’m bleeding to my death.”
Chanyeol frowns and ignores Baekhyun’s sarcasm. “Hey, it looks like it hurts. Is it deep?”
Without waiting for an answer, he picks up Baekhyun’s injured hand as gently as possible. Baekhyun looks up, more in surprise than anything.
“Really, Chanyeol, it’s nothing. You’re making the customers nervous,” he says lightly. He doesn’t pull his hand away, though. Chanyeol turns Baekhyun’s palm over to brush over his fingers for any other damage, taking care not to touch the cut. His fingers are delicate looking, pretty and slim with a definitely-not-cute little mole dotting the edge of his thumb. Baekhyun’s hand is much smaller than his own, Chanyeol notes curiously, but his grip is firm when he attempts to squeeze back in reassurance.
“I take it that you play guitar?” Baekhyun says, eyebrow raised.
Chanyeol’s eyes light up immediately. “Yeah, actually. How did you find out? Don’t tell me you’re psychic.”
It’s only when Baekhyun thumbs over Chanyeol’s fingertip that Chanyeol realizes their hands are still touching. It’s irrational that Chanyeol flushes pink at the thought of kind of, sort of holding hands while Baekhyun’s still bleeding, but he does anyway. He pulls back as quickly as he can without hurting Baekhyun.
“You can think of me as psychic, if you want.” Baekhyun blinks slowly up at him through dark lashes. A tiny smirk curls the edge of his mouth knowingly and Jesus Christ, Chanyeol hopes he’s imagining it. His heart is nearly jumping out of his chest and he needs to take a few steps back from the absolutely criminal way Baekhyun is looking at him right now.
“But it was obvious from the feel of your fingers.” Baekhyun steps back a bit too, surveying Chanyeol quietly.
“Oh,” Chanyeol says, and he’s not sure what else to say.
“It’s not an insult,” Baekhyun says quickly. “I like how rough your hands are.” For once, Baekhyun looks like he’s said something he didn’t mean to say out loud. Chanyeol enjoys this just a little.
Baekhyun tries to explain himself. “I think it’s cool that you have evidence of playing an instrument. Like, I don’t know, the guitar makes a little imprint on you.” He stares pleadingly at Chanyeol as if begging him to at least pretend he gets it. Baekhyun laughs at himself.
“Sorry, that was stupid.”
“No, no it wasn’t!” Chanyeol hurries to say. At Baekhyun’s unconvinced look, he adds, “Thanks. For not being grossed out by my hands.”
Just then, Joonmyun finally returns with a whole box of Band-Aids. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, out of breath, “I had to dig through the whole supply closet to find them.”
After a few moments of relative silence except for Joonmyun’s wheezing, Joonmyun finally realizes that Chanyeol is standing unnecessarily close to Baekhyun.
He pauses. “Is there…?” he trails off questioningly.
Not meeting Joonmyun’s eyes, Chanyeol quickly takes the box of bandages from him. “I’ll do it. Thanks, Joonmyun,” he says, probably louder than needed.
Joonmyun gives him a strange look before heading off.
Quickly, Chanyeol tapes a large bandage over the cut in Baekhyun’s hand, trying to make as little skin contact as possible. “There,” he declares, wincing internally at how lopsided it looks.
“I don’t know how I could’ve survived without your care, Doctor Park,” Baekhyun says dryly. Before he heads into the kitchen, though, he gives Chanyeol a real smile, warm and simple.
Chanyeol’s still lost in thought, looking dumbly in the direction Baekhyun went.
He barely notices when Sehun stops next to him. “Where were you when Tao broke my toe with his nunchucks, Chanyeol? And I thought we were friends,” he says in disappointment.
Chanyeol throws a rag at Sehun’s head.
***
Birthdays are nice, Chanyeol thinks. But Baekhyun’s voice is nicer. Viva Polo’s only received a few birthday reservations since its opening, but on the rare occasion that it happens, the staff makes an effort to sing a special rendition of “Happy Birthday” as Kyungsoo brings out the cake.
Today, they’re singing for a little boy, just eight years old.
Chanyeol himself stands back, but pauses in his serving to listen. Baekhyun’s done a number of obnoxious impressions and purposefully off-tune covers of Girls’ Generation songs while they prepare in the morning and close up in the evenings, but Chanyeol hasn’t ever heard him really sing.
When the background track starts, Baekhyun’s voice is easily heard over it, somehow smooth and rough at the same time. It settles in the air, clear, warm, like he’s smiling, and it drags Chanyeol in so easily. The harmonies he pulls with Jongdae complement each other and it has the birthday boy staring back and forth between them in awe.
Chanyeol’s never been particular to the birthday song before, but now he thinks it could be his favorite.
When they finish in a flurry of applause and cheers from on-looking customers, Jongdae and Kyungsoo get dragged aside by the admiring parents who thank them profusely and shower them in praises. Meanwhile, Chanyeol edges closer to Baekhyun.
He has to lean a bit closer than normal to be heard over the loud buzz of the restaurant. “Hey, Baek.” Chanyeol tries to sound casual.
“Yeah?” Baekhyun turns and Chanyeol realizes belatedly that they’re standing really close. There’s barely an inch between them and Baekhyun has to tip his head back to look up at Chanyeol, brown irises turned soft amber from the overhead lights. Something in Chanyeol’s stomach flutters even more nervously at seeing Baekhyun’s smile up close.
“Baekhyun, your voice is…” Chanyeol trails off, searching for the words. “Really nice,” he finishes. He has to add, “Really, really nice,” because he’s not sure Baekhyun gets it.
Baekhyun’s voice is more than nice, really, because it’s bright and mellow when he pulls a falsetto but so, so wickedly warm when he drops to a low rasp - but somehow, it seems too much and not enough at the same time for Chanyeol to say aloud.
“Thanks,” Baekhyun says, “You think so?” He sounds pleased, more pleased than when people compliment his looks or his outfit.
“Definitely,” Chanyeol replies immediately. The tips of his ears redden and he hopes he doesn’t come off too eager. If he does, Baekhyun says nothing about it. “Have you ever taken lessons?”
“I’m a music major at the Seoul Institute of Arts,” Baekhyun says, amused. “I’m kind of obligated to take lessons, training to be a vocalist and all.”
Chanyeol shakes his head. “Wow. Do you plan on being an idol? Or just…” Chanyeol makes some vague gestures, “Any singer?”
“It doesn’t really matter to me. I just want people to hear me. And enjoy it, hopefully.”
Chanyeol frowns. He reaches out to - well, he doesn’t know what he means to do, but Baekhyun moves suddenly and he finds himself brushing Baekhyun’s hand instead. Startled, he jolts back and manages to piece together a sentence.
“Not ‘hopefully,’ Chanyeol insists, more forcefully than he intends and it seems to surprise Baekhyun too. “Your vocal tone, your control-You sound…” he starts to say, and then he’s struggling to find words. “I would be your fan,” he blurts out a little too honestly. He’s already a fan.
Baekhyun doesn’t compose himself as quickly as he normally does. He first breaks out in his usual slow smirk but can’t seem to keep from somehow crumbling a little further. It’s clear in his grin, less purposefully charming and more tentative but Chanyeol thinks that when his eyes crinkle in the corners, it’s even better.
He’s not sure if it’s just the angle but from where he’s standing, it almost looks like faint pink tinges Baekhyun’s cheeks. Chanyeol swears his heart squeezes even tighter.
“You know anything about music?” Baekhyun asks suddenly. “It sounds like you’re experienced.”
“Yeah, actually. I’m in Seoul Arts for music comp and production,” he says. “But I play a few instruments.” Chanyeol half-smiles. “So I can appreciate an instrument like your voice, naturally.”
Fuck. Chanyeol freezes and all the blood rushes to his face because he didn’t just say that.
Baekhyun seems startled, but laughs anyway. “You’re turning the tables on me, aren’t you?” He tsks. “You act like an embarrassed puppy but you’re really a smooth talker.”
Chanyeol reddens even more.
“Well, show me what you can play sometime. I’ve got a thing for musicians.” Baekhyun gives him a cheeky grin and pats the side of Chanyeol’s face.
***
Chanyeol tells himself that it’s not for Baekhyun when he lugs his guitar case to Viva Polo a week later. And it’s definitely not because he keeps repeating the way Baekhyun says “I’ve got a thing for musicians” in his head.
***
It’s late. Chanyeol lets the rest of the workers go home a bit earlier than usual, hoping no one noticed the black case hiding in the supply closet. (Jongdae doesn’t leave easily. He keeps wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and looking purposefully in Baekhyun’s direction.)
Baekhyun’s still here. “Ready to serenade me, Chanyeol?” He hops up on the stool near the counter, legs swinging and eyes sparkling as he watches Chanyeol take out his guitar.
Chanyeol takes care as he props the instrument delicately across his lap and begins to tune it. “Don’t have high expectations,” he warns. “I’m not a professional like you, Mister Future Idol.”
Baekhyun sticks his tongue out. “I reserve judgement until I actually hear you play.”
He waits quietly for another minute while Chanyeol plucks experimentally through the strings before piping up again.
“Does it have a name?” Baekhyun’s mostly teasing, gesturing to the guitar.
“It’s a he, actually,” Chanyeol retorts. “And his name is Louis William Suga Adams Junior. The third.”
There’s a terrible moment where Chanyeol thinks Baekhyun just might walk away.
Baekhyun buckles over instead and laughs so hard he nearly cries. “That,” he says, “is what I’m naming my first born child.”
When they compose themselves, Chanyeol finally starts plucking out the first bars of Radiohead’s “Creep.” The notes sound twangy in the silence and Chanyeol isn’t really sure when he hears the sound of his own voice. He isn’t vocally trained. His voice is deep enough, Chanyeol knows that, and he puts whatever he has into the lyrics and following the simple tune that he’s played so many times before. It’s different this time, though.
Baekhyun’s watching with dark, attentive eyes and Chanyeol can’t focus on remembering English words when Baekhyun looks at him like that.
Something leaps in his chest when Baekhyun says, sounding slightly awed, “I could fall asleep to your voice.”
Needless to say, Chanyeol’s ears heat up.
It’s not until the second chorus that it happens, but Chanyeol is grateful when Baekhyun joins him.
Their voices fill the air and Chanyeol feels like his whole body is buzzing and everything is hazy but he’s not drunk. Not off of alcohol, at least, but he could be drunk off the sound of Baekhyun.
The lyrics aren’t true, though, Chanyeol wants to say. Not when Baekhyun sings them. Because Baekhyun’s not the creep; if anything, Chanyeol might be a creep and Baekhyun’s fucking special.
Baekhyun dips into his lower register, the subtly husky tone just enough to send a shiver down Chanyeol’s spine. Languidly, Baekhyun leans back against the counter, eyes half-lidded and melody falling lightly from his lips. For all of Baekhyun’s obnoxious impressions and purposefully off-tune covers of Girls’ Generation, the real sound of him is quiet, made of low, lazy hums and breathy falsetto.
Chanyeol thinks it’s a bit unfair the way Baekhyun sings. It starts from the heave in his chest as he breathes, the tremble in the long column of his throat, the entrancing shape of his mouth pressing around syllables as they escape into the air.
He can’t really bring himself to look at Baekhyun straight on like this when he can already feel the heat in the tips of his ears. So he keeps strumming the guitar.
Chanyeol’s not sure what’s happening, but his fingers seem to realize it first. They stumble on the strings, missing notes in a chord. He clears his throat over the sound. Baekhyun doesn’t stop humming, but there’s an amused smile in his voice. The second time, he misses the beat completely, dropping a handful of notes. Chanyeol is too aware of the blush probably spreading through his face. Goddamn it.
He feels it. Baekhyun’s stare, just a bit too heavy to be a simple glance. The singing stops.
Chanyeol gives up on trying to play. From the corner of his eye, he sees Baekhyun slide off his stool. Slightly alarmed, Chanyeol shuffles back, clutching his guitar.
“Need some help?” Baekhyun gives him his signature grin, soft and easy, curling his lips, but something distinctly predatory glints off his sharp canines.
He inches closer. “Distracted, hm?” Baekhyun’s voice is different now. Somehow darker, but still warm. Too warm, in fact, Chanyeol thinks. He’s almost whispering, tone lingering dangerously close to seductive.
“Uh-“ Chanyeol knocks over his own chair. He scrambles to pick it up. “Sorry, Baek. I’ve got to go. Lots of things to do. Reorganizing my fridge. Writing a grocery list. The works.” He waves apologetically as he nearly runs out the front door, leaving Baekhyun staring after him.
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