UPSIDE FORWARD for RISEANDRAIN [7/7]
The guilt hits him in the middle of his physical chemistry class. He’s daydreaming about Luhan’s return instead of focusing on the lecture. While the professor drones on about molecular bonds and isomers in his rambling introduction to quantum chemistry, Chanyeol’s busy trying to piece together in his mind a clear picture of how things will soon go back to normal. Normal as in last year’s normal, the good kind of normal.
His notes start out with review formulas but halfway down the page the bullet points organize increasingly abstract doodles of Luhan’s fluffy hair. In the bottom corner is a list (scribbled in shorthand lest his notes should fall into the wrongs hands, i.e. Jongdae’s) of all the things he’s looking forward to. For one thing, he won’t forget his lunch as often with Luhan around to remind him, but even if he does he’ll just get free food out of it. For another, he won’t be as cold this winter with Luhan to hold his hand on the way to the station, Luhan to cuddle up to during lame action movie marathons, and Luhan’s arms secured tightly around his waist as they’re falling asleep at night.
There won’t be any time for boredom or moping on weekends with Luhan around to drag him to posh art galleries or seedy jazz clubs or on impromptu shopping sprees, and Chanyeol won’t want to waste his time moping anyway. How could Chanyeol feel depressed if he gets to make out with his favorite person everyday--multiple times a day--basically whenever Minseok’s not around to tell them to knock it off?
The professor sneezes on the chalk dust and Chanyeol’s pen leaves a blot in the margin. He blinks in surprise at the last three rows of his paper which are filled in with cartoonish sketches of Luhan’s plump lips. He doesn’t really remember drawing those, but ok. He turns the page as quietly as he can as the professor coughs and skips to the next slide on the wide projector screen. Chanyeol glances up to make sure he’s still semi familiar with the content. The professor most likely won’t proceed to new material until Friday, but Chanyeol definitely doesn’t want a repeat of last semester’s endless mental fog.
The new slide says something about propanols and ethers, the same old examples about how identical molecular formulas arranged in different structures may have radically different properties, depending on the functional groups. You move parts around, and what used to be a jet engine is now an eclectic piece of yard art. It’s only logical, Chanyeol thinks. You can’t cut a watermelon without any juice, you can’t bite into a soda cracker without a rain of crumbs.
You can’t spend an entire year apart without expecting some sort of change.
The professor clicks the remote again and moves on to something about valence bonding but when Chanyeol blinks the previous illustration of the isomer structures is seared into his vision, as if his retinas are some cheap LCD screen paused on the same image for too long. When Luhan comes back the formula’s going to be the same it always has been: Luhan + Chanyeol + Kris + Jongin + everyone else in their circle. But how’s Chanyeol supposed to factor out all of the variables that could have, might have changed this year?
If he spends his Saturdays in the painting room with Luhan, when is he going to hang out with Jongin in the back studio? If they spend Wednesday nights sharing bingsu at the cafe, when is Chanyeol going to have sappy foreign film night with Jongin? When Chanyeol has Luhan’s shoulders to hang on and Luhan’s hair to bury his nose in and Luhan’s fingers to twine in his, Jongin will have to…
Chanyeol rips his page of graffitied notes right off the shiny spiral hinges and crumples it as tight as he can in his fist. Suddenly everything Kris has been hinting at--hell, everyone has, really--makes a whole lot of sense, but it’s not a comforting revelation at all. Chanyeol snatches up his pen and starts stabbing the point into his paper wad, compressing any little pockets of air that survived his fist.
Chanyeol’s survived this year because he has Jongin to lean on, Jongin to confide in, Jongin’s hair to comb his fingers through and Jongin to finish off the mushrooms in his pasta. It’s worked because it had to, but it’s not fair. It’s not fair to Jongin, it’s not fair to Luhan, and it’s really not fair to himself, either, but when has Chanyeol ever consciously put himself first in his miserable history of relationships? Maybe Kris has a point, and kind of a big one this time.
That thought gets cut short when the professor comes to the end of his presentation and dismisses class a whole seven minutes early. Chanyeol slams his hardened paper pellet into the trashcan on his way out and heads for the library to do some solitary studying. And maybe some more thinking.
He doesn’t know how to say it, so Chanyeol decides to order to green tea bingsu and just say it point blank. He wonders in the back of his mind the whole way to the cafe if this is all a huge mistake, bringing Jongin here, saying what he’s planning to say. He doesn’t feel particularly anxious or anything though, strolling down the hall to the shop, his hands clamped over Jongin’s tone shoulders. Chanyeol doesn’t feel much of anything.
Jongin elbows open the door, propping it briefly with his foot to allow Chanyeol to shoulder through before he lets it swing shut. Zitao’s face lights up when he sees Chanyeol come in, then shifts to a vaguely confused expression when he sees who Chanyeol’s with, who he’s hanging on.
Chanyeol drops his hands from Jongin’s shoulders and smiles like everything is fine. Jongin leans into his chest, laying his head in the crook of Chanyeol’s neck to ogle the plaster moldings on the ceiling like they’ve just stumbled into the Sistine Chapel. Zitao smiles again as he grabs a menu, but this time it’s tight and professional, with none of the openness Chanyeol is used to.
Chanyeol orders bingsu--green tea flavor out of habit--and Zitao merely nods, not bothering to write anything down on either his hand or his current SNSD emblazoned notebook. He turns and stalks away to the kitchen, clicking his ink pen open and closed, open and closed, in counterpoint to his precise footsteps.
The bingsu, when it arrives, is a pretty soft green color, closer to a dull olive than a blue-tinged celadon, though. If Luhan always lets Chanyeol have the first bite of bingsu, Chanyeol can do the same for Jongin. Jongin’s his cute dongsaeng, after all. Chanyeol tries not to focus on that today though, pretending to himself he doesn’t want to sit and watch Jongin enjoy the treat for awhile.
“Eat up, twerp!” Chanyeol says, and shoves a spoon into Jongin’s hand.
“Don’t you have class, like, now, hyung? I mean, I won’t say no to free bingsu, but you’re gonna get brain freeze if you try to down this in ten minutes!” Jongin stabs his spoon at the overflowing bowl between them. Chanyeol just gives him a small smile and shakes his head. He never gets brain freeze. That’s always Luhan’s job. “Why are we here right now?” Jongin pushes his hair back from his eyes. It’s so long in front now it almost brushes the bridge of his nose.
“Well, that’s because…” Chanyeol clinks his chilled spoon against the glass dish. It’s already sticky with the slide of melting ice and red bean paste escaping down the side as Jongin enthusiastically stirs everything to homogenous brown mush. Luhan hates it when Chanyeol does that, messes up the neat layers of soft green and dark red.
“Aw!” Jongin licks a smear of bean paste from the stem of his spoon. “Are you ditching class just to hang out with me?” He bats his eyelashes in a crude imitation of Jongdae’s go-to aegyo (Jongin’s still cuter than Jongdae though, in Chanyeol’s opinion). “You’re too nice to me, hyung!” He licks at the corners of his mouth, his lips swollen from the frozen dessert. “But you better take a bite now, or I won’t leave any for you!” Jongin winks and Chanyeol’s stomach aches. Fuck. Bingsu was a bad idea, maybe. Probably.
“Jongin, I want to talk to you about something.”
“Are you going to complain about your physics homework again? Because if you are, we could have this boxed up and take it with us over to the tutoring hall!” Jongin snickers and flicks a lump of mangled bean off his pinky finger. It lands on Chanyeol’s crumpled straw wrapper.
“No really, it’s serious,” Chanyeol insists. He looks up to catch Jongin’s gaze before he can crack another joke, or else Chanyeol will lose all of his nerve and possibly his lunch. Fuck.
Jongin’s mouth snaps shut. “Ok,” he says in a soft voice, the one he gets when Krystal scolds him for tracking dirt in the resin box. “What is it?”
“I think we need space, Jonginnie. Luhan’s coming home soon and--”
“Let me guess--it’s not you, it’s me?” Jongin says in the dull tone Kris always uses on Jongdae when he scolds him for abusing the throw pillows. Chanyeol gulps. “Seriously, hyung?” Now Jongin flicks a whole chunk of ice across the table. “You’re not allowed to break up with me if we aren’t even dating!” He says the last part with an incredulous laugh but he doesn’t look surprised. Chanyeol looks down, trying unsuccessfully to swallow the lump of half chewed ddeok caught in his throat. Non-breakups aren’t supposed to hurt this much.
“I’m like that buncheong, aren’t I?” Jongin continues with a laugh that doesn’t match the tight twist of his lips. He pulls his chair closer to the table and the curved iron feet scrape the floorboards. It almost sounds musical. “Useful, a little pretty, but not the real thing.”
“Jonginnie!”
“Don’t!” Chanyeol freezes with his fingertips just brushing the fall Jongin’s hair as he flinches back. “Hyung, just--” Jongin chokes back a sob that breaks in his throat. “I--can’t.”
“Ok,” Chanyeol whispers. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m really sorry, Jongin. I’m sorry if I made you think--”
“You didn’t,” Jongin says flatly. He’s staring at the scarred tabletop. All of those same scratches have been there since Chanyeol’s first visit to this shop, since their first--
“I didn’t actually think you--I didn’t think anything.” Chanyeol nods in response, his vocal chords suddenly all stuck together like caramel toffees left in the sun. “I only... felt things,” Jongin says, his voice barely above a whisper, “and I’ll get over it, don’t worry about me.” He laughs and it’s hard and small, bitter like spring apples.
“Really,” Chanyeol says, hating the waver in his voice almost as much as he hates the paper thin honesty in Jongin’s narrowed eyes, “I’m sorry! I--”
“Hey, stop, hyung, ok? It’s not your fault, or at least it’s just as much mine.” Jongin runs a shaky hand around the curve of his neck, under his collar. “Although you have to know by now, right? I mean, know how I feel about--” Jongin’s voice tumbles into a giggle, rasps on a cough.
“...about?”
“Nevermind, hyung. It’s not important anymore.” Jongin pushes back the sleeves of his sweatshirt and picks up his spoon again, but this conversation doesn’t feel finished to Chanyeol. Wasn’t the whole point of this closure?
“But it is important, idiot! I care about everything you--”
“I said, it doesn’t matter.” Jongin tears a paper napkin neatly in two and twists one half around his spoon handle. Chanyeol can see his own eyes reflected in the polished steel curve but the image doesn’t tell him anything.
“You told me everything before! I don’t understand why this conversation has to change anything about--”
“It does though.” Jongin’s voice is just small now, all the edge chipped away like brittle ice.
“You mean I shouldn’t have said anything to--”
“Hyung, you’re overthinking things again,” he says, lifting his gaze to offer a twisted up smile. Chanyeol’s joints ache with the need to touch, to smooth the sweaty smear of Jongin’s hair from his brow. Chanyeol doesn't move. Jongin only blinks. “I knew--we both knew--that this,” he pauses, waving his hand between them, “had an expiration date. I’m just facing it sooner than I expected. That’s all.”
“Ok,” Chanyeol says. “You’re not… I mean, we’re still friends, right?” He bites into the inside corner of his lip. Jongin laughs and it’s not hard this time, just dull.
“Sure. Sure, hyung. Just... space. You’re right, we need space for awhile.”
“Ok,” Chanyeol repeats, not daring to ask questions like how long and how much and you promise this is only temporary? “Ok.” Jongin’s lips quirk up in a wobbly smile, his gaze on the wall somewhere behind Chanyeol’s head. “Then just... call me, ok? Call when you--or come by. Whatever. Just, you know.”
Jongin barely nods as he slips out of his chair and past Chanyeol without a backward glance. Chanyeol counts the seconds until the bell above the door sounds, 3, 5, 7, 8 ½, 9, 12, 13--silence. He sighs. His eyes burn. He fumbles blindly for a non-sticky napkin and comes up with the discarded shreds of Jongin’s.
Well, Chanyeol thinks, pushing his chair back to reach for a clean napkin, he could go home now and cry; he could head to Kris and Yixing’s and cry; he could get on the subway and cry; or he could finish the bingsu, go home, finish his physics lab report, and maybe Skype Luhan if he comes online later.
Chanyeol picks up his spoon.
By mid-April it’s actually starting to feel like spring. Chanyeol takes his midterm review sheets down to the Han River to study, hoping for some peace and fresh air, but finds only couples. Everywhere. Sitting on shiny silver foldout mats in the sparse shade with picnic baskets, cycling down the path on rental tandems, leaning on the railings over the water and sharing drinks out of bottles.
Chanyeol almost turns around and walks right back into Yeoinaru Station because really, this is worse than Christmas. He should have come at night, when at least there would be salarymen getting drunk on cheap makgeolli and throwing their empty bottles onto the rocks banking the river, and high school kids skipping out on night study to practice street dancing under the lampposts. In the dark no one would be able to tell if he was there alone.
Chanyeol doesn’t turn around though, if only because he can’t stand another afternoon of Jongdae’s judgmental glares or Minseok’s concerned shoulder pats or Yixing’s casual joking as if everything were perfectly fine. Chanyeol finds an unoccupied tree and spreads out his old scarf over the stiff grass. His spot’s rather nearer the station than the water, and he can already tell his scarf’s full of parched yellow grass bits before he’s even sat down, but at least there’s shade.
Chanyeol props his backpack against the scrawny tree trunk. He unpacks the front pockets of his exam notes and eraser and highlighter and tries to ignore the teenagers sloppily making out in broad daylight not ten feet from his nose. Chanyeol really wishes Luhan could share this lazy afternoon with him. Not that Luhan lets Chanyeol kiss him in public, but at least there could be shoulder rubs and hair ruffles, cuddles and the comfort of quiet company.
Chanyeol feels in his pocket for a pencil and comes up with the flier an ahjumma stuffed into his hands just outside the station. He flattens the creased paper against the leg of his jeans and keeps digging for his pencil. The ad is for fried chicken, there’s half a dozen booths selling it up on the sidewalk, and now Chanyeol misses Jongin, too. Shit.
He hasn’t heard from Jongin in two weeks now, but he must still be alive because he’s been posting selcas with Sehun all over the place. It’s understandable, Chanyeol reassures himself, since they are doing that charity project together. Not that that explains the photos that were obviously taken at parties or in nightclubs, but whatever. It isn’t up to Chanyeol who Jongin spends his time with.
Chanyeol really wanted to attend the show next weekend though. He’s had it written into his schedule since late February, but he never got the chance to buy tickets before--well, let’s just say that now it’s too awkward to do the asking, and too late anyway. The tickets probably sold out weeks ago.
Chanyeol picks bits of dry grass from the loose weave of his lightweight scarf, the purple one. Luhan bought it for his birthday last year, even though it would have been more weather appropriate to give Chanyeol a thick knit one. Oh well, Chanyeol always takes what he can get and Luhan’s gifts are always generous, if a little odd at times. Once he even bought this replica of an Amazonian shrunken head for Yixing that he found in some museum gift shop in Beijing. (Don’t ask him why he thought Yixing would like it, or why the museum even carried such an item in the first place, but they all got a good laugh out of it when Yixing taped it to their bathroom mirror while Kris was taking his sweet time in the shower. Kris sure came streaking out of there, screaming that he’d seen a ghost, but anyway.)
The high pitched giggle of a girl tripping along the dry lawn in clumsy wedge heels on the arm of her boyfriend reminds Chanyeol for 87th time today that he’s all alone here, perfectly isolated in a sea of oblivious codependents. Yuck. Why is dating a socially acceptable activity again? He hopes truly on the memory of Kris’ most beloved decorative cushion that he was never this disgusting in public with Luhan. Although, that might have to change come May if Chanyeol has his way.
Ten minutes before their micro bio midterm Chanyeol is slouched next to Jongdae on the faded hall carpeting outside their classroom. They’ve spent the last hour quizzing each other on notes but any further preparation feels kind of futile at this point. Chanyeol hasn’t showered in three days, and has been living off of bruised bananas from the cafeteria for just as long. His favorite sweatshirt smells like death because the hall is so narrow and crowded with other exhausted bodies, but somehow Jongdae has managed to doze off on his shoulder, nose dipping into the crook of his neck.
Chanyeol folds up his review sheet and stuffs it into his bag. He runs his thumb along the inside pocket, absently counting the sharpened pencils he lined up in the canvas pouch the night before. Four number twos should be plenty to get through this exam, unless fate has really got it out for him. But Chanyeol doesn’t believe in things like that. He believes in things like formulas, things you can count like electrons and moles and chipmunks.
His phone buzzes, rings, and Chanyeol flashes a quivery lipped smile at the girl who glares at him for the interruption. She goes back to reciting something in Latin under her breath with an imperious toss of her head. Jongdae lets out a soft snore but doesn’t stir. Chanyeol scratches an itchy spot behind his ear and unlocks his phone, switches it to silent mode and checks his messages. The new one’s from Jongin.
Ur last ones today right
wanna hang out this weekend? tonght?
sehunnie wants to meet you properly
Chanyeol pulls at a strip of dead skin rough on his lower lip and types back.
yeah, last ones in 2 mins
kay, tomorrws ok if u want to
He slides his thumb over the screen, scrolls up and then back down, waiting for Jongin’s reply. It pops up at the bottom of their chat as Jongdae sits up with a groan.
see u tomorrow then! looking forward to it.
“You ok man?” Jongdae whispers, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes as if that will actually help him remember the key differences between the rhizosphere and the phyllosphere.
“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, slipping a pencil out of his bag and testing the point against the pad of his thumb. The lead is dark and soft, crumbles a little into the grooves of his fingerprint. It was probably Junmyeon’s too, at one point. “For once I think I am.” He turns to Jongdae with a grin and squeezes his shoulder too hard as the professor shows up to unlock the doors.
Jongdae gives him a weird look and starts pulling him towards the door, so they can find a good seat away from the AC vents and the light that flickers. Chanyeol follows but pauses on the stairs when another message flashes across his phone screen. It’s short enough he doesn’t have to open it to read what it said, but he checks it anyway so Jongin knows he saw it.
Hyung, fighting!! :DD
“What is this?” Chanyeol blinks at the airline voucher Jongdae just shoved in his hands. “Don’t tell me another one of you bastards is abandoning me for a semester!”
“Well…” Kris mumbles, twisting his fingers into the hem of his tank, and Chanyeol’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm as his insides plummet. That was supposed to be a joke, he wasn’t serious, he--
“So, uh, we all pooled our frequent flier miles!” Jongin says, grabbing Chanyeol’s hand in a comforting squeeze before he can drop the papers all over the floor of the student center.
“What?”
“So you can go to Han hyung’s show!” Jongdae says like Chanyeol is being a huge idiot.
“What? I don’t--! I--” Jongin strokes the back of his hand with his thumb before he releases it. “Thank you!” Chanyeol grabs the nearest body and squeezes. It happens to be Jongdae, who squeezes back even harder.
“You should mostly thank Kris and Yixing,” Minseok says, shuffling some other papers into a folder.
“But Junmyeon hyung pitched in too!” Jongdae says. “And Krystal and Taeyeon noona!”
“Oh, and Luhan doesn’t know a thing!” Yixing winks and shoves his hands into Jongdae’s back pockets. Jongdae squirms away and knocks Yixing’s hat to the ground. “It’ll be more fun if you surprise him, you know!”
“But I--but--what if he doesn’t want me to come?” Chanyeol takes a deep breath and forces his eyes open, not wanting to remember the photo from the Facebook event he thought he’d never be able to attend, Luhan and Amber’s joint show. “What if--”
“He invited, you didn’t he?” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and hands Yixing his hat.
“I guess, but--”
“Oh my god, hyung! Just go,” Jongin says, and punches his shoulder. Chanyeol nods, too close to tears to say anything more without his voice cracking.
“Ok,” Chanyeol says, and smoothes out uncreased papers in his hands.
Minseok drives him to the airport on Friday morning, rapping along with the radio under his breath and missing half the syllables. It’s not like Chanyeol knows the lyrics anyway. It’s an old song, a tune he vaguely remembers but a voice in the chorus he can’t place.
It’s early enough the airport isn’t crowded so Minseok drops him at the terminal and parks just long enough to help Chanyeol shoulder his suitcase out of the trunk, even though it isn’t very heavy. Everyone else in the security line looks sleepy with rumpled suit jackets and flattened perms, even the guards, but Chanyeol’s skin is buzzing with excitement so palpably he’s surprised he isn’t shocking everyone else who comes in contact with the metal railing.
He still can’t believe he’s doing this, that the jeans and toothpaste and English phrasebook tucked into Kris’ suitcase are his, that he’s actually on his way to see Luhan. The last time he took a trip with Luhan, just the two of them, it had been just as last minute. They didn’t go far, just stole Minseok’s car keys and snuck out for the afternoon. They drove out of the city and stuck to the highway until they got thirsty and stopped in some little village way out in Gyeonggi-do, almost to the ocean.
Luhan pulled over at a maejom with a poster for bingsu in the window, not the frozen milk kind but the old fashioned one with plain ice. They only sold one flavor, original, but Luhan bought a box of cookies at the counter, the sandwich ones with too-sweet green tea flavor filling, and crumbled them over the top. Chanyeol hopes they sell bingsu in New York.
It’s too hard to sit still and he’ll be sitting for a good thirteen hours anyway, so Chanyeol stands next to a row of empty chairs at his gate until it’s time to board. His seat is way at the back of the plane so he has to stand and wait in the aisle again for quite some time as the passengers in front of him load their luggage into the overhead and settle into their seats with thin knit blankets.
It’s too late to go back by the time Chanyeol realizes he left Jongdae’s headphones on a chair in the terminal, but oh well. He can survive without music for a few hours with the promise of seeing Luhan again on the other side, and there will be plenty of time for Jongdae to kill him next week he gets back. He sends Jongdae a quick text about checking the lost and found anyway, just in case they were expensive, because Jongdae always spends too much on things like that. Jongdae doesn’t reply, but he gets an incoming text from Jongin.
Sorry I meant to tell you in person but…
Chanyeol scrolls down just as a photo attachment pops up. He tugs on his snagged nylon seat belt as he waits for it to download and laughs in surprise. It’s a selca of Jongin and Sehun, Jongin’s wide smile taking over half his face and half the picture as Sehun presses a soft kiss to his temple. Jongin even added clumsy pink hearts and way too many sparkle trails with his stupid editing app that makes everything look like a Barbie poster.
Congrats dude so happy for u guysss!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Chanyeol texts back, and doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty for adding all those heart marks.
rly? Jongin says and Chanyeol snorts so loudly he startles the old woman dozing in the seat next to him.
really really you idiot! lets celebrate when i get back k?
“Excuse me, sir, but please make sure your mobile device is on flight mode,” a flight attendant says as she works her way down the aisle, pressing on the closed overhead carriers to make sure everything’s secured.
“Oh! Sorry!” Chanyeol scrambles to shove his backpack under his seat and straightens up just in time to see Jongin’s reply.
sure thing hyung well have a lot to celebrate then
Chanyeol sends one last heart and presses his thumb into the power button.
“Hey, you’re Chanyeol, right?” It’s the girl with blue hair, except now her hair is light brown with a purple streak through it. She’s wearing cutoffs and a loose batik blouse with matching wrinkles of purple and periwinkle blue streaked across her chest.
“Yeah…” Chanyeol clutches the box tighter to his chest. Maybe he should have worn jeans instead of his dress slacks after all.
“Does Lu know you’re here?” She’s still speaking in English, but slowly enough Chanyeol thinks he understands her. She shoves her short hair out of her eyes and it tumbles right back as soon as her fingers pull free.
“Well, um--” Sixty kilos of Luhan launch themselves onto Chanyeol and Chanyeol can’t finish that sentence because--
“Chanyeol! What are you doing here?” Luhan is laughing through his nose into Chanyeol’s ear, nasal and too loud and pretty much perfect.
“I came to deliver this!” Chanyeol pulls away just enough to slip the box into Luhan’s hands. “Happy Birthday, hyung!”
“Idiot,” Luhan sniffs, his eyes suspiciously red. “My birthday’s not til Sunday!”
“But I’m here now, so…” Chanyeol shrugs, his lips curling higher than his shoulders. Luhan leans up to crush their mouths together and pulls away with the tiniest swipe of his tongue, just enough to make Chanyeol shiver.
“Well come on!” His fingers wind around Chanyeol’s wrist in a gentle grip and he tugs impatiently. “Don’t you want to see my show?” Chanyeol nods.
“Only, you’ll have to be my tour guide, hyung! I know you’ve been dragging me along to these gallery opening things for forever, but I still don’t know which side to start on or--”
“We should start in the back,” Luhan says, already crossing first room towards the door to the adjoining gallery. “Hurry up, Yeol!”
As soon as they turn the corner Luhan stops and Chanyeol runs right into him because he forgets he’s still walking, forgets how to tell his legs to stop moving, because it’s huge. It takes up the whole back wall almost, and must have taken forever to paint.
“Do you like it?” Luhan whispers and digs his sharp elbow into Chanyeol’s side. It’s a huge blow up of their stupid airport selca; Luhan must have projected it onto the canvas and filled in the shading with his sweeping brushstrokes. The picture is as clear cut as a real photo in the center, sharper than the original, blurring in increasingly abstract swirls of color out to the edges.
The bottom half, beneath their faces, is spray painted in layers of Chinese and English and sketches of dragons and tulips and coffee mugs. There’s the solar system in neon splashes and Chanyeol doesn’t even know what some of it represents because all the extras are overshadowed by Luhan’s smile bleeding into his. Luhan’s smile and the big heart framing the whole canvas in drips of glossy red.
“Wow, did you grafitti your own painting?” Chanyeol gasps, and he squeezes Luhan’s hand because yes, yes he likes it. Too much to explain in words and too fervently to express with his lips when Amber is standing by, not to mention the art department faculty.
“Yup!” Luhan laughs and squeezes back. “That was Amber’s idea, actually.”
“And for once the idiot actually listened to my advice.” Amber shakes her head until the streak of purple falls forward into her eyes.
“Hey, let’s take a picture!” Chanyeol says, already tugging Luhan further into the room to pose in front of the canvas. A few students in tight jeans and baggy sweaters back out of the way as Luhan fumbles for his phone in his blazer pocket.
“You want me to…?” Amber reaches for Luhan’s phone, but he shakes his head.
“Nah, we’re good! Thanks, Ambs.” Luhan reaches up with his free hand to cup Chanyeol’s jaw, squishing their cheeks together. “Say kimchi~!” he sings, but Chanyeol is already grinning as wide as his face will go.
“Now you have to open your present!” Chanyeol says as soon as Luhan pockets his phone.
“Now?” Luhan purses his lips and picks at the thick layer of yellowed packing tape crisscrossing the box.
“Here,” Amber says, slipping Luhan a slim weight she pulled from her pocket. Luhan tosses it in his palm, presses something and a short blade folds out.
“Oh my god, hyung!” Chanyeol yells, “I thought you said America was safe!”
“Shut up,” Luhan says with a pout and slides the sharp tip under the box lid. Chanyeol laughs because he wasn’t serious, and the blade turns out to be rather dull anyway. Chanyeol has to hold the box while Luhan yanks at the sticky strings of tape and Amber saws at the cardboard.
“You wanted to make me work for this present, huh?” Luhan pants between tugs.
“Well, originally I was going to mail it because--”
“Yes!” Luhan hisses as the thickest wad of tape rips free. He fistpumps and then shakes the blood back into his fingers.
“Hurry up!” Amber says, bouncing on her heels and poking at the cardboard flaps with the closed up handle of her knife. Luhan sticks out his tongue and reaches into the box.
“You gave me gloves? For my birthday?” Luhan blinks at the turquoise gloves he pulled out, then bursts out laughing. “Chanyeol, it’s practically May!”
“Oh, you know, airplanes can get kinda cold.” Chanyeol shrugs. “Actually, this was supposed to be your Valentine’s gift, but…”
“I love them!” Luhan slips one on and reaches over to mess up Chanyeol’s hair. Chanyeol lets him. “But you better be my personal hand warmer on the plane!”
“Huh?” Luhan slips his other hand into Chanyeol’s and squeezes. It is really warm, and also kind of perfect.
“You are staying the rest of the weekend so I can show you around, right?” Luhan pinches the skin on the side of his wrist and Chanyeol squirms. He’s giggling and he doesn’t care if Amber is rolling her eyes again. “Let’s fly home together, ok.”
“Ok,” Chanyeol says and squeezes Luhan’s hand back. He’s too nice to pinch him, at least not on Luhan’s birthday.
Since it’s opening night, Luhan has to stay until all of his guests, or at least the important ones, say goodnight. Chanyeol doesn’t quite feel comfortable under the strings of spotlights in the crowd of visitors balancing delicate champagne flutes. In his pressed shirt and plain black slacks he feels somewhere in between the tattooed and pierced students in vintage castoffs and the professors in rumpled velvet and linen suits from designer labels the mere mention of which would have Zitao flailing and dropping notepads into ice cream sundaes. He doesn’t mind the atmosphere though, not with Luhan’s hand curled into his.
Chanyeol lets Luhan drag him all over the gallery, pointing out details in the other pieces on display and smiling primly when someone stops him to remark in complimentary tones. A few times he introduces Chanyeol to one of them and Chanyeol says hello in English and flashes his most charming grin to make up for his accent although Luhan probably thinks it cute, if anything.
Once the crowd has dwindled to a few sleepy lingerers and the catering staff is starting to clear grape stems and pineapple rinds into the trash, Amber shoves a saran wrapped plate of leftover cheese cubes into Chanyeol’s hands and starts shoving Luhan towards the door.
“You guys go home, we’ll stay for the clean up.” Amber waves her hand at Henry, the short dude with a horrid dye job that makes Chanyeol nostalgic for Baekhyun’s youthful folly, who also has pieces on display tonight. Henry waves back from his perch by the guestbook and flashes them a peace sign.
“Are you sure you don’t--”
“Go home Luhan,” Amber sighs and folds her arms across her chest. “Don’t make me drag you out there!” she says in the same line of Mandarin Yixing threatens Chanyeol and Jongdae with when they’re too lazy to buy him more cigarettes from the 7-Eleven. Luhan sticks out his tongue but he’s already pulling on his new cashmere gloves and edging towards the door. He says goodnight to his advisor, Dr. Shim, who shakes Chanyeol’s hand again and steals a cheese cube before opening the door for them.
In the back of the cab Luhan uploads a collage of photos from the evening, too wound up on nerves to wait until they get home and he can edit them properly. Chanyeol laughs and pinches his cheek when Luhan pouts because he ran out of space to tag everyone. Chanyeol just assumed he was being polite to his guests, but it figures Luhan actually knows everyone who came through by name. He knows at least half the student body back in Seoul, and everyone else knows him.
Luhan also uploads their most recent selca to Facebook and for the rest of the ride back to the apartment his phone blows up with notifications as their photo gets 89 likes in just half an hour.
Luhan’s apartment isn’t very big, about the size of Chanyeol’s officetel, but at least the bedroom has a proper door with hinges. It feels really cozy inside with the Christmas lights turned on. Chanyeol climbs right into bed next to Luhan after his shower. Luhan pulls back the sheet for him and doesn’t say anything, even though Chanyeol’s hair is still dripping on the ends. He just pulls Chanyeol into his chest and starts kissing down the line of his jaw.
“Mm! I missed you, you know that?” Luhan murmurs into Chanyeol’s throat, pausing a moment to catch his breath.
“You might have mentioned it, once or twice.”
“You brat!” Luhan pinches his side and Chanyeol squirms away from him, only resulting in tangling their legs further. Luhan presses the heels of his hands into Chanyeol’s shoulders, pushing him into the mattress. “Where are you trying to go, hm?” He leans forward to mouth at Chanyeol’s parted lips and Chanyeol accepts him eagerly, sucking Luhan’s tongue into his mouth. Luhan pulls back with a moan that has Chanyeol squirming under him again. “I thought you came all the way here just to see me!”
“Don’t--be silly,” Chanyeol pants, trying to arch out of Luhan’s grip. “I came--to see an art show!”
“Ugh, why do I even put up with you?” Luhan groans, releasing Chanyeol and flopping onto his side when Chanyeol surges up to reverse their positions. Chanyeol just grins, staring down into Luhan’s eyes that look even darker in the soft light.
“Because I’m amazing and you love me!” Luhan’s shaking with laughter but he manages to lean up for a kiss. And Chanyeol kisses back because since when has he been able to say no to Luhan?
Chanyeol is half asleep as soon as Luhan unplugs the lights. He only napped on the plane but the adrenaline kept him going until now, the promise of Luhan in his arms again. Now that he is, snugly tucked into Chanyeol’s side with his chin resting on Chanyeol’s shoulder, Chanyeol probably couldn’t keep his eyes open if you paid him in barbecue.
Luhan’s phone dings and lights up, buzzing against the mattress, and Chanyeol groans softly in protest, shading his swollen eyes. “Geez, hyung, can you turn off your notifications?” he mumbles sleepily into Luhan’s hair.
“Sorry!” Luhan pats his hand in apology as he flicks his thumb across the screen. Chanyeol squints as the light brightens and buries his face in Luhan’s sweet-smelling skin.
“Love you.”
“Mm, love you too, babe,” Luhan says with a squeeze of his fingers, and Chanyeol tangles their legs closer together. “Hey, do you know anyone named Do Youngja?”
“Hm?”
“She liked our reunion photo and says she hopes you remembered the condoms?”
Final author's note: Music mentioned in the dance recital scene: Taeyeon's first solo and West Side Suite.
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