"we are good"; "很好"; 4/4
★
The wad of cash that was meant for the deposit of their new apartment is now in an envelope and placed carefully in of the side pocket of Chanyeol’s brown briefcase. Nervousness is making him fidgety as he sits in a café near his office. The place is bursting with the evening office crowd, here to grumble after a day of work, and he curses himself for not choosing a less remote place because he would like to shout. Yes, he would like to shout, perhaps, something really dramatic like, ‘This is what you didn’t want. And now you can never have him back.’ Or maybe she has her reasons. Chanyeol would hear her out, he would nurse his impatience over a cup of hot chocolate and then he would tell her how well Yifan has done without her. Then he’d ask her, ‘Do you miss him?’ The answer had better be ‘yes’. Chanyeol is not above punching a female. (Ok, he is. Because manly. But hey.)
Someone enters the café and Chanyeol recognizes her immediately. Her height and bearing, it’s as clear as day. She is Yifan’s mother, the fact is so telling that it makes Chanyeol ache for him. 'Why would you not want your child who is so alike to you?' he wants to ask. He doesn’t get a chance to. When the woman sees Chanyeol standing up, she rushes over, urgency in every step. There’s shouting but he isn't the one doing it. Chanyeol doesn’t comprehend her, he’s sure that he wouldn’t be able to even if he knew Chinese. Her sentences are slurred, her hair wild and her eyes rimmed with desperation. The collar of Chanyeol’s shirt is caught in her hands and the café patrons are beginning to stare.
Utterly stunned and unprepared for this, Chanyeol is incapable of doing anything else other than just standing there. All his righteous speech forgotten as she grabs his briefcase and empties it out - papers, pens, his mobile, all cascading down onto the floor. When the envelope containing the cash falls out, she shouts and rips it open, counts the cash with excited hands before running out of the café. The commotion lasts less than a few minutes and everyone soon resumes dinner and chatter, showing little concern except for an occasional flick of the eye over to where Chanyeol is still left standing, his belongings strewn around him.
His world has just collapsed and no one seems to have noticed.
Chanyeol has handed part of their future over to someone who doesn’t even care. What has he done?
★
When Chanyeol returns home, he re-strategizes on the spot, disposes the truth and says, “She misses you.”
The lie is as thin as paper and when left hanging in the air, it crinkles just as loud.
With eyes fixated on Chanyeol, Yifan walks right up to him. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.” There are no indulgent smiles, no low chuckles. There is also no rebuke. But there’s resignation, so complete that the smile dies on Chanyeol’s face as well. He is sorry, he is so so so sorry. For what Yifan could have had, Chanyeol has offered it to someone so undeserving. This is so unfair but somehow, necessary.
“Because you love me.”
“Sap.”
But later that night, when they lie in bed, it’s Chanyeol who holds him close, letting Yifan’s right ear press against his chest, listening to the strong strum of his heart. It’s Chanyeol who presses his lips against Yifan’s forehead, trying to kiss his troubles away, fingers magicking down his spine, consoling him in the way only he could. And it’s Chanyeol who says these words that make Yifan sigh and close his eyes. “It’s alright, it’s me,” he whispers, every word melding to the contours of Yifan’s ears, “it’s ok to cry.”
You don’t need them around me. Take off your armor, they are so heavy.
The ever-present tension in Yifan’s shoulders finally seeps out when he next exhales. Yifan exhales, exhales, and exhales, lungs pressing all this pain out of him.
His tears are so quiet.
★
They never speak of Yifan’s mother. It’s a door that has closed for the last time. They’ve thrown the key away and will not attempt opening it again.
With what they have from Chanyeol’s savings, they continue the prowl for the perfect home. Just like the first time, they waste many days wandering from one apartment to another, none of which would be theirs. Somehow, it becomes pertinent that they find a place of their own, closing this chapter of their lives and inking a new paragraph.
This Sunday, Chanyeol wakes with his eyebrow twitching. “My right eyebrow is twitching.” He slaps Yifan awake to tell him this but Yifan just slaps his brow until it stops twitching because it’s frigging 3 a.m. and no one cares about twitching eyebrows at 3 a.m. so now it must die.
With unsuppressed excitement, Chanyeol gets dressed well before they are slated to meet the agent and there’s a skip in his step. He can feel it, this is going to be good. His mood is contagious and Yifan finds himself hoping as well.
They walk a good twenty minutes from the metro station to the block. Along the way, they count zero convenience stores and two unfriendly stray cats. The neighborhood is painted a somber grey and apartment itself is small and dusty, located on the 4th floor, an inauspicious number and just a fraction of what they initially settled on. But Chanyeol sees a castle. He opens the door and discovers a dream sleeping in there. He runs into the single bedroom in the apartment and chances on a whole future already mapped out and unraveling. Running back out, he swallows and beams hopefully at Yifan, not even bothering to conceal his excitement so that they can have some room to haggle.
It’s the first real smile that Yifan has seen on Chanyeol’s face since that night he left home, so genuine that he would give anything to make it stay. Maybe if they live here, Chanyeol will finally stop being sad.
“We’ll take this,” Yifan says to the real estate agent. “Perhaps you would like to see the apartment first?” Yifan hasn’t even stepped into the apartment yet, the agent doesn’t want him to back out at the very last moment, best to make sure. But Yifan is already sure. They pay the deposit on the spot and paint the walls blue the following week. After coercing free labor out of Lu Han and Jongin, they move in by the end of the month.
They have a home. It is too small for them; their legs don’t dangle off the end of the bed, they hit the wall instead because Yifan and Chanyeol can’t even afford the space between the bed and the wall; books are littered everywhere; the kitchen still cannot contain a dining table, and they don’t even have a guestroom now. Instead, they have a home.
★
They don’t measure time because the days just come and go. It’s a muted blessing when there’s nothing to mark the days and their happiness is so quiet, they don’t even know its existence. There are no great joys or upsets, just little episodes of laughter and tears, good enough for a chat at the dinner table but not for the memory stash. For instance, that one time Yifan randomly suggests they adopt a child and Chanyeol couldn’t help scorning and scoffing. “Yes, I see it now,” he drawls, “splashed across the headlines of every newspaper, as if we were serial killers, ‘Gay Couple Adopt Kid: Run for the Hills‘. Speaking of which, dogs are too expensive to keep. Sorry about your Bichon Frisé, let’s get a cactus instead, I’m sure fluffly cactuses exist.” Yifan grieves for his puppy and the romantic Chanyeol he used to know.
But nature measures itself. When the leaves bleed themselves red and hang dying from the trees, Yifan declares that he has an interview. Chanyeol, who still remembers how traumatic his first interview went, is decidedly nervous. “What job is it for?” he chatters excitedly, sprawled across the expanse of Yifan’s shoulders and distracting him from a novel.
“A worthwhile job,” Yifan smiles and replies in a few words. He pulls Chanyeol down on his lap and begins stroking his hair, pushing the wayward bangs out of his eyes, a habit he can never kick. But Chanyeol isn’t appreciative, he pouts and tries to bite Yifan’s fingers. “What’s a worthwhile job?” asks Chanyeol, nibbling on Yifan’s thumb.
Chuckling, Yifan pulls his hand free and those long fingers now travel south heading into the elastic waistband of Chanyeol’s track pants, not even a button sewn on it to save him. “Something like this.” His hand wraps around Chanyeol’s cock and strokes until he’s hard, nail scraping the tip and drawing clear liquid.
”Wu Yifan!” Chanyeol shrieks and struggles but Yifan just pins him down on the couch and removes his pants. The shrieks morph into breathless panting and then half-hearted protests when Yifan pulls his hands to his cock, making him touch himself while Yifan watches sitting up, zero contact with Chanyeol.
“Watch,” Yifan instructs softly and Chanyeol looks down with hooded eyes, seeing his hands between his legs, fingers laced around his own cock, twisting up and down the hard length. He lifts his eyes up, seeing Yifan’s gaze fixed on his masturbation act and Chanyeol groans, throwing an arm across his eyes so he doesn’t have to see, the other one still wrapped around his cock, stroking frantically.
He gasps when Yifan suddenly reaches out and joins his hand, rubbing the head of his swollen cock with that goddamn thumb again, rough callous pressing mercilessly against the slit and it’s too much, Chanyeol tries to push his hand away but a few seconds later, he’s already keening, blinking with wide eyes, streaks of white staining his black tee which has been pushed up to expose nipples. Yifan’s hands move to Chanyeol’s knees, pushing them apart and pulling Chanyeol’s hands off his cock so he could see him come to completion. Too caught up in the moment, Chanyeol can’t even muster the decency to be mortified that he’s completely exposed to Yifan’s eyes, he just comes, spurt after spurt.
“Good boy,” Yifan praises, dragging his hand through Chanyeol’s mussed tresses again when he’s done. Boneless but hot with embarrassment, Chanyeol attempts revenge, hand reaching out to grab Yifan’s erection through his bermudas but Yifan just spreads him wide, big hands now on the back of his thighs, preventing him from closing his legs. Chanyeol is prepped with fingers coated with his own release. They fuck him loose, curling and rubbing against his prostate until he claws at Yifan’s skin, desperate with need.
Then Yifan fucks him into the couch, fucks him so hard Chanyeol can’t even beg him to stop anymore, big cock slamming into him, the head scrapping and pressing down cruelly against his prostate over and over again so Chanyeol climaxes for the second time without even being touched, hands grappling the edge of the couch, back arching and mouth parted though he’s not making a sound, the scream dying in his throat when Yifan doesn’t stop his incessant pounding even then.
Yifan fucks him throughout his orgasm, pushing his cock past clenching muscles as Chanyeol continues spilling, his hole even tighter and hotter now as it closes in around Yifan’s cock; the pleasure is so intense, Yifan has to squeeze his eyes shut against it. His thrusting becomes mindless, hard long strokes one after another without pause, they send Chanyeol sliding over the couch, sweaty back squeaking against faux leather, so Yifan pushes down on Chanyeol’s shoulders every time he slams into him, forcing Chanyeol's legs apart even more and his cock in even deeper. But it isn't enough, Yifan’s hand exerts force on the back of Chanyeol’s left thigh, pressing it down against his chest until his head lolls and he lets out a small whine of protest. Yifan opens him right up so that every inch of his cock can slide into Chanyeol and he fucks him until Chanyeol finds the will to scream again.
Chanyeol’s orgasm is long drawn and Yifan sends him up another peak before he even completes his orgasm, when he presses down with his whole weight, crotch flush against Chanyeol’s buttocks and comes, load shooting right onto his prostate. Chanyeol can’t even escape, helpless against the onslaught, all he can do is grip Yifan’s shoulders and hang on while he takes him repeatedly.
★
It’s the day of the interview. His white shirt is starched and ironed by Chanyeol who has long learned the complex workings of the iron. His little Lulu taught him how. ‘When in doubt, high steam’ is his stern advice. So far, Chanyeol has only burned three shirts and four fingers, so far so bad.
When Yifan is about to leave, Chanyeol hands him a good luck charm, the same one Yifan gave him for his first interview. He presses it into Yifan’s hands, presses all the good luck he has into Yifan’s hands. “Fighting!” Chanyeol screams and does a fist pump. “If you nail it, I’ll be sure to reward you tonight.” Chanyeol leers at him. Yifan wonders whom he learned it from. Then Chanyeol leans forward and pecks Yifan once on the lips before he flies off first, already late for work. Yifan smiles to himself. This is going to be all worthwhile.
The company he’s interviewing for operates a chain of bookstores in South Korea. Four branches in Seoul, two in Busan, one in Incheon and a new store is slated to open next year in Daegu. It also opens its own publishing company so who knows? Yifan might even have the opportunity to become an editor.
He reaches the company about ten minutes earlier but is immediately led into a meeting room. The interviewer is already waiting for him in the harshly lit large conference room that seems more apt for declaring a hostile takeover than an interview. Black one button suit matched with arrogance, looking just as stoic as when they first met.
“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Park.” The formality and respect is evident in Yifan’s tone, and he waits. But Mr. Park just drags his gaze up Yifan, looking insolent with an invisible army standing behind him. When he doesn’t extend an invitation to sit, Yifan apologizes before pulling out the opposite chair along the long table.
“I didn’t expect the CEO to interview me personally.” Yifan’s smile is still polite but it might as well be a taunt.
Chanyeol’s father doesn’t try to glare Yifan down. Instead, he appears disinterested as though this were a waste of his time. But he cares, of course. He cares so much he sometimes lies awake at night trying to determine exactly where he failed. Most of the time, he thinks it’s Chanyeol who has failed him. And the cause of his embarrassment is now sitting before him.
“Do you know about Chanyeol and I?” An attempt at subtlety.
“Of course I do. You think you can just-“ Yifan interrupts him and sees the shock rip across Mr. Park’s face. He clearly isn’t one who’s used to being interrupted. Vaguely, Yifan wonders if he should switch to working in another industry after this. Oh well, it isn't like he’s here to play nice.
“Chanyeol is doing well,” he begins and waits to be cut off as well. Mr. Park smoothes his face out. Being emotional will lose him the fight. He is shrewd, calculative, a businessman. In the end, he purses his lips and turns the ends down, neither encouraging Yifan to continue nor disrupting him.
“He is now working as a Planning Officer, just got promoted a rank up last month. Chanyeol says his boss is a-“ The term Chanyeol used was ‘meddling bastard’ but Yifan doesn’t think it’s appropriate at all. “-anyway, his boss depends a lot on him and he thinks he’s next in line for the position of Planning Manager.” ’After a hundred years. I’m sure that monster will live to a ripe old age feeding off my blood,’ Chanyeol sneered.
Mr. Park looks at Yifan impassively. Chanyeol was always an obedient child but Mr. Park knew his heart was too free and wild for him to be a reliable person. Although he never gave up trying to fit him into a mold and make him become someone of more character. But Chanyeol has a lot of character, it just isn't the kind his father hopes he would have. And Chanyeol has changed, the core remains but he’s perhaps a bit more cynical now. Mr. Park has always wanted his son to be more streetwise. He is now, after his father broke him. Chanyeol has grown up, but not under his father’s eyes. So Mr. Park still thinks of him as the same person. How wrong this is. Till this day, Chanyeol still has to fight to gain his father’s approval. But today, Yifan will win this war for him.
“He’s all grown up now. You should be proud of him. I am.”
The thought that he should be proud of his gay son tears Mr. Park’s mask off. But before he could say any cold words, Yifan cuts him off again. This man has some nerve, Mr. Park has to concede. He can crush Yifan like an ant. Power and money can buy one a lot of things, even lives, Mr. Park knows this. He also knows it’s exactly what Yifan lacks. An orphan, the report on him says. Yet he sits here and challenges him as if they were equals. They will never be equals.
“He has been sad for a long time,” continues Yifan and he sees a flicker of emotion in Mr. Park’s eyes. “But he never gave up. He’s much better now. Chanyeol has been a good son to you, and he has always tried to be the best so he could make you proud. He still sees you as his father and I hope, no matter what, you still see him as your son, too. This is all I want to say. Good day.”
Yifan is of the opinion that Chanyeol’s father deserves to know this, deserves to know how hard Chanyeol has struggled to crawl out of the bottom of the well he pushed him into. That if he ever saw Chanyeol smile again, he would know that his smile was because he once fell but fought tooth and nail to get up, bleeding all the way to the top. Chanyeol is to be cherished, not discarded because of who he is.
With that, Yifan gets up and makes to open the door. That’s when Mr. Park opens his mouth. His words don’t seem to have anything to do with what Yifan said, however. “Chanyeol takes after his mother.” This seems to be the everlasting impression Mr. Park has of his son. But when Yifan turns his eyes on Chanyeol’s father, he recognizes that expression on his face, the one Mr. Park has always kept hidden beneath another layer of skin. Sometimes Yifan wears that expression, too. It’s that look a person has on his face when he’s missing a person. It’s the loneliest thing in the world.
But Yifan disagrees. He thinks back on the many times when Chanyeol has stood by him, always there to throw his arms around him like a safety net breaking his falls, and how strong his arms were when he held him that one time he wasn't able to save him. Chanyeol has a big heart but he is never afraid to say ‘no’ to the people he loves when he doesn’t agree with their decisions. His steely strength and obstinance are not inherited from his mother.
“No, he takes after you.” When Yifan closes the door, he leaves behind a man who has never stopped grieving for his wife.
★
“How was the interview?!”
“I didn’t nail it.”
“Oh… um…”
“But one day, I will.”
“Ok. As long as you’re happy, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m happy. Are you?”
“Of course!”
★
“Do you sense someone watching you when you take the lift lately?” asks Chanyeol one day when he comes home from work, cheeks blown red by the winter breeze. “I turned around today and thought I saw a flash of red.” Fishy, very fishy.
“Of course. There’s a ghost haunting the lift. Don’t look behind the next time you’re in there.” Coolly, Yifan prepares dinner by pouring the takeout ojingeo bokkeum into a plate.
“…”
“Kidding.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Don’t you ever.” Chanyeol huffs and puffs in indignation, hitting Yifan with the briefcase he hasn’t put down yet. How is he going to take the lift ever again! They live on the 4th floor too... so scary...
“You want to fuck me?” Yifan smiles unaffectedly and messes up Chanyeol’s hair. His little fangji. So fluffy and adorable.
Can I? “Fuc-shut up. Just shut up.” Chanyeol slaps Yifan’s hand away.
Lately, he has the feeling that there’s always someone watching his back. But when he turns around he sees no one. Maybe Yifan is right. Maybe- oh dear God.
He kicks Yifan’s right calf. It’s alright, he can take it. His calves are so thick and scabby anyway.
★
The next morning, Chanyeol waits for Yifan at the door so they could take the lift together.
“I thought manliness was one of your virtues,” Yifan snickers. The laugh is so irritating. Stupid Fat Calves.
“Yes,” Chanyeol gives a suave flick of his head, “that’s why I’m escorting the lady.”
While they wait for the lift, Chanyeol senses it again. He sneaks a glance at Yifan trying to catch his attention. But Yifan suddenly says, “Hi.” To an ant, perhaps, he’s looking at the floor.
It’s the darling son of their neighbor, so tiny that Chanyeol wouldn’t be able to see him if he didn’t lower his eyes to the floor.
“Annyeong,” the little boy greets in a sticky sweet voice, bowing his little body, his little head wearing a red baseball cap.
Oh.
“Were you following hyung yesterday?” Chanyeol asks, flicking the brim of the kid’s cap.
The little boy’s eyes flits from left to right before his head tilts all the way back to look at the faces of the gigantic hyung deul. “Yes,” he nods obediently.
“Why were you following hyung?” The kid is cute. Crouching until he’s at eye level with him, Chanyeol wants to pat him but his reply makes him freeze in horror.
“Umma says hyung deul are weird. I wanted to see.”
Immediately, Yifan pulls Chanyeol up and into the lift which has just arrived. He hits the close button and sees the confused face of the child right before the lift doors seal shut. Chanyeol is breathing a little harder than usual. “I’m ok,” he says, in a rush. “It’s alright.” Yifan strokes his hair and massages the back of his neck. He hasn’t been subjected to prejudice like Chanyeol has because of who he is, so he doesn’t know exactly how he feels, but he fears it all the same.
His touch calms Chanyeol down and he even manages a smile. “I’m fine,” he insists when Yifan refuses to let him go to work, suggesting they take the day off and talk a walk by the beach instead.
Chanyeol stares at Yifan, already distracted. He doesn’t pause to think it's strange that what just happened has sailed over his head instead of traumatizing him. “It’s winter.”
“See, I used to work with this guy, Zitao, who really likes…”
He revisits the incident that evening, the same day (after work). But Yifan decides to cook dinner in order to console(/punish/torture/hurt) him and it’s so awful that Chanyeol forgets it again. He is more traumatized by that evil bowl of wintermelon soup and he calls Little Lulu to complain. Mid-complaint, Yifan throws Chanyeol onto the bed.
“You'd better disconnect the line,” Yifan advises (a little too late) when his fingers form a tight ring around the base of Chanyeol’s cock, denying him his orgasm and making his toes curl. But Chanyeol can’t, his own fingers are inside him, sinking onto his prostate and rubbing insistently. He can’t remove them, Yifan’s digits have joined him and he’s forcing Chanyeol to finger himself. Thankfully, Lu Han has already cut the line. He doesn’t want to hear his baby moan.
A week later, Chanyeol is surprised to find that it is alright with him after the initial shock has passed. The little episode didn’t trigger anything, although he feared it would. The next day, he woke up and got right out of bed. Not difficult at all. In fact, hunger forced him out of bed because, wintermelon and erm, too much physical activity. He was so hungry he wolfed down all the maple cheesecake Yifan bought from A Twosome Place. But alright, damnit, it was still biting him just a bit, so he took off before Yifan and used the stairs instead of the lift. Then he went to work and his boss made him dismiss everything in the world except thoughts of sticking sharp and unpleasant things up his, yeah, there.
He nearly forgets it, maybe forever, until now, a week later when he sees that flash of red again. All Chanyeol does is to roll his eyes. Then he pauses. Lifting his hand, he runs it over his face. It’s still the same face, of course, he knows that. But to make sure, just to be absolutely certain, Chanyeol checks his reflection in the camera of his phone. He flashes his widest grin and counts sixteen perfect teeth. When he stops smiling, he sees it in his eyes, so transparent that it lets him steal a glimpse right into his being.
He is fine. It isn't a reassurance. It’s a fact. Yes, he still thinks about the past, it still bothers him. But somehow, he is fine. He doesn’t know when and how it happened, can’t even define the starting and finishing lines, not to mention the in-betweens. But he knows this: it isn't Yifan or his father or anyone else. It’s himself. Park Chanyeol. He is finally comfortable in his own skin.
Two years since.
★
Chanyeol refuses to wear the plaid scarf because it’s getting too warm. But he compromises and wears a hoodie. Yifan brings one for him anyway, putting it in his black bag, the one on which he hangs a fangji keychain. It’s the weekend and they’re going ice-skating with Lu Han and Jongin. The truth is no one wants to go except Chanyeol. One unfortunate night, they were watching a drama in which the female lead had cancer and her half-brother whom she was in love was engaged to her biological sister and how could this be? They were siblings. But that was ok because the half-brother turned out not to be her half-brother at all, he was adopted at birth! But then it wasn't ok because she was in love with him. But it got ok again, because she had cancer and would die anyway. But then suddenly her gangster dad (who was supposed to be dead) got a gun- anyway, during one of the commercial breaks, they showed the Grand Hyatt Seoul ice skating rink and Chanyeol claimed it was beautiful and he was clapping in excitement and saying that they ’have to go, please, Yifan gege, please’. Chanyeol looked so disgustingly cute with his bottom lip sticking out that Yifan had to agree.
Whipped.
Lu Han suggests Gwanghwamun because it’s much cheaper. Chanyeol says it’s the Grand Hyatt Seoul or nothing at all. Jongin suggests nothing at all but Chanyeol is still Lu Han’s baby and Jongin’s life is hard.
They pick the giants up in the afternoon in Jongin’s parents’ car and are already on the way when Jongin says he has forgotten his helmet.
“You don’t even need one.” Leaning forward from the back seat, Chanyeol snaps at Jongin who’s driving, irritated that he is wasting their time.
“Of course I do. Safety is important.”
“Be nice.” Lu Han sits in the shotgun seat and chastises his baby Chanyeol. “It’s his first time skating.”
That’s a lie. That’s as big a lie as saying that Chanyeol is Yifan’s fangji (oh, wait). The first time Jongin went ice skating, it was with Chanyeol. Unlike Chanyeol, he was able to balance himself fairly well because his head was/is so empty. On the other hand, Chanyeol’s head contained a brain heavy with wise thoughts so he kept toppling over. Jongin doesn’t need a helmet. But he does look like he needs a knife, when he turns around from the driver’s seat to give Chanyeol an ‘I will kill you’ look. He is not going to let him ruin his I-can’t-skate-so-Lu-Han-has-to-hold-me-all-the-time date. It’s the only worthwhile thing that’s going to come out of this.
Lu Han goes up with Jongin to the apartment while Chanyeol and Yifan stay in the car to wait for them. They’ve parked by the road and Chanyeol has taken to critizing Yifan’s dressing in order to kill time.
“Why are you always dressed like you’re middle-aged? Wear my clothes the next time we go out,” he advises Yifan kindly, patting the grey sweater he has on. When it’s warm enough, the sweaters will give way to button up shirts that must be too tight for Yifan to feel comfortable in them. But Chanyeol likes them anyway. They are kind of sexy.
That infuriating smile is there again, so Chanyeol stands ready with a snide remark for whatever Yifan has to say. But all Yifan says is, “Your style is uniquely you. I can never pull it off. Like that bulldog tee? Wearing the cap over a hoodie? So... street.”
By some really puzzling standards, the comment comes off as a compliment to Chanyeol. He speaks only when he has finished gaping at Yifan. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I suppose my style is quite hard to pull off. Hey, you know what? Actually, for a young man, you look really good in middle-aged sweaters,” remarks Chanyeol in what he thinks is an exceedingly kind and gentle tone. So considerate of middle-aged fashion lover’s feelings.
Yifan is thanking Chanyeol for his praise and his smile hasn’t even been stretched to completion when it is dropped and replaced by horror, his eyes wide and fixated on something behind Chanyeol. Suddenly, Yifan is frantically pulling at the car door handle, but they have been locked in.
“What-“ But Chanyeol isn’t given a chance to complete his sentence. In the next instance, Yifan lunges at him with panic in his eyes, knocking the air out of Chanyeol, dragging and forcefully twisting him around so that they have changed sides in the backseat. Then he is flinging his arms around Chanyeol, trying to cover as much of him as he can with his body. Chanyeol is stunned by Yifan’s actions; there’s also a roaring sound that seems to be getting louder and he’s already sticking his head up to verify the source when long fingers sink into his hair. Yifan is grabbing the back of Chanyeol’s head, twisting and forcing it down so that it’s now pinned against his chest at an unnatural angle.
It hurts, but Chanyeol doesn’t even have time to gasp. The next second he hears the wail of metal as it yields under tremendous pressure, the crash so deafening Chanyeol can’t hear the glass splinter and explode into smithereens, raining down on him and stinging his skin while he’s slammed back against the car door, spine smashing into and pressing down on the armrest of the side door. His back must be broken, there is such excruciating pain that Chanyeol is screaming and pushing at Yifan’s shoulders, trying and failing to free himself. This is pain beyond what he has experienced his entire life, it drowns out all his senses, so he doesn’t notice the warm liquid smeared on his face until after the next scream, when he draws it in together with oxygen and tastes it. The taste of iron searing Chanyeol’s tongue and choking him.
Chanyeol whimpers when he sees the mangled motorcycle lying on Yifan’s back, its handle digging between bones, broken plastic window shield slicing flesh open. Yifan’s head is buried into the crook of his neck and Chanyeol can feel his collar getting warm and wet very fast. The stench of blood is overpowering. He shudders, too scared to move; he wants to scream again but no sound escapes, he can't pull in enough air to cry out. Only the thud of Yifan’s heart against his chest keeps Chanyeol sane. He is still alive. A sudden fierce burst of stabbing pain shoots up his back when he shifts a little to peer at Yifan.
From the corner of Yifan’s left eye, a small trickle of blood seeps through from the closed lid. And this time, Chanyeol screams, letting the pain on his back burn his throat instead, and he burns until blackness eats him up.
★
When he wakes up, Chanyeol doesn’t want to listen to the police explain about the motorbike, how the driver lost control and got separated from his bike when he was rounding the corner, nor the witness accounts that state the motorcycle was skidding at full speed across half the road, carving a path of destruction as it spilled debris and sent sparks flying everywhere before slamming itself to a stop, right into the side of one of the cars parked opposite. No, he doesn’t want to listen to Lu Han yell at him that he has just been operated on his massive disc herniation, doesn’t want to recognize the piercing pain on his lower back coursing down his right leg, making him limp to the door of his ward when he wants to sprint.
Chanyeol just wants to see Yifan.
“He’s alright.” Chanyeol hears Lu Han cry out when he collapses before he can reach the door, hands grappling the smooth flooring of the hospital in vain for some friction to hoist himself up. Why can’t he stand anymore? He needs to get up and get going. There’s no time to waste, someone is waiting for him. Blood stains the floor when the closed wounds on Chanyeol’s hands split open and he starts to slip on them, gasping and panting in pain. He can’t stand. He can’t stand.
“I will take you to him.” Lu Han finally surrenders, kneeling and taking Chanyeol’s hands, pressing down firmly to stem the flow before wiping them gently with the long sleeves of his plaid shirt. “Don’t let him see you like this,” he says, without a trace of reprimand, “don’t make him worry.” Chanyeol watches Lu Han roll up his bloodied sleeves, hiding the red, and nods his head slowly. He knows he always makes Yifan worry. “Be good.” A hand now runs through his hair, tidying it, making him presentable, and Chanyeol nods his head again. He’d be good.
In the end, Jongin borrows a wheelchair and together they wheel Chanyeol to Yifan’s ward which is located in the same wing of the hospital, a floor down. Calm with the knowledge that they are bringing him to Yifan, Chanyeol lets Jongin pull him into the wheelchair. Lu Han tries to help too but Jongin stops him with a small smile. It’s still too hard to smile so Lu Han just nods.
“He just woke up this morning,” Lu Han whispers to Chanyeol who still hasn’t spoken. He doesn’t speak the entire way to Yifan’s ward while Lu Han fills him in on Yifan’s injuries. Besides the multiple superficial wounds on his back and legs, Yifan also suffers from broken ribs in the back and a deep cut on the shoulder. It’s only when they have reached the door that Lu Han eventually lets it out. “Chanyeol,” he says, and Chanyeol looks up at him because his voice is so soft and gentle, it sounds like a lullaby and acts like anesthetic. “They found glass in his left eye. They said his cornea has been punctured, it can’t be saved. He’s, he’s going to be blind in his left eye. Do you understand?”
But Chanyeol doesn’t understand what he is saying and he doesn’t know why Lu Han looks so sad. None of that is important anymore when Jongin pushes the door open and Yifan is there, although he doesn’t look like Yifan when he seems as pale as the sheets he lies on and there’s a patch on his left eye. Chanyeol leans forward and eagerly reaches out for his hand before the wheelchair comes to a stop at Yifan’s bedside, knotting their fingers together.
“Hey…” Yifan stirs and mumbles, right eye slowly peeling open and Lu Han is quick to tell him to stop speaking and rest. But Yifan is just as unyielding as Chanyeol. “Are you…” Chanyeol nods, keeps nodding to show that he’s fine.
“Your hand… is bleeding.” Yifan’s sentence is broken, voice so weak, it’s thinner than a wisp of smoke. He looks at Lu Han then, eye unable to open pass half-mast but reproachment is clearly in it; he’s rebuking Lu Han for not taking better care of Chanyeol. “I’m. I can’t, I’m sorry.” Lu Han walks out then and Jongin follows swiftly behind. Chanyeol thinks he hears Lu Han cry but Yifan is now smiling at him. Even with tubes attached to him, Yifan still has smiles for Chanyeol.
“Do you… hurt?” Yifan asks Chanyeol.
Chanyeol shakes his head until it makes him dizzy, locking their hold on each other even tighter because Yifan isn’t able to grip his hand back. “Do you?” asks Chanyeol. As if to say ‘no’, Yifan closes his right eye and opens it again. The effort of smiling is paling him.
“You are hurting.” He strokes Yifan’s wrist, tries to stroke all his pain away but there’s nothing Chanyeol can do to relieve him. The thought saturates him with helplessness. But all Yifan can do to reassure him is to smile. It’s still that familiar smile and Chanyeol breathes a little easier.
“You will get well.”
Somehow, Yifan manages a small nod before he falls back into sleep.
★
Over the next few days, Chanyeol refuses all help from Lu Han and takes care of Yifan. He limps down from his ward and sits by Yifan’s side, so that when he gestures for a glass of water or indicates that he needs to visit the toilet, Chanyeol would help him. And when he becomes Yifan’s walking stick, he would tighten his jaw and force his limp into a slow stable gait.
Lu Han is of the opinion that Yifan should know Chanyeol is suffering too but he refuses to let him tell. The mulish expression on Chanyeol’s face stops Lu Han. Once, Yifan told him that when Chanyeol locks his brows together, you ‘don’t try to dissuade him from driving himself into a wall’. For those times when he has to leave for his physiotherapy sessions, Chanyeol lies fluently, saying it’s because the head nurse will nag at him if he leaves his room for too long a time.
But they largely squander their time together in silence. The world has not known a colder war. Chanyeol is angry, Yifan knows this, even when he places a hand on his face and asks if he feels better. Still unable to speak much, Yifan would just nod. “You will get well.” Chanyeol would say. He has been saying this a lot. His aggression, however, lies in the way he turns his head away when their eyes meet.
“You would do the same,” Yifan mumbles one day when it no longer hurts so much to try to resolve a fight. The flask stills in its tip. A second later, water continues pouring into a glass and when it’s handed over him, a sigh accompanies it. The sound is sad and resigned; it lingers before fading into regret that starts residing in Chanyeol’s heart.
★
Chanyeol is discharged before Yifan. He hands his whole wallet over at the cashier counter to settle the hospital bill because that’s all he has. Insurance is a vague thought, perhaps he’s insured but Chanyeol isn’t sure because it really didn’t matter two years ago, then he became too poor for it and in the end, he just isn’t living carefully enough. He hopes Yifan is insured. They are too poor to die, Chanyeol thinks.
The cashier, a girl decked in the pink and white uniform, stares at Chanyeol who seems normal enough in his black padded jacket, but he pushes the wallet further over the counter and she takes it after glancing over at her colleague who shrugs patronizingly. First lunatic you meet while working in customer service? At least this one is kind of cute, honey.
Chanyeol looks away because he knows exactly how much is in his wallet. He counted before he walked out of his ward. ₩104,300. Could buy him about 2.6 copies of that wretched book Yifan made him purchase. Maybe a lot of painkillers. But it will not be sufficient to pay this bill.
“Sir, please sign over here.” The astonishment scrawled on Chanyeol’s face distresses the girl who has been hoping that he would just sign the bill and go, taking his wretched wallet with him. But she doesn’t understand. Chanyeol doesn’t have a credit card. He's never signed up for one because he’s afraid he would lose track of his spending. So what is this he is signing right now? Yeah, he signs it anyway and then he’d run away before they realize they've made a mistake. But damn, Yifan is still staying here. What if they-
Then he sees it. The cashier hands it over, pushes it together with a receipt and wallet into his hands before he can make a decision. The plastic feels cold against his skin. It’s his BC Global Card. Hidden away in his wallet and stashed so deep in his mind, he has almost forgotten about it until the cashier wrenches it out. It still works.
His father has never cut him off.
★
Two weeks after he’s discharged, Yifan is finally well enough to leave as well. Taking a day off work, Chanyeol prepares to fetch him home. Worried that his boss would be displeased if he fulfilled the entire length of the medical leave the hospital has given him, Chanyeol has already returned to work after just three days of rest at home. Actually, it is not too much rest since he still visits Yifan every day. His own injuries worry Chanyeol, of course, since he can’t afford to be sick. So he stretches every now and then, doing those exercises, whatever he remembers from his physiotherapy sessions. Yifan is more important, however, so he forgets and runs towards the hospital after leaping off the bus, before he remembers and slows down to a brisk walk. A twinge of pain forces him to limp and he vehemently swears never to forget again, as he makes his way to settle Yifan’s hospital bill, with the same card he used to settle his own.
But Chanyeol is so quick to forget when he opens the door to Yifan’s ward and he’s already waiting for him with a smile. Luckily, they are caught in a light embrace before his steps falter and Chanyeol cannot tell if he’s supporting Yifan or the other way around. A patch still covers Yifan’s left eye although he can already stand. And Chanyeol is grateful, so grateful. Although it’s difficult not to frown when he sees the eyepatch. “You will get well soon,” he promises Yifan and takes his bag. As if sheer will could right all wrongs. Yifan yields to Chanyeol’s obstinacy with a tilt of his head and more smiles.
But Yifan’s eye doesn’t get well, even though Chanyeol has meticulously followed the doctor’s advice on how to take care of him. Perhaps it’s because he’s specifically ignoring the one that says Yifan will not recover. Getting stronger by the day, Yifan’s ribs and wounds have healed fairly well and he’s ready to resume work in a week. But the patch remains.
Chanyeol is more frustrated than Yifan, although he has learned to speak up when he enters a room and is standing on Yifan’s blind side. When Yifan bumps into things, he blames himself for not being careful enough. There are just more of those knowing smiles, nods and hair-ruffling. Nothing that Yifan says should upset Chanyeol so he maintains his silence.
In truth, Yifan is upset too but Chanyeol pacifies him with his presence. He is the reason Chanyeol is still here, always insisting that Yifan dabs more weird stuff onto his eye. A trade in his favor, he figures.
“Are you sure?” Chanyeol asks tentatively, this night, as he moves to straddle Yifan on the bed, hands flat against his chest, sliding down to check his ribs. Chuckling, Yifan palms Chanyeol’s cock and he gasps in shock, falling forward, only managing to break his collapse on Yifan in time by propping himself up with arms on both sides of him. Then Chanyeol moves, slowly until he gains certainty and urgency. Still rocking himself, Chanyeol removes Yifan’s eye patch which glimmers with sweat when it catches the moonlight that streams into the dark room. His left eye gazes up at him. Except for some discoloration, this eye doesn’t look anymore different from his right. Yifan is still as handsome. With a touch as gentle as a butterfly’s flight, Chanyeol fits his left hand over the right side of Yifan’s face. “Can you see me now?” he asks breathily, a bead of sweat sliding down his body until it disappears into where they’re joined.
The ends of Yifan’s lips are tugged up. His right hand rests over Chanyeol’s, the one still cupping his face, shielding his right eye from sight. Then he closes both his eyes - both the good and bad - the flutter of his eyelashes tickling Chanyeol’s soft palm, and there is blackness, so total and forbidding. But there is also Chanyeol, the orange lights of the bookstore bouncing off the brown of his hair when they first met, naïve eyes sealed by sleep. That Chanyeol, back when Yifan still had no idea he would end up spending so many long years with, he will live forever in the recesses of Yifan’s mind.
“Yes.”
Yifan’s reply is so soft. But it shatters the glassy form trapped in Chanyeol’s body, all hurt that has accumulated and crystalized into a tangible object since the accident. In this second, he finally concedes that Yifan will never get well. Within his arms, Chanyeol holds the most precious person in his world, damaged beyond repair because of him and there’s nothing he can do. So helpless.
Yifan’s eyelids drift open when he feels something collide with his chest. It’s a tear. “Don’t,” he whispers when he lifts his head and sees something rip Chanyeol up from the inside. A thumb draws the tears from Chanyeol’s eyes and tries to rub them dry in circles on his cheek. But these tears, they fall so fast. It’s the first time Yifan has seen Chanyeol cry; he never cries. Not once, not even when he left home. But everyone cries; some just choose to save up their tears.
“You are, y-you are,” Chanyeol gasps shakily, looking down at Yifan, feeling words and worlds shatter around sobs. Perfect, he wants to say but when his mouth opens, all that spill are tears. One lands on Yifan’s face, sails over the curve of his cheek and pools in his left eye so that the next time he blinks, the tear becomes his. Very carefully, Yifan withdraws from Chanyeol and pulls him down over his heart, so close to him while he mourns over their loss.
When he quiets, Chanyeol mumbles, “What if. What would I do.” A finger traces the slope of Yifan’s arm. Chanyeol lies atop him, their hearts pressed together.
“Won’t.” Yifan’s answer is a soft breeze on Chanyeol's cheek. He knows how loneliness feels like, in those days when not even Lu Han was by his side. Walls don’t have ears, he realized. His cries bounced off the stone and fell back onto him. Perhaps if they were absorbed by a pair of ears, so would the pain. But walls don’t have ears. They won’t listen to you cry.
Chanyeol will never need to know this, however.
He takes a long time with his reply, but when their hearts start to beat in sync, Chanyeol just murmurs, “I love you.” And he lets these words seep into Yifan’s scarred skin until his soul is healed. The most beautiful words dilute even the deepest feelings. Chanyeol’s ‘I love you’s need not be rephrased.
★
The eyepatch is lost. Chanyeol claims it grew legs of its own and ran away to a better home. Ungrateful eyepatch! he tuts. But honestly, he just threw it away one time when Yifan was bathing. It isn’t a problem to Yifan because he wears it only to make Chanyeol feel better and for the same reason, he now doesn’t wear one. His blindness in one eye doesn’t hinder him at work. In fact, Yifan is even more diligent now, he devours words and paragraphs as if he almost couldn’t ever read again.
But another thing bothers them. It seems that they are quite the fodder for delicious gossip in the neighborhood these days. Maybe it’s because Chanyeol was helping Yifan move around in the early days when he just returned from his hospital stay. Whispering follows them and it isn't just a flash of red when Chanyeol turns his back; sometimes it’s blue, yellow, and an odd shade of mud in that particular episode. Yifan tells him not to worry but he isn't worried, just bothered. It’s like having a second shadow.
“Annyeong.” They meet the little dude again while waiting for the lift, dressed in his school uniform this morning. He’s still wearing his red cap. Maybe it’s glued to his little head. Chanyeol would have verified this fact but this time, their neighbor is with her son.
“Good morning,” Yifan greets politely but Chanyeol cannot forget what her son once ratted to them. Hyung deul are weird.
Maybe it’s her guilty conscience but when Ajumma Han catches the scowl on Chanyeol’s face, she hastily jabbers, “Oh, you know, some people just like to talk! But don’t worry, don’t worry! I don’t believe any of those things they talk about every day in the park. Those ajummas just have nothing to do after their morning exercise! I’m sure you are not…” Her sentence trails off because Ajumma Han can’t make herself say the damning word. But the implied meaning is much clearer than a veiled criticism. It’s a totally different thing from what her son has said. The young hasn’t learned to lie yet. Then she sneaks a glance at Yifan, eyes lowered with curiosity. “I heard them say you are blind. But you don’t look blind. Are you? Can you see me?” She waves a plump hand at Yifan.
There is no intermediate phase to Chanyeol’s anger, it simmers under his skin and drives his pulse mad. He is incensed, not because they are looking down on him but because they are subjecting Yifan to the same. Yifan, the person Chanyeol has always wanted to protect and is already suffering from more than one of life’s ambiguities. He deserves none of this.
His anger doesn’t just drive his pulse mad, it’s meddling with Chanyeol’s common sense, too. Honestly, this doesn’t help with standing up for Yifan or themselves at all. But somehow, he just feels like he needs to prove something and he doesn’t care. The world can look down on them but he’s not going to do the same. Grabbing Yifan’s hand, he laces their fingers together and lifts their joined hands like a trophy at Ajumma Han who is simultaneously flabbergasted by his atrocity and excited at the fresh gossip Chanyeol has just thrown to her like an expensive piece of hanu.
“No, no,” Chanyeol says lightly, although arrogance blankets his words, “we are exactly what you think we are. Problem?” Haughty and reckless - still reckless after all these years - he glares at Ajumma Han before dragging Yifan into the lift. Feeling sorry for shocking his poor neighbor, Yifan waves back at her. “I can see you. You look terrible in these floral pants,” he assures Ajumma Han consolingly, right before the doors shut in her face. It’s a shame her son can’t see his wave with his mother’s hand over his eyes.
“Did we just come out?” Chanyeol demands when Yifan turns to him in the lift.
“No, we just entered the lift.”
“…This is how much I want to punch you right now.” Releasing Yifan’s hand, Chanyeol flings his arms wide open.
“Ah.” Yifan ponders for a few seconds. “Yeah, I think we just did. To the neighborhood, that is.”
Chanyeol makes some gurgling noises and Yifan laughs. They end up laughing together. They laugh so hard.
★
The laughter dies a week later when the punishment eventually arrives in the form of a letter. It is slipped through the narrow gap between their navy door and the floor, during the day when they are both out at work. The letter is from the community council, claiming that they have ‘created great inconvenience for the neighborhood. At the last meeting, the members of the council have voted unanimously that you, the resident of Yongsan Ward, Seocho Neighborhood #2, 1229-25 Hana Apartments, 4th floor, Apt. 916, be given a month to move out…’
With dismal, Chanyeol traces the black ink etched onto white paper with his index finger, just to ensure he hasn’t read the words wrong. “They can’t make us move out,” he wails to Yifan, sounding childish even to his own ears, “they can’t.”
But Yifan knows they can as they did, in the last few weeks, when the whispering has gotten louder and louder. So he presses a kiss onto Chanyeol’s forehead and lets him tuck his face into the crook of his neck. Self-pity is so indulgent but it isn’t addictive as long as one dabbles in it only once in a while.
When the time arrives for Chanyeol to close the door on his first dream, he’s more than a little sad but he has already mapped it out, he’d just have to start his pursuit on the next one. Chanyeol will find Yifan a new home.
Monday afternoon, the early spring sun serves up a slice of nostalgia and Chanyeol savors it while he sits on a wooden bench in the park nearby. It was spring when they first moved in here, too. Time ran out so fast when they were happy but loitered when wounds had to be closed. Just a year and there are so many ahead. Chanyeol feels tired. He sticks a tired straw into his tired bottle of Binggrae banana milk and drinks tiredly while he watches an energetic group of boys kick soccer in the open field. When one of them stumbles and falls, Chanyeol laughs uproariously, slapping his thighs. When his mean laughter eventually subsides, he sips his milk again and realizes revenge doesn’t taste as sweet as banana milk. That’s when he notices the spot of red in the peripheral of his vision.
Chanyeol sticks his tongue out at the little dude standing at the other end of the bench and the kid frowns cutely. Ignoring him, Chanyeol sips on his milk. After a minute of being ogled, he pulls his lips tight and says, “Are you gonna just stand there or?” He hopes Ajumma Han hasn’t sent her son on a mission. As a manly man, Chanyeol has no desire to harm little children.
“Umma says I shouldn’t be talking to you...”
“Umma says I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Chanyeol repeats in a whiny voice under his breath. The scowl on the kid’s face intensifies. “She says you are sick. I might catch whatever you have.” Anger gives the boy courage to speak up.
Chanyeol freezes. “Do I look sick to you?” he asks slowly.
The kid stares at the big hyung. He looks perfectly well but if he was well, why would umma warn him about this hyung? “I don’t know…” he scratches the scab on his elbow in confusion.
Chanyeol lifts his mushroomie bangs up and bends down, closer to the kid. “Feel my forehead.”
Timidly, the kid walks up and stops two steps away so he doesn’t get too close. Then he leans forward and rests his small hand on Chanyeol’s forehead. The hyung’s skin feels cool to the touch. To verify this, little dude puts his hand on his own forehead. “You’re not sick!” he finally declares.
“So sit beside me.” The kid makes to sit beside Chanyeol. But the metre between them speaks of his cautiousness.
“Why did umma say you’re sick?”
“I don’t know, kid.”
“She also says you’re bad.”
“Omona,” Chanyeol deadpans.
“What you’re doing with him is bad.”
“Do you know what we do together?” The kid just looks puzzled and tugs at the hem of his small red soccer shirt.
“We do the same things as your umma and appa.”
“But in school, teacher calls that love.” There’s a pout and a tilt of the head. “How can love be bad?”
Chanyeol blinks at the child, taken aback by the innocent question. A bird chirps madly in a nearly tree. There’s the subdued sound of an engine starting in the background. All around him, people are too busy going about with their lives to pause and answer this. Who can, anyway? A mother? A textbook? A religion? Maybe. But Chanyeol isn’t aware. He stares at the blue sky up and beyond above him but no answer rains down either.
His reply is plain. “I don’t know.” Chanyeol sounds as puzzled as the kid.
“Why don’t you know?” Aren’t adults supposed to know everything? But some adults aren’t any better than kids. They get lost so often and need the prevailing view to lead them.
Nonchalance can be found in Chanyeol’s shrug although reality states quite the opposite. “Sometimes shit happens, kid.”
The kid frowns again and says in a distressed voice. “You said a bad word.”
Four-year-olds, Chanyeol thinks, rolling his eyes. There’s a strained silence. Finally Chanyeol accepts his defeat. “I’m sorry.”
“‘Shit’ is not a good word.”
“I know, I shouldn’t have said- hey, you just said it.” Little dude’s little jaw drops in alarm.
“Will you tell umma?” he asks fearfully.
“Nay.” He dislikes Ajumma Han. As an apology for uttering a bad word, Chanyeol sets a new bottle of banana milk (Yifan’s) into the space that sits between them and gestures for the kid to take it.
“Straw,” the kid says, and Chanyeol hands him one. This time, little dude just crawls over to sit beside Chanyeol and motions for him to help him stick the straw through the lid. What an opportunist, Chanyeol thinks, but is appeased immediately when the kid says his thanks in that sweet voice.
There are slurping nosies. “Were you upset when I said you were bad too?”
“A little,” Chanyeol readily admits his sadness to the four-year-old, shedding his pretense for a short while to someone who won’t judge him.
“Why?” At his question, Chanyeol takes his four years-old hand and places it over his heart. “Can you feel it?” The kid nods. Chanyeol then places his hand over little dude’s four years-old heart and looks into his eyes. “Because I have a heart too and I feel pain like you and everyone else. Did it hurt when that group of boys ignored you just now?”
Little dude nods. “They don’t want me to join their soccer team. They said I’m too small.” His lower lip starts wobbling. Aww. Chanyeol puts an arm over the kid’s shoulders and he sags with the weight of Chanyeol’s limb but soldiers on. So manly, just like Chanyeol.
“Well, it hurt the same way when you said I was bad.”
“I’m sorry,” the kid whispers, chin joining lower lip in a sorrowful jiggle.
“It’s alright, kid.” It’s alright. One day, it will be alright, Chanyeol hopes.
He holds his fist out. The kid stares at it. “You have to hit my fist, like this,” Chanyeol demonstrates, bumping his two fists together. In wonder, the kid clenches his hand into a tiny fist and connects it with Chanyeol’s much larger one. They smile at each other.
“Is umma wrong then?” Little dude asks, after they did another brofist.
There’s a soft smile on Chanyeol’s face. “You’ll get to decide when you grow up.”
“When will I grow up?”
“What’s your name?” asks Chanyeol as he strokes the kid’s hair fondly, just like how Yifan always strokes his.
“Sungmo!”
“Well, Molly boy, if you’re lucky, you’ll never get to grow up.” But everyone has to grow up someday. Chanyeol had to. And one day, so will Sungmo.
“I want to grow up! I want to play soccer with them!” And the hand on the back of his head smacks him instead.
After Sungmo gets up and runs away, saying his mum will be looking for him, Chanyeol types out a simple message on his handphone. Best to tie up all loose ends today. Thank you, it says. He sends it to his father and never receives a reply. Not that he’s expecting one, at least not so soon. Someday, but not today.
★
Yifan finds him sitting alone in the park with two empty bottles of banana milk. “You drank my share too?” he asks when he nears.
“Yup!” trills Chanyeol, stretching on the bench. The sun is shining right onto his face, so Chanyeol blocks it off with a hand.
Yifan watches sunlight filter through the gaps between fingers and lands harshly on Chanyeol’s skin. A few steps to the right and Yifan is standing right before Chanyeol, the sun now falls on his back instead. “Why are you here instead of helping us to move?”
“Because I have hired Jongin and Lu Han as my slaves for the day?”
“Or is it because they are afraid you’ll hurt your back again?” Chanyeol looks sharply at him but Yifan just holds out his hand to him. Just like how he once did a long time ago and look how far they’ve gone.
Chanyeol takes his hand with ease. Like his back injury, they are no longer a secret. Not in this community anyway. When his eyes next flicker over, Yifan is smiling at him with the sun right behind him so Chanyeol squints at him. Yifan’s left eye seems a little off focus, it isn’t quite looking at Chanyeol. Only twenty-seven, Chanyeol thinks sadly, holding Yifan’s hand tighter. He didn’t pack a lot of convictions into his suitcase. They are going to take on the future with clipped wings and damn if Chanyeol is certain.
“Hey," he calls out to Yifan softly, although he already has his full attention.
“Yeah?”
“Are we good?”
“Yeah,” Yifan’s smile grows wider, “yeah.”
“We are good.”
Chanyeol lets Yifan pull him up and off the bench then and they walk towards Lu Han and Jongin who are shouting (cursing, it seems) at them from the distance. Their hands remain linked. It will take more than the world’s opinion to break this bond.
This isn’t a happy ending because no ending could ever really bring about happiness. Just like how Chanyeol has learned to deal with imperfection by seeking perfection in flaws. And they are flawed. Cracking and peeling painfully in hidden places that are sealed with flesh and locked up by bones. But that’s alright. Yifan and Chanyeol will heal, melding and bending around each other to shut the cracks and become whole again. When life takes a fall and everything seems a bit harder, they will accompany each other in a world where light cannot reach.
They will be fine.
★
in loving memory of chanyeol's mushroom hair ;e;
by the time this fic was done, some stylist had already pluck that adorable mushroom sobbing
The wad of cash that was meant for the deposit of their new apartment is now in an envelope and placed carefully in of the side pocket of Chanyeol’s brown briefcase. Nervousness is making him fidgety as he sits in a café near his office. The place is bursting with the evening office crowd, here to grumble after a day of work, and he curses himself for not choosing a less remote place because he would like to shout. Yes, he would like to shout, perhaps, something really dramatic like, ‘This is what you didn’t want. And now you can never have him back.’ Or maybe she has her reasons. Chanyeol would hear her out, he would nurse his impatience over a cup of hot chocolate and then he would tell her how well Yifan has done without her. Then he’d ask her, ‘Do you miss him?’ The answer had better be ‘yes’. Chanyeol is not above punching a female. (Ok, he is. Because manly. But hey.)
Someone enters the café and Chanyeol recognizes her immediately. Her height and bearing, it’s as clear as day. She is Yifan’s mother, the fact is so telling that it makes Chanyeol ache for him. 'Why would you not want your child who is so alike to you?' he wants to ask. He doesn’t get a chance to. When the woman sees Chanyeol standing up, she rushes over, urgency in every step. There’s shouting but he isn't the one doing it. Chanyeol doesn’t comprehend her, he’s sure that he wouldn’t be able to even if he knew Chinese. Her sentences are slurred, her hair wild and her eyes rimmed with desperation. The collar of Chanyeol’s shirt is caught in her hands and the café patrons are beginning to stare.
Utterly stunned and unprepared for this, Chanyeol is incapable of doing anything else other than just standing there. All his righteous speech forgotten as she grabs his briefcase and empties it out - papers, pens, his mobile, all cascading down onto the floor. When the envelope containing the cash falls out, she shouts and rips it open, counts the cash with excited hands before running out of the café. The commotion lasts less than a few minutes and everyone soon resumes dinner and chatter, showing little concern except for an occasional flick of the eye over to where Chanyeol is still left standing, his belongings strewn around him.
His world has just collapsed and no one seems to have noticed.
Chanyeol has handed part of their future over to someone who doesn’t even care. What has he done?
★
When Chanyeol returns home, he re-strategizes on the spot, disposes the truth and says, “She misses you.”
The lie is as thin as paper and when left hanging in the air, it crinkles just as loud.
With eyes fixated on Chanyeol, Yifan walks right up to him. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.” There are no indulgent smiles, no low chuckles. There is also no rebuke. But there’s resignation, so complete that the smile dies on Chanyeol’s face as well. He is sorry, he is so so so sorry. For what Yifan could have had, Chanyeol has offered it to someone so undeserving. This is so unfair but somehow, necessary.
“Because you love me.”
“Sap.”
But later that night, when they lie in bed, it’s Chanyeol who holds him close, letting Yifan’s right ear press against his chest, listening to the strong strum of his heart. It’s Chanyeol who presses his lips against Yifan’s forehead, trying to kiss his troubles away, fingers magicking down his spine, consoling him in the way only he could. And it’s Chanyeol who says these words that make Yifan sigh and close his eyes. “It’s alright, it’s me,” he whispers, every word melding to the contours of Yifan’s ears, “it’s ok to cry.”
You don’t need them around me. Take off your armor, they are so heavy.
The ever-present tension in Yifan’s shoulders finally seeps out when he next exhales. Yifan exhales, exhales, and exhales, lungs pressing all this pain out of him.
His tears are so quiet.
★
They never speak of Yifan’s mother. It’s a door that has closed for the last time. They’ve thrown the key away and will not attempt opening it again.
With what they have from Chanyeol’s savings, they continue the prowl for the perfect home. Just like the first time, they waste many days wandering from one apartment to another, none of which would be theirs. Somehow, it becomes pertinent that they find a place of their own, closing this chapter of their lives and inking a new paragraph.
This Sunday, Chanyeol wakes with his eyebrow twitching. “My right eyebrow is twitching.” He slaps Yifan awake to tell him this but Yifan just slaps his brow until it stops twitching because it’s frigging 3 a.m. and no one cares about twitching eyebrows at 3 a.m. so now it must die.
With unsuppressed excitement, Chanyeol gets dressed well before they are slated to meet the agent and there’s a skip in his step. He can feel it, this is going to be good. His mood is contagious and Yifan finds himself hoping as well.
They walk a good twenty minutes from the metro station to the block. Along the way, they count zero convenience stores and two unfriendly stray cats. The neighborhood is painted a somber grey and apartment itself is small and dusty, located on the 4th floor, an inauspicious number and just a fraction of what they initially settled on. But Chanyeol sees a castle. He opens the door and discovers a dream sleeping in there. He runs into the single bedroom in the apartment and chances on a whole future already mapped out and unraveling. Running back out, he swallows and beams hopefully at Yifan, not even bothering to conceal his excitement so that they can have some room to haggle.
It’s the first real smile that Yifan has seen on Chanyeol’s face since that night he left home, so genuine that he would give anything to make it stay. Maybe if they live here, Chanyeol will finally stop being sad.
“We’ll take this,” Yifan says to the real estate agent. “Perhaps you would like to see the apartment first?” Yifan hasn’t even stepped into the apartment yet, the agent doesn’t want him to back out at the very last moment, best to make sure. But Yifan is already sure. They pay the deposit on the spot and paint the walls blue the following week. After coercing free labor out of Lu Han and Jongin, they move in by the end of the month.
They have a home. It is too small for them; their legs don’t dangle off the end of the bed, they hit the wall instead because Yifan and Chanyeol can’t even afford the space between the bed and the wall; books are littered everywhere; the kitchen still cannot contain a dining table, and they don’t even have a guestroom now. Instead, they have a home.
★
They don’t measure time because the days just come and go. It’s a muted blessing when there’s nothing to mark the days and their happiness is so quiet, they don’t even know its existence. There are no great joys or upsets, just little episodes of laughter and tears, good enough for a chat at the dinner table but not for the memory stash. For instance, that one time Yifan randomly suggests they adopt a child and Chanyeol couldn’t help scorning and scoffing. “Yes, I see it now,” he drawls, “splashed across the headlines of every newspaper, as if we were serial killers, ‘Gay Couple Adopt Kid: Run for the Hills‘. Speaking of which, dogs are too expensive to keep. Sorry about your Bichon Frisé, let’s get a cactus instead, I’m sure fluffly cactuses exist.” Yifan grieves for his puppy and the romantic Chanyeol he used to know.
But nature measures itself. When the leaves bleed themselves red and hang dying from the trees, Yifan declares that he has an interview. Chanyeol, who still remembers how traumatic his first interview went, is decidedly nervous. “What job is it for?” he chatters excitedly, sprawled across the expanse of Yifan’s shoulders and distracting him from a novel.
“A worthwhile job,” Yifan smiles and replies in a few words. He pulls Chanyeol down on his lap and begins stroking his hair, pushing the wayward bangs out of his eyes, a habit he can never kick. But Chanyeol isn’t appreciative, he pouts and tries to bite Yifan’s fingers. “What’s a worthwhile job?” asks Chanyeol, nibbling on Yifan’s thumb.
Chuckling, Yifan pulls his hand free and those long fingers now travel south heading into the elastic waistband of Chanyeol’s track pants, not even a button sewn on it to save him. “Something like this.” His hand wraps around Chanyeol’s cock and strokes until he’s hard, nail scraping the tip and drawing clear liquid.
”Wu Yifan!” Chanyeol shrieks and struggles but Yifan just pins him down on the couch and removes his pants. The shrieks morph into breathless panting and then half-hearted protests when Yifan pulls his hands to his cock, making him touch himself while Yifan watches sitting up, zero contact with Chanyeol.
“Watch,” Yifan instructs softly and Chanyeol looks down with hooded eyes, seeing his hands between his legs, fingers laced around his own cock, twisting up and down the hard length. He lifts his eyes up, seeing Yifan’s gaze fixed on his masturbation act and Chanyeol groans, throwing an arm across his eyes so he doesn’t have to see, the other one still wrapped around his cock, stroking frantically.
He gasps when Yifan suddenly reaches out and joins his hand, rubbing the head of his swollen cock with that goddamn thumb again, rough callous pressing mercilessly against the slit and it’s too much, Chanyeol tries to push his hand away but a few seconds later, he’s already keening, blinking with wide eyes, streaks of white staining his black tee which has been pushed up to expose nipples. Yifan’s hands move to Chanyeol’s knees, pushing them apart and pulling Chanyeol’s hands off his cock so he could see him come to completion. Too caught up in the moment, Chanyeol can’t even muster the decency to be mortified that he’s completely exposed to Yifan’s eyes, he just comes, spurt after spurt.
“Good boy,” Yifan praises, dragging his hand through Chanyeol’s mussed tresses again when he’s done. Boneless but hot with embarrassment, Chanyeol attempts revenge, hand reaching out to grab Yifan’s erection through his bermudas but Yifan just spreads him wide, big hands now on the back of his thighs, preventing him from closing his legs. Chanyeol is prepped with fingers coated with his own release. They fuck him loose, curling and rubbing against his prostate until he claws at Yifan’s skin, desperate with need.
Then Yifan fucks him into the couch, fucks him so hard Chanyeol can’t even beg him to stop anymore, big cock slamming into him, the head scrapping and pressing down cruelly against his prostate over and over again so Chanyeol climaxes for the second time without even being touched, hands grappling the edge of the couch, back arching and mouth parted though he’s not making a sound, the scream dying in his throat when Yifan doesn’t stop his incessant pounding even then.
Yifan fucks him throughout his orgasm, pushing his cock past clenching muscles as Chanyeol continues spilling, his hole even tighter and hotter now as it closes in around Yifan’s cock; the pleasure is so intense, Yifan has to squeeze his eyes shut against it. His thrusting becomes mindless, hard long strokes one after another without pause, they send Chanyeol sliding over the couch, sweaty back squeaking against faux leather, so Yifan pushes down on Chanyeol’s shoulders every time he slams into him, forcing Chanyeol's legs apart even more and his cock in even deeper. But it isn't enough, Yifan’s hand exerts force on the back of Chanyeol’s left thigh, pressing it down against his chest until his head lolls and he lets out a small whine of protest. Yifan opens him right up so that every inch of his cock can slide into Chanyeol and he fucks him until Chanyeol finds the will to scream again.
Chanyeol’s orgasm is long drawn and Yifan sends him up another peak before he even completes his orgasm, when he presses down with his whole weight, crotch flush against Chanyeol’s buttocks and comes, load shooting right onto his prostate. Chanyeol can’t even escape, helpless against the onslaught, all he can do is grip Yifan’s shoulders and hang on while he takes him repeatedly.
★
It’s the day of the interview. His white shirt is starched and ironed by Chanyeol who has long learned the complex workings of the iron. His little Lulu taught him how. ‘When in doubt, high steam’ is his stern advice. So far, Chanyeol has only burned three shirts and four fingers, so far so bad.
When Yifan is about to leave, Chanyeol hands him a good luck charm, the same one Yifan gave him for his first interview. He presses it into Yifan’s hands, presses all the good luck he has into Yifan’s hands. “Fighting!” Chanyeol screams and does a fist pump. “If you nail it, I’ll be sure to reward you tonight.” Chanyeol leers at him. Yifan wonders whom he learned it from. Then Chanyeol leans forward and pecks Yifan once on the lips before he flies off first, already late for work. Yifan smiles to himself. This is going to be all worthwhile.
The company he’s interviewing for operates a chain of bookstores in South Korea. Four branches in Seoul, two in Busan, one in Incheon and a new store is slated to open next year in Daegu. It also opens its own publishing company so who knows? Yifan might even have the opportunity to become an editor.
He reaches the company about ten minutes earlier but is immediately led into a meeting room. The interviewer is already waiting for him in the harshly lit large conference room that seems more apt for declaring a hostile takeover than an interview. Black one button suit matched with arrogance, looking just as stoic as when they first met.
“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Park.” The formality and respect is evident in Yifan’s tone, and he waits. But Mr. Park just drags his gaze up Yifan, looking insolent with an invisible army standing behind him. When he doesn’t extend an invitation to sit, Yifan apologizes before pulling out the opposite chair along the long table.
“I didn’t expect the CEO to interview me personally.” Yifan’s smile is still polite but it might as well be a taunt.
Chanyeol’s father doesn’t try to glare Yifan down. Instead, he appears disinterested as though this were a waste of his time. But he cares, of course. He cares so much he sometimes lies awake at night trying to determine exactly where he failed. Most of the time, he thinks it’s Chanyeol who has failed him. And the cause of his embarrassment is now sitting before him.
“Do you know about Chanyeol and I?” An attempt at subtlety.
“Of course I do. You think you can just-“ Yifan interrupts him and sees the shock rip across Mr. Park’s face. He clearly isn’t one who’s used to being interrupted. Vaguely, Yifan wonders if he should switch to working in another industry after this. Oh well, it isn't like he’s here to play nice.
“Chanyeol is doing well,” he begins and waits to be cut off as well. Mr. Park smoothes his face out. Being emotional will lose him the fight. He is shrewd, calculative, a businessman. In the end, he purses his lips and turns the ends down, neither encouraging Yifan to continue nor disrupting him.
“He is now working as a Planning Officer, just got promoted a rank up last month. Chanyeol says his boss is a-“ The term Chanyeol used was ‘meddling bastard’ but Yifan doesn’t think it’s appropriate at all. “-anyway, his boss depends a lot on him and he thinks he’s next in line for the position of Planning Manager.” ’After a hundred years. I’m sure that monster will live to a ripe old age feeding off my blood,’ Chanyeol sneered.
Mr. Park looks at Yifan impassively. Chanyeol was always an obedient child but Mr. Park knew his heart was too free and wild for him to be a reliable person. Although he never gave up trying to fit him into a mold and make him become someone of more character. But Chanyeol has a lot of character, it just isn't the kind his father hopes he would have. And Chanyeol has changed, the core remains but he’s perhaps a bit more cynical now. Mr. Park has always wanted his son to be more streetwise. He is now, after his father broke him. Chanyeol has grown up, but not under his father’s eyes. So Mr. Park still thinks of him as the same person. How wrong this is. Till this day, Chanyeol still has to fight to gain his father’s approval. But today, Yifan will win this war for him.
“He’s all grown up now. You should be proud of him. I am.”
The thought that he should be proud of his gay son tears Mr. Park’s mask off. But before he could say any cold words, Yifan cuts him off again. This man has some nerve, Mr. Park has to concede. He can crush Yifan like an ant. Power and money can buy one a lot of things, even lives, Mr. Park knows this. He also knows it’s exactly what Yifan lacks. An orphan, the report on him says. Yet he sits here and challenges him as if they were equals. They will never be equals.
“He has been sad for a long time,” continues Yifan and he sees a flicker of emotion in Mr. Park’s eyes. “But he never gave up. He’s much better now. Chanyeol has been a good son to you, and he has always tried to be the best so he could make you proud. He still sees you as his father and I hope, no matter what, you still see him as your son, too. This is all I want to say. Good day.”
Yifan is of the opinion that Chanyeol’s father deserves to know this, deserves to know how hard Chanyeol has struggled to crawl out of the bottom of the well he pushed him into. That if he ever saw Chanyeol smile again, he would know that his smile was because he once fell but fought tooth and nail to get up, bleeding all the way to the top. Chanyeol is to be cherished, not discarded because of who he is.
With that, Yifan gets up and makes to open the door. That’s when Mr. Park opens his mouth. His words don’t seem to have anything to do with what Yifan said, however. “Chanyeol takes after his mother.” This seems to be the everlasting impression Mr. Park has of his son. But when Yifan turns his eyes on Chanyeol’s father, he recognizes that expression on his face, the one Mr. Park has always kept hidden beneath another layer of skin. Sometimes Yifan wears that expression, too. It’s that look a person has on his face when he’s missing a person. It’s the loneliest thing in the world.
But Yifan disagrees. He thinks back on the many times when Chanyeol has stood by him, always there to throw his arms around him like a safety net breaking his falls, and how strong his arms were when he held him that one time he wasn't able to save him. Chanyeol has a big heart but he is never afraid to say ‘no’ to the people he loves when he doesn’t agree with their decisions. His steely strength and obstinance are not inherited from his mother.
“No, he takes after you.” When Yifan closes the door, he leaves behind a man who has never stopped grieving for his wife.
★
“How was the interview?!”
“I didn’t nail it.”
“Oh… um…”
“But one day, I will.”
“Ok. As long as you’re happy, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m happy. Are you?”
“Of course!”
★
“Do you sense someone watching you when you take the lift lately?” asks Chanyeol one day when he comes home from work, cheeks blown red by the winter breeze. “I turned around today and thought I saw a flash of red.” Fishy, very fishy.
“Of course. There’s a ghost haunting the lift. Don’t look behind the next time you’re in there.” Coolly, Yifan prepares dinner by pouring the takeout ojingeo bokkeum into a plate.
“…”
“Kidding.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Don’t you ever.” Chanyeol huffs and puffs in indignation, hitting Yifan with the briefcase he hasn’t put down yet. How is he going to take the lift ever again! They live on the 4th floor too... so scary...
“You want to fuck me?” Yifan smiles unaffectedly and messes up Chanyeol’s hair. His little fangji. So fluffy and adorable.
Can I? “Fuc-shut up. Just shut up.” Chanyeol slaps Yifan’s hand away.
Lately, he has the feeling that there’s always someone watching his back. But when he turns around he sees no one. Maybe Yifan is right. Maybe- oh dear God.
He kicks Yifan’s right calf. It’s alright, he can take it. His calves are so thick and scabby anyway.
★
The next morning, Chanyeol waits for Yifan at the door so they could take the lift together.
“I thought manliness was one of your virtues,” Yifan snickers. The laugh is so irritating. Stupid Fat Calves.
“Yes,” Chanyeol gives a suave flick of his head, “that’s why I’m escorting the lady.”
While they wait for the lift, Chanyeol senses it again. He sneaks a glance at Yifan trying to catch his attention. But Yifan suddenly says, “Hi.” To an ant, perhaps, he’s looking at the floor.
It’s the darling son of their neighbor, so tiny that Chanyeol wouldn’t be able to see him if he didn’t lower his eyes to the floor.
“Annyeong,” the little boy greets in a sticky sweet voice, bowing his little body, his little head wearing a red baseball cap.
Oh.
“Were you following hyung yesterday?” Chanyeol asks, flicking the brim of the kid’s cap.
The little boy’s eyes flits from left to right before his head tilts all the way back to look at the faces of the gigantic hyung deul. “Yes,” he nods obediently.
“Why were you following hyung?” The kid is cute. Crouching until he’s at eye level with him, Chanyeol wants to pat him but his reply makes him freeze in horror.
“Umma says hyung deul are weird. I wanted to see.”
Immediately, Yifan pulls Chanyeol up and into the lift which has just arrived. He hits the close button and sees the confused face of the child right before the lift doors seal shut. Chanyeol is breathing a little harder than usual. “I’m ok,” he says, in a rush. “It’s alright.” Yifan strokes his hair and massages the back of his neck. He hasn’t been subjected to prejudice like Chanyeol has because of who he is, so he doesn’t know exactly how he feels, but he fears it all the same.
His touch calms Chanyeol down and he even manages a smile. “I’m fine,” he insists when Yifan refuses to let him go to work, suggesting they take the day off and talk a walk by the beach instead.
Chanyeol stares at Yifan, already distracted. He doesn’t pause to think it's strange that what just happened has sailed over his head instead of traumatizing him. “It’s winter.”
“See, I used to work with this guy, Zitao, who really likes…”
He revisits the incident that evening, the same day (after work). But Yifan decides to cook dinner in order to console(/punish/torture/hurt) him and it’s so awful that Chanyeol forgets it again. He is more traumatized by that evil bowl of wintermelon soup and he calls Little Lulu to complain. Mid-complaint, Yifan throws Chanyeol onto the bed.
“You'd better disconnect the line,” Yifan advises (a little too late) when his fingers form a tight ring around the base of Chanyeol’s cock, denying him his orgasm and making his toes curl. But Chanyeol can’t, his own fingers are inside him, sinking onto his prostate and rubbing insistently. He can’t remove them, Yifan’s digits have joined him and he’s forcing Chanyeol to finger himself. Thankfully, Lu Han has already cut the line. He doesn’t want to hear his baby moan.
A week later, Chanyeol is surprised to find that it is alright with him after the initial shock has passed. The little episode didn’t trigger anything, although he feared it would. The next day, he woke up and got right out of bed. Not difficult at all. In fact, hunger forced him out of bed because, wintermelon and erm, too much physical activity. He was so hungry he wolfed down all the maple cheesecake Yifan bought from A Twosome Place. But alright, damnit, it was still biting him just a bit, so he took off before Yifan and used the stairs instead of the lift. Then he went to work and his boss made him dismiss everything in the world except thoughts of sticking sharp and unpleasant things up his, yeah, there.
He nearly forgets it, maybe forever, until now, a week later when he sees that flash of red again. All Chanyeol does is to roll his eyes. Then he pauses. Lifting his hand, he runs it over his face. It’s still the same face, of course, he knows that. But to make sure, just to be absolutely certain, Chanyeol checks his reflection in the camera of his phone. He flashes his widest grin and counts sixteen perfect teeth. When he stops smiling, he sees it in his eyes, so transparent that it lets him steal a glimpse right into his being.
He is fine. It isn't a reassurance. It’s a fact. Yes, he still thinks about the past, it still bothers him. But somehow, he is fine. He doesn’t know when and how it happened, can’t even define the starting and finishing lines, not to mention the in-betweens. But he knows this: it isn't Yifan or his father or anyone else. It’s himself. Park Chanyeol. He is finally comfortable in his own skin.
Two years since.
★
Chanyeol refuses to wear the plaid scarf because it’s getting too warm. But he compromises and wears a hoodie. Yifan brings one for him anyway, putting it in his black bag, the one on which he hangs a fangji keychain. It’s the weekend and they’re going ice-skating with Lu Han and Jongin. The truth is no one wants to go except Chanyeol. One unfortunate night, they were watching a drama in which the female lead had cancer and her half-brother whom she was in love was engaged to her biological sister and how could this be? They were siblings. But that was ok because the half-brother turned out not to be her half-brother at all, he was adopted at birth! But then it wasn't ok because she was in love with him. But it got ok again, because she had cancer and would die anyway. But then suddenly her gangster dad (who was supposed to be dead) got a gun- anyway, during one of the commercial breaks, they showed the Grand Hyatt Seoul ice skating rink and Chanyeol claimed it was beautiful and he was clapping in excitement and saying that they ’have to go, please, Yifan gege, please’. Chanyeol looked so disgustingly cute with his bottom lip sticking out that Yifan had to agree.
Whipped.
Lu Han suggests Gwanghwamun because it’s much cheaper. Chanyeol says it’s the Grand Hyatt Seoul or nothing at all. Jongin suggests nothing at all but Chanyeol is still Lu Han’s baby and Jongin’s life is hard.
They pick the giants up in the afternoon in Jongin’s parents’ car and are already on the way when Jongin says he has forgotten his helmet.
“You don’t even need one.” Leaning forward from the back seat, Chanyeol snaps at Jongin who’s driving, irritated that he is wasting their time.
“Of course I do. Safety is important.”
“Be nice.” Lu Han sits in the shotgun seat and chastises his baby Chanyeol. “It’s his first time skating.”
That’s a lie. That’s as big a lie as saying that Chanyeol is Yifan’s fangji (oh, wait). The first time Jongin went ice skating, it was with Chanyeol. Unlike Chanyeol, he was able to balance himself fairly well because his head was/is so empty. On the other hand, Chanyeol’s head contained a brain heavy with wise thoughts so he kept toppling over. Jongin doesn’t need a helmet. But he does look like he needs a knife, when he turns around from the driver’s seat to give Chanyeol an ‘I will kill you’ look. He is not going to let him ruin his I-can’t-skate-so-Lu-Han-has-to-hold-me-all-the-time date. It’s the only worthwhile thing that’s going to come out of this.
Lu Han goes up with Jongin to the apartment while Chanyeol and Yifan stay in the car to wait for them. They’ve parked by the road and Chanyeol has taken to critizing Yifan’s dressing in order to kill time.
“Why are you always dressed like you’re middle-aged? Wear my clothes the next time we go out,” he advises Yifan kindly, patting the grey sweater he has on. When it’s warm enough, the sweaters will give way to button up shirts that must be too tight for Yifan to feel comfortable in them. But Chanyeol likes them anyway. They are kind of sexy.
That infuriating smile is there again, so Chanyeol stands ready with a snide remark for whatever Yifan has to say. But all Yifan says is, “Your style is uniquely you. I can never pull it off. Like that bulldog tee? Wearing the cap over a hoodie? So... street.”
By some really puzzling standards, the comment comes off as a compliment to Chanyeol. He speaks only when he has finished gaping at Yifan. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I suppose my style is quite hard to pull off. Hey, you know what? Actually, for a young man, you look really good in middle-aged sweaters,” remarks Chanyeol in what he thinks is an exceedingly kind and gentle tone. So considerate of middle-aged fashion lover’s feelings.
Yifan is thanking Chanyeol for his praise and his smile hasn’t even been stretched to completion when it is dropped and replaced by horror, his eyes wide and fixated on something behind Chanyeol. Suddenly, Yifan is frantically pulling at the car door handle, but they have been locked in.
“What-“ But Chanyeol isn’t given a chance to complete his sentence. In the next instance, Yifan lunges at him with panic in his eyes, knocking the air out of Chanyeol, dragging and forcefully twisting him around so that they have changed sides in the backseat. Then he is flinging his arms around Chanyeol, trying to cover as much of him as he can with his body. Chanyeol is stunned by Yifan’s actions; there’s also a roaring sound that seems to be getting louder and he’s already sticking his head up to verify the source when long fingers sink into his hair. Yifan is grabbing the back of Chanyeol’s head, twisting and forcing it down so that it’s now pinned against his chest at an unnatural angle.
It hurts, but Chanyeol doesn’t even have time to gasp. The next second he hears the wail of metal as it yields under tremendous pressure, the crash so deafening Chanyeol can’t hear the glass splinter and explode into smithereens, raining down on him and stinging his skin while he’s slammed back against the car door, spine smashing into and pressing down on the armrest of the side door. His back must be broken, there is such excruciating pain that Chanyeol is screaming and pushing at Yifan’s shoulders, trying and failing to free himself. This is pain beyond what he has experienced his entire life, it drowns out all his senses, so he doesn’t notice the warm liquid smeared on his face until after the next scream, when he draws it in together with oxygen and tastes it. The taste of iron searing Chanyeol’s tongue and choking him.
Chanyeol whimpers when he sees the mangled motorcycle lying on Yifan’s back, its handle digging between bones, broken plastic window shield slicing flesh open. Yifan’s head is buried into the crook of his neck and Chanyeol can feel his collar getting warm and wet very fast. The stench of blood is overpowering. He shudders, too scared to move; he wants to scream again but no sound escapes, he can't pull in enough air to cry out. Only the thud of Yifan’s heart against his chest keeps Chanyeol sane. He is still alive. A sudden fierce burst of stabbing pain shoots up his back when he shifts a little to peer at Yifan.
From the corner of Yifan’s left eye, a small trickle of blood seeps through from the closed lid. And this time, Chanyeol screams, letting the pain on his back burn his throat instead, and he burns until blackness eats him up.
★
When he wakes up, Chanyeol doesn’t want to listen to the police explain about the motorbike, how the driver lost control and got separated from his bike when he was rounding the corner, nor the witness accounts that state the motorcycle was skidding at full speed across half the road, carving a path of destruction as it spilled debris and sent sparks flying everywhere before slamming itself to a stop, right into the side of one of the cars parked opposite. No, he doesn’t want to listen to Lu Han yell at him that he has just been operated on his massive disc herniation, doesn’t want to recognize the piercing pain on his lower back coursing down his right leg, making him limp to the door of his ward when he wants to sprint.
Chanyeol just wants to see Yifan.
“He’s alright.” Chanyeol hears Lu Han cry out when he collapses before he can reach the door, hands grappling the smooth flooring of the hospital in vain for some friction to hoist himself up. Why can’t he stand anymore? He needs to get up and get going. There’s no time to waste, someone is waiting for him. Blood stains the floor when the closed wounds on Chanyeol’s hands split open and he starts to slip on them, gasping and panting in pain. He can’t stand. He can’t stand.
“I will take you to him.” Lu Han finally surrenders, kneeling and taking Chanyeol’s hands, pressing down firmly to stem the flow before wiping them gently with the long sleeves of his plaid shirt. “Don’t let him see you like this,” he says, without a trace of reprimand, “don’t make him worry.” Chanyeol watches Lu Han roll up his bloodied sleeves, hiding the red, and nods his head slowly. He knows he always makes Yifan worry. “Be good.” A hand now runs through his hair, tidying it, making him presentable, and Chanyeol nods his head again. He’d be good.
In the end, Jongin borrows a wheelchair and together they wheel Chanyeol to Yifan’s ward which is located in the same wing of the hospital, a floor down. Calm with the knowledge that they are bringing him to Yifan, Chanyeol lets Jongin pull him into the wheelchair. Lu Han tries to help too but Jongin stops him with a small smile. It’s still too hard to smile so Lu Han just nods.
“He just woke up this morning,” Lu Han whispers to Chanyeol who still hasn’t spoken. He doesn’t speak the entire way to Yifan’s ward while Lu Han fills him in on Yifan’s injuries. Besides the multiple superficial wounds on his back and legs, Yifan also suffers from broken ribs in the back and a deep cut on the shoulder. It’s only when they have reached the door that Lu Han eventually lets it out. “Chanyeol,” he says, and Chanyeol looks up at him because his voice is so soft and gentle, it sounds like a lullaby and acts like anesthetic. “They found glass in his left eye. They said his cornea has been punctured, it can’t be saved. He’s, he’s going to be blind in his left eye. Do you understand?”
But Chanyeol doesn’t understand what he is saying and he doesn’t know why Lu Han looks so sad. None of that is important anymore when Jongin pushes the door open and Yifan is there, although he doesn’t look like Yifan when he seems as pale as the sheets he lies on and there’s a patch on his left eye. Chanyeol leans forward and eagerly reaches out for his hand before the wheelchair comes to a stop at Yifan’s bedside, knotting their fingers together.
“Hey…” Yifan stirs and mumbles, right eye slowly peeling open and Lu Han is quick to tell him to stop speaking and rest. But Yifan is just as unyielding as Chanyeol. “Are you…” Chanyeol nods, keeps nodding to show that he’s fine.
“Your hand… is bleeding.” Yifan’s sentence is broken, voice so weak, it’s thinner than a wisp of smoke. He looks at Lu Han then, eye unable to open pass half-mast but reproachment is clearly in it; he’s rebuking Lu Han for not taking better care of Chanyeol. “I’m. I can’t, I’m sorry.” Lu Han walks out then and Jongin follows swiftly behind. Chanyeol thinks he hears Lu Han cry but Yifan is now smiling at him. Even with tubes attached to him, Yifan still has smiles for Chanyeol.
“Do you… hurt?” Yifan asks Chanyeol.
Chanyeol shakes his head until it makes him dizzy, locking their hold on each other even tighter because Yifan isn’t able to grip his hand back. “Do you?” asks Chanyeol. As if to say ‘no’, Yifan closes his right eye and opens it again. The effort of smiling is paling him.
“You are hurting.” He strokes Yifan’s wrist, tries to stroke all his pain away but there’s nothing Chanyeol can do to relieve him. The thought saturates him with helplessness. But all Yifan can do to reassure him is to smile. It’s still that familiar smile and Chanyeol breathes a little easier.
“You will get well.”
Somehow, Yifan manages a small nod before he falls back into sleep.
★
Over the next few days, Chanyeol refuses all help from Lu Han and takes care of Yifan. He limps down from his ward and sits by Yifan’s side, so that when he gestures for a glass of water or indicates that he needs to visit the toilet, Chanyeol would help him. And when he becomes Yifan’s walking stick, he would tighten his jaw and force his limp into a slow stable gait.
Lu Han is of the opinion that Yifan should know Chanyeol is suffering too but he refuses to let him tell. The mulish expression on Chanyeol’s face stops Lu Han. Once, Yifan told him that when Chanyeol locks his brows together, you ‘don’t try to dissuade him from driving himself into a wall’. For those times when he has to leave for his physiotherapy sessions, Chanyeol lies fluently, saying it’s because the head nurse will nag at him if he leaves his room for too long a time.
But they largely squander their time together in silence. The world has not known a colder war. Chanyeol is angry, Yifan knows this, even when he places a hand on his face and asks if he feels better. Still unable to speak much, Yifan would just nod. “You will get well.” Chanyeol would say. He has been saying this a lot. His aggression, however, lies in the way he turns his head away when their eyes meet.
“You would do the same,” Yifan mumbles one day when it no longer hurts so much to try to resolve a fight. The flask stills in its tip. A second later, water continues pouring into a glass and when it’s handed over him, a sigh accompanies it. The sound is sad and resigned; it lingers before fading into regret that starts residing in Chanyeol’s heart.
★
Chanyeol is discharged before Yifan. He hands his whole wallet over at the cashier counter to settle the hospital bill because that’s all he has. Insurance is a vague thought, perhaps he’s insured but Chanyeol isn’t sure because it really didn’t matter two years ago, then he became too poor for it and in the end, he just isn’t living carefully enough. He hopes Yifan is insured. They are too poor to die, Chanyeol thinks.
The cashier, a girl decked in the pink and white uniform, stares at Chanyeol who seems normal enough in his black padded jacket, but he pushes the wallet further over the counter and she takes it after glancing over at her colleague who shrugs patronizingly. First lunatic you meet while working in customer service? At least this one is kind of cute, honey.
Chanyeol looks away because he knows exactly how much is in his wallet. He counted before he walked out of his ward. ₩104,300. Could buy him about 2.6 copies of that wretched book Yifan made him purchase. Maybe a lot of painkillers. But it will not be sufficient to pay this bill.
“Sir, please sign over here.” The astonishment scrawled on Chanyeol’s face distresses the girl who has been hoping that he would just sign the bill and go, taking his wretched wallet with him. But she doesn’t understand. Chanyeol doesn’t have a credit card. He's never signed up for one because he’s afraid he would lose track of his spending. So what is this he is signing right now? Yeah, he signs it anyway and then he’d run away before they realize they've made a mistake. But damn, Yifan is still staying here. What if they-
Then he sees it. The cashier hands it over, pushes it together with a receipt and wallet into his hands before he can make a decision. The plastic feels cold against his skin. It’s his BC Global Card. Hidden away in his wallet and stashed so deep in his mind, he has almost forgotten about it until the cashier wrenches it out. It still works.
His father has never cut him off.
★
Two weeks after he’s discharged, Yifan is finally well enough to leave as well. Taking a day off work, Chanyeol prepares to fetch him home. Worried that his boss would be displeased if he fulfilled the entire length of the medical leave the hospital has given him, Chanyeol has already returned to work after just three days of rest at home. Actually, it is not too much rest since he still visits Yifan every day. His own injuries worry Chanyeol, of course, since he can’t afford to be sick. So he stretches every now and then, doing those exercises, whatever he remembers from his physiotherapy sessions. Yifan is more important, however, so he forgets and runs towards the hospital after leaping off the bus, before he remembers and slows down to a brisk walk. A twinge of pain forces him to limp and he vehemently swears never to forget again, as he makes his way to settle Yifan’s hospital bill, with the same card he used to settle his own.
But Chanyeol is so quick to forget when he opens the door to Yifan’s ward and he’s already waiting for him with a smile. Luckily, they are caught in a light embrace before his steps falter and Chanyeol cannot tell if he’s supporting Yifan or the other way around. A patch still covers Yifan’s left eye although he can already stand. And Chanyeol is grateful, so grateful. Although it’s difficult not to frown when he sees the eyepatch. “You will get well soon,” he promises Yifan and takes his bag. As if sheer will could right all wrongs. Yifan yields to Chanyeol’s obstinacy with a tilt of his head and more smiles.
But Yifan’s eye doesn’t get well, even though Chanyeol has meticulously followed the doctor’s advice on how to take care of him. Perhaps it’s because he’s specifically ignoring the one that says Yifan will not recover. Getting stronger by the day, Yifan’s ribs and wounds have healed fairly well and he’s ready to resume work in a week. But the patch remains.
Chanyeol is more frustrated than Yifan, although he has learned to speak up when he enters a room and is standing on Yifan’s blind side. When Yifan bumps into things, he blames himself for not being careful enough. There are just more of those knowing smiles, nods and hair-ruffling. Nothing that Yifan says should upset Chanyeol so he maintains his silence.
In truth, Yifan is upset too but Chanyeol pacifies him with his presence. He is the reason Chanyeol is still here, always insisting that Yifan dabs more weird stuff onto his eye. A trade in his favor, he figures.
“Are you sure?” Chanyeol asks tentatively, this night, as he moves to straddle Yifan on the bed, hands flat against his chest, sliding down to check his ribs. Chuckling, Yifan palms Chanyeol’s cock and he gasps in shock, falling forward, only managing to break his collapse on Yifan in time by propping himself up with arms on both sides of him. Then Chanyeol moves, slowly until he gains certainty and urgency. Still rocking himself, Chanyeol removes Yifan’s eye patch which glimmers with sweat when it catches the moonlight that streams into the dark room. His left eye gazes up at him. Except for some discoloration, this eye doesn’t look anymore different from his right. Yifan is still as handsome. With a touch as gentle as a butterfly’s flight, Chanyeol fits his left hand over the right side of Yifan’s face. “Can you see me now?” he asks breathily, a bead of sweat sliding down his body until it disappears into where they’re joined.
The ends of Yifan’s lips are tugged up. His right hand rests over Chanyeol’s, the one still cupping his face, shielding his right eye from sight. Then he closes both his eyes - both the good and bad - the flutter of his eyelashes tickling Chanyeol’s soft palm, and there is blackness, so total and forbidding. But there is also Chanyeol, the orange lights of the bookstore bouncing off the brown of his hair when they first met, naïve eyes sealed by sleep. That Chanyeol, back when Yifan still had no idea he would end up spending so many long years with, he will live forever in the recesses of Yifan’s mind.
“Yes.”
Yifan’s reply is so soft. But it shatters the glassy form trapped in Chanyeol’s body, all hurt that has accumulated and crystalized into a tangible object since the accident. In this second, he finally concedes that Yifan will never get well. Within his arms, Chanyeol holds the most precious person in his world, damaged beyond repair because of him and there’s nothing he can do. So helpless.
Yifan’s eyelids drift open when he feels something collide with his chest. It’s a tear. “Don’t,” he whispers when he lifts his head and sees something rip Chanyeol up from the inside. A thumb draws the tears from Chanyeol’s eyes and tries to rub them dry in circles on his cheek. But these tears, they fall so fast. It’s the first time Yifan has seen Chanyeol cry; he never cries. Not once, not even when he left home. But everyone cries; some just choose to save up their tears.
“You are, y-you are,” Chanyeol gasps shakily, looking down at Yifan, feeling words and worlds shatter around sobs. Perfect, he wants to say but when his mouth opens, all that spill are tears. One lands on Yifan’s face, sails over the curve of his cheek and pools in his left eye so that the next time he blinks, the tear becomes his. Very carefully, Yifan withdraws from Chanyeol and pulls him down over his heart, so close to him while he mourns over their loss.
When he quiets, Chanyeol mumbles, “What if. What would I do.” A finger traces the slope of Yifan’s arm. Chanyeol lies atop him, their hearts pressed together.
“Won’t.” Yifan’s answer is a soft breeze on Chanyeol's cheek. He knows how loneliness feels like, in those days when not even Lu Han was by his side. Walls don’t have ears, he realized. His cries bounced off the stone and fell back onto him. Perhaps if they were absorbed by a pair of ears, so would the pain. But walls don’t have ears. They won’t listen to you cry.
Chanyeol will never need to know this, however.
He takes a long time with his reply, but when their hearts start to beat in sync, Chanyeol just murmurs, “I love you.” And he lets these words seep into Yifan’s scarred skin until his soul is healed. The most beautiful words dilute even the deepest feelings. Chanyeol’s ‘I love you’s need not be rephrased.
★
The eyepatch is lost. Chanyeol claims it grew legs of its own and ran away to a better home. Ungrateful eyepatch! he tuts. But honestly, he just threw it away one time when Yifan was bathing. It isn’t a problem to Yifan because he wears it only to make Chanyeol feel better and for the same reason, he now doesn’t wear one. His blindness in one eye doesn’t hinder him at work. In fact, Yifan is even more diligent now, he devours words and paragraphs as if he almost couldn’t ever read again.
But another thing bothers them. It seems that they are quite the fodder for delicious gossip in the neighborhood these days. Maybe it’s because Chanyeol was helping Yifan move around in the early days when he just returned from his hospital stay. Whispering follows them and it isn't just a flash of red when Chanyeol turns his back; sometimes it’s blue, yellow, and an odd shade of mud in that particular episode. Yifan tells him not to worry but he isn't worried, just bothered. It’s like having a second shadow.
“Annyeong.” They meet the little dude again while waiting for the lift, dressed in his school uniform this morning. He’s still wearing his red cap. Maybe it’s glued to his little head. Chanyeol would have verified this fact but this time, their neighbor is with her son.
“Good morning,” Yifan greets politely but Chanyeol cannot forget what her son once ratted to them. Hyung deul are weird.
Maybe it’s her guilty conscience but when Ajumma Han catches the scowl on Chanyeol’s face, she hastily jabbers, “Oh, you know, some people just like to talk! But don’t worry, don’t worry! I don’t believe any of those things they talk about every day in the park. Those ajummas just have nothing to do after their morning exercise! I’m sure you are not…” Her sentence trails off because Ajumma Han can’t make herself say the damning word. But the implied meaning is much clearer than a veiled criticism. It’s a totally different thing from what her son has said. The young hasn’t learned to lie yet. Then she sneaks a glance at Yifan, eyes lowered with curiosity. “I heard them say you are blind. But you don’t look blind. Are you? Can you see me?” She waves a plump hand at Yifan.
There is no intermediate phase to Chanyeol’s anger, it simmers under his skin and drives his pulse mad. He is incensed, not because they are looking down on him but because they are subjecting Yifan to the same. Yifan, the person Chanyeol has always wanted to protect and is already suffering from more than one of life’s ambiguities. He deserves none of this.
His anger doesn’t just drive his pulse mad, it’s meddling with Chanyeol’s common sense, too. Honestly, this doesn’t help with standing up for Yifan or themselves at all. But somehow, he just feels like he needs to prove something and he doesn’t care. The world can look down on them but he’s not going to do the same. Grabbing Yifan’s hand, he laces their fingers together and lifts their joined hands like a trophy at Ajumma Han who is simultaneously flabbergasted by his atrocity and excited at the fresh gossip Chanyeol has just thrown to her like an expensive piece of hanu.
“No, no,” Chanyeol says lightly, although arrogance blankets his words, “we are exactly what you think we are. Problem?” Haughty and reckless - still reckless after all these years - he glares at Ajumma Han before dragging Yifan into the lift. Feeling sorry for shocking his poor neighbor, Yifan waves back at her. “I can see you. You look terrible in these floral pants,” he assures Ajumma Han consolingly, right before the doors shut in her face. It’s a shame her son can’t see his wave with his mother’s hand over his eyes.
“Did we just come out?” Chanyeol demands when Yifan turns to him in the lift.
“No, we just entered the lift.”
“…This is how much I want to punch you right now.” Releasing Yifan’s hand, Chanyeol flings his arms wide open.
“Ah.” Yifan ponders for a few seconds. “Yeah, I think we just did. To the neighborhood, that is.”
Chanyeol makes some gurgling noises and Yifan laughs. They end up laughing together. They laugh so hard.
★
The laughter dies a week later when the punishment eventually arrives in the form of a letter. It is slipped through the narrow gap between their navy door and the floor, during the day when they are both out at work. The letter is from the community council, claiming that they have ‘created great inconvenience for the neighborhood. At the last meeting, the members of the council have voted unanimously that you, the resident of Yongsan Ward, Seocho Neighborhood #2, 1229-25 Hana Apartments, 4th floor, Apt. 916, be given a month to move out…’
With dismal, Chanyeol traces the black ink etched onto white paper with his index finger, just to ensure he hasn’t read the words wrong. “They can’t make us move out,” he wails to Yifan, sounding childish even to his own ears, “they can’t.”
But Yifan knows they can as they did, in the last few weeks, when the whispering has gotten louder and louder. So he presses a kiss onto Chanyeol’s forehead and lets him tuck his face into the crook of his neck. Self-pity is so indulgent but it isn’t addictive as long as one dabbles in it only once in a while.
When the time arrives for Chanyeol to close the door on his first dream, he’s more than a little sad but he has already mapped it out, he’d just have to start his pursuit on the next one. Chanyeol will find Yifan a new home.
Monday afternoon, the early spring sun serves up a slice of nostalgia and Chanyeol savors it while he sits on a wooden bench in the park nearby. It was spring when they first moved in here, too. Time ran out so fast when they were happy but loitered when wounds had to be closed. Just a year and there are so many ahead. Chanyeol feels tired. He sticks a tired straw into his tired bottle of Binggrae banana milk and drinks tiredly while he watches an energetic group of boys kick soccer in the open field. When one of them stumbles and falls, Chanyeol laughs uproariously, slapping his thighs. When his mean laughter eventually subsides, he sips his milk again and realizes revenge doesn’t taste as sweet as banana milk. That’s when he notices the spot of red in the peripheral of his vision.
Chanyeol sticks his tongue out at the little dude standing at the other end of the bench and the kid frowns cutely. Ignoring him, Chanyeol sips on his milk. After a minute of being ogled, he pulls his lips tight and says, “Are you gonna just stand there or?” He hopes Ajumma Han hasn’t sent her son on a mission. As a manly man, Chanyeol has no desire to harm little children.
“Umma says I shouldn’t be talking to you...”
“Umma says I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Chanyeol repeats in a whiny voice under his breath. The scowl on the kid’s face intensifies. “She says you are sick. I might catch whatever you have.” Anger gives the boy courage to speak up.
Chanyeol freezes. “Do I look sick to you?” he asks slowly.
The kid stares at the big hyung. He looks perfectly well but if he was well, why would umma warn him about this hyung? “I don’t know…” he scratches the scab on his elbow in confusion.
Chanyeol lifts his mushroomie bangs up and bends down, closer to the kid. “Feel my forehead.”
Timidly, the kid walks up and stops two steps away so he doesn’t get too close. Then he leans forward and rests his small hand on Chanyeol’s forehead. The hyung’s skin feels cool to the touch. To verify this, little dude puts his hand on his own forehead. “You’re not sick!” he finally declares.
“So sit beside me.” The kid makes to sit beside Chanyeol. But the metre between them speaks of his cautiousness.
“Why did umma say you’re sick?”
“I don’t know, kid.”
“She also says you’re bad.”
“Omona,” Chanyeol deadpans.
“What you’re doing with him is bad.”
“Do you know what we do together?” The kid just looks puzzled and tugs at the hem of his small red soccer shirt.
“We do the same things as your umma and appa.”
“But in school, teacher calls that love.” There’s a pout and a tilt of the head. “How can love be bad?”
Chanyeol blinks at the child, taken aback by the innocent question. A bird chirps madly in a nearly tree. There’s the subdued sound of an engine starting in the background. All around him, people are too busy going about with their lives to pause and answer this. Who can, anyway? A mother? A textbook? A religion? Maybe. But Chanyeol isn’t aware. He stares at the blue sky up and beyond above him but no answer rains down either.
His reply is plain. “I don’t know.” Chanyeol sounds as puzzled as the kid.
“Why don’t you know?” Aren’t adults supposed to know everything? But some adults aren’t any better than kids. They get lost so often and need the prevailing view to lead them.
Nonchalance can be found in Chanyeol’s shrug although reality states quite the opposite. “Sometimes shit happens, kid.”
The kid frowns again and says in a distressed voice. “You said a bad word.”
Four-year-olds, Chanyeol thinks, rolling his eyes. There’s a strained silence. Finally Chanyeol accepts his defeat. “I’m sorry.”
“‘Shit’ is not a good word.”
“I know, I shouldn’t have said- hey, you just said it.” Little dude’s little jaw drops in alarm.
“Will you tell umma?” he asks fearfully.
“Nay.” He dislikes Ajumma Han. As an apology for uttering a bad word, Chanyeol sets a new bottle of banana milk (Yifan’s) into the space that sits between them and gestures for the kid to take it.
“Straw,” the kid says, and Chanyeol hands him one. This time, little dude just crawls over to sit beside Chanyeol and motions for him to help him stick the straw through the lid. What an opportunist, Chanyeol thinks, but is appeased immediately when the kid says his thanks in that sweet voice.
There are slurping nosies. “Were you upset when I said you were bad too?”
“A little,” Chanyeol readily admits his sadness to the four-year-old, shedding his pretense for a short while to someone who won’t judge him.
“Why?” At his question, Chanyeol takes his four years-old hand and places it over his heart. “Can you feel it?” The kid nods. Chanyeol then places his hand over little dude’s four years-old heart and looks into his eyes. “Because I have a heart too and I feel pain like you and everyone else. Did it hurt when that group of boys ignored you just now?”
Little dude nods. “They don’t want me to join their soccer team. They said I’m too small.” His lower lip starts wobbling. Aww. Chanyeol puts an arm over the kid’s shoulders and he sags with the weight of Chanyeol’s limb but soldiers on. So manly, just like Chanyeol.
“Well, it hurt the same way when you said I was bad.”
“I’m sorry,” the kid whispers, chin joining lower lip in a sorrowful jiggle.
“It’s alright, kid.” It’s alright. One day, it will be alright, Chanyeol hopes.
He holds his fist out. The kid stares at it. “You have to hit my fist, like this,” Chanyeol demonstrates, bumping his two fists together. In wonder, the kid clenches his hand into a tiny fist and connects it with Chanyeol’s much larger one. They smile at each other.
“Is umma wrong then?” Little dude asks, after they did another brofist.
There’s a soft smile on Chanyeol’s face. “You’ll get to decide when you grow up.”
“When will I grow up?”
“What’s your name?” asks Chanyeol as he strokes the kid’s hair fondly, just like how Yifan always strokes his.
“Sungmo!”
“Well, Molly boy, if you’re lucky, you’ll never get to grow up.” But everyone has to grow up someday. Chanyeol had to. And one day, so will Sungmo.
“I want to grow up! I want to play soccer with them!” And the hand on the back of his head smacks him instead.
After Sungmo gets up and runs away, saying his mum will be looking for him, Chanyeol types out a simple message on his handphone. Best to tie up all loose ends today. Thank you, it says. He sends it to his father and never receives a reply. Not that he’s expecting one, at least not so soon. Someday, but not today.
★
Yifan finds him sitting alone in the park with two empty bottles of banana milk. “You drank my share too?” he asks when he nears.
“Yup!” trills Chanyeol, stretching on the bench. The sun is shining right onto his face, so Chanyeol blocks it off with a hand.
Yifan watches sunlight filter through the gaps between fingers and lands harshly on Chanyeol’s skin. A few steps to the right and Yifan is standing right before Chanyeol, the sun now falls on his back instead. “Why are you here instead of helping us to move?”
“Because I have hired Jongin and Lu Han as my slaves for the day?”
“Or is it because they are afraid you’ll hurt your back again?” Chanyeol looks sharply at him but Yifan just holds out his hand to him. Just like how he once did a long time ago and look how far they’ve gone.
Chanyeol takes his hand with ease. Like his back injury, they are no longer a secret. Not in this community anyway. When his eyes next flicker over, Yifan is smiling at him with the sun right behind him so Chanyeol squints at him. Yifan’s left eye seems a little off focus, it isn’t quite looking at Chanyeol. Only twenty-seven, Chanyeol thinks sadly, holding Yifan’s hand tighter. He didn’t pack a lot of convictions into his suitcase. They are going to take on the future with clipped wings and damn if Chanyeol is certain.
“Hey," he calls out to Yifan softly, although he already has his full attention.
“Yeah?”
“Are we good?”
“Yeah,” Yifan’s smile grows wider, “yeah.”
“We are good.”
Chanyeol lets Yifan pull him up and off the bench then and they walk towards Lu Han and Jongin who are shouting (cursing, it seems) at them from the distance. Their hands remain linked. It will take more than the world’s opinion to break this bond.
This isn’t a happy ending because no ending could ever really bring about happiness. Just like how Chanyeol has learned to deal with imperfection by seeking perfection in flaws. And they are flawed. Cracking and peeling painfully in hidden places that are sealed with flesh and locked up by bones. But that’s alright. Yifan and Chanyeol will heal, melding and bending around each other to shut the cracks and become whole again. When life takes a fall and everything seems a bit harder, they will accompany each other in a world where light cannot reach.
They will be fine.
★
in loving memory of chanyeol's mushroom hair ;e;
by the time this fic was done, some stylist had already pluck that adorable mushroom sobbing