fic: you can't have peace without a war [exo]
you can't have peace without a war
exo; wu fan/yixing/luhan; nc-17; 10 700
yixing feels as though he’s being split into two, blunt blade digging between his shoulder blades, attempting to cut straight through his spine. one lung for each of them, an arm and a leg, but he wonders who’ll end up with his heart. canon.
written here, originally for runandgun.
you can't have peace without a war
“You were being awfully clingy today,” Wu Fan whispers, a little smug as he presses his chest into Yixing’s back. They’re still waiting on security to clear a path for them through the fans gathered around the door. Yixing feels the heat rush to his ears, embarrassed at Wu Fan’s observation. He’d felt a little childish today, a little lonely standing on a stage that sometimes feels too big.
He shrugs instead, unsure what to say. A hand squeezes his hips for a brief second, all the assurance Yixing needs to know that he hadn’t gone too far. Wu Fan never pushes him away despite Yixing’s own fears that perhaps one day he’ll get bored of him.
“I’m just teasing,” Wu Fan adds, and Yixing guesses that he knows that, should know that. Believing is somewhat more difficult.
“I know,” he murmurs, nodding at fans as curtly as he can. It makes him feel a bit anxious when he’s surrounded by so many people, thankful in these moments that the rest of his band is there with him, thankful now that Wu Fan is a steady presence behind him.
“We’re almost done for the day, relax.” Wu Fan’s hands clasp his shoulders and squeeze, but Yixing is too tightly wound up right now to find it comforting. He wants to shrug off Wu Fan’s hands, but the screaming level of the fans seems to increase with the obvious contact and Wu Fan lets his hands linger a little longer than necessary. When he lets them drop, Yixing edges forward, irritation bubbling upwards. Wu Fan seems to follow him, still pressing into his back and Yixing isn’t sure if he wants to maintain it.
He has a tendency to collapse in on himself, drawing back into a shell he tries very hard to break out of. Perhaps today he’d wanted more than just a quickie before the show started, something more than whatever they’d started years ago, clumsy and a little selfish.
When they surge towards the door, screaming fans and flashing cameras blinding as usual, Yixing simultaneously wishes Wu Fan would stop pressing his hand into the small of his back and keep it there forever. He doesn’t really know what he wants anymore.
Wu Fan’s hand finds his when they finally make it through the door, pulling Yixing through until they reach their van. A manager waits for them with the door to the van open, and Wu Fan climbs in, releasing Yixing’s hand. Yixing’s heart drops at the loss of contact, and he feels a little empty as he climbs in, shuffling in next to Wu Fan to make room for Jongdae. The rest of the members climb into the back and the last of the camera flashes disappear with the slam of the door closing.
“You alright?” Wu Fan asks, worried eyes looking down at Yixing. Guilt makes him feel nauseous, his head bobbing up and down before he can even confess that no, no he isn’t. Sometimes he craves too much and Wu Fan cannot give him enough.
“Just tired,” he smiles, eyes closing as he tips his head back against the car seat. Wu Fan’s hand slides down his thigh, resting on his knee as he rubs soft circles against it. It’s nice, Yixing thinks, mind beginning to blank as the van begins to move forward. He let’s his head fall against Wu Fan’s shoulder, sighing quietly as the smell of cinnamon wafts around him, the scent lingering on Wu Fan like a second skin.
They ride in silence, tired from the day’s exertions and try as he might, Yixing cannot fall asleep. Wu Fan is pressed too close to him, hot and sticky in the summer heat and Yixing wishes this was enough.
“Are you okay?” Luhan murmurs, fingers carding through Yixing’s hair comfortingly. Yixing sighs into the touch, eyes closing as he recalls Wu Fan’s long fingers pressing into his hips. The bruises must still be there, he just hasn’t bothered to check today. Today nothing feels like enough, as though Yixing has to fight to be the center of Wu Fan’s attention, caught in the crossfire of kind, fond smiles thrown at Zitao and bubbling laughter lavished upon Jongdae’s bright smiles.
“Yeah,” he says instead, eyes fluttering open when Luahn sinks down onto the mattress next to him. They don’t share beds. As much as Luhan is an open book for Yixing to read and foresee, he has built and outlined boundaries between himself and the world. Luhan’s peculiar dislike for sharing beds has always struck Yixing as strange but he doesn’t question it, asking Luhan for only how much he is willing to give, never more.
Perhaps Luhan is too much his equal, Wu Fan miles ahead, too far out of Yixing’s reach for him to ever be entirely satisfied with standing next to him, forgotten in the din to be heard above the others.
“You sure?” Luhan insists, their arms connected from the shoulder to their bone-thin fingers, interlaced loosely. Yixing is thankful for Luhan, for his persistence, and sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he’d kissed Luhan two years ago rather than Wu Fan.
He turns his head towards Luhan, the expression on his face only concerned, a little unconvinced. Yixing hasn’t told Luhan anything yet, and he wonders if perhaps he should. They don’t have secrets between them, just vows made in empty practise rooms of best friends forever and hearts laid out until they beat in sync, binding them together so tightly that there are days when Yixing forgets that Luhan is not actually attached to him at the hip.
Licking his lips, Yixing turns until he is lying on his shoulder, Luhan’s attention caught. He squeezes Luhan’s fingers tightly before he opens his mouth. “I like Wu Fan.”
Luhan’s eyes widen at the confession, but there is a sudden shift in his expression, hurt flashing so quickly across his features that Yixing is almost sure he’s imagined it. “Oh.”
Uncertainty clings to Yixing now, his heart thundering so loudly that he can feel the blood rush past his ears, through his veins as it crashes back. “I’m not sure how much he likes me.”
Silence drags out between them before Luhan tilts himself toward Yixing, fingers still tangled with Yixings’. “Why? Have you told him?”
Yixing wants to say I’ve more than told him, but Luhan has never hidden disappointment all that well, soft features downturned and tight. Yixing knows Luhan too well now. They’ve been trainees too long, sharing cramped little dorm rooms until Yixing didn’t know what belonged to him and what was Luhan’s, didn’t know when his skin, flesh and bones stopped being just his. He wants to tell Luhan nothing more now, wants to shrink away until everything is only in his head, and only he knows the way Wu Fan’s fingers curl around his heart, squeezing too tight.
“We’ve been sleeping together,” he says, swallowing as the words leave his mouth. Luhan stiffens beside him and Yixing wonders if he’s betrayed Luhan with his silence, failing to tell him something so big and consuming.
“W-what?” Luhan asks, stumbling over the word and Yixing feels like he owes him an apology, owes him the years he has spent silently holding pieces of Yixing together, lost in the stretch of friendship and loyalty. “For how long?”
“I don’t remember,” he lies, knowing exactly how long this whole mess started. Wu Fan had cried the hardest that Christmas, Yixing’s heart shattering with every sob and hitch in his voice, trembling hands holding someone bigger and stronger than Yixing’s little frame was meant for. “It just, it just sort of happened.”
Luhan stares at him, jaw tightening as he realises that Yixing is not telling him everything. Yixing is hardly any good at hiding things from Luhan even if he is better at guarding himself, hidden behind a vapidness he is sometimes grateful for. They’re too much the same, Luhan and him. There are days when Yixing thinks he knows the streets of Beijing as well as Luhan simply by association, a kind of osmosis.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Luhan presses, blunt only with Yixing.
Yixing bites his lip at that, falling back onto the bed, eyes fixated on the ceiling now. Luhan’s yet to let go of his hand and Yixing counts this in his favour, hopeful that Luhan will not leave him. “Nothing, really. It’s just that, we’ve only been sleeping together.”
“I don’t understand.”
Closing his eyes, Yixing relives Wu Fan’s tongue sliding against his, electricity coursing from nerve to nerve, sparking across his skin, ready to ignite. Luhan’s hand holds the fire at bay, squeezing tighter than ever now.
“Have you ever wanted a person so much, Luhan, that the thought of not having every second of their attention hurt more than not having any at all?” The silence that greets him is answer enough and Yixing opens his eyes to find the lost look in Luhan’s eyes, almost desperate in wanting to help him.
“Do you love him?” he whispers, as if afraid to hear the answer.
Yixing doesn’t answer, unsure himself. Obsession isn’t love, is it?
Luhan doesn’t press the question, just pulls Yixing closer, nimble fingers wrapping around his waist. Yixing allows himself to be tucked into the warmth of Luhan’s chest, his steady heartbeat resounding through Yixing’s body like the beat of the bass he’s practised himself ragged to, thump, thump, thump.
They’ve slept together before, just never on each other’s beds, hotel room arrangements with single beds and practise room couches the only recollections Yixing has. Even when they’d been younger and Yixing had heard Luhan crying in the dead of the night, homesick and tired, they’d kept that distance.
Yixing wonders what it means to cross it now.
Luhan sticks to Yixing the next day, hardly letting him out of his sight. It seems to annoy Wu Fan that he can’t have a moment alone with Yixing and somehow this makes Yixing feel a little better. He lets Luhan slump against him in the van as they’re driven back to their hotel. It’s almost like a home now, Yixing having nearly memorised the floor plan to his room with Luhan.
There is a scowl on Wu Fan’s face that Yixing normally finds endearing, but the weariness of the day before hasn’t left him yet, his heavy heart still weighing him down. He keeps his eyes locked with Wu Fan through the little mirror in the passenger seat sun visor, waiting for something other than the brief kiss Wu Fan had pressed against his lips when he’d gone to wake him up.
Two years has been enough, dragging Yixing through what he doesn’t understand anymore. Luhan feels familiar at his side, and Yixing purposefully laces his fingers with Luhan, not missing the small smile that forms on his lips. Wu Fan’s eyes darken and it is all the satisfaction Yixing needs.
Sweat clings to Yixing’s back, and drops of it trickle down the length of his face, tearing apart as they splash against his thighs. Luhan’s lying next to him, arms outstretched and eyes closed. He looks beautiful like this, long eyelashes fanning out across flushed cheeks, short pants escaping through his pink lips, parted just slightly. Yixing counts each breathe until he is exhaling with Luhan, chest rising and falling in rhythm. He thinks of the way their bodies move in sync, Luhan fluttering like a butterfly next to him, deft and light on his feet.
Without hesitancy, he brushes Luhan’s fringe out of his eyes, thumb tracing his eyebrow from beginning to tapered end. Luhan smiles, sleepy but pleased.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Yixing smiles. “No one’s going to carry you home.”
“Are you sure?” Luhan mumbles. “Minseok loves me.”
“Not that much,” Minseok snorts, flicking Luhan’s arm and calling him a brat. Yixing laughs at the indignation on Luhan’s face, frown forming as Minseok grins at him, wide and gummy.
His eyes wander to the clock briefly, both hands aligned at the twelve. Their managers had let them finish up earlier than usual today, and Yixing is grateful for the little rest he can give his back. Luhan and Minseok continue to bicker next to him and Yixing can’t help the fond smile that stretches across his lips. He rises to his feet, wincing as he feels the burn in his calves, dull now but he knows it’ll be worse in the morning.
Wu Fan’s eyes are on him in a second, the sudden attention making him feel self-conscious. He scratches at the back of his neck and watches as Wu Fan smirks knowingly. Yixing excuses himself quickly, mumbling that he has to go the washroom, Wu Fan’s shadow following him without a second glance back.
Heat pools in his stomach, the excitement already accelerating through his veins, pumping endorphins. When he reaches the washroom door, a hand finds his hips, the other pushing the door open. They stumble inside, Wu Fan’s teeth nipping at Yixing’s ear, a hand sliding up his thigh until it palms his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. He moans, too loud, and Wu Fan’s exhale is hot against his neck, lips pressing against the exposed skin, nipping along the length of Yixing’s shoulder.
Yixing leans back into Wu Fan, pressing him against the washroom door until he can feel Wu Fan’s half-hard cock. He grinds against it, desperate and needy, and relishes the way Wu Fan groans, biting too hard against the curve of Yixing’s neck.
Wu Fan’s hand slips past the waistband of Yixing’s underwear, long fingers wrapping around his cock. He twists Yixing’s head around until their lips can meet, the angle awkward but Yixing doesn’t care, he wants Wu Fan to move his hand faster. He parts his lips, Wu Fan’s tongue delving into his mouth.
He whines, grinding against Wu Fan a second time, and he can feel the smirk on Wu Fan’s lips, taste the smugness spread across his tongue. There is a desperation clawing up Yixing’s throat, one he’s all too familiar with, one that ends in a wet pillow and swollen eyes the next morning. Still, he can’t stop now, Wu Fan’s hand pumping his cock quicker with every breathy moan that escapes him, hips arching into his hand now, head tossed back.
He comes with a shudder, collapsing against Wu Fan’s body as he rides the high out, gasping as he attempts to even out his breathing. Wu Fan’s nose burrows into the space behind his ear, hand pulling out of Yixing’s underwear. “I missed you.”
Yixing giggles despite himself, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “Did you?”
“Yeah,” Wu Fan breathes, pulling Yixing closer, pressing his now hard cock against Yixing’s ass. He can feel it digging between his cheeks, and his mouth waters as he thinks about swallowing it.
“It’s not like I went anywhere,” Yixing mumbles, rubbing himself against Wu Fan, pleased with the moan he receives.
“Luhan stole you away,” Wu Fan whines, childish, but somehow Yixing finds it utterly charming, the petulant tone endearing. He swallows, Wu Fan’s honesty always something that Yixing found attractive, but he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to be stolen away, wants to stop putting himself in this position where he is too desperate, too far gone to stop himself and say no, no, Wu Fan needs to give him more than this.
Instead, he quietly lets the words escape him. “No one can steal me away from you.”
It seems to be all Wu Fan needs, and he spins Yixing around to kiss him hard on the mouth, destroying the last of Yixing’s delusions of escape.
He falls as he always does, absolutely and entirely.
Once they’re back in their hotel rooms, Luhan closes the door firmly behind him, staring Yixing down. He shrinks a little, attempting to pretend that he can’t see the disappointment in Luhan’s eyes.
“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
Luhan sounds terrifyingly angry, more so than Yixing has ever heard him. He knows how overprotective Luhan is, remembers the number of times Luhan has stood up for him, tearing apart anyone who dared to call him dumb and slow.
“I can’t just stop,” he argues, sounding weaker than he would like. Yixing wishes he could go back two years and tell himself what a terrible idea Wu Fan was. Charming, captivating Wu Fan with his too kind smiles and too careful hands.
“Of course you can, you just don’t want to,” Luhan spits, eliminating the space between them in three quick strides. It’s at times like these that Yixing realises that despite their similar height, Luhan still seems to have the ability to tower over him.
His throat’s gone completely dry, guilt gripping the insides of his stomach, nauseating. “Is that so bad?”
“If you think I haven’t heard you crying, Yixing, then you’re wrong. I just thought you were homesick but it was him, wasn’t it?”
The admission hits him like a ton of bricks, his eyes widening. Luhan isn’t backing down, and his hand grips Yixing’s wrist to hold him in place. It’s not as though Yixing has anywhere to run, but then again, Yixing has always been awfully good at hiding things.
“Zhang Yixing, who do you think you’re lying to?” Luhan whispers, and Yixing can’t stop the tears as they fall, fingers digging into the fabric of Luhan’s shirt as he lets out the first sob.
It surprises him when Luhan presses his lips to Yixing’s, soft and tender. He pulls away quickly, nervous, as he wraps Yixing in his arms and Yixing’s heart thunders in his ears, tears streaking down his cheeks too quickly for him to wipe away. His head feels like a mess but he lets Luhan pull him to his bed, leaning into the warmth of his body.
Shuffling out of the meager dressing room they’ve been provided with, they make it to the Walk of Fame stage entrance, Luhan behind him, a barrier between Yixing and Wu Fan. They’d decided that morning that Yixing would keep his distance and Luhan would help however he could. Apparently this meant acting like a human wedge and while Yixing isn’t complaining, he can tell that Wu Fan doesn’t like this arrangement very much.
They cluster at the very edge of the stage, peering outwards into the crowd as much as their sparse view will allow them. It’s not a size they haven’t seen before but Yixing feels the familiar buzz of adrenaline and nerves settle under this skin. He also feels a hand brush against his hips and knows it’s Wu Fan’s. Luhan’s off to his right, and his jaw seems to clench. Yixing says nothing as the hand lingers there, Wu Fan’s smile pleased.
Gathering all of his courage, Yixing steps out of the hold, pretending to lean into Luhan to whisper something. Luhan welcomes the closeness, smile wide as he pulls Yixing nearer and the sudden flash of memory from last night feels like a distortion before his eyes, Luhan’s lips warm and inviting.
“You excited?” Luhan whispers, eyes twinkling and Yixing nods, unable to resist returning the smile Luhan gives him. “Good, forget about him for a little while.”
Yixing licks his lips, head ducking as he attempts not to feel terrible for ignoring Wu Fan. Luhan’s hand is steady around his waist though and it’s enough of a distraction that when they’re cued to take their place on stage, Yixing forgets both of them, only the rising exhilaration of being on stage clinging to him.
Yixing walks two steps behind Wu Fan, Luhan close behind him, a hand on Yixing’s shoulder as they walk through the crowd of fans. Airports make Yixing a little anxious, nerves getting the better of him as they get closer and closer to the plane. They’re flying to Changsha today for a pre-recording of Happy Camp with the rest of EXO set for the next day.
When they make it past the crowds of fans, finally free to stretch their arms out past the frame of their bodies, Yixing sighs in relief. Luhan’s arm wraps around his shoulders and Yixing smiles, leaning into Luhan as they walk to the lineup for the gates. The flash of camera still hasn’t left them, a shadow following them persistently. It doesn’t bother Yixing as much when they’re not caught in the crowd, and he smiles sweetly at the fans, waving every now and then.
“You’re so cute,” Luhan laughs, mimicking Yixing’s actions. The crowd cheers behind them, almost voracious and Yixing finds it just the slightest bit unsettling.
“Am I?” he grins at Luhan instead, sure that his dimple must be showing, smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Well, maybe if you did some aegyo for me, I could be sure,” Luhan teases, a hand pinching Yixing’s cheek as they move forward in the line. Yixing shoves his hand away, scowling, and Luhan laughs louder, expression outrageous. He likes this about Luhan, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, mouth opening ridiculously wide, unashamed.
“You’re the one with a baby face, you do some aegyo,” Yixing retorts, huffing.
“Aw, come on, for your ge,” Luhan insists, a hand wrapping around Yixing’s wrist and pulling childishly. “Just once.”
They break away for a moment, walking through the metal detectors, boarding passes out and passports at the ready. Getting through security is a well-practised routine at this point, the process going by without a hitch. Yixing thinks that Luhan will have dropped his teasing but his friend latches onto his arm again, tugging. “C’mon.”
“I’m not doing it!” He can’t help the embarrassed laughter, eyes bright as they watch Luhan pout at him, doe eyes widening.
He turns his face away from Luhan, catching Wu Fan’s gaze on them. His mouth is pursed into a tight line, eyes glowering as he watches them, and Yixing swallows. A few days’ distance has served Yixing well, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss Wu Fan or the way Wu Fan always kissed him softly in the morning while Jongdae was busy in the washroom. But he needs to clear his head, figure out what he wants from Wu Fan, who indulges Zitao with plenty of hugs and tells Luhan to cut it out everytime he insists on calling Minseok baozi. Yixing waits for him to pull him aside, to pay attention to how he’s missing from Wu Fan’s side, but it feels as though he’ll be waiting forever.
Turning back to Luhan, Yixing notes that Luhan has noticed Wu Fan as well, his hand falling off of Yixing’s wrist. Yixing takes the moment to bring his hands up to his cheeks, and a grin spreads across Luhan’s face in realisation. They’re out of sight from the fans now, anyways.
“Bbuing bbuing,” he laughs, giggles infectious as Luhan nearly squeals at Yixing’s embarrassment. Jongdae and Minseok are laughing behind them, and Yixing only sticks his tongue out at them, cheeks flushed.
Watching from the corner of his eye, Yixing notes Wu Fan’s back turned to them, and wonders how it can hurt so much. Zitao is grinning though, telling Yixing he’s cute and Yixing feels a second wave of embarrassment wash over him, heart unsure what to do with itself.
Laughing it off, he lets Luhan pull him in again, wishing he could bury his face into Luhan’s shoulder but they’re not exactly somewhere private. Yixing thinks he should be allowed to enjoy the warmth in his chest, heart swelling two sizes too big as he lets Luhan drag him around the airport.
Wu Fan watches them, carefully formulated smiles plastered across his face. Yixing knows how to read past them now; he knows Wu Fan’s eyes better than the stretch of his own arms and legs when he is dancing.
Still, he waits.
Happy Camp feels like a break for Yixing, Jongin and Kyungsoo taking up most of his attention during their time together. Sehun sticks like glue to Luhan, affection deep in his eyes, and Yixing finds that the darkness in his heart is almost manageable. Luhan wouldn’t have kissed him if hadn’t meant it.
It’s harder to pretend that Chanyeol’s clinginess doesn’t bother him, and he attempts to rationalise how he can’t just have one whole person, how Wu Fan has always attracted people to himself like moths to a flame. He is hard to ignore, harder still to resist, no matter how many times Yixing has felt scorched.
“Since when did you start thinking so loudly?” Luhan inquires, an eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. He flops down next to Yixing on the floor, the rest of their group members scattered across the practise room. Yixing almost can’t take him seriously with his hair tied up in a ponytail atop his head like this.
“You look ridiculous,” Yixing points out, and Luhan scowls, slapping Yixing’s arm vengefully.
“Sehun said it looked cute,” he huffs, eyeing Yixing from the corners of his eyes.
“He must enjoy embarrassing you,” Yixing comments, solemn. This earns him another smack but Yixing hits back this time, grinning stupidly at how disgruntled Luhan looks.
“You suck.” Luhan sticks his tongue out at him, all his fight gone as he lets his head fall on Yixings shoulder. Yixing reaches for his hand, fingers slipping through the gaps between Luhan’s fingers. He squeezes, tight, and knows that Luhan is smiling. Yixing could kiss him now, but without even looking up, Yixing knows Wu Fan is watching.
“I try, you know,” Yixing says, thumb pressing circles into Luhan’s skin.
“Try a little less.”
Luhan kisses him long and slow that night, supple lips and hot mouth. Fingers trail down his chest, sliding across his sides as Luhan hovers over Yixing. Yixing leans into him until he can feel Luhan’s heart beat through his own, almost like echoes as they ring through him, steady. Complete.
Wu Fan slams him into the bedroom door, Yixing’s head momentarily throbbing as he tries to adjust to the bright lights and work through the pain. He knew coming to Wu Fan’s room was a bad idea, Jongdae having come over to ask for help with his Chinese should have translated to Wu Fan wanting to be alone.
When Luhan had asked why he didn’t have Wu Fan help, Jongdae had shrugged, mentioning that Wu Fan was a little pissed off and he didn’t want to seem bothersome. Yixing had stilled in his packing, his luggage mostly put together anyways.
He’d excused himself from the room, Luhan eyes following him out, harder than Yixing was expecting them. Stepping out into the hallway, Yixing had swallowed back guilt. Luhan had understood well enough what Yixing meant, what he wanted from Wu Fan, and he’d expected Yixing to at least put up some distance between them until Wu Fan could give him something more than he had. It was harder said than done, but Yixing had never been able to deny Wu Fan anything, least of all his support.
“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” Wu Fan bites, fingers digging into Yixing’s arm. It hurts, and Yixing is worried it may bruise, but he doesn’t know how to push Wu Fan away. “What’ve you been doing with Luhan lately, huh?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Yixing retorts, attempting to pry Wu Fan’s fingers off. The answer doesn’t make Wu Fan any happier, but he seems to realise he can’t hold on to Yixing so hard and drops his hand entirely.
“You were all over each other,” he spits, eyes narrowing, and Yixing wonders what right Wu Fan has to get angry over this, why it should matter.
Before he can say anything, Wu Fan presses further, furious. “You’ve -- fuck, Yixing, I don’t have the patience for mind games. Don’t tell me one thing and do another.”
“What mind games?” Yixing snaps, eyes stinging as the words bite into his heart, teeth sinking in relentlessly. “I’m not the one who casually fucks his friends.”
“I never heard you complaining,” Wu Fan sneers, fingers digging into Yixing’s face, painful as his nails scrape skin. And that’s the thing , isn’t it? Yixing has never said anything, has never told Wu Fan that fucking isn’t enough, that he needs it to be more, that he needs Wu Fan to see just him, touch only him, breathe, live, obsess over him.
The tears fall before he can stop them, and Yixing shoves Wu Fan’s hand way as roughly as he can, vision blurring. It feels like his lungs are collapsing in on him, suddenly too small for even the most minute of breaths, painfully constricting.
“Yixing,” Wu Fan’s voice rings, alarmed and frantic. Yixing feels arms wrap around him, pressing him closer and closer but the choking, suffocating sensation burns against the muscles of his abdomen and he pushes Wu Fan away with as much strength as he can muster. “Fuck you, fuck you.”
Wu Fan stumbles back farther than Yixing thinks he could have pushed, his own strength surprising even him. He yanks at the doorknob, hands nearly slipping as he attempts to pull the door open. He can’t do this, can’t fall apart in front of Wu Fan, desperation clawing around him, razor sharp as it reminds him how pathetic he really is. Wu Fan doesn’t need him, he has better, more deserving people --
A hand grips around his wrist and jerks him back. Yixing stumbles, disorientated as he falls back into Wu Fan, strong arms wrapping around him at once. “Sshhh, sshhh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave, Yixing. Yixing, please.”
He shakes in Wu Fan’s grip, crying harder as Wu Fan apologises over and over until Yixing’s body exhausts itself, legs too weak to hold him up. Wu Fan lifts him easily, taking him to his bed and gently laying him down, hands brushing away tears. Yixing wants to get away from him, the skin of his face too tight, Wu Fan’s fingers ice-cold as they press against his cheeks.
Attempting to turn away, Wu Fan holds his shoulder down, leaning in until he presses his forehead into the curve of Yixing’s neck. “Yixing, please.”
Yixing doesn’t have anything to say, he’s tired and he misses Luhan’s softness, his easy, comforting affection. Wu Fan debilitates him, makes him too weak, too pliant and Yixing isn’t a beggar looking for a handout but Wu Fan’s breath is warm, voice pleading as he holds Yixing against himself. Yixing has never been as stubborn as Wu Fan, has always given in to the quick kisses Wu Fan likes to place against his collarbone.
The tears have stopped, heart aching empty as Yixing tries to level himself, see past the way Wu Fan’s hands have dug under him and wrapped him up entirely. Like a patient slowly losing consciousness, Yixing slips, trusts Wu Fan enough that he lets him kiss him, deliberate and achingly apologetic.
Yixing has measured out Wu Fan, days spent agonizing over the details of his broad shoulders, the length of his arms next to his, the unfaltering rise of his chest. He has memorised the taste of Wu Fan, the scent of cinnamon that lingers around Wu Fan like invisible smoke, twisting round Yixing until he can’t escape. Wu Fan has always been caring, has whispered encouragement and pushed Yixing outside of his comfort zone, ready to catch him if he falls.
But this is too much, stings like festering flesh recovering from a wound cut so deep it leaves cracks fractured into bone. Still, he surges forward, lets Wu Fan’s mouth trail down his neck, heavy hands dragging as they move down his body.
Wu Fan knows Yixing’s body too well, knows what he likes best, hands digging into his hips and lips biting at hardened nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt. He sighs, despite himself and Wu Fan continues, finding his mouth again until he has Yixing moaning, teeth pulling his bottom lip until Wu Fan can suck on it entirely.
Hands push his sweatpants off, underwear following and Wu Fan strokes the inside of his thighs, waits for Yixing to shiver, arching into the teasing touches, wanting more. Yixing slips further, his own fingers curling into Wu Fan’s hair until he can tighten his grip enough that he is sure he is pulling too hard. Wu Fan doesn’t complain, pushing Yixing’s legs apart.
Pulling away momentarily, Yixing catches his breath, the sudden image of Luhan hovering over him, curious hands taking their time as they map out Yixing’s body, lips following the trails they leave. Wu Fan watches him, eyes intense with want as he manages to grab lube from his bedside drawer.
He licks into Yixing’s mouth, lubed fingers cold as they rub his entrance, pushing in slowly. Familiar with the sensation, it doesn’t take long until Yixing digs his nails into Wu Fan’s shoulder, two fingers not enough to get him off. “More.”
Wu Fan nods, pulling off his own sweatpants and underwear, cock hard and leaking as Wu Fan lathers it with lube. Aligning himself with Yixing’s entrance, Wu Fan pushes in, tantalizingly slow and Yixing moans, sweat sliding down his forehead, back curving off the bed.
The fullness of Wu Fan’s cock buried inside him makes his toes curl, mouth finding Wu Fan’s. “Fuck me,” he gasps into it, and Wu Fan moves on cue, thrusts hesitant at first, Wu Fan finding his pace.
Yixing fucks himself down on Wu Fan’s cock, meeting Wu Fan’s thrusts halfway. Behind his eyes, Yixing imagines Luhan filling him up to the hilt, fucking Yixing agonisingly, mischievous smirk satisfied at Yixing’s prolonged orgasm.
He wonders how long he has pretended that Luhan hasn’t stared at him with the same longing he has spent hours, minutes, seconds wasting on Wu Fan. The difference, perhaps, is that Luhan was satisfied with just that, and Yixing has always pushed and pushed until he was ready to break.
Now as Wu Fan kisses him, almost reverently, nips and licks along exposed neck, thrusts into Yixing becoming more and more erratic, Yixing lets the euphoria get the better of him. Wu Fan wraps his hand around Yixing’s length, pumping his cock with the help of dripping precum and Yixing has to bite his lip as hard as he can to keep from moaning too loud as heat boils in his belly, ready to explode.
Wu Fan comes just as Yixing’s body tightens, cum splattering across his stomach and chest, and Yixing can feel Wu Fan’s cock pulsing inside him, cum filling him entirely. They pant in unison for what feels like hours, Wu Fan having fallen just to the side of Yixing, still inside him. He pulls out, the sensation uncomfortable and hollowing. Yixing curls into Wu Fan immediately, sighing softly as Wu Fan pulls his blankets over them, a hand pressing into the small of his back.
“Sweet dreams,” Wu Fan mumbles.
Yixing’s heart swells, pushing against the rest of him until his throat feels clogged, breathing difficult. Everything almost feels alright.
Luhan says nothing to Yixing when he returns to their room in the morning, merely opening the door before retreating to his side of the room. Jongdae lies asleep on Yixing’s bed. He doesn’t know what to say despite how much lighter he feels today. Wu Fan had let him go reluctantly, smiling into his open mouthed kisses with Yixing, hands wandering across the planes of Yixing’s body.
Yixing can’t remember the last time he’d felt so content with Wu Fan, and the persistent heavy weight of his desire presses against him until the immobilization he was so used to lifts for once.
Now as he watches Luhan’s turned back and tight shoulders, Yixing wonders if it was worth it. He turns to Jongdae instead, giving him a gentle shake. “Jongdae, you have to get up.”
The younger boy groans, rolling over in the bed until Yixing has to shake him a little harder. Yixing feels bad having to wake him up but Jongdae blinks at him, bleary-eyed. “Time to go?”
“Yeah,” Yixing says, finding the sluggish look on his face adorable. “Unfortunately.”
Jongdae yawns, nodding his head and saying something Yixing doesn’t understand. He stretches as he sits up in Yixing’s bed, grumbling about how hungry he is. He greets Luhan who feigns cheerfulness for him, smiling at him as he leaves the room.
“Did you fuck him?” Luhan asks, voice emotionless but straightforward. Jongdae has barely left the room, and Yixing’s heart skips a beat in panic, head turning to look at Luhan so fast he gets whiplash.
“You did, didn’t you?” Luhan persists, anger apparent now. His eyes are furious, knuckles turning white in his fisted hands.
“Yeah,” Yixing confesses, realising how pointless it would be to hide it. Luhan’s jaw sets, eyes shimmering just slightly. His heart drops, understanding the look on Luhan as disappointment and hurt. He’s known both all too well. “Luhan, I’m -- ”
“No, I don’t care. Do whatever the fuck you want,” Luhan snarls, haphazardly shoving things into his suitcase. Yixing fights off the guilt crashing over him, taking small steps toward Luhan until he wraps trembling hands around him, head swimming as blood pounds through him. He pulls Luhan as close as he dares, head falling against his shoulder.
Luhan is stiff against him and Yixing understands, he does, but he can’t explain what this is, what he’s trying to do. Couldn’t he have them both?
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, arms tightening around Luhan, heartbeat too loud, stomach a-flutter. “I don’t know how to say no to him.”
“But you can say no to me?” Luhan bites, pushing against Yixing’s arms only half-heartedly. Yixing knows Luhan could break free at any time, he isn’t holding on that tight yet, he can’t drag Luhan along simply because Luhan makes him feel like he’s being cradled, as though he were back in Changsha again, summer rain drizzling across his skin, misty and refreshing.
“I’m not saying no,” Yixing says, fingers clutching at Luhan’s shirt, lips pressing a soft kiss just below Luhan’s ear. Luhan lets him, leaning back into Yixing only momentarily, yielding. He turns around in Yixing’s hold, kissing the corner of Yixing’s mouth, eyes kinder now.
“C’mon, we have to go.”
Yixing nods, pulling away to gather his things. He needs a shower but his laptop is still lying on the desk in the room, battery wire tangled. Luhan is quiet behind him, the room filling with a strange sense of loss. Yixing swallows, choosing to go shower quickly before he finishes gathering his things. It feels somewhat like running away, stifling melancholy twisting around him.
Luhan sits with him on the flight, thigh pressed against Yixing’s, head on his shoulder. He falls asleep quickly but Yixing’s mind is a scattered mess, the endless stretch of the sky outside his small window not enough to distract him.
Wu Fan is seated across the aisle from them, eyes closed as well. Grateful that neither of them is awake, Yixing lets a hand stroke gentle circles on Luhan’s thigh, squeezing when Luhan squirms in his seat.
They make it to Chengdu in one piece, but Yixing feels as though he’s being split into two, blunt blade digging between his shoulder blades, attempting to cut straight through his spine. One lung for each of them, an arm and a leg, but he wonders who’ll end up with his heart.
He notices the distance Luhan puts between them, Minseok’s presence like the length of an ocean stretching across them. His heart feels smaller, shrunk down a size, not strong enough to keep him going.
Looking away from Luhan, Yixing fixes his gaze outside his window, watching as buildings roll past him, colourful and vibrant in the dimming evening. China Love Big Concert had gone well, Luhan goofing off with him and teasing as usual. Every time he’d pressed closer to Wu Fan, Wu Fan had let him, unphased by his clinginess.
In fact, Yixing had felt happy, grinning wide as he’d stood between the two people he valued most. The mood had dropped, however, once they’d wrapped everything up, hurrying out to escape the crowds of fans. Yixing had held onto Wu Fan’s shoulder to guide him through, Luhan ahead of them both, behind Minseok.
They’d stumbled into the van, the driver pulling them away quickly, and Yixing had felt like the stretch of the crowd had been endless, as if this was a recurring nightmare, one that wasn’t about to fade away anytime soon. Fame certainly came with its price, but Yixing had hoped that it wouldn’t matter so much, not with Luhan and Wu Fan beside him.
The knots in his shoulders leave dull aches resonating through his muscles, his lower back throbbing with a blunt force, but forgettable if Yixing tries to focus away from it. He doesn’t want to, the clutter of his other thoughts far more painful than the ailments and creaks of his body, and he suddenly feels far older than his young age. Sighing, Yixing lets his head fall back, eyes closing as he loses himself to the hum of the engine.
Back at their hotel, Luhan reaches their room first. Wu Fan’s hand on Yixing’s shoulder keeps him back. They wait until everyone disappears into their respective rooms before Wu Fan is pressing him against the wall near his right, kissing him purposefully, a thigh sliding between his legs, hitching upwards. Yixing moans breathily, sounds half-gone even to his own ears, but he snaps out of it when Wu Fan’s fingers slide underneath his shirt, fussing with his belt.
“We’re in the hallway,” Yixing reminds him, catching his breath.
“It’s a pretty empty hallway,” Wu Fan says, but he lets Yixing slip away from him, a hand clasping around his wrist.
“It’s still a hallway.” Yixing leans up, kissing Wu Fan softly before pulling away. He moves to the door of his room, and Wu Fan stands where Yixing’s left him, watching as Yixing opens his door and disappears inside, expression fond.
Luhan’s already disappeared under the sheets of his bed, blanket drawn all the way up until Yixing can only see his messy hair poking through. He walks over, sinking down beside him and Luhan doesn’t even bother rolling away or shoving Yixing off like he has a tendency to.
“What’s wrong?” Yixing asks, quiet and almost afraid of the answer. Luhan doesn’t answer, lying still, the slight rise and fall of the blankets the only indication that he is breathing. “Luhan.”
“Go away,” Luhan grumbles, turning away from Yixing’s body. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I want to talk to you,” Yixing pleads, placing a tentative hand on what he thinks is Luhan’s shoulder. It’s shrugged off but Yixing stubbornly places it there again.
“Stop.”
“Not until you look at me,” Yixing argues. He wants to know what he’s done wrong, can’t quite bear the idea of Luhan ignoring him
Luhan growls, throwing the blankets off his head and facing Yixing. He looks adorable, hair disheveled already but his expression quickly changes from irritated to furious, confirming Yixing’s fears. “Why don’t you go talk to Wu Fan?”
“I don’t want to,” Yixing persists, not daring to touch Luhan now.
“And I don’t want to talk to you, so leave me alone,” Luhan spits through gritted teeth.
“Why?” It’s as though he needs to hear it, just once. He knows it’s a bad idea but he can’t give up otherwise.
“Because you don’t always get everything you want Yixing. You don’t get to string me along to pick up the pieces every time Wu Fan breaks you down.”
It feels like a punch to the gut, Luhan’s words cutting across his heart, shallow only until they sink in, claws sharper than any knives Yixing’s ever held. “Is that what you think? That I, that I string you along?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit and go the fuck to sleep,” Luhan sneers, pulling his blankets back over himself, back turned to Yixing. It takes him a minute to collect himself, rising off the bed only when Yixing thinks his legs can actually carry him across the room.
He doesn’t even change as he falls into his bed, any and all contentment he had derived from Wu Fan’s kindness wiped away in a single stab by Luhan. He can’t have them both. Hadn’t he told himself that earlier, hadn’t he?
Luhan’s words ring through his ears and he wishes, wishes he could prove him otherwise, trace the want and desire and love onto his skin until he’s unable to forget the sensation of Yixing, unable to think beyond him. He wants to love Luhan as completely as he does Wu Fan, wants Luhan to love him just as he does, gentle and affectionate.
He doesn’t sleep, watches Luhan lying in his bed instead, heart hollowed out. Shell-shocked.
Wu Fan finds him in the practise room, Yixing having told them earlier that he wanted to stay late. Everyone had shuffled out, Jongdae throwing him an encouraging smile as he left. Yixing appreciates the solitude, missing the quiet of loneliness on the days when the world seems to push him in too many directions at once, when he feels stretched too thin, skin and bone thinning out.
“Were you planning to just sleep here?” Wu Fan inquires, amusement laced with an undertone of disapproval.
“We’ll be back in the morning, so why not, right?” Yixing grumbles back, not bothering to get up from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. His back is hurting too much for him to really dance now, and while he’d push through it on stage, he knows better than to force himself through anything now.
“I find floors to be rather uncomfortable,” Wu Fan says dryly, sitting down next to Yixing. He clasps his hand around his knees, long limbs endless even now.
“They build character,” Yixing retorts, frowning. Wu Fan snorts, patting his chest condescendingly.
“Time to go to back,” Wu Fan tells him, fingers wiping away sweat as it collects on Yixing’s skin.
Yixing shakes his head, a vivid flash of Luhan’s resentment fluttering behind his closed eyes. The rising guilt bubbles in his chest, frothing as it piles up in his throat. He has to swallow before he can get any words out, hands fisting. “Don’t want to.”
“Why? Did something happen with Luhan?” Trust Wu Fan to catch on, Yixing thinks.
“I told him,” Yixing blurts out, eyes opening to assess Wu Fan’s reaction. He looks confused for a second before his eyes widen.
“About us?”
“Yeah,” Yixing says, biting his lip. “Everything was getting to me and I, I didn’t -- ”
“Why would you tell him?” Wu Fan says, clearly annoyed. “You should have just come to me.”
“Oh, you mean like how I did after Happy Camp,” Yixing snaps, sitting up and shooting Wu Fan a scowl. He’d expected a little better from Wu Fan, something a bit more understanding and it feels as though he’s just been getting his hopes up for nothing.
“Maybe if you hadn’t waited so long -- ”
“Fuck, will you just listen for once,” Yixing cuts in, fury scorching hot. “I told him because I couldn’t tell you anything. I know I fuck up, but everything isn’t my fault.”
“I never said that,” Wu Fan says, attempting to appease him. “But we’d agreed to keep it to ourselves.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Yixing huffs. “And he’s my best friend.”
“You’re awfully close for best friends,” Wu Fan says snidely, mouth twisting into a sneer. Yixing barely believes what he’s hearing, Wu Fan’s jealousy not surprising but infuriating. “If you think he makes you happier or some shit, then why don’t you just fuck him instead.”
Yixing’s hand flies before he even realises, punch landing against Wu Fan’s chest with enough force to knock him down completely. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking stupid.”
Wu Fan, completely thrown off, gasps in pain, hand clutching at his chest. Yixing rises to his feet, too angry to care about the throb in his hand. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”
He stalks out of the room, blood boiling as he rushes for the doors that lead outside of the building, aching limbs and collected sweat forgotten completely.
“Ge, are you okay?” Jongdae asks, settling down next to him. They’re at the salon, getting their hair and makeup done before they head to their scheduled broadcasting. Yixing doesn’t even recall what it’s for, too tired and upset to really care for much. He’d stayed behind at the dance studio until three last night, Zitao waking him up at seven this morning.
Yixing’s not easily irritable, but he’d been so tired he’d refused to get out of bed until Zitao had yanked his blanket off. He’d apologised afterwards and Yixing had sighed, knowing it was stupid to get mad at Zitao. None of this was his fault.
“Just tired,” Yixing smiles half-heartedly. He leans back in his chair, surprised when he feels a hand squeeze his thigh.
“I don’t know what’s going on but I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” Jongdae tells him, kind eyes and smile bright. Yixing nods, feels almost like crying and murmurs a thankyou, eyes fixing in on Luhan and Wu Fan, who are both seated next to each other as their respective hair-stylists work with their hair.
Jongdae seems to follow his gaze, settling in next to Yixing more comfortably. “You know, Wu Fan’s just stubborn. He misses you.”
“How do you know?” Yixing laughs, or at least attempts to but the sound is hollow even to his own ears. He wonders how pathetic he must sound right now.
“Whenever you guys fight, he’s about ten times grouchier. It’s stressful being his roommate, you know.” Jongdae sighs loudly, as though his suffering were too much to deal with. This earns him a real laugh out of Yixing, the first in a few days of tip-toeing around Luhan and ignoring Wu Fan completely. He wishes things could roll back to two years ago, when Wu Fan and he were still friends and Luhan still only came to him when training got to be too much, homesick and discouraged.
“He’s an ass, agreed,” Yixing grins, Luhan’s stylist turning him just a little so that he’s forced to face Yixing and Jongdae. He averts his eyes almost immediately and Yixing pretends it doesn’t sting as much as it does, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
“Did you try talking to him?” Jongdae questions, nudging Yixing with his knee.
“Who? Wu Fan?”
“No, Luhan.” Jongdae’s smile is too knowing and Yixing doesn’t know what to make of that.
“Have you always been this perceptive? Was I just in the dark or something?” Yixing can’t help but laugh a little at Jongdae’s grin, chest feeling lighter for the first time in days.
“You’re a little forgetful, if I recall.”
“Hey, hey!” Yixing exclaims, smacking Jongdae playfully on the arm. “No fair.”
Jongdae laughs beside him, shrugging. “It’s a little hard to miss how the three of you have enough tension that it feels like we’re in the middle of a war.”
“Oh, right, well...,” Yixing starts, unsure what to say.
“You should talk to him,” Jongdae urges, encouraging. Yixing sucks in a breath, still unsure.
“He doesn’t want to talk.”
“You just have to out-stubborn him,” Jongdae offers, nodding his head sagely. Yixing smacks him again, enjoying his laughter and disappearing eyes.
He steers the conversation to the love eyes Jongdae makes at Junmyeon and spends the rest of their hair appointment making fun of him. Jongdae squawks loudly each time, laughter rippling out of Yixing, which making his hairdresser progressively more and more irritated. The reprieve from Wu Fan and Luhan is welcome.
“Jongdae, this is my room too,” Wu Fan asserts, the irritation in his voice audible even from the bed Yixing has sprawled out on. It’s Jongdae’s bed, Yixing shying away from Wu Fan’s side of the room almost immediately. The smell of cinnamon had lingered in the air, and Yixing thinks he must have imagined it, their stay at the hotel not long enough for scents to cling to the sheets and walls.
“Actually, it isn’t. You can sleep in the hallway for all I care,” Jongdae tells Wu Fan before slamming the door in his face. The shit-eating grin on Jongdae’s face makes Yixing laugh, his anxious nerves purring to a stop.
“He’s going to kill you,” Yixing tells him.
“Oh, is that how you’re going to thank me for hiding you? I’ll have to make sure I don’t make a habit of this,” Jongdae retorts, frowning at Yixing.
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” Yixing grins, but he is eternally grateful to Jongdae right now. Things with Luhan were stuck in a stand-still and while Yixing isn’t angry at Wu Fan anymore, thinks that the punch he threw at him was a little undeserving, he’s still waiting for an apology. He deserves as much. The only thing Wu Fan had tried so far was attempting to pull him aside and bring up Luhan again and Yixing really had no patience for that.
Jongdae had overheard the conversation, pulling Yixing aside and sending a dirty scowl Wu Fan’s way. Yixing’s not sure what he’s done to earn so much compassion but Jongdae seems to flutter around him, a hand on the small of his back in silent support as Yixing needs it.
“How unappreciative,” Jongdae sniffs, pout breaking out into a grin as he falls back on Wu Fan’s bed.
Silence stretches between them until Yixing breaks it, turning his head in Jongdae’s direction. “Thank-you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Zitao tells him in the morning, when they’re cramped back in the van, how Wu Fan had slept in Luhan’s room.
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill each other,” Minseok mumbles, from across Zitao. “They both look so grumpy today.”
Yixing nods, silently, noting the spark of tension between them even in the van. They trudge along to vocal practise, Yixing gazing out the window every now and then, wondering how things had went. Wu Fan hadn’t spoken to him or Jongdae yet, scowling at both of them every chance he got instead.
Yixing knows Wu Fan is more mature than that but his stubbornness is unmatched, pride sometimes too big for him to step down. Maybe Yixing should apologise first but Jongdae’s steady hands keep him away.
He decides to wait a little longer.
Yixing watches the way their shoulders brush, the smile on Luhan’s face as he turns to look up at Wu Fan almost dazzling. The shift in the way they walk interact is surprising, almost like they were back to the days of training, before there was Yixing and Wu Fan, Luhan and Yixing. Just the three of them, working towards one goal, strangers in a country whose language they didn’t understand.
Seeing them together like this makes the blood rush to his head, pleasant buzz singing over his skin. Yixing is willing to take this, willing to give up everything he has wanted to see them happy, free of him. He feels like he’s robbed them of something, ruined what had built up between them. Almost like he’d forgotten that they’d been friends too, before and after Yixing.
Yixing may have measured out the span of Luhan’s chest, worked out that Wu Fan liked it when he scraped his teeth along his cock, tasted saliva and cum, felt Luhan’s heartbeat skitter under him but Luhan and Wu Fan know each other, too. They know things that Yixing doesn’t yet, hasn’t had the time to work out and absorb into himself. There is so much he still wants to know.
The closet isn’t all that big, Yixing can just stretch his legs from one end to the other. It’s empty, far larger than it needs to be, Yixing thinks, for a hotel room. But then, Yixing’s heard that some people literally do live in hotels and he thinks of EXO-M going from one room to another, learning the smooth feeling of new carpet under their bare feet again and again.
He’s not entirely sure why he’s sitting here, hiding from everyone else. They have a flight to Thailand tomorrow, will be seeing the rest of EXO, their other halves. Yixing likes the feeling of being in a room that feels too small when all twelve of them are there, talking freely to each other, anxiousness lost in the hum of the air.
It feels like an eternity since he’s felt so relaxed with just the six of them, without the suffocating guilt Luhan brings to him or the irritation Wu Fan produces. Sighing, Yixing stares down at his hands, the small crack of light coming in from the slightly ajar door the only light. It’s enough that he can make out his fingers, thin and nimble, not like Wu Fan’s hands, with their large palms and strong grips. They remind him of Luhan’s, almost delicate but he likes Luhan’s hands better than his own, likes the way they make his heart sing, the way they make his own fingers itch to trace the veins running down Luhan’s arms.
His heart sinks as he does, deeper in, trapped under the weight of the water, suffocating. Everything feels pointless, Yixing having run out of tears, too tired, waiting for the withdrawal to wear off. He feels like he’s inhaled them, their presence mixing in with the oxygen he sucks in, but he fails to breathe them out, the impression of their lips embedded on the walls of his body, vibrating through his core.
“Yixing?”
The door of the closet spreads open, two shadows blocking the light cascading in from the room. He seems them in streaks, blurred by the tears he didn’t know were falling.
“What -- ”
“Are you okay?” Luhan cries cutting Wu Fan off entirely. He rushes into the closet, crouching next to Yixing, wiping away tears as Yixing nods, yes, he’s okay, his heart just hurts a little.
“We looked everywhere for you,” Wu Fan tells him, still standing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” Yixing mumbles, quelling the urge to cry anymore. He’s confused as to why Luhan and Wu Fan are both here, as to why Luhan is on his knees whispering assurances to him, telling him not to cry. His best friend looks frantic, hands cupping Yixing’s face one second, pressing against his shoulders and neck the next.
“I think we’re the ones who owe you an apology,” Luhan sighs, fingers smoothing out his fringe.
“Think this closet has room for three?” Wu Fan smiles, soft and a little earnest, hopeful. Yixing just nods, about to scoot over to make room when Luhan stills him. He climbs over Yixing instead, settling in on his right side. Wu Fan sinks to the ground on his left and Yixing only feels disbelief, almost as though this were a dream.
They say nothing for a while, Wu Fan and Luhan each taking one of Yixing’s hands and lacing their fingers through, as if fixing him in place, ensuring he wouldn’t get away. Yixing is too tired to run, anyways.
“Luhan told me,” Wu Fan starts, eyes finding Luhan’s in the dark of the closet. Yixing looks between them, as though a silent conversation were occurring through calculated looks alone. “I’ve been a bit of a dick, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yixing starts, ready to convince Wu Fan otherwise until he feels the tug of Luhan’s hand, telling him to stop.
“It does. That’s no way to treat someone you love. I guess I didn’t really know what I was doing.”
“He’s a bit stupid,” Luhan chimes in, grinning at the scowl Wu Fan sends him. “And takes forever explaining things too, apparently.”
“Like you’re any better. I had to pry everything out of you.”
“Shut up,” Luhan snaps, making a childish face at Wu Fan. Yixing laughs, small and tiny but it shuts both of them up.
Luhan continues, eyes fond as they look at Yixing. “What he’s trying to say if that if this is what you want, the three of us, we’ll work on it. I, we missed you.”
Yixing looks at Wu Fan, shuddering as he inhales, waiting for something to tell him otherwise. This feels surreal, too good to be true and Yixing is almost convinced it is a dream, chest tightening with every second.
“And we love you,” Wu Fan says, even softer, thumb brushing along the jut of Yixing’s jaw.
“What, I mean, I can’t really have both of you,” Yixing fumbles out all at once, words too big in his tiny mouth. “And god I punched you in the chest and didn’t even bother to see if you were okay, I am the worst.”
“Hey, hey, slow down,” Luhan interrupts him, hand squeezing Yixing’s. “He deserved it.”
Wu Fan smacks Luhan on his leg and Luhan laughs, falling into Yixing, complaining that Wu Fan was being mean. Yixing doesn’t understand, head fluttering back and forth between the two of them.
“I can hear you thinking,” Wu Fan informs him, knocking on Yixing’s head once. “Slow down.”
Luhan’s head is nestled onto Yixing’s shoulder, his free hand tracing circles against Yixing’s skin. “We’re saying you can have both of us.”
His heart leaps into his mouth, and for a split second Yixing thinks it has stopped completely until it thunders in his ears, roaring over the scrambling thoughts in his mind. He’s being pulled out of the water, breaking the surface with gasping breaths, two pairs of hands dragging him to the surface until his lungs burst with a new found purpose.
Yixing thinks his whole body is buzzing, euphoria not enough to describe the overwhelming joy spreading across his skin, shaking his insides until he can’t sit still. He wants to cry for different reasons now but everytime he opens his mouth, he can’t get a word out, eyes watering. Luhan laughs at him, leaning in and kissing him, over and over and over again, stopping only when Wu Fan pulls Yixing away, tongue slipping into Yixing’s mouth easily, prying him open until he is moaning Wu Fan’s name.
Luhan licks his neck, pulling at the collar of his wide necked shirt until he can nip at more skin, climbing into Yixing’s lap as he goes. Yixing pulls away from Wu Fan to catch his breath, only to watch Luhan lean into Wu Fan, thumb stroking over his lips before kissing him, slow and steady. It doesn’t look like their first time and it makes Yixing curious but the sight is far more arousing than Yixing could have imagined. He groans when he sees Wu Fan’s hand slip under Luhan’s shirt and this earns him an amused snicker from both of them. They pull away only when Yixing whines, feeling a little greedy for attention.
“Uh,” Jongdae’s voice interrupts them, Yixing’s eyes widening as he notices him in the doorway. “I hope I’m not, uh, ruining the mood or anything but we have a schedule.”
He seems transfixed, unable to move until Luhan scrambles off of Yixing, smile giddy if embarrassed and pulls Jongdae out of the way. Wu Fan helps Yixing to his feet, stealing a kiss as he pulls him out of the closet.
His body sings, humming with joy, and Yixing feels like the world has spread out around him, offering him everything and anything. He only wants the two men beside him.
- thankyou to loudestoflove and taozi for handholding me not just through this fic but for basically keeping me together ♥
- and thankyou for reading :)
exo; wu fan/yixing/luhan; nc-17; 10 700
yixing feels as though he’s being split into two, blunt blade digging between his shoulder blades, attempting to cut straight through his spine. one lung for each of them, an arm and a leg, but he wonders who’ll end up with his heart. canon.
written here, originally for runandgun.
you can't have peace without a war
“You were being awfully clingy today,” Wu Fan whispers, a little smug as he presses his chest into Yixing’s back. They’re still waiting on security to clear a path for them through the fans gathered around the door. Yixing feels the heat rush to his ears, embarrassed at Wu Fan’s observation. He’d felt a little childish today, a little lonely standing on a stage that sometimes feels too big.
He shrugs instead, unsure what to say. A hand squeezes his hips for a brief second, all the assurance Yixing needs to know that he hadn’t gone too far. Wu Fan never pushes him away despite Yixing’s own fears that perhaps one day he’ll get bored of him.
“I’m just teasing,” Wu Fan adds, and Yixing guesses that he knows that, should know that. Believing is somewhat more difficult.
“I know,” he murmurs, nodding at fans as curtly as he can. It makes him feel a bit anxious when he’s surrounded by so many people, thankful in these moments that the rest of his band is there with him, thankful now that Wu Fan is a steady presence behind him.
“We’re almost done for the day, relax.” Wu Fan’s hands clasp his shoulders and squeeze, but Yixing is too tightly wound up right now to find it comforting. He wants to shrug off Wu Fan’s hands, but the screaming level of the fans seems to increase with the obvious contact and Wu Fan lets his hands linger a little longer than necessary. When he lets them drop, Yixing edges forward, irritation bubbling upwards. Wu Fan seems to follow him, still pressing into his back and Yixing isn’t sure if he wants to maintain it.
He has a tendency to collapse in on himself, drawing back into a shell he tries very hard to break out of. Perhaps today he’d wanted more than just a quickie before the show started, something more than whatever they’d started years ago, clumsy and a little selfish.
When they surge towards the door, screaming fans and flashing cameras blinding as usual, Yixing simultaneously wishes Wu Fan would stop pressing his hand into the small of his back and keep it there forever. He doesn’t really know what he wants anymore.
Wu Fan’s hand finds his when they finally make it through the door, pulling Yixing through until they reach their van. A manager waits for them with the door to the van open, and Wu Fan climbs in, releasing Yixing’s hand. Yixing’s heart drops at the loss of contact, and he feels a little empty as he climbs in, shuffling in next to Wu Fan to make room for Jongdae. The rest of the members climb into the back and the last of the camera flashes disappear with the slam of the door closing.
“You alright?” Wu Fan asks, worried eyes looking down at Yixing. Guilt makes him feel nauseous, his head bobbing up and down before he can even confess that no, no he isn’t. Sometimes he craves too much and Wu Fan cannot give him enough.
“Just tired,” he smiles, eyes closing as he tips his head back against the car seat. Wu Fan’s hand slides down his thigh, resting on his knee as he rubs soft circles against it. It’s nice, Yixing thinks, mind beginning to blank as the van begins to move forward. He let’s his head fall against Wu Fan’s shoulder, sighing quietly as the smell of cinnamon wafts around him, the scent lingering on Wu Fan like a second skin.
They ride in silence, tired from the day’s exertions and try as he might, Yixing cannot fall asleep. Wu Fan is pressed too close to him, hot and sticky in the summer heat and Yixing wishes this was enough.
“Are you okay?” Luhan murmurs, fingers carding through Yixing’s hair comfortingly. Yixing sighs into the touch, eyes closing as he recalls Wu Fan’s long fingers pressing into his hips. The bruises must still be there, he just hasn’t bothered to check today. Today nothing feels like enough, as though Yixing has to fight to be the center of Wu Fan’s attention, caught in the crossfire of kind, fond smiles thrown at Zitao and bubbling laughter lavished upon Jongdae’s bright smiles.
“Yeah,” he says instead, eyes fluttering open when Luahn sinks down onto the mattress next to him. They don’t share beds. As much as Luhan is an open book for Yixing to read and foresee, he has built and outlined boundaries between himself and the world. Luhan’s peculiar dislike for sharing beds has always struck Yixing as strange but he doesn’t question it, asking Luhan for only how much he is willing to give, never more.
Perhaps Luhan is too much his equal, Wu Fan miles ahead, too far out of Yixing’s reach for him to ever be entirely satisfied with standing next to him, forgotten in the din to be heard above the others.
“You sure?” Luhan insists, their arms connected from the shoulder to their bone-thin fingers, interlaced loosely. Yixing is thankful for Luhan, for his persistence, and sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he’d kissed Luhan two years ago rather than Wu Fan.
He turns his head towards Luhan, the expression on his face only concerned, a little unconvinced. Yixing hasn’t told Luhan anything yet, and he wonders if perhaps he should. They don’t have secrets between them, just vows made in empty practise rooms of best friends forever and hearts laid out until they beat in sync, binding them together so tightly that there are days when Yixing forgets that Luhan is not actually attached to him at the hip.
Licking his lips, Yixing turns until he is lying on his shoulder, Luhan’s attention caught. He squeezes Luhan’s fingers tightly before he opens his mouth. “I like Wu Fan.”
Luhan’s eyes widen at the confession, but there is a sudden shift in his expression, hurt flashing so quickly across his features that Yixing is almost sure he’s imagined it. “Oh.”
Uncertainty clings to Yixing now, his heart thundering so loudly that he can feel the blood rush past his ears, through his veins as it crashes back. “I’m not sure how much he likes me.”
Silence drags out between them before Luhan tilts himself toward Yixing, fingers still tangled with Yixings’. “Why? Have you told him?”
Yixing wants to say I’ve more than told him, but Luhan has never hidden disappointment all that well, soft features downturned and tight. Yixing knows Luhan too well now. They’ve been trainees too long, sharing cramped little dorm rooms until Yixing didn’t know what belonged to him and what was Luhan’s, didn’t know when his skin, flesh and bones stopped being just his. He wants to tell Luhan nothing more now, wants to shrink away until everything is only in his head, and only he knows the way Wu Fan’s fingers curl around his heart, squeezing too tight.
“We’ve been sleeping together,” he says, swallowing as the words leave his mouth. Luhan stiffens beside him and Yixing wonders if he’s betrayed Luhan with his silence, failing to tell him something so big and consuming.
“W-what?” Luhan asks, stumbling over the word and Yixing feels like he owes him an apology, owes him the years he has spent silently holding pieces of Yixing together, lost in the stretch of friendship and loyalty. “For how long?”
“I don’t remember,” he lies, knowing exactly how long this whole mess started. Wu Fan had cried the hardest that Christmas, Yixing’s heart shattering with every sob and hitch in his voice, trembling hands holding someone bigger and stronger than Yixing’s little frame was meant for. “It just, it just sort of happened.”
Luhan stares at him, jaw tightening as he realises that Yixing is not telling him everything. Yixing is hardly any good at hiding things from Luhan even if he is better at guarding himself, hidden behind a vapidness he is sometimes grateful for. They’re too much the same, Luhan and him. There are days when Yixing thinks he knows the streets of Beijing as well as Luhan simply by association, a kind of osmosis.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Luhan presses, blunt only with Yixing.
Yixing bites his lip at that, falling back onto the bed, eyes fixated on the ceiling now. Luhan’s yet to let go of his hand and Yixing counts this in his favour, hopeful that Luhan will not leave him. “Nothing, really. It’s just that, we’ve only been sleeping together.”
“I don’t understand.”
Closing his eyes, Yixing relives Wu Fan’s tongue sliding against his, electricity coursing from nerve to nerve, sparking across his skin, ready to ignite. Luhan’s hand holds the fire at bay, squeezing tighter than ever now.
“Have you ever wanted a person so much, Luhan, that the thought of not having every second of their attention hurt more than not having any at all?” The silence that greets him is answer enough and Yixing opens his eyes to find the lost look in Luhan’s eyes, almost desperate in wanting to help him.
“Do you love him?” he whispers, as if afraid to hear the answer.
Yixing doesn’t answer, unsure himself. Obsession isn’t love, is it?
Luhan doesn’t press the question, just pulls Yixing closer, nimble fingers wrapping around his waist. Yixing allows himself to be tucked into the warmth of Luhan’s chest, his steady heartbeat resounding through Yixing’s body like the beat of the bass he’s practised himself ragged to, thump, thump, thump.
They’ve slept together before, just never on each other’s beds, hotel room arrangements with single beds and practise room couches the only recollections Yixing has. Even when they’d been younger and Yixing had heard Luhan crying in the dead of the night, homesick and tired, they’d kept that distance.
Yixing wonders what it means to cross it now.
Luhan sticks to Yixing the next day, hardly letting him out of his sight. It seems to annoy Wu Fan that he can’t have a moment alone with Yixing and somehow this makes Yixing feel a little better. He lets Luhan slump against him in the van as they’re driven back to their hotel. It’s almost like a home now, Yixing having nearly memorised the floor plan to his room with Luhan.
There is a scowl on Wu Fan’s face that Yixing normally finds endearing, but the weariness of the day before hasn’t left him yet, his heavy heart still weighing him down. He keeps his eyes locked with Wu Fan through the little mirror in the passenger seat sun visor, waiting for something other than the brief kiss Wu Fan had pressed against his lips when he’d gone to wake him up.
Two years has been enough, dragging Yixing through what he doesn’t understand anymore. Luhan feels familiar at his side, and Yixing purposefully laces his fingers with Luhan, not missing the small smile that forms on his lips. Wu Fan’s eyes darken and it is all the satisfaction Yixing needs.
Sweat clings to Yixing’s back, and drops of it trickle down the length of his face, tearing apart as they splash against his thighs. Luhan’s lying next to him, arms outstretched and eyes closed. He looks beautiful like this, long eyelashes fanning out across flushed cheeks, short pants escaping through his pink lips, parted just slightly. Yixing counts each breathe until he is exhaling with Luhan, chest rising and falling in rhythm. He thinks of the way their bodies move in sync, Luhan fluttering like a butterfly next to him, deft and light on his feet.
Without hesitancy, he brushes Luhan’s fringe out of his eyes, thumb tracing his eyebrow from beginning to tapered end. Luhan smiles, sleepy but pleased.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Yixing smiles. “No one’s going to carry you home.”
“Are you sure?” Luhan mumbles. “Minseok loves me.”
“Not that much,” Minseok snorts, flicking Luhan’s arm and calling him a brat. Yixing laughs at the indignation on Luhan’s face, frown forming as Minseok grins at him, wide and gummy.
His eyes wander to the clock briefly, both hands aligned at the twelve. Their managers had let them finish up earlier than usual today, and Yixing is grateful for the little rest he can give his back. Luhan and Minseok continue to bicker next to him and Yixing can’t help the fond smile that stretches across his lips. He rises to his feet, wincing as he feels the burn in his calves, dull now but he knows it’ll be worse in the morning.
Wu Fan’s eyes are on him in a second, the sudden attention making him feel self-conscious. He scratches at the back of his neck and watches as Wu Fan smirks knowingly. Yixing excuses himself quickly, mumbling that he has to go the washroom, Wu Fan’s shadow following him without a second glance back.
Heat pools in his stomach, the excitement already accelerating through his veins, pumping endorphins. When he reaches the washroom door, a hand finds his hips, the other pushing the door open. They stumble inside, Wu Fan’s teeth nipping at Yixing’s ear, a hand sliding up his thigh until it palms his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. He moans, too loud, and Wu Fan’s exhale is hot against his neck, lips pressing against the exposed skin, nipping along the length of Yixing’s shoulder.
Yixing leans back into Wu Fan, pressing him against the washroom door until he can feel Wu Fan’s half-hard cock. He grinds against it, desperate and needy, and relishes the way Wu Fan groans, biting too hard against the curve of Yixing’s neck.
Wu Fan’s hand slips past the waistband of Yixing’s underwear, long fingers wrapping around his cock. He twists Yixing’s head around until their lips can meet, the angle awkward but Yixing doesn’t care, he wants Wu Fan to move his hand faster. He parts his lips, Wu Fan’s tongue delving into his mouth.
He whines, grinding against Wu Fan a second time, and he can feel the smirk on Wu Fan’s lips, taste the smugness spread across his tongue. There is a desperation clawing up Yixing’s throat, one he’s all too familiar with, one that ends in a wet pillow and swollen eyes the next morning. Still, he can’t stop now, Wu Fan’s hand pumping his cock quicker with every breathy moan that escapes him, hips arching into his hand now, head tossed back.
He comes with a shudder, collapsing against Wu Fan’s body as he rides the high out, gasping as he attempts to even out his breathing. Wu Fan’s nose burrows into the space behind his ear, hand pulling out of Yixing’s underwear. “I missed you.”
Yixing giggles despite himself, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “Did you?”
“Yeah,” Wu Fan breathes, pulling Yixing closer, pressing his now hard cock against Yixing’s ass. He can feel it digging between his cheeks, and his mouth waters as he thinks about swallowing it.
“It’s not like I went anywhere,” Yixing mumbles, rubbing himself against Wu Fan, pleased with the moan he receives.
“Luhan stole you away,” Wu Fan whines, childish, but somehow Yixing finds it utterly charming, the petulant tone endearing. He swallows, Wu Fan’s honesty always something that Yixing found attractive, but he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to be stolen away, wants to stop putting himself in this position where he is too desperate, too far gone to stop himself and say no, no, Wu Fan needs to give him more than this.
Instead, he quietly lets the words escape him. “No one can steal me away from you.”
It seems to be all Wu Fan needs, and he spins Yixing around to kiss him hard on the mouth, destroying the last of Yixing’s delusions of escape.
He falls as he always does, absolutely and entirely.
Once they’re back in their hotel rooms, Luhan closes the door firmly behind him, staring Yixing down. He shrinks a little, attempting to pretend that he can’t see the disappointment in Luhan’s eyes.
“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
Luhan sounds terrifyingly angry, more so than Yixing has ever heard him. He knows how overprotective Luhan is, remembers the number of times Luhan has stood up for him, tearing apart anyone who dared to call him dumb and slow.
“I can’t just stop,” he argues, sounding weaker than he would like. Yixing wishes he could go back two years and tell himself what a terrible idea Wu Fan was. Charming, captivating Wu Fan with his too kind smiles and too careful hands.
“Of course you can, you just don’t want to,” Luhan spits, eliminating the space between them in three quick strides. It’s at times like these that Yixing realises that despite their similar height, Luhan still seems to have the ability to tower over him.
His throat’s gone completely dry, guilt gripping the insides of his stomach, nauseating. “Is that so bad?”
“If you think I haven’t heard you crying, Yixing, then you’re wrong. I just thought you were homesick but it was him, wasn’t it?”
The admission hits him like a ton of bricks, his eyes widening. Luhan isn’t backing down, and his hand grips Yixing’s wrist to hold him in place. It’s not as though Yixing has anywhere to run, but then again, Yixing has always been awfully good at hiding things.
“Zhang Yixing, who do you think you’re lying to?” Luhan whispers, and Yixing can’t stop the tears as they fall, fingers digging into the fabric of Luhan’s shirt as he lets out the first sob.
It surprises him when Luhan presses his lips to Yixing’s, soft and tender. He pulls away quickly, nervous, as he wraps Yixing in his arms and Yixing’s heart thunders in his ears, tears streaking down his cheeks too quickly for him to wipe away. His head feels like a mess but he lets Luhan pull him to his bed, leaning into the warmth of his body.
Shuffling out of the meager dressing room they’ve been provided with, they make it to the Walk of Fame stage entrance, Luhan behind him, a barrier between Yixing and Wu Fan. They’d decided that morning that Yixing would keep his distance and Luhan would help however he could. Apparently this meant acting like a human wedge and while Yixing isn’t complaining, he can tell that Wu Fan doesn’t like this arrangement very much.
They cluster at the very edge of the stage, peering outwards into the crowd as much as their sparse view will allow them. It’s not a size they haven’t seen before but Yixing feels the familiar buzz of adrenaline and nerves settle under this skin. He also feels a hand brush against his hips and knows it’s Wu Fan’s. Luhan’s off to his right, and his jaw seems to clench. Yixing says nothing as the hand lingers there, Wu Fan’s smile pleased.
Gathering all of his courage, Yixing steps out of the hold, pretending to lean into Luhan to whisper something. Luhan welcomes the closeness, smile wide as he pulls Yixing nearer and the sudden flash of memory from last night feels like a distortion before his eyes, Luhan’s lips warm and inviting.
“You excited?” Luhan whispers, eyes twinkling and Yixing nods, unable to resist returning the smile Luhan gives him. “Good, forget about him for a little while.”
Yixing licks his lips, head ducking as he attempts not to feel terrible for ignoring Wu Fan. Luhan’s hand is steady around his waist though and it’s enough of a distraction that when they’re cued to take their place on stage, Yixing forgets both of them, only the rising exhilaration of being on stage clinging to him.
Yixing walks two steps behind Wu Fan, Luhan close behind him, a hand on Yixing’s shoulder as they walk through the crowd of fans. Airports make Yixing a little anxious, nerves getting the better of him as they get closer and closer to the plane. They’re flying to Changsha today for a pre-recording of Happy Camp with the rest of EXO set for the next day.
When they make it past the crowds of fans, finally free to stretch their arms out past the frame of their bodies, Yixing sighs in relief. Luhan’s arm wraps around his shoulders and Yixing smiles, leaning into Luhan as they walk to the lineup for the gates. The flash of camera still hasn’t left them, a shadow following them persistently. It doesn’t bother Yixing as much when they’re not caught in the crowd, and he smiles sweetly at the fans, waving every now and then.
“You’re so cute,” Luhan laughs, mimicking Yixing’s actions. The crowd cheers behind them, almost voracious and Yixing finds it just the slightest bit unsettling.
“Am I?” he grins at Luhan instead, sure that his dimple must be showing, smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Well, maybe if you did some aegyo for me, I could be sure,” Luhan teases, a hand pinching Yixing’s cheek as they move forward in the line. Yixing shoves his hand away, scowling, and Luhan laughs louder, expression outrageous. He likes this about Luhan, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, mouth opening ridiculously wide, unashamed.
“You’re the one with a baby face, you do some aegyo,” Yixing retorts, huffing.
“Aw, come on, for your ge,” Luhan insists, a hand wrapping around Yixing’s wrist and pulling childishly. “Just once.”
They break away for a moment, walking through the metal detectors, boarding passes out and passports at the ready. Getting through security is a well-practised routine at this point, the process going by without a hitch. Yixing thinks that Luhan will have dropped his teasing but his friend latches onto his arm again, tugging. “C’mon.”
“I’m not doing it!” He can’t help the embarrassed laughter, eyes bright as they watch Luhan pout at him, doe eyes widening.
He turns his face away from Luhan, catching Wu Fan’s gaze on them. His mouth is pursed into a tight line, eyes glowering as he watches them, and Yixing swallows. A few days’ distance has served Yixing well, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss Wu Fan or the way Wu Fan always kissed him softly in the morning while Jongdae was busy in the washroom. But he needs to clear his head, figure out what he wants from Wu Fan, who indulges Zitao with plenty of hugs and tells Luhan to cut it out everytime he insists on calling Minseok baozi. Yixing waits for him to pull him aside, to pay attention to how he’s missing from Wu Fan’s side, but it feels as though he’ll be waiting forever.
Turning back to Luhan, Yixing notes that Luhan has noticed Wu Fan as well, his hand falling off of Yixing’s wrist. Yixing takes the moment to bring his hands up to his cheeks, and a grin spreads across Luhan’s face in realisation. They’re out of sight from the fans now, anyways.
“Bbuing bbuing,” he laughs, giggles infectious as Luhan nearly squeals at Yixing’s embarrassment. Jongdae and Minseok are laughing behind them, and Yixing only sticks his tongue out at them, cheeks flushed.
Watching from the corner of his eye, Yixing notes Wu Fan’s back turned to them, and wonders how it can hurt so much. Zitao is grinning though, telling Yixing he’s cute and Yixing feels a second wave of embarrassment wash over him, heart unsure what to do with itself.
Laughing it off, he lets Luhan pull him in again, wishing he could bury his face into Luhan’s shoulder but they’re not exactly somewhere private. Yixing thinks he should be allowed to enjoy the warmth in his chest, heart swelling two sizes too big as he lets Luhan drag him around the airport.
Wu Fan watches them, carefully formulated smiles plastered across his face. Yixing knows how to read past them now; he knows Wu Fan’s eyes better than the stretch of his own arms and legs when he is dancing.
Still, he waits.
Happy Camp feels like a break for Yixing, Jongin and Kyungsoo taking up most of his attention during their time together. Sehun sticks like glue to Luhan, affection deep in his eyes, and Yixing finds that the darkness in his heart is almost manageable. Luhan wouldn’t have kissed him if hadn’t meant it.
It’s harder to pretend that Chanyeol’s clinginess doesn’t bother him, and he attempts to rationalise how he can’t just have one whole person, how Wu Fan has always attracted people to himself like moths to a flame. He is hard to ignore, harder still to resist, no matter how many times Yixing has felt scorched.
“Since when did you start thinking so loudly?” Luhan inquires, an eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. He flops down next to Yixing on the floor, the rest of their group members scattered across the practise room. Yixing almost can’t take him seriously with his hair tied up in a ponytail atop his head like this.
“You look ridiculous,” Yixing points out, and Luhan scowls, slapping Yixing’s arm vengefully.
“Sehun said it looked cute,” he huffs, eyeing Yixing from the corners of his eyes.
“He must enjoy embarrassing you,” Yixing comments, solemn. This earns him another smack but Yixing hits back this time, grinning stupidly at how disgruntled Luhan looks.
“You suck.” Luhan sticks his tongue out at him, all his fight gone as he lets his head fall on Yixings shoulder. Yixing reaches for his hand, fingers slipping through the gaps between Luhan’s fingers. He squeezes, tight, and knows that Luhan is smiling. Yixing could kiss him now, but without even looking up, Yixing knows Wu Fan is watching.
“I try, you know,” Yixing says, thumb pressing circles into Luhan’s skin.
“Try a little less.”
Luhan kisses him long and slow that night, supple lips and hot mouth. Fingers trail down his chest, sliding across his sides as Luhan hovers over Yixing. Yixing leans into him until he can feel Luhan’s heart beat through his own, almost like echoes as they ring through him, steady. Complete.
Wu Fan slams him into the bedroom door, Yixing’s head momentarily throbbing as he tries to adjust to the bright lights and work through the pain. He knew coming to Wu Fan’s room was a bad idea, Jongdae having come over to ask for help with his Chinese should have translated to Wu Fan wanting to be alone.
When Luhan had asked why he didn’t have Wu Fan help, Jongdae had shrugged, mentioning that Wu Fan was a little pissed off and he didn’t want to seem bothersome. Yixing had stilled in his packing, his luggage mostly put together anyways.
He’d excused himself from the room, Luhan eyes following him out, harder than Yixing was expecting them. Stepping out into the hallway, Yixing had swallowed back guilt. Luhan had understood well enough what Yixing meant, what he wanted from Wu Fan, and he’d expected Yixing to at least put up some distance between them until Wu Fan could give him something more than he had. It was harder said than done, but Yixing had never been able to deny Wu Fan anything, least of all his support.
“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” Wu Fan bites, fingers digging into Yixing’s arm. It hurts, and Yixing is worried it may bruise, but he doesn’t know how to push Wu Fan away. “What’ve you been doing with Luhan lately, huh?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Yixing retorts, attempting to pry Wu Fan’s fingers off. The answer doesn’t make Wu Fan any happier, but he seems to realise he can’t hold on to Yixing so hard and drops his hand entirely.
“You were all over each other,” he spits, eyes narrowing, and Yixing wonders what right Wu Fan has to get angry over this, why it should matter.
Before he can say anything, Wu Fan presses further, furious. “You’ve -- fuck, Yixing, I don’t have the patience for mind games. Don’t tell me one thing and do another.”
“What mind games?” Yixing snaps, eyes stinging as the words bite into his heart, teeth sinking in relentlessly. “I’m not the one who casually fucks his friends.”
“I never heard you complaining,” Wu Fan sneers, fingers digging into Yixing’s face, painful as his nails scrape skin. And that’s the thing , isn’t it? Yixing has never said anything, has never told Wu Fan that fucking isn’t enough, that he needs it to be more, that he needs Wu Fan to see just him, touch only him, breathe, live, obsess over him.
The tears fall before he can stop them, and Yixing shoves Wu Fan’s hand way as roughly as he can, vision blurring. It feels like his lungs are collapsing in on him, suddenly too small for even the most minute of breaths, painfully constricting.
“Yixing,” Wu Fan’s voice rings, alarmed and frantic. Yixing feels arms wrap around him, pressing him closer and closer but the choking, suffocating sensation burns against the muscles of his abdomen and he pushes Wu Fan away with as much strength as he can muster. “Fuck you, fuck you.”
Wu Fan stumbles back farther than Yixing thinks he could have pushed, his own strength surprising even him. He yanks at the doorknob, hands nearly slipping as he attempts to pull the door open. He can’t do this, can’t fall apart in front of Wu Fan, desperation clawing around him, razor sharp as it reminds him how pathetic he really is. Wu Fan doesn’t need him, he has better, more deserving people --
A hand grips around his wrist and jerks him back. Yixing stumbles, disorientated as he falls back into Wu Fan, strong arms wrapping around him at once. “Sshhh, sshhh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave, Yixing. Yixing, please.”
He shakes in Wu Fan’s grip, crying harder as Wu Fan apologises over and over until Yixing’s body exhausts itself, legs too weak to hold him up. Wu Fan lifts him easily, taking him to his bed and gently laying him down, hands brushing away tears. Yixing wants to get away from him, the skin of his face too tight, Wu Fan’s fingers ice-cold as they press against his cheeks.
Attempting to turn away, Wu Fan holds his shoulder down, leaning in until he presses his forehead into the curve of Yixing’s neck. “Yixing, please.”
Yixing doesn’t have anything to say, he’s tired and he misses Luhan’s softness, his easy, comforting affection. Wu Fan debilitates him, makes him too weak, too pliant and Yixing isn’t a beggar looking for a handout but Wu Fan’s breath is warm, voice pleading as he holds Yixing against himself. Yixing has never been as stubborn as Wu Fan, has always given in to the quick kisses Wu Fan likes to place against his collarbone.
The tears have stopped, heart aching empty as Yixing tries to level himself, see past the way Wu Fan’s hands have dug under him and wrapped him up entirely. Like a patient slowly losing consciousness, Yixing slips, trusts Wu Fan enough that he lets him kiss him, deliberate and achingly apologetic.
Yixing has measured out Wu Fan, days spent agonizing over the details of his broad shoulders, the length of his arms next to his, the unfaltering rise of his chest. He has memorised the taste of Wu Fan, the scent of cinnamon that lingers around Wu Fan like invisible smoke, twisting round Yixing until he can’t escape. Wu Fan has always been caring, has whispered encouragement and pushed Yixing outside of his comfort zone, ready to catch him if he falls.
But this is too much, stings like festering flesh recovering from a wound cut so deep it leaves cracks fractured into bone. Still, he surges forward, lets Wu Fan’s mouth trail down his neck, heavy hands dragging as they move down his body.
Wu Fan knows Yixing’s body too well, knows what he likes best, hands digging into his hips and lips biting at hardened nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt. He sighs, despite himself and Wu Fan continues, finding his mouth again until he has Yixing moaning, teeth pulling his bottom lip until Wu Fan can suck on it entirely.
Hands push his sweatpants off, underwear following and Wu Fan strokes the inside of his thighs, waits for Yixing to shiver, arching into the teasing touches, wanting more. Yixing slips further, his own fingers curling into Wu Fan’s hair until he can tighten his grip enough that he is sure he is pulling too hard. Wu Fan doesn’t complain, pushing Yixing’s legs apart.
Pulling away momentarily, Yixing catches his breath, the sudden image of Luhan hovering over him, curious hands taking their time as they map out Yixing’s body, lips following the trails they leave. Wu Fan watches him, eyes intense with want as he manages to grab lube from his bedside drawer.
He licks into Yixing’s mouth, lubed fingers cold as they rub his entrance, pushing in slowly. Familiar with the sensation, it doesn’t take long until Yixing digs his nails into Wu Fan’s shoulder, two fingers not enough to get him off. “More.”
Wu Fan nods, pulling off his own sweatpants and underwear, cock hard and leaking as Wu Fan lathers it with lube. Aligning himself with Yixing’s entrance, Wu Fan pushes in, tantalizingly slow and Yixing moans, sweat sliding down his forehead, back curving off the bed.
The fullness of Wu Fan’s cock buried inside him makes his toes curl, mouth finding Wu Fan’s. “Fuck me,” he gasps into it, and Wu Fan moves on cue, thrusts hesitant at first, Wu Fan finding his pace.
Yixing fucks himself down on Wu Fan’s cock, meeting Wu Fan’s thrusts halfway. Behind his eyes, Yixing imagines Luhan filling him up to the hilt, fucking Yixing agonisingly, mischievous smirk satisfied at Yixing’s prolonged orgasm.
He wonders how long he has pretended that Luhan hasn’t stared at him with the same longing he has spent hours, minutes, seconds wasting on Wu Fan. The difference, perhaps, is that Luhan was satisfied with just that, and Yixing has always pushed and pushed until he was ready to break.
Now as Wu Fan kisses him, almost reverently, nips and licks along exposed neck, thrusts into Yixing becoming more and more erratic, Yixing lets the euphoria get the better of him. Wu Fan wraps his hand around Yixing’s length, pumping his cock with the help of dripping precum and Yixing has to bite his lip as hard as he can to keep from moaning too loud as heat boils in his belly, ready to explode.
Wu Fan comes just as Yixing’s body tightens, cum splattering across his stomach and chest, and Yixing can feel Wu Fan’s cock pulsing inside him, cum filling him entirely. They pant in unison for what feels like hours, Wu Fan having fallen just to the side of Yixing, still inside him. He pulls out, the sensation uncomfortable and hollowing. Yixing curls into Wu Fan immediately, sighing softly as Wu Fan pulls his blankets over them, a hand pressing into the small of his back.
“Sweet dreams,” Wu Fan mumbles.
Yixing’s heart swells, pushing against the rest of him until his throat feels clogged, breathing difficult. Everything almost feels alright.
Luhan says nothing to Yixing when he returns to their room in the morning, merely opening the door before retreating to his side of the room. Jongdae lies asleep on Yixing’s bed. He doesn’t know what to say despite how much lighter he feels today. Wu Fan had let him go reluctantly, smiling into his open mouthed kisses with Yixing, hands wandering across the planes of Yixing’s body.
Yixing can’t remember the last time he’d felt so content with Wu Fan, and the persistent heavy weight of his desire presses against him until the immobilization he was so used to lifts for once.
Now as he watches Luhan’s turned back and tight shoulders, Yixing wonders if it was worth it. He turns to Jongdae instead, giving him a gentle shake. “Jongdae, you have to get up.”
The younger boy groans, rolling over in the bed until Yixing has to shake him a little harder. Yixing feels bad having to wake him up but Jongdae blinks at him, bleary-eyed. “Time to go?”
“Yeah,” Yixing says, finding the sluggish look on his face adorable. “Unfortunately.”
Jongdae yawns, nodding his head and saying something Yixing doesn’t understand. He stretches as he sits up in Yixing’s bed, grumbling about how hungry he is. He greets Luhan who feigns cheerfulness for him, smiling at him as he leaves the room.
“Did you fuck him?” Luhan asks, voice emotionless but straightforward. Jongdae has barely left the room, and Yixing’s heart skips a beat in panic, head turning to look at Luhan so fast he gets whiplash.
“You did, didn’t you?” Luhan persists, anger apparent now. His eyes are furious, knuckles turning white in his fisted hands.
“Yeah,” Yixing confesses, realising how pointless it would be to hide it. Luhan’s jaw sets, eyes shimmering just slightly. His heart drops, understanding the look on Luhan as disappointment and hurt. He’s known both all too well. “Luhan, I’m -- ”
“No, I don’t care. Do whatever the fuck you want,” Luhan snarls, haphazardly shoving things into his suitcase. Yixing fights off the guilt crashing over him, taking small steps toward Luhan until he wraps trembling hands around him, head swimming as blood pounds through him. He pulls Luhan as close as he dares, head falling against his shoulder.
Luhan is stiff against him and Yixing understands, he does, but he can’t explain what this is, what he’s trying to do. Couldn’t he have them both?
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, arms tightening around Luhan, heartbeat too loud, stomach a-flutter. “I don’t know how to say no to him.”
“But you can say no to me?” Luhan bites, pushing against Yixing’s arms only half-heartedly. Yixing knows Luhan could break free at any time, he isn’t holding on that tight yet, he can’t drag Luhan along simply because Luhan makes him feel like he’s being cradled, as though he were back in Changsha again, summer rain drizzling across his skin, misty and refreshing.
“I’m not saying no,” Yixing says, fingers clutching at Luhan’s shirt, lips pressing a soft kiss just below Luhan’s ear. Luhan lets him, leaning back into Yixing only momentarily, yielding. He turns around in Yixing’s hold, kissing the corner of Yixing’s mouth, eyes kinder now.
“C’mon, we have to go.”
Yixing nods, pulling away to gather his things. He needs a shower but his laptop is still lying on the desk in the room, battery wire tangled. Luhan is quiet behind him, the room filling with a strange sense of loss. Yixing swallows, choosing to go shower quickly before he finishes gathering his things. It feels somewhat like running away, stifling melancholy twisting around him.
Luhan sits with him on the flight, thigh pressed against Yixing’s, head on his shoulder. He falls asleep quickly but Yixing’s mind is a scattered mess, the endless stretch of the sky outside his small window not enough to distract him.
Wu Fan is seated across the aisle from them, eyes closed as well. Grateful that neither of them is awake, Yixing lets a hand stroke gentle circles on Luhan’s thigh, squeezing when Luhan squirms in his seat.
They make it to Chengdu in one piece, but Yixing feels as though he’s being split into two, blunt blade digging between his shoulder blades, attempting to cut straight through his spine. One lung for each of them, an arm and a leg, but he wonders who’ll end up with his heart.
He notices the distance Luhan puts between them, Minseok’s presence like the length of an ocean stretching across them. His heart feels smaller, shrunk down a size, not strong enough to keep him going.
Looking away from Luhan, Yixing fixes his gaze outside his window, watching as buildings roll past him, colourful and vibrant in the dimming evening. China Love Big Concert had gone well, Luhan goofing off with him and teasing as usual. Every time he’d pressed closer to Wu Fan, Wu Fan had let him, unphased by his clinginess.
In fact, Yixing had felt happy, grinning wide as he’d stood between the two people he valued most. The mood had dropped, however, once they’d wrapped everything up, hurrying out to escape the crowds of fans. Yixing had held onto Wu Fan’s shoulder to guide him through, Luhan ahead of them both, behind Minseok.
They’d stumbled into the van, the driver pulling them away quickly, and Yixing had felt like the stretch of the crowd had been endless, as if this was a recurring nightmare, one that wasn’t about to fade away anytime soon. Fame certainly came with its price, but Yixing had hoped that it wouldn’t matter so much, not with Luhan and Wu Fan beside him.
The knots in his shoulders leave dull aches resonating through his muscles, his lower back throbbing with a blunt force, but forgettable if Yixing tries to focus away from it. He doesn’t want to, the clutter of his other thoughts far more painful than the ailments and creaks of his body, and he suddenly feels far older than his young age. Sighing, Yixing lets his head fall back, eyes closing as he loses himself to the hum of the engine.
Back at their hotel, Luhan reaches their room first. Wu Fan’s hand on Yixing’s shoulder keeps him back. They wait until everyone disappears into their respective rooms before Wu Fan is pressing him against the wall near his right, kissing him purposefully, a thigh sliding between his legs, hitching upwards. Yixing moans breathily, sounds half-gone even to his own ears, but he snaps out of it when Wu Fan’s fingers slide underneath his shirt, fussing with his belt.
“We’re in the hallway,” Yixing reminds him, catching his breath.
“It’s a pretty empty hallway,” Wu Fan says, but he lets Yixing slip away from him, a hand clasping around his wrist.
“It’s still a hallway.” Yixing leans up, kissing Wu Fan softly before pulling away. He moves to the door of his room, and Wu Fan stands where Yixing’s left him, watching as Yixing opens his door and disappears inside, expression fond.
Luhan’s already disappeared under the sheets of his bed, blanket drawn all the way up until Yixing can only see his messy hair poking through. He walks over, sinking down beside him and Luhan doesn’t even bother rolling away or shoving Yixing off like he has a tendency to.
“What’s wrong?” Yixing asks, quiet and almost afraid of the answer. Luhan doesn’t answer, lying still, the slight rise and fall of the blankets the only indication that he is breathing. “Luhan.”
“Go away,” Luhan grumbles, turning away from Yixing’s body. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I want to talk to you,” Yixing pleads, placing a tentative hand on what he thinks is Luhan’s shoulder. It’s shrugged off but Yixing stubbornly places it there again.
“Stop.”
“Not until you look at me,” Yixing argues. He wants to know what he’s done wrong, can’t quite bear the idea of Luhan ignoring him
Luhan growls, throwing the blankets off his head and facing Yixing. He looks adorable, hair disheveled already but his expression quickly changes from irritated to furious, confirming Yixing’s fears. “Why don’t you go talk to Wu Fan?”
“I don’t want to,” Yixing persists, not daring to touch Luhan now.
“And I don’t want to talk to you, so leave me alone,” Luhan spits through gritted teeth.
“Why?” It’s as though he needs to hear it, just once. He knows it’s a bad idea but he can’t give up otherwise.
“Because you don’t always get everything you want Yixing. You don’t get to string me along to pick up the pieces every time Wu Fan breaks you down.”
It feels like a punch to the gut, Luhan’s words cutting across his heart, shallow only until they sink in, claws sharper than any knives Yixing’s ever held. “Is that what you think? That I, that I string you along?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit and go the fuck to sleep,” Luhan sneers, pulling his blankets back over himself, back turned to Yixing. It takes him a minute to collect himself, rising off the bed only when Yixing thinks his legs can actually carry him across the room.
He doesn’t even change as he falls into his bed, any and all contentment he had derived from Wu Fan’s kindness wiped away in a single stab by Luhan. He can’t have them both. Hadn’t he told himself that earlier, hadn’t he?
Luhan’s words ring through his ears and he wishes, wishes he could prove him otherwise, trace the want and desire and love onto his skin until he’s unable to forget the sensation of Yixing, unable to think beyond him. He wants to love Luhan as completely as he does Wu Fan, wants Luhan to love him just as he does, gentle and affectionate.
He doesn’t sleep, watches Luhan lying in his bed instead, heart hollowed out. Shell-shocked.
Wu Fan finds him in the practise room, Yixing having told them earlier that he wanted to stay late. Everyone had shuffled out, Jongdae throwing him an encouraging smile as he left. Yixing appreciates the solitude, missing the quiet of loneliness on the days when the world seems to push him in too many directions at once, when he feels stretched too thin, skin and bone thinning out.
“Were you planning to just sleep here?” Wu Fan inquires, amusement laced with an undertone of disapproval.
“We’ll be back in the morning, so why not, right?” Yixing grumbles back, not bothering to get up from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. His back is hurting too much for him to really dance now, and while he’d push through it on stage, he knows better than to force himself through anything now.
“I find floors to be rather uncomfortable,” Wu Fan says dryly, sitting down next to Yixing. He clasps his hand around his knees, long limbs endless even now.
“They build character,” Yixing retorts, frowning. Wu Fan snorts, patting his chest condescendingly.
“Time to go to back,” Wu Fan tells him, fingers wiping away sweat as it collects on Yixing’s skin.
Yixing shakes his head, a vivid flash of Luhan’s resentment fluttering behind his closed eyes. The rising guilt bubbles in his chest, frothing as it piles up in his throat. He has to swallow before he can get any words out, hands fisting. “Don’t want to.”
“Why? Did something happen with Luhan?” Trust Wu Fan to catch on, Yixing thinks.
“I told him,” Yixing blurts out, eyes opening to assess Wu Fan’s reaction. He looks confused for a second before his eyes widen.
“About us?”
“Yeah,” Yixing says, biting his lip. “Everything was getting to me and I, I didn’t -- ”
“Why would you tell him?” Wu Fan says, clearly annoyed. “You should have just come to me.”
“Oh, you mean like how I did after Happy Camp,” Yixing snaps, sitting up and shooting Wu Fan a scowl. He’d expected a little better from Wu Fan, something a bit more understanding and it feels as though he’s just been getting his hopes up for nothing.
“Maybe if you hadn’t waited so long -- ”
“Fuck, will you just listen for once,” Yixing cuts in, fury scorching hot. “I told him because I couldn’t tell you anything. I know I fuck up, but everything isn’t my fault.”
“I never said that,” Wu Fan says, attempting to appease him. “But we’d agreed to keep it to ourselves.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Yixing huffs. “And he’s my best friend.”
“You’re awfully close for best friends,” Wu Fan says snidely, mouth twisting into a sneer. Yixing barely believes what he’s hearing, Wu Fan’s jealousy not surprising but infuriating. “If you think he makes you happier or some shit, then why don’t you just fuck him instead.”
Yixing’s hand flies before he even realises, punch landing against Wu Fan’s chest with enough force to knock him down completely. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking stupid.”
Wu Fan, completely thrown off, gasps in pain, hand clutching at his chest. Yixing rises to his feet, too angry to care about the throb in his hand. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”
He stalks out of the room, blood boiling as he rushes for the doors that lead outside of the building, aching limbs and collected sweat forgotten completely.
“Ge, are you okay?” Jongdae asks, settling down next to him. They’re at the salon, getting their hair and makeup done before they head to their scheduled broadcasting. Yixing doesn’t even recall what it’s for, too tired and upset to really care for much. He’d stayed behind at the dance studio until three last night, Zitao waking him up at seven this morning.
Yixing’s not easily irritable, but he’d been so tired he’d refused to get out of bed until Zitao had yanked his blanket off. He’d apologised afterwards and Yixing had sighed, knowing it was stupid to get mad at Zitao. None of this was his fault.
“Just tired,” Yixing smiles half-heartedly. He leans back in his chair, surprised when he feels a hand squeeze his thigh.
“I don’t know what’s going on but I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” Jongdae tells him, kind eyes and smile bright. Yixing nods, feels almost like crying and murmurs a thankyou, eyes fixing in on Luhan and Wu Fan, who are both seated next to each other as their respective hair-stylists work with their hair.
Jongdae seems to follow his gaze, settling in next to Yixing more comfortably. “You know, Wu Fan’s just stubborn. He misses you.”
“How do you know?” Yixing laughs, or at least attempts to but the sound is hollow even to his own ears. He wonders how pathetic he must sound right now.
“Whenever you guys fight, he’s about ten times grouchier. It’s stressful being his roommate, you know.” Jongdae sighs loudly, as though his suffering were too much to deal with. This earns him a real laugh out of Yixing, the first in a few days of tip-toeing around Luhan and ignoring Wu Fan completely. He wishes things could roll back to two years ago, when Wu Fan and he were still friends and Luhan still only came to him when training got to be too much, homesick and discouraged.
“He’s an ass, agreed,” Yixing grins, Luhan’s stylist turning him just a little so that he’s forced to face Yixing and Jongdae. He averts his eyes almost immediately and Yixing pretends it doesn’t sting as much as it does, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
“Did you try talking to him?” Jongdae questions, nudging Yixing with his knee.
“Who? Wu Fan?”
“No, Luhan.” Jongdae’s smile is too knowing and Yixing doesn’t know what to make of that.
“Have you always been this perceptive? Was I just in the dark or something?” Yixing can’t help but laugh a little at Jongdae’s grin, chest feeling lighter for the first time in days.
“You’re a little forgetful, if I recall.”
“Hey, hey!” Yixing exclaims, smacking Jongdae playfully on the arm. “No fair.”
Jongdae laughs beside him, shrugging. “It’s a little hard to miss how the three of you have enough tension that it feels like we’re in the middle of a war.”
“Oh, right, well...,” Yixing starts, unsure what to say.
“You should talk to him,” Jongdae urges, encouraging. Yixing sucks in a breath, still unsure.
“He doesn’t want to talk.”
“You just have to out-stubborn him,” Jongdae offers, nodding his head sagely. Yixing smacks him again, enjoying his laughter and disappearing eyes.
He steers the conversation to the love eyes Jongdae makes at Junmyeon and spends the rest of their hair appointment making fun of him. Jongdae squawks loudly each time, laughter rippling out of Yixing, which making his hairdresser progressively more and more irritated. The reprieve from Wu Fan and Luhan is welcome.
“Jongdae, this is my room too,” Wu Fan asserts, the irritation in his voice audible even from the bed Yixing has sprawled out on. It’s Jongdae’s bed, Yixing shying away from Wu Fan’s side of the room almost immediately. The smell of cinnamon had lingered in the air, and Yixing thinks he must have imagined it, their stay at the hotel not long enough for scents to cling to the sheets and walls.
“Actually, it isn’t. You can sleep in the hallway for all I care,” Jongdae tells Wu Fan before slamming the door in his face. The shit-eating grin on Jongdae’s face makes Yixing laugh, his anxious nerves purring to a stop.
“He’s going to kill you,” Yixing tells him.
“Oh, is that how you’re going to thank me for hiding you? I’ll have to make sure I don’t make a habit of this,” Jongdae retorts, frowning at Yixing.
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” Yixing grins, but he is eternally grateful to Jongdae right now. Things with Luhan were stuck in a stand-still and while Yixing isn’t angry at Wu Fan anymore, thinks that the punch he threw at him was a little undeserving, he’s still waiting for an apology. He deserves as much. The only thing Wu Fan had tried so far was attempting to pull him aside and bring up Luhan again and Yixing really had no patience for that.
Jongdae had overheard the conversation, pulling Yixing aside and sending a dirty scowl Wu Fan’s way. Yixing’s not sure what he’s done to earn so much compassion but Jongdae seems to flutter around him, a hand on the small of his back in silent support as Yixing needs it.
“How unappreciative,” Jongdae sniffs, pout breaking out into a grin as he falls back on Wu Fan’s bed.
Silence stretches between them until Yixing breaks it, turning his head in Jongdae’s direction. “Thank-you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Zitao tells him in the morning, when they’re cramped back in the van, how Wu Fan had slept in Luhan’s room.
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill each other,” Minseok mumbles, from across Zitao. “They both look so grumpy today.”
Yixing nods, silently, noting the spark of tension between them even in the van. They trudge along to vocal practise, Yixing gazing out the window every now and then, wondering how things had went. Wu Fan hadn’t spoken to him or Jongdae yet, scowling at both of them every chance he got instead.
Yixing knows Wu Fan is more mature than that but his stubbornness is unmatched, pride sometimes too big for him to step down. Maybe Yixing should apologise first but Jongdae’s steady hands keep him away.
He decides to wait a little longer.
Yixing watches the way their shoulders brush, the smile on Luhan’s face as he turns to look up at Wu Fan almost dazzling. The shift in the way they walk interact is surprising, almost like they were back to the days of training, before there was Yixing and Wu Fan, Luhan and Yixing. Just the three of them, working towards one goal, strangers in a country whose language they didn’t understand.
Seeing them together like this makes the blood rush to his head, pleasant buzz singing over his skin. Yixing is willing to take this, willing to give up everything he has wanted to see them happy, free of him. He feels like he’s robbed them of something, ruined what had built up between them. Almost like he’d forgotten that they’d been friends too, before and after Yixing.
Yixing may have measured out the span of Luhan’s chest, worked out that Wu Fan liked it when he scraped his teeth along his cock, tasted saliva and cum, felt Luhan’s heartbeat skitter under him but Luhan and Wu Fan know each other, too. They know things that Yixing doesn’t yet, hasn’t had the time to work out and absorb into himself. There is so much he still wants to know.
The closet isn’t all that big, Yixing can just stretch his legs from one end to the other. It’s empty, far larger than it needs to be, Yixing thinks, for a hotel room. But then, Yixing’s heard that some people literally do live in hotels and he thinks of EXO-M going from one room to another, learning the smooth feeling of new carpet under their bare feet again and again.
He’s not entirely sure why he’s sitting here, hiding from everyone else. They have a flight to Thailand tomorrow, will be seeing the rest of EXO, their other halves. Yixing likes the feeling of being in a room that feels too small when all twelve of them are there, talking freely to each other, anxiousness lost in the hum of the air.
It feels like an eternity since he’s felt so relaxed with just the six of them, without the suffocating guilt Luhan brings to him or the irritation Wu Fan produces. Sighing, Yixing stares down at his hands, the small crack of light coming in from the slightly ajar door the only light. It’s enough that he can make out his fingers, thin and nimble, not like Wu Fan’s hands, with their large palms and strong grips. They remind him of Luhan’s, almost delicate but he likes Luhan’s hands better than his own, likes the way they make his heart sing, the way they make his own fingers itch to trace the veins running down Luhan’s arms.
His heart sinks as he does, deeper in, trapped under the weight of the water, suffocating. Everything feels pointless, Yixing having run out of tears, too tired, waiting for the withdrawal to wear off. He feels like he’s inhaled them, their presence mixing in with the oxygen he sucks in, but he fails to breathe them out, the impression of their lips embedded on the walls of his body, vibrating through his core.
“Yixing?”
The door of the closet spreads open, two shadows blocking the light cascading in from the room. He seems them in streaks, blurred by the tears he didn’t know were falling.
“What -- ”
“Are you okay?” Luhan cries cutting Wu Fan off entirely. He rushes into the closet, crouching next to Yixing, wiping away tears as Yixing nods, yes, he’s okay, his heart just hurts a little.
“We looked everywhere for you,” Wu Fan tells him, still standing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” Yixing mumbles, quelling the urge to cry anymore. He’s confused as to why Luhan and Wu Fan are both here, as to why Luhan is on his knees whispering assurances to him, telling him not to cry. His best friend looks frantic, hands cupping Yixing’s face one second, pressing against his shoulders and neck the next.
“I think we’re the ones who owe you an apology,” Luhan sighs, fingers smoothing out his fringe.
“Think this closet has room for three?” Wu Fan smiles, soft and a little earnest, hopeful. Yixing just nods, about to scoot over to make room when Luhan stills him. He climbs over Yixing instead, settling in on his right side. Wu Fan sinks to the ground on his left and Yixing only feels disbelief, almost as though this were a dream.
They say nothing for a while, Wu Fan and Luhan each taking one of Yixing’s hands and lacing their fingers through, as if fixing him in place, ensuring he wouldn’t get away. Yixing is too tired to run, anyways.
“Luhan told me,” Wu Fan starts, eyes finding Luhan’s in the dark of the closet. Yixing looks between them, as though a silent conversation were occurring through calculated looks alone. “I’ve been a bit of a dick, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yixing starts, ready to convince Wu Fan otherwise until he feels the tug of Luhan’s hand, telling him to stop.
“It does. That’s no way to treat someone you love. I guess I didn’t really know what I was doing.”
“He’s a bit stupid,” Luhan chimes in, grinning at the scowl Wu Fan sends him. “And takes forever explaining things too, apparently.”
“Like you’re any better. I had to pry everything out of you.”
“Shut up,” Luhan snaps, making a childish face at Wu Fan. Yixing laughs, small and tiny but it shuts both of them up.
Luhan continues, eyes fond as they look at Yixing. “What he’s trying to say if that if this is what you want, the three of us, we’ll work on it. I, we missed you.”
Yixing looks at Wu Fan, shuddering as he inhales, waiting for something to tell him otherwise. This feels surreal, too good to be true and Yixing is almost convinced it is a dream, chest tightening with every second.
“And we love you,” Wu Fan says, even softer, thumb brushing along the jut of Yixing’s jaw.
“What, I mean, I can’t really have both of you,” Yixing fumbles out all at once, words too big in his tiny mouth. “And god I punched you in the chest and didn’t even bother to see if you were okay, I am the worst.”
“Hey, hey, slow down,” Luhan interrupts him, hand squeezing Yixing’s. “He deserved it.”
Wu Fan smacks Luhan on his leg and Luhan laughs, falling into Yixing, complaining that Wu Fan was being mean. Yixing doesn’t understand, head fluttering back and forth between the two of them.
“I can hear you thinking,” Wu Fan informs him, knocking on Yixing’s head once. “Slow down.”
Luhan’s head is nestled onto Yixing’s shoulder, his free hand tracing circles against Yixing’s skin. “We’re saying you can have both of us.”
His heart leaps into his mouth, and for a split second Yixing thinks it has stopped completely until it thunders in his ears, roaring over the scrambling thoughts in his mind. He’s being pulled out of the water, breaking the surface with gasping breaths, two pairs of hands dragging him to the surface until his lungs burst with a new found purpose.
Yixing thinks his whole body is buzzing, euphoria not enough to describe the overwhelming joy spreading across his skin, shaking his insides until he can’t sit still. He wants to cry for different reasons now but everytime he opens his mouth, he can’t get a word out, eyes watering. Luhan laughs at him, leaning in and kissing him, over and over and over again, stopping only when Wu Fan pulls Yixing away, tongue slipping into Yixing’s mouth easily, prying him open until he is moaning Wu Fan’s name.
Luhan licks his neck, pulling at the collar of his wide necked shirt until he can nip at more skin, climbing into Yixing’s lap as he goes. Yixing pulls away from Wu Fan to catch his breath, only to watch Luhan lean into Wu Fan, thumb stroking over his lips before kissing him, slow and steady. It doesn’t look like their first time and it makes Yixing curious but the sight is far more arousing than Yixing could have imagined. He groans when he sees Wu Fan’s hand slip under Luhan’s shirt and this earns him an amused snicker from both of them. They pull away only when Yixing whines, feeling a little greedy for attention.
“Uh,” Jongdae’s voice interrupts them, Yixing’s eyes widening as he notices him in the doorway. “I hope I’m not, uh, ruining the mood or anything but we have a schedule.”
He seems transfixed, unable to move until Luhan scrambles off of Yixing, smile giddy if embarrassed and pulls Jongdae out of the way. Wu Fan helps Yixing to his feet, stealing a kiss as he pulls him out of the closet.
His body sings, humming with joy, and Yixing feels like the world has spread out around him, offering him everything and anything. He only wants the two men beside him.
- thankyou to loudestoflove and taozi for handholding me not just through this fic but for basically keeping me together ♥
- and thankyou for reading :)