UPSIDE FORWARD for RISEANDRAIN [4/7]

[yeolliepopday]

December

“No... no, it was sort of a last minute thing. I don’t really need the credits, more like the distraction, you know?” Chanyeol laughs but Baekhyun cuts him off with a throaty scoff.

“Aren’t I enough distraction for you, Dumbo? Are Joseon era ceramics really more interesting than me?” From the tone of his voice, Chanyeol’s betting the pout on Baekhyun’s face right now is atrocious.

“Shut up, Byun Baek. It was the only course left with open seats. We both know you can’t babysit me all winter break and I need something to keep me busy.” Chanyeol scuffs his shoe, a shiny black lace-up tonight, against the faded plush carpeting.

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want your brain to rot from marathoning anime alone in that hovel of yours.”

“My one room is not a hovel, thank you very much!” Baekhyun snorts. Minseok flutters a program at Chanyeol from across the lobby, pointing to the theater doors that are starting to open. Chanyeol waves back and points at his phone. “Ok, well, it’s time to go in now, I’ll talk to you later Baek.”

“Ok, dude. See you in a few. And good luck tomorrow!”

“Bye bye, Baekhyunnie~!” Baekhyun hisses and hangs up the phone. Chanyeol weaves through the stream of people in short dresses and flashy jackets, mostly other students, heading into the auditorium. He reaches the small pocket of space to the left of the door where Minseok is waiting with a sigh of relief.

“Who was that?” Minseok mouths over the chatter of the crowd.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol answers. “He was just bothering me about my winter course. Sorry!” Minseok nods, his eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition. Baekhyun knows Kyungsoo and Jongdae from high school, but he’s met the rest of their hyungs before on breaks.

Chanyeol edges into the flow of traffic, the crush of bodies thinning now. They find two seats in the middle of a row. They’re facing stage left but they’re pretty close to the front. Chanyeol pulls off his jacket and settles back in his seat, the chair bottom dipping slightly at the shifts in gravity.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Minseok asks. He’s fanning himself with the bulletin like it’s summer and not the third week of December.

“I’ll go home for New Years.” Chanyeol coughs. It’s still kind of noisy but it’s easier to talk in here with everyone spread out more. Minseok blinks skeptically but turns to scan the audience, probably looking for Yixing. They texted him before dinner to see if he and Kris wanted to find seats with them but Yixing probably forgot to check his phone.

Chanyeol slumps in his seat, knees bumping the rounded back of the chair in front of him. It’s not that he’s avoiding home, but if he shows up at his parents’ tomorrow after his last final with no homework and no hope in the future of all humanity, his mom will notice his moping. Also, she will make him peel kilos and kilos of potatoes and probably dust all the cobwebs in corners she can’t get to. So yeah, it’s much safer to spend the next week holed up in the library studying pottery and spend his weekend at home pretending to write a term paper.

“So what’s the name of Jongin’s piece again?” Chanyeol shakes his head and sits up. Minseok is facing him again, holding out the bulletin.

“Uh, West Side something? It’s right after the intermission.” Chanyeol peeks over Minseok’s shoulder as he skims his thumbnail down the thin paper. Chanyeol basically has the program memorized after sitting through three days of dress rehearsal with his exam review sheets balanced on a music stand he swiped from the orchestra pit. Taeyeon noona just laughed when Jongin asked if Chanyeol could stay and watch them block, saying she forgot he was actually in another department.

Minseok finds the entry on the second page, right where Chanyeol had predicted, and creases the paper with his thumbnail. Kim Jongin, Oh Sehun, it says in little black letters under the title.

“It’s pretty intense,” Chanyeol tells Minseok. He checks his phone to make sure it’s on silent.

“Can’t wait.”

The house lights go down and some professor, a slim lady with steel gray hair and glasses Chanyeol’s used to seeing in practice tights and a gauzy dance skirt, glides onto stage in towering stilettos to give an introduction. She smiles indulgently into the cheering crowd for a moment before exiting left as the spotlight dims and pans stage right.

The first chord of Jaurim’s new single echoes from the speakers as Taeyeon steps out in the flowy white dress Chanyeol remembers from rehearsal, her hair loose in waves down her back. Jongin described the style as “contemporary ballet”. She has toe shoes on, but the snaking pull of her arms as the music crescendos and the raw twist of her torso as she freezes with one leg bent behind her looks nothing like the coquettish petite allegro of the classical variation she’s performing in the second half.

The synthesizer backing up the vocals fades for a moment and Chanyeol can hear the flex of her shoes in a controlled grind against the stage as she pushes up to full point, one leg extended behind her as she dips forward on an exhale. Her pointed foot shoots impossibly high. Yeah, Chanyeol would break his nose trying to do that. The music picks up again, pushing towards the finale where Taeyeon whips into a string of one legged spins. She finishes the last turn on a balance and the lights cut. The applause explodes in a surge.

“What’s... her name again?” Minseok’s soft breath tickles Chanyeol’s cheek.

“Taeyeon noona.”

“Taeyeon noona? You know her?” Minseok squeaks and Chanyeol’s palm finds his chin in the dark to face him forwards again.

“Shut up and watch the show, hyung. Plenty of time of time for introductions and fanboying later!” Minseok kicks his heel into Chanyeol’s shin, but Chanyeol probably deserved that. He doesn’t care, because Jongin’s on stage next.

It’s just the company ensemble piece, set to some ambient classical music that’s nothing striking but sounds familiar. Jongin doesn’t feature in this one, simply assisting in some partnering and posing in the back, but Chanyeol’s gaze is drawn to his lithe form even when he has to crane his neck to keep Jongin in sight.

Jongin’s eyes are even darker on stage. Maybe that’s the makeup, but Chanyeol can’t look away from the smolder of his eyes under the hot lights. Jongin’s not shy on stage, that’s for sure.

Yixing finds them at intermission. He’s dragging Jongdae behind him. Minseok and Chanyeol haven’t attempted to move, trapped in the middle of their row, but Yixing slips into the vacated row in front of them and curls over the back of the seat he’s kneeling on.

“Where’s Kris?” Minseok is rubbing his eyelids and Jongdae muffles a yawn into the hood of his sweatshirt.

“He knocked out on the kitchen table after his last final. He’s probably still there, snoring.” Yixing shrugs and pushes messy waves out of his eyes. He looks tired too, and his lips are chapped. Chanyeol’s still thrumming with the thrill of the performance or he would have crashed on Minseok’s shoulder an hour ago. He vaguely wonders how Luhan’s doing. It’s been a few days since they talked.

Minseok and Yixing are chatting as Yixing fingers the split ends of Chanyeol’s wilting perm. Jongdae’s texting, his jaw hanging slack with fatigue. Chanyeol pulls out his phone and opens kakao to type out a message, but the short string of characters from his last unanswered text taunt him: Miss you.

Chanyeol pockets his phone and stands to stretch, Yixing’s hand falling from his hair. “We should go sit back down,” Jongdae says, looking up from his phone. Yixing gives Minseok’s gelled hair a hasty ruffle and waves at Chanyeol as Jongdae drags him away.

“Aissh! Zhang Yixing!” Minseok moans, trying to check the back of his hair in the reflection of his phone screen as the lights flash once in warning and then fall.

“Shh, hyung, you look beautiful!” Chanyeol whispers and taps a finger to his lips. Minseok snaps at him but shuts up and Chanyeol is grateful because he doesn’t want to miss a second of the intro to Jongin’s piece.

Technically it’s Jongin and Sehun’s small group piece, but Jongin did the choreo for most of it so Chanyeol feels justified in calling it Jongin’s, at least in his head. The first streaks of cello smear across his ears before the lights slowly rise, a yellow green filter over the backlighting as fog starts to creep from the wings in slow tendrils, then thick curls. Jongin enters first, his legs stretching in wide, springing turns to the sped up symphonic track layered with a grunge beat. Sehun moonwalks in to the wail of a clarinet, colliding with Jongin as sharp snare beats explode static through the speakers.

The tangled limbs on stage give an exaggerated jerk and freeze on a syncopated phrase. Chanyeol’s breath catches likes his lungs are pressed into the floor beneath the palm Sehun’s balancing all his weight on. Sehun’s sneakers kick to the floor and Jongin flails forward, head banging as Sehun backflips into the shriek of a saxophone.

The choreo is all over the place, thrusting elbows and turns suddenly reversing direction. Jongin and Sehun clash and slide in sync across the stage as the xylophone skips octaves and sharp brass blares into hollow woodwind trills. The pressure of the decibels forcing through the speakers spasms as the percussion on the original track picks up in dissonance to the fast urban beat. Chanyeol’s heart pounds against the membrane of his eardrums as everything inside him, and in the room, swells into a tide of bright noise, Jongin vaulting over the sharp angle of Sehun’s jerking shoulders and somersaulting to the very edge of the stage.

Chanyeol can see the sweat drip from Jongin’s thick fringe for a second before the spotlights cut. His silhouette slashes half a windmill and dives in a surging crawl to Sehun’s frozen outline. Sehun catches him around the waist as Jongin’s leg slices into arabesque and they both swoop forward into the hold, Jongin’s arms releasing the last pulsing breaths of music like swallow’s wings.

They’re both grinning as the lights flash up and they bow, Sehun’s long white arm still wound tightly above Jongin’s hips. Jongin raises their clasped hands and Chanyeol’s whistle pierces the hoarse cheers from the crowd as they run into the wings.

“Well, that was weird!” Minseok whispers as they’re sinking back into their seats. Chanyeol’s ears throb with echoes of the rough bass line and his ass catches on the edge of his chair. Minseok pushes the seat down for him as he tries again to sit and this time succeeds.

“Weird, but awesome!” Chanyeol says, wriggling his bruised hip away from the armrest and this time it’s Minseok that hushes him, Taeyeon already stepping onto the dark stage with stiff pointes and the faint rustle of tutu netting.

Taeyeon flutters her Spanish lace fan and her sharp footwork starts to blur. Chanyeol closes his eyes as she tosses away the fan and begins the next variation. The music for this one is slower. Chanyeol’s head slides onto Minseok’s shoulder. He shifts under the weight but doesn’t push Chanyeol away.

Rough hands yank on back of his collar and Chanyeol jerks upright, wincing at the bright glare overhead as his knee crashes into an armrest and his elbow catches Minseok in the rib. He blinks, and there is Jongin crowding into the end of their row through the milling crowd, his eyes almost disappearing into the twist of his grin.

Yixing presses a bouquet of roses into Jongin’s arms and Jongin is laughing, wiping at the sweat beading his eyebrows. His hand comes away wet with the pink sludge of melted makeup and Jongdae shrieks as Jongin tries to wipe it on him.

“You were awesome, kid!” Minseok reaches across Chanyeol to shove at Jongin’s shoulder. “Ah, so gross!” Minseok’s face screws up and he shakes his hand like the sweat soaking Jongin’s blousy shirt burned him. Chanyeol blinks again, realizing he must have slept through the last number, another company piece Jongin helped Krystal and their professor set. Yixing pulls him out of his seat and Minseok crowds him into the aisle.

“Hey, twerp!” Jongin’s eyes flash up to meet Chanyeol’s and fuck, they are still so dark, like midnight ocean. It must be the makeup. “You--”

“Kim Jongin!” Jongin twists into the touch of a hand cupping his neck. “Why are still--oh hey, guys!” Chanyeol swallows thickly and waves at Taeyeon.

“Hey, noona!” Her legs are bare under her slinky black dress and her makeup’s been expertly touched up, if still a little heavy around the eyes.

“Yixing, brat!” She pats Yixing’s shoulder and raps her knuckles against the brim of Jongdae’ backwards baseball cap in greeting. “How’d you all like the show?”

“Amazing!” Minseok says. He’s nodding his head like a holiday nutcracker, minus the whiskers. “You guys get better every performance!”

“That’s the goal, anyway!” Taeyeon laughs, eyes crinkling up and sparkling at him. Jongdae stamps on Minseok’s foot and he stops nodding. “Hey, you’re Kim Minseok, right?”

“Yes?” Minseok gapes at her and her shoulders flutter, a slight flush tingeing her foundation a soft rose.

“From Art History with Dr. Lin, right?” Minseok nods, twice. “How did the final go? I mean, maybe we could talk about it later?” Taeyeon shrugs her left shoulder a little, an awkward ripple that slides the strap of her dance bag up the slope towards her neck.

“Oh, ok!” Minseok beams and Chanyeol clamps a hand over his mouth to smother a loud giggle at Jongdae’s silent gagging motions.

“This guy has my number!” She pokes Yixing in the temple and flutters her mascara caked eyelashes. “Anyway!” She turns back to Jongin. “You! Go change! We’re heading out soon, meet in the lobby.” She nudges Jongin towards the stage doors and flashes one last smile at Minseok. “Bye guys!”

Chanyeol and Jongin both burst out laughing, probably before Taeyeon is out of hearing distance, but it doesn’t really matter in the noisy auditorium. Minseok glares loudly and Jongin leans into Chanyeol, catching his breath.

“I really do need to go change, so they can lock up. Thanks for coming though, guys!” Yixing wraps octopus arms around Jongin, nuzzling into his sweaty hair, and Jongdae salutes with his crooked cap.

“And--!”

“Anything for you, magnae!” Jongdae crows, cutting off Chanyeol.

“Shut up, noona!” Jongin rolls his eyes but he’s not really mad, Chanyeol can tell. “You guys headed home, or…?” He slowly pulls out of Yixing’s embrace.

“I don’t know about them, but I’m headed straight to bed!” Minseok says, knocking his forehead into Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“You mean after you wake up Kris and scream about the hot date you just scored?” Minseok smacks Jongdae’s shoulder.

“I don’t scream.”

“Oh yeah? What about that black widow that got loose at the--”

“Kim--Jong--Iiiiiiin!” Sehun’s leaning around the frame of the nearest stage door, his messy blond hair quivering as he bellows. His voice is deeper than Chanyeol would have guessed, but not as deep as his own, he realizes with a curl of satisfaction in his chest.

“Sorry! Coming!” Jongin hollers back. “Uh, see you guys later, I guess! Maybe after break, huh?”

“I’ll bring you back lots of candy from my grandma!” Yixing waves, already slipping up the emptying aisle towards the lobby.

“Bye!” Chanyeol waves too.

“Hey, wait for me out front?” Jongin says just low enough for him to hear, catching his fingers in the cuff of Chanyeol’s coat. “I’ll be quick, I promise!” Before Chanyeol can answer he dashes towards Sehun, who is still fidgeting in the far doorway.

Minseok gives him a side glance as they follow Yixing out but Chanyeol just shrugs, looking back to check on Jongdae who’s trailing them by several meters. He’s trying to text and walk again, a dangerous pastime Chanyeol gave up on mastering long ago after an embarrassing accident involving gelato and someone else’s dry cleaning that no one is allowed to mention on pain of death by tickling.

Yixing peaces out before Jongdae makes it up the stairs. Minseok waits by the velvet roping outside the door, tapping his key ring against his leg. “Finally!” he growls, grabbing Jongdae by his hood so he doesn’t walk straight into a support pillar. “Come on, I’ll give you both a ride.”

“I’m... gonna wait.” Chanyeol jerks a thumb towards the emptying auditorium. A student in a black uniform polo is sweeping between the rows of chairs and the set drops are being lowered up on stage. “You guys go ahead!”

“You have another exam tomorrow.” Chanyeol swallows, ignoring Minseok’s frown.

“At like, 2 PM hyung! I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, but don’t stay out too late. And no alcohol!” Chanyeol laughs and waves them out the door. Jongdae’s whine about the stiff breeze is cut short by the door slamming shut and suddenly the crowded lobby feels all too empty. Chanyeol feels exposed, towering over a shelf of playbills next to somebody’s grandmother who is holding a whimpering toddler by the hand.

A group of performers is gathering by the far door, Taemin and Sunny and a few other others Chanyeol recognizes but has never really talked to. A few of them glance over at him but no one smiles or waves, too busy laughing and jostling through the performance high to really notice him. Chanyeol feels awkward anyway, wiggling his baby toes in his dress shoes that are beginning to pinch. Tiny chipmunk feet of unease are clambering up the rungs of his ribs like a ladder.

A young woman comes out of the bathroom with a little boy propped on her hip. He’s slumped against her chest and drooling into the fluffy cowl of her sweater dress. “Come on, baby girl!” She waves at the toddler. “Let’s go!” The old woman starts shuffling to the door, the little girl fisting her eyes as she stumbles after.

Chanyeol shivers in the draft that surges in as they exit. A tiny rodent paw slips on his lower vertebral rib and dips into his gut, twisting claws into his small intestines. He pulls out his phone, swiping idly through the rows of apps. He wishes Jongin would hurry up. He wishes he had thought to bring flowers like Yixing. He wishes he knew why Jongin asked him to stay, him specifically. Sure, they haven’t talked much in the last few days but Yixing’s the one who’s going home for break and--

“Hyung!” Jongin’s arms snake around his waist from behind and Chanyeol almost capsizes the pressboard shelf of fliers as he stumbles.

“Hey, Jongie! Wh--”

“Jongin!” Jongin drops his arms to answer Minho’s wave. “Ready to go?”

“Sorry, hyung!” Jongin tips his head into Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Some people have exams tomorrow, can’t show up hungover!”

“Awww! Jonginnie!” Hyoyeon whines, her voice shrill all the way across the lobby, and Chanyeol’s glad they’re not joining the group for drinks. He can already tell Hyoyeon will get obnoxious after two shots of cheap soju, if not after one.

“Next time!” Jongin waves again as the group stumbles out the doors and turns to link his arm in Chanyeol’s. “Let’s go, Hyung!”

“Go where? Are you sure you don’t want to join them? Taemin and noona and--”

“Nope!” Jongin’s grinning, even though he’ll be whining louder than Jongdae as soon as they step out into the wind. “Not unless you want to?”

“Do you have a final tomorrow? You didn’t tell me about that one!” Chanyeol tries not to frown but he’s exhausted and confused and there’s still a niggle of anxiety along the grooves of his rib cage.

“I don’t,” Jongin yawns, looping his scarf under his chin, “but you do.”

“Oh.”

“So, ice cream?”

“Is something…” Chanyeol wants to ask if something’s wrong, if Jongin tried to get him alone to tell him something he... Chanyeol doesn’t know what kind of something, but the words aren’t coming out anyway.

“We just haven’t hung out at all this week.” Jongin pushes open the door and gasps at the dry gust that stings Chanyeol’s eyes. “Not unless you count rehearsal, so…”

“Aww!” Chanyeol coos, leaning in to rub his thumbs across Jongin’s cheekbones. “Did someone miss me~?”

“Cut it out!” Jongin twists away, letting the door slam shut behind them, but he’s laughing and Chanyeol realizes it’s a sound he’s missed this week of quiet library hours and quiet exam halls and noisy auditoriums. Something warm bursts in his chest and bubbles out in a steamy cloud of laughter, the restless patter of rodent feet finally stilling. Chanyeol grabs the fringe of Jongin’s scarf and charges down the hill to the corner crosswalk.

“Hurry up, before they close! I want my ice cream!”

On Saturday Chanyeol goes into hibernation mode as soon as he gets back from his last exam. He turns up the ondol and puts on the fuzzy pink socks Yura gave him for his birthday and rolls himself in every blanket he owns.

On Sunday Chanyeol wakes up half on his bed, half on the floor with a headache that might as well be a hangover. He squints at his phone. One missed call from Baekhyun, two minutes ago. No new messages from Luhan. He dials Baekhyun.

“Hey!”

“You woke me up, jerk, I was hibernating,” Chanyeol moans, even though he’s just slept for almost twenty hours straight. Baekhyun doesn’t need to know that part.

“Pssh, you must be all caught up, or just about, or even my ringtone wouldn’t have roused you!” Baekhyun’s personalized ringtone on Chanyeol’s phone is that super annoying chicken dance song, complete with rooster crows in the background. Baekhyun picked it out himself. Chanyeol cringes with horrific chills of nostalgia every time he calls.

“You’re coming back to Seoul today, right? Or did I sleep until Monday?”

“No, it’s still Sunday, you curly haired brickhead! And yes, today. I’m already on the train!”

“When do I--” Chanyeol’s throat catches and he coughs hoarsely before trying again. “When do I get to see you? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

“Eh, I have to have dinner with Yoona’s parents tonight.” Baekhyun’s pulling the zipper on the front of his sweater up and down, up and down. Chanyeol can hear the teeth catching in the metallic slide.

“Oh. And I forgot I have class tomorrow, I don’t know how late I’ll be on campus…” Chanyeol huffs into his pillow and wrinkles his nose. He needs to brush his teeth. “Oh! I totally forgot! Tuesday we don’t have class, but I have to go to the National Museum, check out some pottery. You wanna come with?”

“But Tuesday’s Christmas, Yeol.”

“I know…” Chanyeol’s parents have some benefit concert thing and Yura’s performing out in Gyeonggi-do.

“I have a date. With Yoona.” Baekhyun coughs and it rasps in Chanyeol’s ear.

“Oh, right. Well…” Chanyeol tugs on a fistful of hair, hoping it will coax his brain back into business. “Well, just call me when you’re free, I guess. I’m supposed to go home for New Year’s, but it’s flexible.”

“Ok, Park! See ya soon!” The line crackles, like Baekhyun dropped his phone into a bag of shrimp crackers, and then cuts. Chanyeol moans and buries his face in the nearest corner of blanket. Christmas. Fuck.

Chanyeol tries to tell himself it wouldn’t be so bad, going to a museum alone, since it’s for an assignment after all. But Chanyeol knows that browsing exhibits is generally a couple activity, unless you happen to be a grade school student or parent chaperone on a class tour, and Chanyeol also knows for a fact that no schools are in session on the 25th.

That means Chanyeol will be walking straight into Lovey Dovey Zone on the biggest romantic holiday of the year excepting Valentine’s, unarmed and alone and very, very vulnerable. It makes him slightly sick just thinking about it. He can already picture several awkward scenarios if he were to run into someone he knows, out on a date, and just no. Not happening.

Since he can’t drag Luhan with him, Chanyeol’s options are rather limited. Baekhyun and Minseok both have dates, Kris and Yixing are out of the country for the next few weeks, and Kyungsoo is watering hanging plants and making radish kimchi at his aunt’s. That leaves Jongin and Jongdae. Jongin might come along if free food was involved, but Chanyeol hadn’t even seen him yesterday when he went looking for him in the studio. Most of the company dancers still have daily classes, break or no break, but only Sehun had been around yesterday to inform Chanyeol that the ballet people were off campus for some special master class.

So here Chanyeol is at the library on Christmas Eve, languishing on a hard chair in the back of the reference section and barricaded behind a wall of thick color catalogues. He’s spent all morning sifting through page after page of incense burners and urns and water jars, and oh--most exciting of all!--the unidentified fragments section in the back of The Complete Illustrated Guide to Gaya Artifacts. Chanyeol is dateless, friendless, and silently suffering from a ceramics induced headache. It’s not even 2 PM on the 24th and Chanyeol already hates Christmas.

“Chanyeol hyung?”

Chanyeol jerks at the breathy whisper, his elbow knocking the Illustrated Guide to the floor. It lands on the threadbare carpet with a thud. An invisible miasma of ancient dust tickles Chanyeol’s nostrils and someone coughs.

“Jonginnie? What are you doing here?” Chanyeol says, then sneezes.

“That’s what I was gonna ask you! You’re a hard man to find, Park Chanyeol.” Jongin slings his backpack onto the chair opposite Chanyeol’s and folds his arms across his chest.

“Not really!” Chanyeol is wearing a red sweatshirt with a broken zipper that jingles, has on his old, squeaky sneakers, and he can’t even cry quietly.

“I had to call and interrupt Minseokkie hyung’s date to know where to come find you!” Jongin makes quote marks in the air with his fingers, then sinks them into the hand warmer on the front of his hoodie.

“I thought his date was tomorrow.”

“Well, apparently he has two.” Jongin snorts.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Chanyeol tries to sound nonchalant, fingering the cracking binding of Joseon National Treasures: Porcelain Edition. Maybe if he introduces his proposal by starting with restaurant names, Jongin will be so focused on the prospect of food he won’t even notice the word “museum” in there.

“Nothing.” Jongin drops his gaze to the floor. His fingers worm inside his pocket. “That’s why I came to find you. Minseok hyung said something about a field trip?”

“Huh?” The stitching in the left corner of Jongin’s front pocket is coming loose, and there’s a tiny hole just above.

“The National Museum?” Jongin looks up again and his cheeks are tinged with pink. He’s wearing too many clothes under his jacket again; he must have just come from class.

“Oh, yeah. Why, did you want to come?” Chanyeol unzips his jacket and fans himself with the hem of his shirt. Just watching Jongin sweat in this stale air is making him uncomfortably warm.

“Well, I don’t have anything else going on.”

“You don’t have rehearsal?” Chanyeol starts rearranging the stacks of books in front of him, in no particular order.

“Not on Christmas.” Jongin licks his lips, kicks at the table leg. “So if you wanted... company…”

“One National Museum ticket! Sold! To the dongsaeng in the holey sweatshirt!” Chanyeol slams a heavy catalogue shut with his fist.

“The museum is free, hyung. And my clothes do not have hooooles!” Jongin whines, dragging his feet against the carpet.

“Then what do you call this? Huh?” Chanyeol wiggles his finger through the gap above the pocket, tickling Jongin’s tummy through his T-shirt.

“H-hey! Stop it!” Jongin laughs, his breath hitching as he writhes away. Chanyeol stands to grab his bag, sucking in his gut to squeeze out of the corner.

“Did you have lunch?”

“No, but I gotta run, my sister’s in town.” Chanyeol nods, turning his phone in his jeans pocket. “But I’ll see you tomorrow? In Yongsan?”

“Ok.” Chanyeol swallows, his throat all dry from the heater. “Tomorrow at 10:00?”

“You have yourself a date!” Jongin winks, flipping his thick shock of hair back from his forehead and matching Chanyeol’s eager grin with a lazy one.

Chanyeol sits back down to read through comparisons of kiln structures but his head feels much better now. So does his heart, maybe.

Chanyeol gets to the museum early, like twenty minutes early, so he takes his time walking through the grounds, past the reflection pool and up the wide granite stairs to the glass bubble of the front entrance. It’s windy and starting to blow fine needles of ice so Chanyeol pushes through the side door to wait on the steps inside.

As expected, almost no one else enters the museum alone while Chanyeol watches anxiously from the side. Most of the visitors wander in in pairs, women Taeyeon noona’s age in collared jackets, fluffy skirts, and heeled boots prancing by with boyfriends in ugly snowflake sweaters and plaid scarves, or high school kids in matching outfits of ripped jeans and flannel button downs. A few couples are pushing strollers or dragging an older child along by the arm, but no one lingers in the entryway, just strolls by Chanyeol with a brief glance or none at all.

Chanyeol checks the time on his phone. Jongin’s a bit late, but that’s not unusual. He considers texting Jongin just to make sure he’s out of bed and on the way, but settles for sending a message to Luhan.

Merry christmas hyung! <3 !

Hope youre stayng warm thinking of me~!

He slides his phone into the front of his coat and pokes at the tiny hole in the corner of the pocket. He wonders if Jongin’s wearing his sweater with the matching tiny hole. He wonders what Luhan’s doing on Christmas Eve and if his pajamas are warm enough for the New York winter. He wonders if Yura remembered her gloves for the outdoor show she’s play--

“Hey!”

Jongin waves at Chanyeol as he steps out of the rotating door. Underneath his puffy black coat Chanyeol can see the hood of his holey brown sweatshirt bunched around his neck. Jongin’s hair is a mess, like he rolled straight out of bed and walked to the subway station in his pjs. Chanyeol smiles faintly, then wider as Jongin bounds up the short stretch of stairs to tackle him in a tight hug.

“I thought you would never get here, brat! Do you know how late you are?”

“Only seven minutes, I think.” Jongin frowns, a thick lock of hair sliding into his eyes. Chanyeol pushes it back with a sweep of his thumb. Jongin bites his lip and ducks his head to dig around in his shoulder bag.

“Did you eat? You want a banana?” Chanyeol looks down at the yellow peel in Jongin’s brown hand. He licks his teeth and tastes soft banana, half chewed grains of rice, and sour stomach acid.

“I’m good! You better put that away before we get kicked out for harboring prohibited items!” Jongin rolls his eyes but slips his breakfast back into his bag. Chanyeol gives the bulging canvas tote a pat and heads for the information desk at the bottom of the stairs. He needs a signature from one of the docents on his proof of attendance slip. The woman behind the desk smiles at him in her navy uniform vest and hands Chanyeol a map before pulling out a pen to initial his paper.

“Hyung! Take my picture?” Chanyeol turns to see Jongin balancing on the stairs, waving with his phone. Chanyeol opens the camera app on his own phone just in time to capture Jongin’s gape of terror as he plunges off the edge of the top step. Chanyeol laughs as Jongin rises all red in the face and especially the ears because he knows Jongin’s not hurt, just mortified. Jongin pales a grayish white when something really hurts, like the tight pull of his strained back muscles after a long rehearsal.

Jongin scans the atrium to make sure no one witnessed his humiliation before slinking over to the counter to tuck his chin over Chanyeol’s shoulder. He’s got a few centimeters on Luhan, but somehow he fits right into Chanyeol’s side with the same familiar press.

“Hey, is your banana ok?” Chanyeol bumps their hips together.

“Fuck you!” Jongin groans, his breath hot in Chanyeol’s ear, before ducking his head in further embarrassment when he notices the smiling lady behind the counter. Chanyeol giggles, accepting the paper from her with a slight bow. She nods and straightens two white plastic plaques propped on counter advertising translation services available in English and Chinese. Chanyeol swallows down the sticky sourness that clings to his throat.

“Let’s go, I think the ceramics are on the third floor!” Chanyeol points up the stairs and Jongin nods.

“Did you at least get a good picture?” he whines, his forehead still pressed into the thick wool of Chanyeol’s coat.

“Yup!” Chanyeol grins, remembering Jongin’s ridiculously distorted face immortalized forever by the lens of his Galaxy. He pats his phone in his coat pocket and opens the spiral bound notebook tucked under his arm. He has to take “general observation notes” on a few of the pieces mentioned in their course text.

It doesn’t take them long to locate the ceramics on his worksheet. Chanyeol hurries to jot down the specifics from the informational cards in each display window, worried Jongin will get bored. Jongin fidgets a little, tugging at his zipper or the fringe edging Chanyeol’s muffler, but he narrows his eyes attentively whenever Chanyeol comments on a particularly interesting feature of an artifact.

In fact, Jongin proves to be such a captive audience that Chanyeol’s rambling has turned into a full blown tour by the time they exit the white porcelains room and end up in a gallery of buncheongsagi, an older couple examining a corner display turning to listen to Chanyeol’s enthusiastic narration.

“So why aren’t these considered white porcelain? They sure look white to me.” Jongin leans forward to blink at a drinking cup with a fluted lip.

“But buncheong isn’t made with porcelain at all! See?” Chanyeol gestures to a carefully pieced together vase in the next case. A few chunks of the slender neck are missing and the fired clay beneath the outer decorations is visible along the seams. “See where the glaze is cracking? The base material is that coarse gray stuff, not porcelain, right?” Jongin nods, his hair slipping into his eyes again. “The outer color is achieved by applying white slip before the glaze, and some of the pieces end up looking more gray than white.”

“White slip? Like how they glazed those green ones?” Jongin points back towards an alcove housing Buddhist ceremonial dishes from the Goryeo dynasty.

“Like the celadon, yeah,” Chanyeol nods. “Buncheong is basically the less refined version of that same technique.”

“So celadon was for royalty and this stuff was for commoners?” Jongin slides his bottom lip through his teeth until it blushes red, his gaze intent on Chanyeol as he questions.

“Actually no! Buncheong ware was used by members of all social classes, and a large percentage of it was manufactured for use by government officials. You see that stamp there, on that serving dish?” Chanyeol points to a large bowl with curling floral designs traced over the white in dark iron oxide. Jongin nods.

“Is that someone’s name? The owner’s?”

“Yup! How’d you get so smart, dongsaeng?” Chanyeol reaches up to ruffle his hair but Jongin slips under his arm, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as he crosses the room with a split-legged leap. Chanyeol laughs and the ahjumma next to him smiles indulgently before taking her husband’s arm to guide him into the next room. Chanyeol wipes his mouth on his sleeve and moves on to admire a fat, short-necked vessel as Jongin drifts back to his side.

“That one looks like an aspirin tablet, one of the long ones!”

“Hehe, you’re right!” Technically it’s supposed to be the shape of a rice bale, but Chanyeol likes Jongin’s analogy better. “It’s a weird shape, but see how clear the color contrast is? Some later pieces like this were dipped in white slip, completely submerged to get that even coating.” Jongin nods, his breath fogging the glass as he yawns.

“I still think the green ones are prettier.”

“Manufacturers switched to buncheong out of necessity. During the Mongol invasion the ceramics industry had to focus on production rather than aesthetic, so this less time intensive process was developed. Did you know some of these pots are actually older pieces recycled with a buncheong style glaze?” Chanyeol turns in a circle on his heel, craning over his shoulder to locate Jongin. He’s slumped against the wall between two smaller display cases, his shoulders massaging the white paint as they shake in silent laughter. “What?” Chanyeol pouts, his lower lip curling.

“‘Aesthetic’? ‘Time intensive process’?” Jongin kicks the baseboard and hoots. “Hyung! You sound like a textbook, or a really stuffy old tour guide!”

“Shut up!” Chanyeol growls, his voice wavering on a note of laughter.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re actually enjoying this class!” Jongin smirks and Chanyeol can feel his face heating up. He unbuttons the collar of his coat, then undoes all the rest and shrugs off the damp wool.

“Does that mean you’re bored? Ready for lunch?”

“Do I look bored?” Jongin pushes off the wall, his gaze locked in Chanyeol’s as he advances. “It’s really nice to see you happy for once.”

“What?” Chanyeol fumbles with the loose knot of his muffler as Jongin comes to a stop in front of him, the tips of their sneakers barely touching at the toes. “Happy? Am I?”

“Yesss,” Jongin nods slowly, his smug grin relaxing into a tiny smile. Tiny like the hole in his sweatshirt. Tiny like the matching hole in Chanyeol’s coat pocket. Tiny like--

“Haven’t you been enjoying today? Enjoying all this?” Jongin unfurls his arm in a wide sweep around the room, curling back his wrist to finish with a wave between their chests.

“Yeah, I guess so. Huh.” Chanyeol steps back. His fingers are all tangled in the fringe of his scarf still tied around his neck and his other fingers are scraping the seam of his coat pocket, picking at the tiny, growing hole.

“Me too!” Jongin grins and tugs on the strings of his hoodie, crossing the fraying ties in a loose knot. “But if you’re hungry, I’d be willing to keep you company at lunch somewhere. As long as we eat at a chicken restaurant.”

“You little--!” Chanyeol makes a wide swing at Jongin’s head and he backs into the wall, laughing. Chanyeol tugs him up by the coat sleeve, the padded nylon slick in his sweaty fingers. “Come on, you! Chicken it is then.”

“Thanks for the tour, Ahjusshi~!”

“Aissh, you--!” Chanyeol clicks his tongue and hurries down the stairs, three at a time. At the bottom he turns back to make sure Jongin is in no danger of tumbling again as he follows, and doesn’t even notice the other museum patrons, or their partners.

The lady at the information desk smiles at them on their out the door and Chanyeol bestows her with his most charming grin, just because it’s Christmas. Jongin is right, he does feel happy. And chicken sounds just about perfect for today.

On Wednesday Chanyeol wakes up to a message from Luhan: Get online. Chanyeol chuckles at the terse request and drags himself up with a groan. His phone buzzes again twice while he’s waiting for his desktop to load. Yeollie hurry up! Plzz.

Chanyeol logs in and gets an incoming call before all of the entries on his contacts list have a chance to load. It’s from an unknown number, the unfamiliar string of digits scrolling across his screen sending a pang of worry through his empty stomach. A chipmunk is gnawing on his ribcage and his brain is still foggy with wisps of unresolved dreams but he answers anyway.

“Chanyeol?” It’s Luhan, his voice husky and kind of out of breath, like he’s climbing stairs or talking into the wind.

“Hyung! Wh--”

“Chanyeol! Hi! I’m calling your Skype from my phone! Isn’t that awesome? Did you know you could do that?”

“Uh, yeah?” Chanyeol swallows a yawn. “Where’s your computer? Is something--”

“Chanyeol! Chanyeol guess what!”

“Santa brought you a pony for Christmas?” Chanyeol croaks. Luhan laughs, and Chanyeol’s internal rodent immediately curls up and goes to sleep.

“No, doofus! Where would I even keep a pony?” The line crackles a little but the lilt of Luhan’s voice is lovely regardless.

“Santa brought you a unicorn?”

“No! I’m in LA!” Luhan blurts, tremors of excitement bleeding into his voice. “We got a grant to do research! Isn’t that awesome? But I was on a plane yesterday, and then my phone died and I thought I lost my charger at the airport, so sorry I couldn’t call last night!”

“It’s ok,” Chanyeol says, and means it. “I went to bed early anyway.”

“Agh! Bed! You should feel how soft the huge fluffy bed is at our hotel here! I wish I could spend all week in it but I probably won’t get much sleep. Because, research!” Luhan giggles and Chanyeol giggles too. He’s missed excited Luhan.

“Research?” Chanyeol flexes his toes inside his fuzzy socks. “You mean running around in the streets taking selcas with graffiti?”

“Taking selcas with street art, Chanyeol! The official term is street art.”

“Street art, got it.” Chanyeol swallows around the dry lump in his throat. His glass is on the other side of the room, tauntingly full of cool water on the edge of the sink. “LA, huh? Isn’t that dangerous? Or do drive by shootings take off for the holidays, too?”

“I’ve been in America for four months now and I’ve never once seen a gun,” Luhan groans. “You sound like my mom! Don’t worry, stupid. We’ll be careful.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Chanyeol makes sure to keep his voice even and his tone light.

“Oh, me and Amber, didn’t I already say?”

“No.”

“She came along as my tour guide!” Luhan clears his throat with another light cough. “She’s from LA, you know, so she and her cousin are my official tour guides!”

“Great! I’m glad someone’s taking care of my idiot in my absence~!” Chanyeol teases and Luhan scoffs at having his own cheese quoted back at him.

“Well, we’re on the way to dinner now, but I can call you again from the hotel in a few hours. You know, with video.” Chanyeol groans and kicks at his comforter.

“I miss your face, hyung, I really do, but I have class. Don’t tempt me to skip it!”

“Oh,” Luhan says. “Oh yeah, I sort of forgot. How’s that going, bt dubs?”

“Good?” Chanyeol scratches his cheek where his rumpled pillowcase left indents while he slept. “I mean it’s not bad, for a super boring history class.”

“You got lucky, huh?” Luhan drawls. Underneath all the excitement he sounds kind of tired. Is LA far enough from New York to cause jet lag? Chanyeol can’t remember this early in the morning. “Why did you sign up for that class, anyway? If you’ve developed a sudden interest in ceramics, a hands on pottery making class sounds more your style.”

“Eheh! I’m not so sure of that!” Chanyeol winces, remembering the misshapen heap of coiled clay he tried to pass off as a vase in his middle school art class. He’s lucky they didn’t assign grades back in kindergarten, or he would have failed Intro to Playdough, too.

“Oh hey! We’re almost to the restaurant now, I should go.”

“Aww! Ok,” Chanyeol sighs. His face still itches. “Thanks for calling, hyung! Don’t forget to send me a Disney World magnet!”

“It’s Disneyland, dumbass!” Luhan snorts. “Disney World’s in Florida. Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because I’m amazing and you loooove me!”

“You wish! Oh, hang on Yeol.” The wind crackles through the speakers and Luhan says something in Mandarin. The only part Chanyeol catches is Amber’s name.

“Hey, uh, Merry Christmas!” someone says. It’s a girl’s voice, but it’s not much higher than Luhan’s.

“Uh, me too? You too?” Chanyeol fumbles in clumsy tongued English, blushing when Amber laughs and says a quick goodbye.

“Hanging up now!” Luhan says over a gust of wind -- or maybe it’s traffic noises, come to think of it. “Don’t be late for class!”

“Ok, bye!”

After Luhan hangs up Chanyeol showers, buttons on his coat, and goes to class. And then he heads to the studio to wait for Jongin, as per usual. That’s pretty much how the rest of the week goes.

“So are you officially moving into the lobby as soon as your lease is up?” Krystal teases when she catches Chanyeol napping on the patchy orange sofa for the third day in a row. It’s Friday, and he has to go home soon for the holiday on Monday. “We should make you our little mascot or something, put you in the corner of our next playbill!”

Chanyeol laughs nervously and rubs a hand through his hair. It’s probably sticking up at odd angles. The velveteen upholstery makes it all staticy and he really needs a haircut. Yura’s probably going to yell at him and drag him to her salon next week, if she doesn’t chase him around the kitchen with a pair of scissors threatening to do it herself.

“He’s not little, noona.” Jongin strolls around the corner with his arms folded across the strap of his shoulder bag. His hair is sweaty and tousled and matches Chanyeol’s. “Did you forget what twenty centimeters looks like? ‘Cause that’s how much he’s got on you!”

“Only 18!” Krystal snarls, then snaps her jaw shut and rolls her eyes like she doesn’t care. “Scoot over, Park.” She kicks at the cracking leather of his boot. “At least share the sofa while I wait for Taeyeon unni!”

“Sorry!” Chanyeol slides to the left and leans over the armrest in search of his hat. It’s on the floor, just out of reach.

“Is noona past her curfew on her date with Minseok hyung?” Jongin waggles his eyebrows and kicks Chanyeol’s hat further out of reach. The brim hits the radiator pipe and spins to a stop, the LA Dodgers logo obscured in shadow.

“Ugh! Young love is so disgusting these days!” Krystal shivers her shoulders.

“Tell me about it!” Jongin moans. He’s the one who gets stuck listening to Minseok’s romantic highs and lows while Yixing’s out of town.

“Jongie!” Chanyeol whines in the back of his throat and makes grabby hands at his hat. Jongin ignores him but leans his hip into Chanyeol’s shoulder, scratching his fingertips into Chanyeol’s messy hair.

“Ick! You two are just as bad!” Krystal complains, scooting all the way to the far armrest. “Chanyeol’s here more than Minseok oppa. You guys might as well be dating.” She taps her nails against her bedazzled phone case. Jongin’s fingers still on Chanyeol’s scalp.

“But Chanyeol hyung is…” Chanyeol’s gaze cuts from Krystal’s bored yawn to Jongin’s profile, but Jongin’s already distracted with something on his phone.

“I do love Jonginnie, but I’m already spoken for!” Chanyeol laughs and wriggles on the saggy cushion. His left foot’s all tingly from falling asleep.

“Just sayin’.” Krystal crosses her legs and jiggles her loosely tied hi-top on her skinny ankle. “Don’t get all bent out of shape.”

“Come on hyung, you ready?” Jongin pockets his phone and stoops to retrieve the hat. He plops it on Chanyeol’s head, brim to the side, and the band pushes Chanyeol’s overgrown fringe down over his eyes like an itchy blindfold.

“Uh huh!” Chanyeol tips his head back and bares his teeth at the ceiling in a gasping yawn.

“Eww! Get your fat butts out of here and don’t come back ‘til Tuesday!” Krystal waves them off with a derisive flick of her long purple fingernails.

“What’s on Tuesday?” Chanyeol mumbles to Jongin as they stumble to the door. Chanyeol’s left foot is still half asleep in his boot.

“I dunno.” Jongin rolls his shoulders in a fluid shrug as he adjusts the hang of his bag. “It’s noona’s new catchphrase, don’t ask what her nonsense is supposed to mean.” He flashes her a smug grin over his shoulder as he tugs Chanyeol’s muffler into place. “You should wear a warmer hat when it’s this cold out!” Jongin taps the brim with two fingers, ignoring Krystal’s shriek of indignation as the glass door swings shut behind them.

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