fell in love with a boy in bloom ✿ for shuxingxing
Title: fell in love with a boy in bloom
Recipient: shuxingxing
Rating: PG
Side pairing/s: slight chenyin, peripheral krisyeol, ex-krisbaek?
Word Count: 5260 words
Summary: For someone who remains a heavy contender for the world’s annual ‘Most Selfish Human of the Year’ prize, Baekhyun is weirdly nice.
Warning/s: mutual pining, stupid midgets in love
Notes: dear recipient: im sorry ;; oh man your prompts were so good but it turned into this um there is like zero structure ;A; title from the priscilla ahn song ‘weeping willow’; cut from the mumford&sons song ‘hopeless wanderer’. so many thanks to a for cheering me on while i mangled this ;; thank you chingu uwu
He usually works Fridays.
Jongdae doesn’t mind--he doesn’t have anywhere to be, nobody to see or take out or dance with--so he’s pretty used to it; happy to make enough money to maybe fix up his car. But since Chanyeol’s begged for the shift, lobbying him weeks in advance (dude you fixed your radiator ages ago), Jongdae takes the night off and hopes that Chanyeol’s gambit to impress their boss works. On a Friday night, with drunk patrons and ever-filled seats, it just might.
He opens the bar and wipes down every surface, clapping Chanyeol on the back at ten o’clock, just when the streets are beginning to boil with restless youth. Chanyeol almost looks as if he’d beg him to stay, a large party of twentysomethings beginning to prematurely crowd the bar. Jongdae shakes his head and flashes him a smile, thumbs-up and all, yanking open his bowtie so it rests around his neck in a single ribbon. Post-party Cary Grant in polka dots.
When the twentysomethings take over the long stretch of cushioned seats in the back, Minseok and Yixing roll up their sleeves and their eyes in prayer. Jongdae’s close enough to hear Chanyeol’s whimper, and laughs himself out of the bar.
It’s much easier to drive out of downtown than into it now. As soon as he starts his car, he can see in the mirrors a shiny Nissan hovering behind him. Nervous vulture. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive home, so he forgoes the radio, humming into the silence all the way from the parking lot and up three flights of stairs.
Jongdae unlocks his door and shuts it behind him. His housemate is clearly out for the night, apparent by the display of sartorial indecision strewn around the living room. Baekhyun’s typical trail of disaster means pushing away a pile of clean shirts off the couch before he can fall over on it, idly fumbling for the remote. “Fuck,” he says, stubbing his toe and fishing for his phone at the same time, and types out a quick text.
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
home early. reverse sexile warning in place
It’s no good waiting for an answer--Baekhyun probably won’t see it for a good hour or two--and Jongdae’s feeling hungry. The kitchen cupboards are woefully empty, but he can make do with throwing extra vegetables on the cusp of death into a package of ramen or two, at least. While it boils, he can hear his phone ping in the living room.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
ok
wat happened did u get fired
but ok rev sexile noted
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
no i didnt get fired
pcy wants to spread his wings
He pokes at the ramen with metal chopsticks, part of a housewarming gift from Baekhyun’s brother nearly a year ago, and switches off the burner. Jongdae carries the pot to the only table i the living room, a low-slung coffee table that necessitates parking his ass on the floor. Old newspaper serves as a decent potholder, and when Jongdae’s about to take the first taste of his noodles, his phone receives another text.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
ok cool
Typical. Jongdae turns on the television and tunes into a drama broadcast he’s never seen.
In the middle of wondering exactly what Yerin’s motivations were in stealing Doctor Song’s car keys, Jongdae finishes his ramen and washes up in the kitchen. He turns up the volume and--okay, he’s invested--hurries back, hands still went but the pot and chopsticks clean, when Yerin gets slapped by the good doctor’s mother.
His phone doesn’t ring again. Jongdae changes clothes when the drama’s end credits roll, promising another chapter that he probably won’t see next Friday. He wonders how Chanyeol’s holding up, if Yixing’s remembered to use the newer bottle of homebrewed vermouth.
Jongdae falls asleep thinking about the bar, hands reaching for bottles and cups that feel oddly soft.
For someone who remains a heavy contender for the world’s annual ‘Most Selfish Human of the Year’ prize, Baekhyun is weirdly nice.
He’s a fairly decent roommate. He’s someone Jongdae likes sharing a place with, both of them subscribing to the friends-first, roommates-second philosophy of bropartment sharing. There’s nobody to impress in their space; their shared memories stretch as far back as freshman year in high school, when Jongdae’s awkward duckling phase was just beginning and Baekhyun had the shaggiest haircut known to mankind.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
comin in hot
Nine-thirty. Jongdae groans, burying his face in his pillow, and stares at the unrelentingly bright screen of his phone.
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
okay
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
i forgot my keys
He rolls out of bed, snagging a blue conservatory sweatshirt and pausing at the door to tap out a response.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
hey
open up
pls
“Don’t just stand there to text back,” a voice whines through the door. “I’m out here. Open the door already.”
“What’s the password?” Baekhyun probably wore the blue Sassy Pants, material too thin to keep him warm, mouth turned down as he stamps his feet on the mat. “And don’t kick the door. That security deposit’s worth more than your life.”
“Pleeeeaaaaase.” Baekhyun’s head thumps against the doorway. Jongdae opens the door. “It’s cold, oh, jesus.” Baekhyun darts into the apartment, shivering, and presses in close to Jongdae’s body.
“You smell like lube,” Jongdae tells him without preamble, shutting the door. He wrinkles his nose, edging his head away from Baekhyun. “You didn’t shower at his place?” Baekhyun moves in step with Jongdae, cold hands digging for warmth under Jongdae’s stolen sweatshirt.
“And deprive everyone of the glorious sight on my head?” Cold nose pressed against Jongdae’s neck, lube-cologne and all, as Jongdae opens the fridge for a jar of plum-honey syrup. “Besides, when I woke up I was still kind of drunk. I wanted to be home,” Baekhyun coos. His eyelashes tickle. He koalas there while Jongdae microwaves water.
Three spoonfuls of syrup. Stirred quick. Leave the spoon in the mug. Baekhyun smiles.
It’s not always easy living with the world’s most self-absorbed man, not with the growing pile of shoes that gather on the welcome mat and the six years of history between them. It’s like Jongdae asking about homework assignments but in reverse, Baekhyun asking almost carelessly, so, uh, can I borrow your physics homework? “You wanna come live with me?”
“Did you not notice that I already have a place to live? You’re in it, right now.” Baekhyun doesn’t even look up from the textbook on his lap. Jongdae considers throwing him off his bed and winning himself extra leg room.
“This is jail,” Baekhyun dismissively waves a hand in Jongdae’s direction. “It’ll be great,” he continues loudly. “Rent, utilities, everything in half. Besides, you’re only here because you didn’t bother looking for a place.”
“Don’t they always tell you not to live with your friends? And my job right now isn’t going to pay enough. You know that, why did you bother asking--”
“Aren’t you interviewing for XOXO next week? You’ll get it. And when you do, you can sign the lease.”
“Shut up.” Jongdae halfheartedly slaps Baekhyun’s textbook shut. Personal space is for squares. “Don’t talk like it’s a lock, I’m serious. It’s a popular place. I might not get it.”
“You gonna wear the boyfriend shirt?” Jongdae keeps still while Baekhyun eyes him, holds his breath like it’d make a difference. Endures long stares at the breadth of his shoulders; the width of his waist. “You should.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Even when Baekhyun comes in at unpredictable hours the next day, phone battery nearly dead, smelling like sex and lube and someone else, fielding Jongdae’s cheerful judgment with ease, it’s pretty good.
Chanyeol dubs the apartment Midget Central during midterms, when he’s sharing coffee table real estate with Yixing’s calculus homework. Jongdae carefully steps over Jongin’s prone body curled up on the floor, picking his way across the living room to Baekhyun, hunched over his composition homework.
“I’m regretting having allowed any of you into this house,” he frowns, staring at the scattered mess of handouts practically wallpapering the apartment. “Why can’t you all have studied in the library? Or found a coffee shop?”
“You’re lonely extroverts,” Chanyeol mumbles back, stare boring holes into his pharmaceuticals spreadsheet. God damn psych majors.
Jongdae snorts, touching a gentle hand against Baekhyun’s shoulder. “I’m leaving.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Baekhyun shakes himself alert, eyes lingering on the errant notes scrawled across his sheet music notebook. “You want me to walk you out?”
“To my car? From our house?” Grinning, Jongdae pushes Baekhyun lightly. “I’ll be back. Don’t stay up too late.”
Baekhyun turns up his face in Jongdae’s direction, like a little heat-seeking flower toward the sun, and whines. “For the road,” he says, wrinkling his nose like a baby. “I have no shame--I’m going to die tomorrow anyway.”
“You didn’t have any shame to begin with,” Jongdae sighs, but presses a kiss against Baekhyun’s forehead. He brushes down his bangs before leaving. “Seriously, don’t stay up too late.”
“Yeah, okay. Don’t trip on Jongin on the way out.” Jongdae salutes and leaves, humming Baekhyun’s latest sonata on the way to work.
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
i saw ur little goodbye ceremony there
very nice
12/10 on the homo scale
to: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
i dated zhang liyin
ur dating a tree
ur opinion is irrelevant
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
u took her to prom
at least im dating
besides ur not goin back in the closet now r u
bbh got u runnin scared
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
hey stop by the pharmacy and get aspirin or smth will u
It follows that, Baekhyun crowning himself the jewel of his social circle and Jongdae maintaining an active role in his own, their post-exam party would turn their apartment into a locus of shenanigans. At least, that’s how Yixing puts it, in awe of the chaos that Sehun and Jongin are capable of creating in the space of an hour.
“This place,” he says, plastic cup filled with what smells like rubbing alcohol and looks like orange food coloring, “Is a hive of … Equity.”
“Iniquity.” Chanyeol is already drunk on a mixed rum-and-something Jongdae doesn’t remember making, the aftermath of three vicious written exams still taking their toll on his hands. “The word you want--hey, Jongdae, how’s it going?--is iniquity.”
“I’ve been here for like, half an hour. I probably made you that drink.” Jongdae watches Chanyeol’s face twist from drunken peace to confusion. “I live here,” he adds, for clarity.
“Well, yeah. I knew that.”
Yixing emits a soft giggle into his drink, barely giving himself time to rest it on the floor before toppling over. “How much did he have?” Jongdae asks, mildly perturbed at the sight. Chanyeol shrugs.
“Maybe, um. Three?”
“Oh. We should, uh. Get him some water or something.”
“Yeah.” Chanyeol watches Jongdae roll Yixing upright. “I want a sandwich.”
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
you have very attractive kneecaps
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
go to bed
Baekhyun has sexual chemistry with inanimate objects. It’s his superpower. Jongdae turns off his phone and goes to sleep.
Jongdae remembers a night four years ago, under a starry sky, when Baekhyun wore his brother’s tux to senior prom. Zhang Liyin had floated down from her bedroom to the foot of her house’s main staircase, where Jongdae had clutched nervously a pale purple flower, dyed to match her gown. Polyester silk, in violet. She’d smelled like perfume and hairspray.
He sweated like a champ while walking her from the photograph arch to the dance floor.
“We look good,” Baekhyun had commented, Jongdae already out of breath two songs in. He’d adjusted Jongdae’s tie, rental waistcoat bunching awkwardly around his shoulders. Jongdae had let him.
Baekhyun danced with Liyin just once. She’s a good dancer, and says I’m better at dancing than you, and Jongdae knows that’s still true--he’d stepped on her toes too many times to count to argue. His legs were sore, too, by the end of the party. “Two left feet,” Jongdae had laughed, and Baekhyun frowned.
“Don’t put yourself down like that,” he’d said. “I’m serious. You might not be able to dance, but you’re a good guy anyway. Liyin wouldn’t have gone out with you otherwise.”
The afterparty at Chanyeol’s house was blessedly loud. Jongdae remembers he could hear it from the car, between the sound of Baekhyun’s breaths and his own. “You shouldn’t say that,” Jongdae sighs. “If you keep that up, I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”
“Shoulda taken me out to prom instead.” Baekhyun’s smile, crooked and square, glints. He pays for their fare at the door: two bottles of vodka, courtesy of his brother.
He’s still easy to please. “That’s why,” Chanyeol slurred, “You two get along so well.” Jongdae had stared at the hazy distance between the ceiling and his eyes. “Trust me, I’m a prof--pro. Professional.”
“You’re not anything yet,” Jongdae bit back, mind finally piecing together an answer. “And I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” Chanyeol had jerked a thumb in Baekhyun’s general direction, passed out from the combined efforts of his brother and his own intolerance. “You’re under my roof, you have to follow my rules. Tell the truth.”
“I cheated when we were playing Mario Kart last week.”
“I knew it!” Chanyeol pounced, long limbs trapping Jongdae with ease. He’d waited a beat, Jongdae’s drunken senses slowly gathering in alarm, and tickled him for all he was worth. “You fucking cheater, I knew it, I knew it--”
He’d managed a garbled response, hands pushing Chanyeol’s away, legs kicking out at nothing. “Get off me, oh my god--”
“You two having fun without me?” Jongdae can almost see Baekhyun rubbing at his eyes, still half-drunk, grinning stupidly at the sight. “You should get a room.” Chanyeol had hauled himself off of Jongdae, pointing an accusatory finger.
“This fucker cheated at Kario Mart on Sunday!” Slowly, Baekhyun blinking. Chanyeol staggering. He’d aimed for the scattered cushions on the floor, stripped from the decorative couch in the main family room, but stayed pointing at Jongdae.
“All’s fair,” Baekhyun had said, watching Chanyeol’s slow-motion collapse. Chanyeol snoring before he hit the floor.
“Last man standing wins.” Jongdae shakily holding up a v-sign with his triumphant grin. Baekhyun clapping, palms missing each other at intervals.
They’d walked home at three in the morning at a half-hobble, half-run. Jongdae clung to Baekhyun’s jacket. Baekhyun’s long fingers at Jongdae’s waist; timed together like a three-legged race. “We should have stayed at Chanyeol’s house,” Jongdae had wheezed, winded by their pace. The streetlights were too bright. He’d lost his tie somewhere between Chanyeol’s driveway and the crosswalk.
“You’re sleeping over my house.” Jongdae could hear himself agree, maybe--his teeth were chattering. “And you’re cold. My house is warm.”
“P-perfect logi--logic.”
Despite the haze of near-alcohol poisoning and fatigue, Jongdae remembers Chanyeol’s afterparty. (And he remembers what Baekhyun said about it, two years later, drunk after their sophomore finals. I didn’t want to be alone, he’d said. Jongdae remembers, at least, that.)
Baekhyun was the little spoon. Jongdae, he still claims, is the better cuddler.
Baekhyun brings a thunderstorm mid-spring. Practically disappears for hours, days--Jongdae barely sees him for weeks--like he doesn’t live with him. He knows Baekhyun’s habits almost as well as his own; he just doesn’t know why Baekhyun won’t tell him he’s dating again. Irritation grates at him slowly, building up in his system.
He wonders who the new guy is, and how long he’ll last. Three rounds in what feels like the first video game night in months, the dam bursts. Jongdae doesn’t even pause their game before saying, “We should do this more often.” He narrowly misses the blue shell rocketing his way, and can spot the pinched look on Baekhyun’s face from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, we should.” Jongdae nearly drives off the road when Baekhyun admits, “I guess you noticed, huh?”
“Of course I noticed. I live with you. I’ve known you for six years.” Picking up an extra item on the next lane, Jongdae adds, “How could I not have noticed?”
“Sorry for being too obvious about it.” Sarcasm suits Baekhyun. He puts down his controller and curls away from it, wrapping thin arms around his knees. Jongdae watches Yoshi whizz by his car, leaving it in the dust.
“No, of course--I don’t mind whether you’re single or not, that’s entirely your business.”
“You never mind, that’s all you do. Like the whole world depends on you and your acceptance,” Baekhyun snaps. “You’re the most selfish guy I know.” Outrage burns in Jongdae’s throat. He pauses the game.
“I was always there when you needed me.” The controller digs into Jongdae’s hands before he relaxes. He carefully looks Baekhyun in the eye. “Six years of that--six years of chasing after you, because you said you didn’t want to be alone.”
“Nobody asked you to do that.” Baekhyun’s voice softens. “And I said that once.”
“So you’re taking it back? I heard you wrong? You were drunk?” Jongdae rubs at his temple, the words acid in his mouth. “What half-assed excuse are you going to give me? I’ll forgive you anyway.”
“Thanks for that, god, I was dying without your approval. Did you think I’d be proud of having someone to--to clean up after me?”
“I did it because nobody else would,” Jongdae finally bites out. He doesn’t feel like himself--he’s a spectator, watching two people argue. He’s watching Baekhyun when the words hit him like fists; he looks broken, for a moment, broken open.
(That’s how he’d looked sophomore year. Fragile.) He can’t recognize either of them now, Baekhyun vicious in his rage and Jongdae drawing himself up. Baekhyun looks so small. “I have a date.” He stays there, gaze fixed on the paused game. “I have to go. Get ready."
When he gets up, Jongdae doesn’t grab him, doesn’t apologize. “You have a date,” he agrees. It sounds different coming from his mouth. “Take your keys with you.” God, he’s tired. “I’m going out.”
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
is there a reason y ur roommate is in my house
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 2
why is my boyfriend touching bkhyn & why is he upset
midget
answer me
Jongdae shuts off his phone.
Yixing, polishing glasses, stares at the black screen in Jongdae’s hands. “You shouldn’t do that,” he comments. “Someone could be calling for something important.”
“Nobody’s going to call me for anything,” Jongdae sighs. He presses his forehead against the countertop. Cool marble and the smell of disinfectant. Somebody should have picked a sad song to play on the speaker system. The indignity of the Billboard 100 beats a soft dubstep rhythm in the background. “Except to chew me out,” he says dully. “Because I’m not the victim here.”
“Shut up.” Yixing’s voice, despite his sharp words, is still light. “As far as I can tell, neither of you have done anything particularly stellar today.” Jongdae thumps his head against the marble. “Minseok just polished that,” he continues. “Please stop.”
Jongdae sits up. “I don’t want to apologize first,” he mumbles. “I always apologize. I always go to him first.”
“Too bad. You picked this fight.” Finished with the Collins glasses, Yixing rinses the dishcloth in his hands. “And you didn’t have to do anything for him. He’s right--you did that all on your own.”
“I can’t help it. I’m used to it. Him.” Jongdae avoids Yixing’s eye. It’s hard bearing the weight of Yixing’s don’t bullshit me, please face. “And I don’t know how to apologize. He always likes big gestures, and I can’t do those.”
“Keep blaming him and you’re getting kicked out of my bar,” Yixing warns. “And it’s not your bar, not today. You’re not even on call.”
Jongdae puts his head back down on the counter. “Can’t I just stay here forever,” he groans.
“No,” a new voice cheerfully says. “You’re renting an apartment with the dude you’ve been crushing on for six years, who you’ve just royally pissed off today.” Chanyeol drapes himself on the chair next to Jongdae’s and waves at Yixing. “And when I say ‘royally pissed off’, I mean totally heartbroken. The first part was just me.”
“Why,” Jongdae says to the counter, “Are you here. I thought you were at home--”
“Comforting your ex-best friend? Yeah, hyung’s doing that.” Chanyeol shrugs off Yixing’s judgmental eye. “He deserves it. And don’t make a crack about them, I trust hyung, apparently, more than you trust Baekhyun.”
“You won’t stay to have a drink?” Yixing says instead, reaching for a glass. “Except Jongdae. You’re paying full price.”
“Honestly, we shouldn’t. I’m just here to get him.” Chanyeol stands up, shrugging on his coat and yanking Jongdae out of his chair. “Thanks for the chat, Yixing. I’ll see you later.”
Chanyeol drops Jongdae back off at his own building. Jongdae blinks at the familiar door--he can practically count the seconds up the elevator to their house. “Hyung said he’s dropped Baekhyun off at home,” Chanyeol shouts from the driver’s seat. “Good luck!”
“Good luck,” Jongdae repeats under his breath. He buys time by climbing the stairs to their apartment instead, and hopes nobody’s home. It nets him fifteen minutes, at most. Jongdae fishes for his keys in his pocket and holds his breath while unlocking the door.
“Welcome home.” Baekhyun’s voice, wooden and quiet. Jongdae shuts the door quietly behind him. He can see the back of Baekhyun’s head, Mario Kart still on the television. Baekhyun on the couch, slumped on the cushions.
“I’m home.” Jongdae takes off his shoes. “And I’m sorry.” He stays at the door, like Baekhyun could throw him out at any given second. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Of course you are.” Baekhyun’s words cut into Jongdae’s silence. Bare acceptance. “And I’m sorry too.” Jongdae on the other end of the couch, practically miles apart. He hasn’t taken a seat so far away from Baekhyun since high school. “It is your business who I date and where I go. You live with me. And I always tried to be there for you, but--six years, of us, being this, and--I didn’t want to be alone. Yeah. I am a selfish person.”
Deadpan, honest. It’s like watching the sun rise from the west. “You don’t have to say--”
Baekhyun cuts him off firmly. “I broke up with him. I went to go see him anyway.” Jongdae doesn’t know where quite to look--at the floor--at Baekhyun, back down at his socked feet. “And I just told him I didn’t want to date him anymore. That I--God, look at me, won’t you?”
Jongdae offers a weak smile. “Yeah. Sorry.” He twists his mouth into a frown, then smooths it out. “I, uh. I don’t really know what to say.”
“If you apologize for apologizing, I’ll hit you.”
“Okay. Hapkido champ of ‘08, I remember. Okay.”
It’s the uneasy silence that eats at him. Jongdae finally says, “That you what?” He catches Baekhyun’s expression, and clarifies, “You didn’t finish what you were saying. You didn’t want to date him anymore and what?”
“That maybe I should just. See other people. Or be single for a while. It’s okay. He wasn’t happy with me, I guess, so it wasn’t bad.”
“I don’t want you to see other people again.” Baekhyun probably looks angry. Or just blank--Jongdae stares forcefully at the space between Baekhyun and himself on the couch. To say it better. “I don’t want you to be single, either.” Like turning a dial. Silence gnaws at the end of Jongdae’s last words.
“Not everything can be the way you want them to be,” he sighs. Jongdae huffs, half-laughter from his lungs. “And I can’t--I can’t, I don’t know, be what you want. I don’t know what you want me to be.”
Jongdae shifts his gaze. Baekhyun looks distant. “Now who’s the one running away?” Any traces of a smile dissolving from his mouth--but Baekhyun finally looks at him, fragile eyes and all. “You’re so--you idiot, you never had to be anybody else with me. I don’t want you to be single or date anybody else, I want you to date--to date me, because six years ago I met somebody who didn’t care what other people thought about my stupid coke-bottle glasses. I didn’t clean up your messes because I had to, nobody paid me to do it. I wanted to do it.” He takes a deep breath, engine in his chest running at full speed. “I wanted to be around you, not just because I love you, but because I like who you are. Whoever it is I’ve seen around me every day all this time, that’s the person I want.”
Jongdae snaps his mouth shut at the sight of Baekhyun’s face. “You love me,” Baekhyun finally manages, “And. You called me an idiot, earlier, right?”
“I”m sorry--”
“But you’re serious about the--that you love me.” Thunderstruck. That’s how Baekhyun looks. “Six years and you didn’t even tell me--why didn’t you tell me--all this time?” It doesn’t look good on him. He gets up from the couch, eyes fixed on Jongdae’s face. “I don’t--I can’t, I need--time. I don’t know what to say to you.”
Jongdae watches him turn around, shoulders hunched, and shuffle to his room. He can hear the lock click shut.
from: yo-yo-yoda
did you kick him out
what the hell happened
from: yo-yo-yoda
seriously
“You told him,” Chanyeol sighs, putting away his phone. “You told him. Of course you told him. And he reacted the way he did. You two should win prizes. Dumbest Couple of the Year.”
“Don’t abuse guests in my living room,” Yixing says, handing Jongdae another mug of tea. He sits down next to Jongdae and drapes a blanket over his shoulders, frowning at Chanyeol.
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying--both of you deserve medals. Most Likely To Never Love Himself of the Decade and World’s Longest Friendzone Record.” Jongdae buries himself under the blanket, pushing the tea back into Yixing’s steady hands. “You can’t ostrich in Yixing’s house forever. You pay rent somewhere else.”
“You should have seen his face.” His voice, muffled from the blanket, flattens his words against his shame. “God, I thought--he was just so quiet about it.”
“Give him time.” Yixing pats Jongdae on the back sympathetically. “He probably didn’t figure it out at all until you told him.”
“Yeah. Unlike the rest of the world.” Chanyeol dodges the swipe Jongdae makes from underneath his cocoon. “Jeez--seriously though, haven’t you noticed? He doesn’t date people because he’s happy being with them; he doesn’t know how that works. You can’t love him enough for the two of you.” Yixing tugs the blanket off him. Chanyeol’s voice softens. “And you should probably be patient. I don’t think he expected you to tell him any of that. At least, not all at once.”
“Can’t take it back now,” Jongdae grumbles.
“Are you staying in my house for the weekend?” Yixing eyes him carefully. “Because if you are, you’re doing the laundry and the dishes.”
to: pianofingers
pikachu is at my house
weekend sleepover
Jongdae doesn’t see anyone at all. He sleeps on an air mattress in Yixing’s bedroom and works every night, borrowed tie and shirts from Yixing’s closet hanging loose on his body. Sleeps in on Monday until nearly sunset, waking up to the quiet sound of knocking. “Coming,” he says, voice still scratchy, and pulls on a pair of pants. Knock knock.
“I didn’t call ahead because I thought you might not answer,” Baekhyun says, when Jongdae yanks open the door. “And I’m tired of running away.”
“Come in.” Jongdae automatically steps aside for Baekhyun, eyes somehow expecting his customary breeze-in. He takes hesitant steps into Yixing’s house, instead. “I would have picked up,” he adds.
“Yixing’s working?” Small talk settles between the lines.
“Yeah. He is.” There’s dust in Jongdae’s throat. “Please, sit down.” Like strangers. “Yixing’s probably clocking off late. It’s Monday.”
“I’m not here for Yixing.” Baekhyun clears his throat and doesn’t sit down. “We should talk.”
“Okay.” Jongdae watches Baekhyun shuffle his feet, can almost pinpoint the moment he steels himself. You wanna come live with me?
“I’m not saying this because I’m--this isn’t settling, or. You’re right. And I’m sorry. But I really did need time to process, just, everything.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. Jongdae watches him, fascinated. Cautious optimism. “And you’re right about before. I don’t want to lose my best friend, and I don’t know if--if we’ll ever work out. But I want to try. I won’t be single and I won’t date anybody else.”
“Just me,” Jongdae manages softly.
“Just you,” Baekhyun agrees, offering a wan smile. “Let’s go home. And we’ll talk. And eat something. Maybe just get takeout.”
“I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”
“Please,” Baekhyun scoffs, looking more familiar to Jongdae’s eyes. “A hundred years too early for that.”
to: yixing, master of the sidecar
im going home
thanks very much for ur hospitality
from: yixing, master of the sidecar
okay well
use protection kids
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
u cant break him this time ok
i mean it
“Are you heading out?” Baekhyun calls from his room, voice nearly lost amid the playback on his computer. An exercise in cacophony. Homework. “Wait a sec--”
Jongdae waits at the door, keys heavy in his hands. Baekhyun hurries out, pencil still sticking out from its perch behind his ear. He adjusts Jongdae’s tie, cheerful blue-and-white stripes against pianist hands, and offers a gentle peck on each cheek. “Don’t poison anybody,” he says, cheerful despite the hours of coursework left.
It’s too easy to date him. (When you’ve been doing something for six years, consciously or not, Chanyeol had snorted, four beers in, of course it’s easy.) Jongdae hums pieces of Baekhyun’s newest song and doesn’t turn on the radio.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
you rly do have attractive kneecaps
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
is this ur idea of foreplay
how did u ever get laid before this
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
im a sex bomb excuse u
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
stop txting me im right next to u
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
i was wondering who my attractive neighbor was
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
omg
go away
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
never
;)
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
im putting my phone away now
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
but i love u
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
yeah well
i love you too
Recipient: shuxingxing
Rating: PG
Side pairing/s: slight chenyin, peripheral krisyeol, ex-krisbaek?
Word Count: 5260 words
Summary: For someone who remains a heavy contender for the world’s annual ‘Most Selfish Human of the Year’ prize, Baekhyun is weirdly nice.
Warning/s: mutual pining, stupid midgets in love
Notes: dear recipient: im sorry ;; oh man your prompts were so good but it turned into this um there is like zero structure ;A; title from the priscilla ahn song ‘weeping willow’; cut from the mumford&sons song ‘hopeless wanderer’. so many thanks to a for cheering me on while i mangled this ;; thank you chingu uwu
He usually works Fridays.
Jongdae doesn’t mind--he doesn’t have anywhere to be, nobody to see or take out or dance with--so he’s pretty used to it; happy to make enough money to maybe fix up his car. But since Chanyeol’s begged for the shift, lobbying him weeks in advance (dude you fixed your radiator ages ago), Jongdae takes the night off and hopes that Chanyeol’s gambit to impress their boss works. On a Friday night, with drunk patrons and ever-filled seats, it just might.
He opens the bar and wipes down every surface, clapping Chanyeol on the back at ten o’clock, just when the streets are beginning to boil with restless youth. Chanyeol almost looks as if he’d beg him to stay, a large party of twentysomethings beginning to prematurely crowd the bar. Jongdae shakes his head and flashes him a smile, thumbs-up and all, yanking open his bowtie so it rests around his neck in a single ribbon. Post-party Cary Grant in polka dots.
When the twentysomethings take over the long stretch of cushioned seats in the back, Minseok and Yixing roll up their sleeves and their eyes in prayer. Jongdae’s close enough to hear Chanyeol’s whimper, and laughs himself out of the bar.
It’s much easier to drive out of downtown than into it now. As soon as he starts his car, he can see in the mirrors a shiny Nissan hovering behind him. Nervous vulture. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive home, so he forgoes the radio, humming into the silence all the way from the parking lot and up three flights of stairs.
Jongdae unlocks his door and shuts it behind him. His housemate is clearly out for the night, apparent by the display of sartorial indecision strewn around the living room. Baekhyun’s typical trail of disaster means pushing away a pile of clean shirts off the couch before he can fall over on it, idly fumbling for the remote. “Fuck,” he says, stubbing his toe and fishing for his phone at the same time, and types out a quick text.
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
home early. reverse sexile warning in place
It’s no good waiting for an answer--Baekhyun probably won’t see it for a good hour or two--and Jongdae’s feeling hungry. The kitchen cupboards are woefully empty, but he can make do with throwing extra vegetables on the cusp of death into a package of ramen or two, at least. While it boils, he can hear his phone ping in the living room.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
ok
wat happened did u get fired
but ok rev sexile noted
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
no i didnt get fired
pcy wants to spread his wings
He pokes at the ramen with metal chopsticks, part of a housewarming gift from Baekhyun’s brother nearly a year ago, and switches off the burner. Jongdae carries the pot to the only table i the living room, a low-slung coffee table that necessitates parking his ass on the floor. Old newspaper serves as a decent potholder, and when Jongdae’s about to take the first taste of his noodles, his phone receives another text.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
ok cool
Typical. Jongdae turns on the television and tunes into a drama broadcast he’s never seen.
In the middle of wondering exactly what Yerin’s motivations were in stealing Doctor Song’s car keys, Jongdae finishes his ramen and washes up in the kitchen. He turns up the volume and--okay, he’s invested--hurries back, hands still went but the pot and chopsticks clean, when Yerin gets slapped by the good doctor’s mother.
His phone doesn’t ring again. Jongdae changes clothes when the drama’s end credits roll, promising another chapter that he probably won’t see next Friday. He wonders how Chanyeol’s holding up, if Yixing’s remembered to use the newer bottle of homebrewed vermouth.
Jongdae falls asleep thinking about the bar, hands reaching for bottles and cups that feel oddly soft.
For someone who remains a heavy contender for the world’s annual ‘Most Selfish Human of the Year’ prize, Baekhyun is weirdly nice.
He’s a fairly decent roommate. He’s someone Jongdae likes sharing a place with, both of them subscribing to the friends-first, roommates-second philosophy of bropartment sharing. There’s nobody to impress in their space; their shared memories stretch as far back as freshman year in high school, when Jongdae’s awkward duckling phase was just beginning and Baekhyun had the shaggiest haircut known to mankind.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
comin in hot
Nine-thirty. Jongdae groans, burying his face in his pillow, and stares at the unrelentingly bright screen of his phone.
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
okay
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
i forgot my keys
He rolls out of bed, snagging a blue conservatory sweatshirt and pausing at the door to tap out a response.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
hey
open up
pls
“Don’t just stand there to text back,” a voice whines through the door. “I’m out here. Open the door already.”
“What’s the password?” Baekhyun probably wore the blue Sassy Pants, material too thin to keep him warm, mouth turned down as he stamps his feet on the mat. “And don’t kick the door. That security deposit’s worth more than your life.”
“Pleeeeaaaaase.” Baekhyun’s head thumps against the doorway. Jongdae opens the door. “It’s cold, oh, jesus.” Baekhyun darts into the apartment, shivering, and presses in close to Jongdae’s body.
“You smell like lube,” Jongdae tells him without preamble, shutting the door. He wrinkles his nose, edging his head away from Baekhyun. “You didn’t shower at his place?” Baekhyun moves in step with Jongdae, cold hands digging for warmth under Jongdae’s stolen sweatshirt.
“And deprive everyone of the glorious sight on my head?” Cold nose pressed against Jongdae’s neck, lube-cologne and all, as Jongdae opens the fridge for a jar of plum-honey syrup. “Besides, when I woke up I was still kind of drunk. I wanted to be home,” Baekhyun coos. His eyelashes tickle. He koalas there while Jongdae microwaves water.
Three spoonfuls of syrup. Stirred quick. Leave the spoon in the mug. Baekhyun smiles.
It’s not always easy living with the world’s most self-absorbed man, not with the growing pile of shoes that gather on the welcome mat and the six years of history between them. It’s like Jongdae asking about homework assignments but in reverse, Baekhyun asking almost carelessly, so, uh, can I borrow your physics homework? “You wanna come live with me?”
“Did you not notice that I already have a place to live? You’re in it, right now.” Baekhyun doesn’t even look up from the textbook on his lap. Jongdae considers throwing him off his bed and winning himself extra leg room.
“This is jail,” Baekhyun dismissively waves a hand in Jongdae’s direction. “It’ll be great,” he continues loudly. “Rent, utilities, everything in half. Besides, you’re only here because you didn’t bother looking for a place.”
“Don’t they always tell you not to live with your friends? And my job right now isn’t going to pay enough. You know that, why did you bother asking--”
“Aren’t you interviewing for XOXO next week? You’ll get it. And when you do, you can sign the lease.”
“Shut up.” Jongdae halfheartedly slaps Baekhyun’s textbook shut. Personal space is for squares. “Don’t talk like it’s a lock, I’m serious. It’s a popular place. I might not get it.”
“You gonna wear the boyfriend shirt?” Jongdae keeps still while Baekhyun eyes him, holds his breath like it’d make a difference. Endures long stares at the breadth of his shoulders; the width of his waist. “You should.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Even when Baekhyun comes in at unpredictable hours the next day, phone battery nearly dead, smelling like sex and lube and someone else, fielding Jongdae’s cheerful judgment with ease, it’s pretty good.
Chanyeol dubs the apartment Midget Central during midterms, when he’s sharing coffee table real estate with Yixing’s calculus homework. Jongdae carefully steps over Jongin’s prone body curled up on the floor, picking his way across the living room to Baekhyun, hunched over his composition homework.
“I’m regretting having allowed any of you into this house,” he frowns, staring at the scattered mess of handouts practically wallpapering the apartment. “Why can’t you all have studied in the library? Or found a coffee shop?”
“You’re lonely extroverts,” Chanyeol mumbles back, stare boring holes into his pharmaceuticals spreadsheet. God damn psych majors.
Jongdae snorts, touching a gentle hand against Baekhyun’s shoulder. “I’m leaving.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Baekhyun shakes himself alert, eyes lingering on the errant notes scrawled across his sheet music notebook. “You want me to walk you out?”
“To my car? From our house?” Grinning, Jongdae pushes Baekhyun lightly. “I’ll be back. Don’t stay up too late.”
Baekhyun turns up his face in Jongdae’s direction, like a little heat-seeking flower toward the sun, and whines. “For the road,” he says, wrinkling his nose like a baby. “I have no shame--I’m going to die tomorrow anyway.”
“You didn’t have any shame to begin with,” Jongdae sighs, but presses a kiss against Baekhyun’s forehead. He brushes down his bangs before leaving. “Seriously, don’t stay up too late.”
“Yeah, okay. Don’t trip on Jongin on the way out.” Jongdae salutes and leaves, humming Baekhyun’s latest sonata on the way to work.
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
i saw ur little goodbye ceremony there
very nice
12/10 on the homo scale
to: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
i dated zhang liyin
ur dating a tree
ur opinion is irrelevant
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
u took her to prom
at least im dating
besides ur not goin back in the closet now r u
bbh got u runnin scared
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
hey stop by the pharmacy and get aspirin or smth will u
It follows that, Baekhyun crowning himself the jewel of his social circle and Jongdae maintaining an active role in his own, their post-exam party would turn their apartment into a locus of shenanigans. At least, that’s how Yixing puts it, in awe of the chaos that Sehun and Jongin are capable of creating in the space of an hour.
“This place,” he says, plastic cup filled with what smells like rubbing alcohol and looks like orange food coloring, “Is a hive of … Equity.”
“Iniquity.” Chanyeol is already drunk on a mixed rum-and-something Jongdae doesn’t remember making, the aftermath of three vicious written exams still taking their toll on his hands. “The word you want--hey, Jongdae, how’s it going?--is iniquity.”
“I’ve been here for like, half an hour. I probably made you that drink.” Jongdae watches Chanyeol’s face twist from drunken peace to confusion. “I live here,” he adds, for clarity.
“Well, yeah. I knew that.”
Yixing emits a soft giggle into his drink, barely giving himself time to rest it on the floor before toppling over. “How much did he have?” Jongdae asks, mildly perturbed at the sight. Chanyeol shrugs.
“Maybe, um. Three?”
“Oh. We should, uh. Get him some water or something.”
“Yeah.” Chanyeol watches Jongdae roll Yixing upright. “I want a sandwich.”
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
you have very attractive kneecaps
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
go to bed
Baekhyun has sexual chemistry with inanimate objects. It’s his superpower. Jongdae turns off his phone and goes to sleep.
Jongdae remembers a night four years ago, under a starry sky, when Baekhyun wore his brother’s tux to senior prom. Zhang Liyin had floated down from her bedroom to the foot of her house’s main staircase, where Jongdae had clutched nervously a pale purple flower, dyed to match her gown. Polyester silk, in violet. She’d smelled like perfume and hairspray.
He sweated like a champ while walking her from the photograph arch to the dance floor.
“We look good,” Baekhyun had commented, Jongdae already out of breath two songs in. He’d adjusted Jongdae’s tie, rental waistcoat bunching awkwardly around his shoulders. Jongdae had let him.
Baekhyun danced with Liyin just once. She’s a good dancer, and says I’m better at dancing than you, and Jongdae knows that’s still true--he’d stepped on her toes too many times to count to argue. His legs were sore, too, by the end of the party. “Two left feet,” Jongdae had laughed, and Baekhyun frowned.
“Don’t put yourself down like that,” he’d said. “I’m serious. You might not be able to dance, but you’re a good guy anyway. Liyin wouldn’t have gone out with you otherwise.”
The afterparty at Chanyeol’s house was blessedly loud. Jongdae remembers he could hear it from the car, between the sound of Baekhyun’s breaths and his own. “You shouldn’t say that,” Jongdae sighs. “If you keep that up, I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”
“Shoulda taken me out to prom instead.” Baekhyun’s smile, crooked and square, glints. He pays for their fare at the door: two bottles of vodka, courtesy of his brother.
He’s still easy to please. “That’s why,” Chanyeol slurred, “You two get along so well.” Jongdae had stared at the hazy distance between the ceiling and his eyes. “Trust me, I’m a prof--pro. Professional.”
“You’re not anything yet,” Jongdae bit back, mind finally piecing together an answer. “And I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” Chanyeol had jerked a thumb in Baekhyun’s general direction, passed out from the combined efforts of his brother and his own intolerance. “You’re under my roof, you have to follow my rules. Tell the truth.”
“I cheated when we were playing Mario Kart last week.”
“I knew it!” Chanyeol pounced, long limbs trapping Jongdae with ease. He’d waited a beat, Jongdae’s drunken senses slowly gathering in alarm, and tickled him for all he was worth. “You fucking cheater, I knew it, I knew it--”
He’d managed a garbled response, hands pushing Chanyeol’s away, legs kicking out at nothing. “Get off me, oh my god--”
“You two having fun without me?” Jongdae can almost see Baekhyun rubbing at his eyes, still half-drunk, grinning stupidly at the sight. “You should get a room.” Chanyeol had hauled himself off of Jongdae, pointing an accusatory finger.
“This fucker cheated at Kario Mart on Sunday!” Slowly, Baekhyun blinking. Chanyeol staggering. He’d aimed for the scattered cushions on the floor, stripped from the decorative couch in the main family room, but stayed pointing at Jongdae.
“All’s fair,” Baekhyun had said, watching Chanyeol’s slow-motion collapse. Chanyeol snoring before he hit the floor.
“Last man standing wins.” Jongdae shakily holding up a v-sign with his triumphant grin. Baekhyun clapping, palms missing each other at intervals.
They’d walked home at three in the morning at a half-hobble, half-run. Jongdae clung to Baekhyun’s jacket. Baekhyun’s long fingers at Jongdae’s waist; timed together like a three-legged race. “We should have stayed at Chanyeol’s house,” Jongdae had wheezed, winded by their pace. The streetlights were too bright. He’d lost his tie somewhere between Chanyeol’s driveway and the crosswalk.
“You’re sleeping over my house.” Jongdae could hear himself agree, maybe--his teeth were chattering. “And you’re cold. My house is warm.”
“P-perfect logi--logic.”
Despite the haze of near-alcohol poisoning and fatigue, Jongdae remembers Chanyeol’s afterparty. (And he remembers what Baekhyun said about it, two years later, drunk after their sophomore finals. I didn’t want to be alone, he’d said. Jongdae remembers, at least, that.)
Baekhyun was the little spoon. Jongdae, he still claims, is the better cuddler.
Baekhyun brings a thunderstorm mid-spring. Practically disappears for hours, days--Jongdae barely sees him for weeks--like he doesn’t live with him. He knows Baekhyun’s habits almost as well as his own; he just doesn’t know why Baekhyun won’t tell him he’s dating again. Irritation grates at him slowly, building up in his system.
He wonders who the new guy is, and how long he’ll last. Three rounds in what feels like the first video game night in months, the dam bursts. Jongdae doesn’t even pause their game before saying, “We should do this more often.” He narrowly misses the blue shell rocketing his way, and can spot the pinched look on Baekhyun’s face from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, we should.” Jongdae nearly drives off the road when Baekhyun admits, “I guess you noticed, huh?”
“Of course I noticed. I live with you. I’ve known you for six years.” Picking up an extra item on the next lane, Jongdae adds, “How could I not have noticed?”
“Sorry for being too obvious about it.” Sarcasm suits Baekhyun. He puts down his controller and curls away from it, wrapping thin arms around his knees. Jongdae watches Yoshi whizz by his car, leaving it in the dust.
“No, of course--I don’t mind whether you’re single or not, that’s entirely your business.”
“You never mind, that’s all you do. Like the whole world depends on you and your acceptance,” Baekhyun snaps. “You’re the most selfish guy I know.” Outrage burns in Jongdae’s throat. He pauses the game.
“I was always there when you needed me.” The controller digs into Jongdae’s hands before he relaxes. He carefully looks Baekhyun in the eye. “Six years of that--six years of chasing after you, because you said you didn’t want to be alone.”
“Nobody asked you to do that.” Baekhyun’s voice softens. “And I said that once.”
“So you’re taking it back? I heard you wrong? You were drunk?” Jongdae rubs at his temple, the words acid in his mouth. “What half-assed excuse are you going to give me? I’ll forgive you anyway.”
“Thanks for that, god, I was dying without your approval. Did you think I’d be proud of having someone to--to clean up after me?”
“I did it because nobody else would,” Jongdae finally bites out. He doesn’t feel like himself--he’s a spectator, watching two people argue. He’s watching Baekhyun when the words hit him like fists; he looks broken, for a moment, broken open.
(That’s how he’d looked sophomore year. Fragile.) He can’t recognize either of them now, Baekhyun vicious in his rage and Jongdae drawing himself up. Baekhyun looks so small. “I have a date.” He stays there, gaze fixed on the paused game. “I have to go. Get ready."
When he gets up, Jongdae doesn’t grab him, doesn’t apologize. “You have a date,” he agrees. It sounds different coming from his mouth. “Take your keys with you.” God, he’s tired. “I’m going out.”
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
is there a reason y ur roommate is in my house
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 2
why is my boyfriend touching bkhyn & why is he upset
midget
answer me
Jongdae shuts off his phone.
Yixing, polishing glasses, stares at the black screen in Jongdae’s hands. “You shouldn’t do that,” he comments. “Someone could be calling for something important.”
“Nobody’s going to call me for anything,” Jongdae sighs. He presses his forehead against the countertop. Cool marble and the smell of disinfectant. Somebody should have picked a sad song to play on the speaker system. The indignity of the Billboard 100 beats a soft dubstep rhythm in the background. “Except to chew me out,” he says dully. “Because I’m not the victim here.”
“Shut up.” Yixing’s voice, despite his sharp words, is still light. “As far as I can tell, neither of you have done anything particularly stellar today.” Jongdae thumps his head against the marble. “Minseok just polished that,” he continues. “Please stop.”
Jongdae sits up. “I don’t want to apologize first,” he mumbles. “I always apologize. I always go to him first.”
“Too bad. You picked this fight.” Finished with the Collins glasses, Yixing rinses the dishcloth in his hands. “And you didn’t have to do anything for him. He’s right--you did that all on your own.”
“I can’t help it. I’m used to it. Him.” Jongdae avoids Yixing’s eye. It’s hard bearing the weight of Yixing’s don’t bullshit me, please face. “And I don’t know how to apologize. He always likes big gestures, and I can’t do those.”
“Keep blaming him and you’re getting kicked out of my bar,” Yixing warns. “And it’s not your bar, not today. You’re not even on call.”
Jongdae puts his head back down on the counter. “Can’t I just stay here forever,” he groans.
“No,” a new voice cheerfully says. “You’re renting an apartment with the dude you’ve been crushing on for six years, who you’ve just royally pissed off today.” Chanyeol drapes himself on the chair next to Jongdae’s and waves at Yixing. “And when I say ‘royally pissed off’, I mean totally heartbroken. The first part was just me.”
“Why,” Jongdae says to the counter, “Are you here. I thought you were at home--”
“Comforting your ex-best friend? Yeah, hyung’s doing that.” Chanyeol shrugs off Yixing’s judgmental eye. “He deserves it. And don’t make a crack about them, I trust hyung, apparently, more than you trust Baekhyun.”
“You won’t stay to have a drink?” Yixing says instead, reaching for a glass. “Except Jongdae. You’re paying full price.”
“Honestly, we shouldn’t. I’m just here to get him.” Chanyeol stands up, shrugging on his coat and yanking Jongdae out of his chair. “Thanks for the chat, Yixing. I’ll see you later.”
Chanyeol drops Jongdae back off at his own building. Jongdae blinks at the familiar door--he can practically count the seconds up the elevator to their house. “Hyung said he’s dropped Baekhyun off at home,” Chanyeol shouts from the driver’s seat. “Good luck!”
“Good luck,” Jongdae repeats under his breath. He buys time by climbing the stairs to their apartment instead, and hopes nobody’s home. It nets him fifteen minutes, at most. Jongdae fishes for his keys in his pocket and holds his breath while unlocking the door.
“Welcome home.” Baekhyun’s voice, wooden and quiet. Jongdae shuts the door quietly behind him. He can see the back of Baekhyun’s head, Mario Kart still on the television. Baekhyun on the couch, slumped on the cushions.
“I’m home.” Jongdae takes off his shoes. “And I’m sorry.” He stays at the door, like Baekhyun could throw him out at any given second. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Of course you are.” Baekhyun’s words cut into Jongdae’s silence. Bare acceptance. “And I’m sorry too.” Jongdae on the other end of the couch, practically miles apart. He hasn’t taken a seat so far away from Baekhyun since high school. “It is your business who I date and where I go. You live with me. And I always tried to be there for you, but--six years, of us, being this, and--I didn’t want to be alone. Yeah. I am a selfish person.”
Deadpan, honest. It’s like watching the sun rise from the west. “You don’t have to say--”
Baekhyun cuts him off firmly. “I broke up with him. I went to go see him anyway.” Jongdae doesn’t know where quite to look--at the floor--at Baekhyun, back down at his socked feet. “And I just told him I didn’t want to date him anymore. That I--God, look at me, won’t you?”
Jongdae offers a weak smile. “Yeah. Sorry.” He twists his mouth into a frown, then smooths it out. “I, uh. I don’t really know what to say.”
“If you apologize for apologizing, I’ll hit you.”
“Okay. Hapkido champ of ‘08, I remember. Okay.”
It’s the uneasy silence that eats at him. Jongdae finally says, “That you what?” He catches Baekhyun’s expression, and clarifies, “You didn’t finish what you were saying. You didn’t want to date him anymore and what?”
“That maybe I should just. See other people. Or be single for a while. It’s okay. He wasn’t happy with me, I guess, so it wasn’t bad.”
“I don’t want you to see other people again.” Baekhyun probably looks angry. Or just blank--Jongdae stares forcefully at the space between Baekhyun and himself on the couch. To say it better. “I don’t want you to be single, either.” Like turning a dial. Silence gnaws at the end of Jongdae’s last words.
“Not everything can be the way you want them to be,” he sighs. Jongdae huffs, half-laughter from his lungs. “And I can’t--I can’t, I don’t know, be what you want. I don’t know what you want me to be.”
Jongdae shifts his gaze. Baekhyun looks distant. “Now who’s the one running away?” Any traces of a smile dissolving from his mouth--but Baekhyun finally looks at him, fragile eyes and all. “You’re so--you idiot, you never had to be anybody else with me. I don’t want you to be single or date anybody else, I want you to date--to date me, because six years ago I met somebody who didn’t care what other people thought about my stupid coke-bottle glasses. I didn’t clean up your messes because I had to, nobody paid me to do it. I wanted to do it.” He takes a deep breath, engine in his chest running at full speed. “I wanted to be around you, not just because I love you, but because I like who you are. Whoever it is I’ve seen around me every day all this time, that’s the person I want.”
Jongdae snaps his mouth shut at the sight of Baekhyun’s face. “You love me,” Baekhyun finally manages, “And. You called me an idiot, earlier, right?”
“I”m sorry--”
“But you’re serious about the--that you love me.” Thunderstruck. That’s how Baekhyun looks. “Six years and you didn’t even tell me--why didn’t you tell me--all this time?” It doesn’t look good on him. He gets up from the couch, eyes fixed on Jongdae’s face. “I don’t--I can’t, I need--time. I don’t know what to say to you.”
Jongdae watches him turn around, shoulders hunched, and shuffle to his room. He can hear the lock click shut.
from: yo-yo-yoda
did you kick him out
what the hell happened
from: yo-yo-yoda
seriously
“You told him,” Chanyeol sighs, putting away his phone. “You told him. Of course you told him. And he reacted the way he did. You two should win prizes. Dumbest Couple of the Year.”
“Don’t abuse guests in my living room,” Yixing says, handing Jongdae another mug of tea. He sits down next to Jongdae and drapes a blanket over his shoulders, frowning at Chanyeol.
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying--both of you deserve medals. Most Likely To Never Love Himself of the Decade and World’s Longest Friendzone Record.” Jongdae buries himself under the blanket, pushing the tea back into Yixing’s steady hands. “You can’t ostrich in Yixing’s house forever. You pay rent somewhere else.”
“You should have seen his face.” His voice, muffled from the blanket, flattens his words against his shame. “God, I thought--he was just so quiet about it.”
“Give him time.” Yixing pats Jongdae on the back sympathetically. “He probably didn’t figure it out at all until you told him.”
“Yeah. Unlike the rest of the world.” Chanyeol dodges the swipe Jongdae makes from underneath his cocoon. “Jeez--seriously though, haven’t you noticed? He doesn’t date people because he’s happy being with them; he doesn’t know how that works. You can’t love him enough for the two of you.” Yixing tugs the blanket off him. Chanyeol’s voice softens. “And you should probably be patient. I don’t think he expected you to tell him any of that. At least, not all at once.”
“Can’t take it back now,” Jongdae grumbles.
“Are you staying in my house for the weekend?” Yixing eyes him carefully. “Because if you are, you’re doing the laundry and the dishes.”
to: pianofingers
pikachu is at my house
weekend sleepover
Jongdae doesn’t see anyone at all. He sleeps on an air mattress in Yixing’s bedroom and works every night, borrowed tie and shirts from Yixing’s closet hanging loose on his body. Sleeps in on Monday until nearly sunset, waking up to the quiet sound of knocking. “Coming,” he says, voice still scratchy, and pulls on a pair of pants. Knock knock.
“I didn’t call ahead because I thought you might not answer,” Baekhyun says, when Jongdae yanks open the door. “And I’m tired of running away.”
“Come in.” Jongdae automatically steps aside for Baekhyun, eyes somehow expecting his customary breeze-in. He takes hesitant steps into Yixing’s house, instead. “I would have picked up,” he adds.
“Yixing’s working?” Small talk settles between the lines.
“Yeah. He is.” There’s dust in Jongdae’s throat. “Please, sit down.” Like strangers. “Yixing’s probably clocking off late. It’s Monday.”
“I’m not here for Yixing.” Baekhyun clears his throat and doesn’t sit down. “We should talk.”
“Okay.” Jongdae watches Baekhyun shuffle his feet, can almost pinpoint the moment he steels himself. You wanna come live with me?
“I’m not saying this because I’m--this isn’t settling, or. You’re right. And I’m sorry. But I really did need time to process, just, everything.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. Jongdae watches him, fascinated. Cautious optimism. “And you’re right about before. I don’t want to lose my best friend, and I don’t know if--if we’ll ever work out. But I want to try. I won’t be single and I won’t date anybody else.”
“Just me,” Jongdae manages softly.
“Just you,” Baekhyun agrees, offering a wan smile. “Let’s go home. And we’ll talk. And eat something. Maybe just get takeout.”
“I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”
“Please,” Baekhyun scoffs, looking more familiar to Jongdae’s eyes. “A hundred years too early for that.”
to: yixing, master of the sidecar
im going home
thanks very much for ur hospitality
from: yixing, master of the sidecar
okay well
use protection kids
from: uselessly tall skyscraper 1
u cant break him this time ok
i mean it
“Are you heading out?” Baekhyun calls from his room, voice nearly lost amid the playback on his computer. An exercise in cacophony. Homework. “Wait a sec--”
Jongdae waits at the door, keys heavy in his hands. Baekhyun hurries out, pencil still sticking out from its perch behind his ear. He adjusts Jongdae’s tie, cheerful blue-and-white stripes against pianist hands, and offers a gentle peck on each cheek. “Don’t poison anybody,” he says, cheerful despite the hours of coursework left.
It’s too easy to date him. (When you’ve been doing something for six years, consciously or not, Chanyeol had snorted, four beers in, of course it’s easy.) Jongdae hums pieces of Baekhyun’s newest song and doesn’t turn on the radio.
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
you rly do have attractive kneecaps
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
is this ur idea of foreplay
how did u ever get laid before this
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
im a sex bomb excuse u
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
stop txting me im right next to u
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
i was wondering who my attractive neighbor was
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
omg
go away
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
never
;)
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
im putting my phone away now
from: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
but i love u
to: ba-ba-boom! baekhyun
yeah well
i love you too