Notes to Jongdae
Title: Notes to Jongdae
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jongdae/Yixing
Genre: Romance, Domestic!AU
Word Count: 9,198 words
Summary: Getting your life in order isn't always as easy as it looks, even when you have someone by your side.
Jongdae stretches and yawns, his eyes bright and his mouth curled up in that strange cat-like smile of his as he admires the view, and it finally hits Yixing that this is real, that the small white house in front of him is theirs. From the blue shutters to the uneven cobblestone path, the lush green grass that’s a bit too long and the wilting violets scattered in front of the windows that look like they could use a gallon or three of water, it’s all for them.
And it’s absolutely perfect.
“Aish, Yixing! Move your lazy ass, no way am I carrying all these boxes by myself.” Jongdae sidles past Yixing and smacks him on the butt, cackling viciously, one of the many cardboard boxes littered across the yard stuck under his armpit. Before Jongdae can escape, Yixing grabs hold of the offending hand in response, wrapping one arm around Jongdae’s shoulders in order to pull him in close. Curling his fingers into the soft brown locks on the back of his partner’s head, Yixing plants a kiss firmly on Jongdae’s lips.
“I love you so much,” he comments casually, his eyes sparkling with amusement as Jongdae turns scarlet and wacks him upside the head. With a huff, the smaller man untangles himself from Yixing’s arms and re-adjusts his hold on the box, giving Yixing a disapproving eyebrow raise but grinning nonetheless. “It’s way too early for cheesy stuff like that,” he says, even as he leans up and returns Yixing’s affections with small peck on the cheek. In a dash he’s gone before Yixing can react, running up the path towards the front door in all its peeling paint glory. “Now go be useful!” he shouts, and then he’s disappeared into their house.
Their house. Not Jongdae’s, not Yixing’s. Theirs.
Yixing picks up the largest box that’s within reasonable distance to his being and follows after Jongdae, pausing briefly to admire the towering oak tree providing shade for a good third of the front lawn, its leaves rustling lightly in the late summer breeze.
He doubts it would be possible to stop the ridiculous smile spreading across his face, even if he wanted to.
-
The house has only one floor to brag about, with four rooms that they’ve divided into the bedroom, bathroom, study room, and the cardboard box room, and then the kitchen and the living room are in a larger, conjoined area, with the kitchen towards the back of the house and the living room towards the front, separated by a single step. Thankfully, they had already taken the time to get all the furniture in place a few days prior, but It still takes them all afternoon and well into the evening to move in all the boxes and get situated enough to call it a day, finally plopping down on the dark navy couch. Outside the windows, the sun is already low in the sky, most of its rays hidden behind the roofs of the neighboring houses.
Jongdae kicks his feet over one of the armrests and lays his head in Yixing’s lap, grinning up at him with barely contained excitement shining in his eyes. Prodding the other lightly on the arm, he waits to make sure Yixing’s full attention is focused on him before reaching up to poke him on the forehead as well. “Guess what, Yixing.”
“What?” Yixing wrinkles his nose in response and moves his face just out of Jongdae’s reach. Undeterred, Jongdae returns to a sitting position and leans comfortably against Yixing’s shoulder, taking a hold of Yixing’s left hand with his and pressing their palms together, his eyes focused on the identical silver bands settled on both of their ring fingers.
“We did it,” Jongdae murmurs quietly, and Yixing entwines their fingers and nods in agreement, using his other hand to reach around Jongdae’s waist and bring them closer. “We really did.”
The walls need a good paint job, and there’s still too much space in the corners of all the rooms to truly consider the place welcoming, but Yixing’s more than ready to call it home.
-
Yixing goes to town in search of a job the next morning, so Jongdae busies himself with unpacking the rest of their boxes, spending most of the day setting up lamps on the side tables and arranging their belongings around the house in an effort to make the rooms seem less bare. Though Yixing’s more of a budding musician, as he likes to put it, they do need to pay the bills somehow, and Jongdae will most likely have to go job hunting himself within the next few days. For now though, he’s quite satisfied with the growing amount of empty cardboard boxes in the cardboard box room, which he’s taken to stacking up in a coordinated pattern called a pile along the far wall.
Around six in the evening, Yixing’s still not home, so Jongdae busies himself with attempting to cook dinner for the two of them, with whatever ingredients their depressingly bare fridge has offer. Considering they’ve kind of neglected grocery shopping since they began preparations to move, the selection isn’t exactly impressive. There’s a bag of raw pasta next to the instant ramen in the cabinet, and a packet of cheese sticks in the fridge that Jongdae’s almost positive he bought just a few days ago, so he takes out both and gets to work, because it can’t be that hard to make macaroni and cheese, can it?
Yixing gets home just in time to sneak up behind him as he’s putting his final creation in the oven, coming into the kitchen to peer over Jongdae’s shoulder with interest at the uneven strips of cheese scattered haphazardly over a casserole dish of freshly cooked pasta.
“And that’s still probably the best I’ve ever seen you cook.”
Jongdae closes the oven door and turns on his partner, using an oven mitt as artillery against him. “Better than you could do, I’m sure!” Yixing dodges and the mitten flies past his head, landing harmlessly under the kitchen table.
Chuckling, Yixing leans in and presses his lips lightly to Jongdae’s temple, a delighted smile spreading across his face when Jongdae returns the affection with a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in the other’s chest. “I missed you,” he mumbles softly, his voice muffled by Yixing’s V-neck, but the other still laughs and wraps his arms tighter around Jongdae. “I’m back now.”
Jongdae snorts and pulls back his head to look the other in the eye, a teasing smirk dancing across his face. “Are you really?”
“Do you need proof?”
“Maybe.”
-
Jongdae’s really not sure how he manages to do it because he swears he only turned around for a second, but suddenly something smells suspiciously like burning cheese and so he looks over and there’s flames coming out of the oven and the smoke is quickly curling up and out, reaching tendrils for him and this is really not what he had in mind when he decided to make dinner.
There’s a really shrill, high-pitched scream coming from his mouth but Jongdae swears it’s not his, and he grabs the kitchen chair behind him and holds it in front of him as a shield, his eyes wide and watering from the smoke as he watches the flames leaping higher and higher and what if their whole house burns down. “YIXING OH MY GOD-”
Yixing’s there within seconds, using a bath towel to smother the flames and when the last flicker of orange has vanished Jongdae hesitantly returns the chair to it’s proper place at the table, biting his lip as he gives Yixing what he hopes is a convincing ‘I didn’t do it’ face.
Yixing sighs heavily, carefully removing the towel and examining the ruined appliance, now blackened with soot stains and leaking wisps of leftover smoke. Jongdae winces when Yixing gingerly opens the oven door and a sudden cloud of ash escapes, billowing up towards the ceiling.
“That’s probably going to stain,” is all Yixing says, staring up absently at the ceiling. He shakes his head and washes the the soot off his hands before retrieving two packets of instant ramen from the cabinet.
He sets down a bowl in front of Jongdae only moments later, to find the smaller man still gaping at him in confusion. “Uh.”
Yixing reaches over and uses his pair of disposable chopsticks to tap underneath Jongdae’s chin, effectively causing the other to close his mouth. “It’s fine, we’ll just have to get a new one.”
Jongdae groans, flopping his head down onto the table. “It didn’t even last two days,” he grumbles into the placemat. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh. Do we even have enough money to get a new one?”
At this, Yixing grins and nods enthusiastically, waving his chopsticks in Jongdae’s direction. “Sure we do! I landed myself a job today, as a matter of fact.”
Jongdae sits up immediately, staring at Yixing in surprise. “Wait, but that’s awesome! What is it? When do you start?”
“Tomorrow, in the afternoon. It’s not much, but there’s a local theater downtown, and they needed someone to run odd jobs for them, as well as some backstage work. The pays not terrible, and they’ve got connections with some of the cafés so if I work hard I might be able to land a gig.” Yixing grins at him and Jongdae can’t help but grin back.
“That’s great, Yixing.” Jongdae says, and he really is truly happy for his partner, but he can’t help but think that a job like that probably won’t pay for a new oven and stove. Or any of the bills, for that matter.
He’ll go searching tomorrow.
-
Later that night, Yixing finds Jongdae sitting on their bed with his legs pulled up to his chest, hugging a pillow tight between his arms and his eyes downcast. With a quiet murmur of ‘what’s the matter?’, Yixing sits down and immediately wraps his arms around his lover, pulling the other into his lap and pressing gentle kisses to the back of Jongdae’s neck. Jongdae sighs and allows himself to lean back in Yixing’s arms, relaxing into the touch as Yixing smooths the fringe of his bangs down with gentle strokes.
“I just... I’m really sorry,” he whispers, pulling his knees in tight again, “I should have been more careful, but I-I just wanted to surprise you, and-” Yixing shushes him with a finger to Jongdae’s lips, his other hand still rubbing light circles on Jongdae’s scalp.
“I said it was fine, Jongdae. It was an accident, no need to apologize.” With a light smile, he gives the other a gentle nudge, motioning for him to lie down while he does the same, burrowing under the covers and ending up on Jongdae’s side of the bed.
“Again? It’s too warm for this, seriously...” Jongdae gives Yixing an appraising look but makes no effort to push him away, letting Yixing tangle their legs together and drape himself over Jongdae.
“Nah, I like it better this way.”
--
For Jongdae, the next few days are filled with endless hours of job hunting, from scouring the newspapers and the internet for now hiring adds to visiting places personally to set up interviews. Yixing keeps himself busy at the theater, coming home every night with various stories to tell Jongdae, usually regarding the countless eccentric people he always seems to run into.
“Any luck today?” Yixing brings up the question over the Italian take-out that’s actually left-overs from the day before, having finished recounting the events of his day, something about his boss and a stubborn mic stand. Jongdae nods, swallowing his mouthful of noodles before elaborating on his response.
“I had my interview with the hospital today, and they seemed satisfied. If all goes well I can start working next Monday.”
“The hospital?? Jongdae, you have a degree in literature, what-”
Jongdae laughs and shakes his head. “As a secretary, stupid. I’m not becoming a heart surgeon anytime soon, don’t worry.”
Yixing scrunches up his face and watches as Jongdae picks up another forkful of pasta. “That’s great and all, but... a secretary? That’s a rather far shot from what you had in mind, isn’t it? I mean, are you sure-” Jongdae shushes him and shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it. For now, it pays well enough, and we need as much money as we can get. Actually, I’m considering also picking up some part time shifts waiting at the Italian place we got this from. And-” He holds up a finger when Yixing tries to interrupt, “before you say it, I did look into the editorial building but they aren’t hiring, all right?”
Yixing sighs and nods, stabbing his own utensil half-heartedly at his meal. “I know, I know. I just- Jongdae, we chose here partly because of the proximity to the X.O. Publishing Headquarters, and I don’t... I don’t want you to miss out on your dream just because I’m chasing my own.” He looks down with guilt written across his face, unconsciously pulling the silver chain hanging around his neck. With a small smile, Jongdae reaches across the table to pull Yixing’s hand away from the necklace and laces their fingers together.
“Don’t, Yixing. I want you to chase your dream. I’m not giving up, okay? It’ll just be a little while before I can go after my own. Just until we’ve got a foundation for ourselves.”
Yixing nods quietly and tightens his grip on Jongdae’s hand. “Okay.”
-
Jongdae fails to mention that being a secretary somehow requires him getting up at ridiculous hours of the morning, with his alarm clock going off each day at five AM. Yixing groans and tries to pull Jongdae back into bed each time, but the other always manages to wriggle free from the sheets and Yixing’s arms, dressing quickly and pressing a small kiss to older man’s forehead before he leaves the room. Yixing can still hear the other moving around the house, but he usually drifts back to sleep sometime between the sounds of Jongdae grabbing a bite to eat and the dull thud of the front door swinging closed behind him.
Most of the times, the theater only requires him to be there by noon, so Yixing has the house to himself in the mornings. It’s nice to have quiet time, he figures. He opens all the windows and listens to the birds, lets the morning breeze float in and ruffle the curtains. Sometimes he’ll sit in the living room and focus on composing, but he also managed to set up the easel he inherited from his grandfather, so on other days he passes the time painting, or at least trying to.
The house always seems too big when he’s alone.
-
There’s a bus stop just ten minutes from their neighborhood, so Jongdae usually gets home around six in the evening, although Yixing’s long gone by then. Jongdae often stops by the supermarket before returning, so the first thing to do when he gets home is put away all the groceries, which isn’t so bad because Yixing always leaves him a little note on the kitchen table since he knows that’s the first place Jongdae goes.
Hope work went well today!
I borrowed your purple tie I’ll return it tonight.
Did you know that polar bears aren’t actually white?
Hi Jongdae!
After you left this morning I fell back asleep and dreamt you were a singer. Funny right? Haha I bet you could be one if you wanted to, your voice is pretty.
Heart for you: ♥
I borrowed your tie again. Can I keep it?
We’re out of acrylic paint. ):
The neighbors have a dog and it’s in our yard what should I do...
Come home safely!
I miss you.
Yixing can be rather forgetful. He’ll leave the paints lying out and they’ll all dry up, or the windows will still be open and Jongdae will have to chase around stray papers flying through the house. Once he even left the faucet running in the bathroom, successfully raising their water bill to unnecessary levels for the month. Yet every single day, without fail, he leaves a little message or even a quick doodle, scribbled onto a torn piece of notebook paper or other various materials, sometimes on a paper crane when he’s feeling extra creative or a crumpled napkin when he’s in a hurry.
Jongdae secretly keeps them all in a shoebox under their bed.
-
Yixing usually returns in time for them to eat a late dinner together, but occasionally he ends up working way later than intended and shows up on the doorstep past ten, sometimes eleven, with dark circles under his eyes and an apology on his lips.
“They needed extra help in the backrooms and I just-” They’re still in the entranceway and Jongdae laughs and interrupts Yixing with a hug, standing up on his toes to wrap his arms tightly around the other’s shoulders and hide his smile in the crook of Yixing’s neck. “Welcome home.”
Yixing sighs, his breath ruffling the hairs at the top of Jongdae’s head. “I wanted to be home sooner.”
Jongdae leans up to kiss him. “I know.”
-
The only day they’re both off work is Sunday, which easily makes it their favorite day of the week. Jongdae often accidently sets his alarm, but Yixing doesn’t really mind having to wake up unnecessarily so early in the morning, because it just makes it feel that much better when Jongdae turns the alarm off and crawls right back into bed, curling up with his head on Yixing’s chest and mumbling about absurd work hours.
Sunday is a day to spend time together.
It’s a day to take walks in the park, with Jongdae swinging their linked hands enthusiastically to the rhythm of the tune he’s humming under his breath. It’s a day to lie down in the front yard, under the shade of their oak tree, with no purpose at all except to roll around and play music for the unsuspecting neighbors and have a picnic and maybe a food fight too (at least until a grape gets stuck in Yixing’s guitar and it takes them thirty minutes to force it back out). It’s a day to try and cook Yixing breakfast without blowing up their brand new stove, and then giving up in exasperation and resigning to being Yixing’s assistant chef instead. It’s a day to stay in bed until noon, even though they’re both perfectly wide awake.
Sunday is also a day to forget.
It’s a day to forget the long hours of paperwork and typing, the phone calls and the endless lines of patients that couldn’t care less that Jongdae’s been there since six in the morning, plastering on a smile for each one. It’s a day to forget the late nights Yixing continues to tack on in efforts to be recognized, the secret scouting trips he takes to find any cafés that may or may not be willing to book live entertainment. It’s a day to forget that the new oven still cost much more than they should be spending, even though they got the cheapest one they could find that still worked and even though Jongdae insisted that it would be fine, that the money would even out. It’s a day to forget the Italian restaurant and its ‘now hiring’ sign that swings back and forth in the windowsill, the option for part time hours on the late shift that Jongdae may or may not have applied for.
It’s a day to forget that Jongdae is getting thinner, his cheekbones growing more prominent and pointed against shallow skin, dark circles permanently etched under his eyes as he slips away from Yixing every morning. It’s a day to forget the long hours Yixing spends scribbling away in his notebook and tinkering with the strings of his guitar and feverishly searching the internet and paper for any sort of opportunity, trying to push away the guilt as he brings home yet another measly paycheck.
It’s a day to forget the bills that are due at the end of the month, sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter.
-
Yixing finally, finally gets a raise for all the work he’s been doing, and Jongdae insists they do something to celebrate.
“That art museum over in the city is having a special exhibit,” he says one Thursday evening when Yixing gets home, shoving an ad he got from the mail into his partner’s arms and then proceeding to fall headfirst across the couch, his face colliding with the pillows with a muffled ‘fwump.’ Yixing sits down on top of Jongdae’s behind without any hesitation, pointedly ignoring Jongdae’s yelp of protest as his eyes scan the piece of paper.
Yixing frowns. “Jongdae, the exhibit ends tonight.”
“Yeah, but you came home early today. If we leave now, we could still go see it.” Jongdae squirms until Yixing moves enough for him to readjust himself, sitting up properly on the couch and giving Yixing his best pleading look. “Please? We never do things like this any more...”
There’s something about Jongdae’s eager face that has Yixing giving in with a nod, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Jongdae immediately jumps up excitedly and rushes for the door, already reaching for a coat to keep out the chill of the evening.
-
Bundled up in a scarf and his puffy blue jacket, Jongdae looks smaller and more fragile than ever, his cheeks puffed out against the cold air and a slight tremble in his steps even though it’s barely October. They stumble off the city bus a little after seven, and then its only a few short blocks until they can see the museum looming in front of them.
Once inside, Jongdae reluctantly leaves his jacket in the coat room, insisting on keeping his scarf tightly wound around his neck. Yixing can’t help but notice the way he buries his nose deep into the knitted wool, his eyes droopy and his feet carrying just the slightest bit of drag as he clings weakly to Yixing’s arm.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea afterall.
There’s a wooden bench parked just outside the entrance to the special exhibit and Yixing forces Jongdae to sit down, ignoring the shallow noises of protest coming from the other. Under the florescent lights of the museum, Jongdae’s pale skin becomes sickly and the purplish lines under his eyes are dark enough to look like bruises.
Jongdae tries to stand back up, pulling his face into a stubborn pout when the other pulls him down again immediately. “Yixing, I’m fine!”
Yixing is not convinced. “Jongdae, we can do this another time, there will be other special exhibits. You look like you’re about to pass out at any second-”
Jongdae shakes his head furiously and struggles against the strong grip holding him in place. “No, you don’t understand, we can’t do this another time, this is our only chance, I-”
“Our only chance?” Yixing stills, suddenly feeling queasy. “Jongdae, what...?”
“Yixing, I...” Jongdae scuffs the toes of his boots together and refuses to meet the other’s eyes. “There won’t be another night to do this, because I applied for a second job at that Italian place, for the late shifts.” He bites his lip nervously. “I start tomorrow.”
Yixing doesn’t reply.
He’s not sure how long they sit there, hunched over a wooden bench in the middle of a museum, their arms brushing as Jongdae hides in his scarf and Yixing blankly watches the wall across from them. The evening crowd in the museum slowly filters out, and just before nine, an announcement crackles through the building, reminding guests that the museum will be closing in just a few moments, and could they please make sure to collect all personal belongings before exiting.
When they finally step back out into the crisp, night air, Yixing feels a numbness spreading through his body that has nothing to do with the weather.
-
Jongdae’s new job hours are eight to ten, so he gets home around eleven and collapses onto their bed, asleep in seconds, only to rise at five and leave to work himself to death all over again.
Yixing almost never sees him on weekdays, considering Jongdae’s two hours off overlap with his job at the theater. The mornings are dreadfully slow. He keeps busy, always working on compositions or assignments for the theater or preparing for gigs he doesn’t yet have, and it’s the only way to keep himself from drowning in the loneliness and the knowledge that it’s his fault that Jongdae’s like this.
Emotions are strange things, Jongdae, don’t you think?
-
Yixing steps outside to check the mailbox one morning and finds the neighbor kid from a few houses down crying softly on the sidewalk, his red bike tilted lopsidedly across the lawn. Without a second thought, Yixing immediately rushes back to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, his fingers shaking just slightly when he returns and approaches the boy, kneeling down next to him on the concrete. “Are you all right?”
The boy shakes his head through his tears, gesturing with tiny, trembling hands towards one small, knobby knee. “I f-fell off the bike,” he hiccups. “Mr. Zhang, it r-really hurts.”
Yixing inspects the scrape on the boy’s knee, gently cleaning out the gravel bits stuck to the raw skin. Even though it’s quite a large and bloody graze, it doesn’t seem too deep, and Yixing pulls out one of those big square band-aids and applies it carefully, covering the wound.
“Did you get injured anywhere else?” He asks the boy gently, helping him to his feet. The kid shakes his head and holds on tightly to Yixing’s fingers, tears still brimming around his eyes.
Yixing returns the bike to its proper, upright position. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Together, they roll the bicycle slowly down the sidewalk, the boy still gripping Yixing’s hand. He can’t be older than eight, Yixing thinks, and suddenly he regrets not getting to know the neighbors well enough, besides a few short conversations and a couple names remembered. Jongdae had always been better at talking to new people.
The boy’s mother sees them through the front window and rushes out into the yard when they approach, an apron tied around her waist and her hair in curlers. She picks her son up into her arms and desperately smoothes his messy bangs flat against his forehead. “Oh my dear, are you all right?” She cries, pressing a kiss on top of her child’s head and holding him close.
The boy nods and points excitedly at Yixing, his tears having died down quite a bit. “Mr. Zhang got me a band aid!” He exclaims to his mother, squirming until she relinquishes her hold and sets him back down on the ground. He runs over to Yixing and gives him a hug, his head barely reaching Yixing’s chest, and the mother laughs, meeting Yixing’s gaze with a grateful look dancing in her eyes. “Thank you so much,” she says, smiling as she looks down at her son, who’s still clinging to the man. “What do you say?”
“Thanks Mr. Zhang!!” The kid gives him a bright toothy grin before running back to his mother and embracing her instead.
Yixing feels the first genuine smile he’s had in what seems like ages spreading across his face. “It was no trouble.” With a small wave, he turns and walks back down the street to his own home, pausing in the driveway to observe the painted shutters and the overgrown flower bushes and the rickety stone path and the oak tree off to the side that’s already a deep orange color, it’s leaves collecting in strewn patterns across the lawn.
He misses Jongdae.
Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had a child?
-
Jongdae gets home one day to find a goldfish bowl sitting in the middle of their kitchen table. The only explanation is Yixing’s note, which manages to provide the unhelpful information of I named him Xiu Min! Isn’t he great?
‘Xiu Min’ is an orange little thing, with a single white splash on his face and a tail fin that’s long and flowy. He flutters his fins nervously in the water as Jongdae takes a closer look, peering through the glass and examining the purple pebbles collected at the bottom.
Jongdae grumbles to himself, his lower lip jutting out into a pout as he slouches down in the chair in front of the fish bowl, watching the fish swim about aimlessly. “Can’t we name him Minseok instead?”
-
Xiu Min is a great companion, Yixing thinks. He listens to everything Yixing says with a quiet stirring of his fins, never interrupting, although it’s not like he could answer anyways. Nonetheless, Yixing feels more comfortable having another living being in the house with him, even though he’s pretty sure Xiu Min’s somersaults mean something along the lines of FEED ME HUMAN rather than Wow, Yixing, I totally understand how you feel.
He still misses Jongdae.
Minseok? Really, Jongdae? Even he likes the name Xiu Min better, he does backflips and everything when I say it.
-
Nowadays, it’s rare that Jongdae gets back before him, so Yixing’s a little surprised to come home on a Saturday night to a dimly lit house and the sounds of soft snores coming from the couch. With great care not to wake his slumbering partner, Yixing crouches down in front of him, watching Jongdae with a softened gaze.
It’s amazing to him how different Jongdae looks in his sleep, his face free of worry for once and his lips parted just slightly as he takes in slow, deep breaths, his eyelids fluttering once when he lets out a small noise of discomfort and makes a marginal shift in his position. With messy hair that falls over his eyebrows and his fingers curled into the sleeves of an old green sweater that Yixing’s pretty sure is his, Jongdae looks so innocent, so ridiculously young, and Yixing feels his breath catch in his lungs. He drops backwards onto the floor, his hands reaching out to support him against the carpet, because seeing Jongdae like this reminds him of how his partner used to be, so carefree and lively and full of bubbly laughter, poking fun at everyone and everything and sharing his opinions with the world.
And Yixing is watching that part of Jongdae die a little bit more everyday.
With a sudden stinging in the corners of his eyes that he rubs away, Yixing gets up and goes to pull out a spare blanket from the bedroom closet, a soft blue one that he doesn’t really remember seeing before. He returns to the living room and tucks it gently into Jongdae’s sides, then carefully re-adjusts the pillow under the man’s head and presses a shaky kiss on Jongdae’s cheekbone. The other man stirs and murmurs incoherently, his lips forming the smallest of smiles before he slips back into his much-needed sleep.
Yixing makes himself a cup of coffee and spends the rest of the night digging through Jongdae’s old college files.
-
Jongdae wakes up to find himself still curled up on the couch, squinting his eyes against the pale light filtering in from the living room curtains. With a yawn, he manages to sit up and stretch, clutching the fluffy blue blanket tightly around his shoulders before he stumbles over to the kitchen.
There’s a note stuck to Minseok’s fish bowl.
Happy Sunday, Jongdae!! Sorry about leaving you, but I didn’t want to wake you up and I have to take care of something real quick. It’s a secret so don’t ask!! >:O Haha I love you and I will be home soon. ♥
Jongdae frowns and rereads the message a few times, glancing up at Minseok afterwards and giving him a suspicious stare. “Did you put him up to this?”
Minseok swims to the other side of the bowl in response.
Exhaling loudly, Jongdae places the note back down on the table and shuffles over to the cupboard, grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal to make himself a quick breakfast. It’s uncomfortably quiet in the house, and he wonders absently if this is what Yixing’s mornings are always like.
The doorbell rings.
With a jolt, Jongdae whips around to scrutinize the front door, his eyes narrowed, suspicious of who would possibly want to visit this early in the morning. The impact of his thoughts are somewhat lessened when he realizes the clock already reads a quarter past ten, but he still makes his way to the entrance somewhat cautiously.
There is a small boy standing on the front steps.
“Ah! It’s Mr. Kim!”
“Can I... help you?” Jongdae blinks and stares down at the boy, vaguely recognizing him as the elementary schooler that lives a few houses down. The kid beams up at him with rosy cheeks and a lopsided grin that’s missing it’s two front teeth, a red beanie hat with a large pompom on the end fitted snugly over his ears and his arms hidden behind his back.
“Is Mr. Zhang home?”
Jongdae shakes his head and the boy’s smile deflates. “Will he be home soon?”
“I don’t know, he said he would.” Jongdae frowns and the boy frowns with him, his mouth quivering and his expression crestfallen. Jongdae cringes inwardly at the sight, wanting to somehow comfort the boy that looks like he’s about to cry all over their doorstep. He crouches down so that he’s eye level with the kid, showing him a gentle smile. “Is there something you wanted to tell him?”
“I j-just wanted to give him some c-cookies...” The boy sniffles and holds up the basket he’d been hiding behind him, and Jongdae can see a pile of chocolate chip cookies peeking out from under the the red cloth draped over the top. “My momma made extra and she said I could g-give them to anyone I wanted...”
Jongdae can’t stop the smile that breaks onto his face, and he laughs brightly and pats the boy on his pompom-covered head. “I’ll tell you what. You can leave them with me, and I’ll make sure to give them to Mr. Zhang when he comes back. Does that sound good?”
The boy scrunches up his nose, thinking hard about Jongdae’s proposition. “Do you promise not to eat any?”
Jongdae makes a pouty face and holds up an index finger. “Just one?”
“Hmmm.” The kid contemplates for a moment longer, before nodding decisively and holding out the basket for Jongdae to take. “Okay. But only one!!”
Jongdae nods with absolute seriousness. “I promise.”
With the basket on his arm, Jongdae stands up and makes to go back inside, but the boy speaks up again before Jongdae has even turned around.
“Mr. Kim?”
“Yeah?” He crouches back down and waits as the boy bites his lip hesitantly.
“Why aren’t you and Mr. Zhang ever together?”
“I-” Jongdae stiffens and stares at the boy, his eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
The boy shrugs and puffs out his cheeks, watching Jongdae curiously. “My momma says you and Mr. Zhang are married like her and daddy, but I never see you with him.”
Jongdae self-consciously fingers the silver band on his left hand, averting his gaze towards his feet. “That’s... It’s because of work. I’m always gone when he’s here and he’s always gone when I’m here.”
The boy pulls a face again. “But that’s stupid! Do you like your work more than you like Mr. Zhang?”
“Of course not! But-”
“Then you should change it.” The boy glares at him with big, brown eyes, his mouth pursed childishly as he nods to himself in triumph.
Jongdae shakes his head and stands up, a weak grin wavering on his face. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is!” The kid sticks his tongue out rudely, before giggling and racing away down the stone pathway. “Bye Mr. Kim!!” He calls over his shoulder, waving cheerfully as he runs off towards his own house.
Jongdae waves uncertainly until the boy has disappeared, his brow furrowed as he looks down at the basket still clutched in his hands. With careful fingers, he plucks out one of the freshly baked cookies and takes a bite as he walks back into the house, chewing slowly and humming appreciatively at the gooey sweetness that melts into his taste buds. He makes a mental note to compliment the boy’s mother when they return the basket, and almost reaches for a second cookie.
He stops just as his fingers brush against the red cloth lining the basket, remembering his promise to the boy. He’d been kidding of course, because there were plenty of cookies and there was no way Yixing could possibly eat all of them.
Even so, he finds himself carefully folding the cloth over the top of the basket and pushing it away.
-
Yixing shows up late, around seven in the evening, looking as if he hasn’t slept for days. Jongdae helps him pull off his jacket and scarf, hanging them up and then squishing Yixing’s face in his hands, examining him with concern clouding his features. “Yixing, you look terrible.”
The taller man grins stupidly at him and leans his head against Jongdae’s shoulder, making a happy, contented noise when Jongdae cards his fingers through his wind tousled hair. “It’s all good,” he says, waving his hand vaguely in the air and laughing at the confused face Jongdae pulls. “More than good.”
“Are you going to tell me what you were up to all day?” Jongdae raises an eyebrow. Yixing chuckles and shakes his head, his tired eyes glimmering excitedly. “Nope! But I’ll tell you something else!”
Jongdae pushes Yixing into the living room and forces him to sit down on the couch before he continues. Yixing waits for Jongdae to settle down next to him and then bumps his shoulder teasingly against Jongdae’s. “Guess what.”
“What?”
“This Wednesday evening,” Yixing says it slowly, drawing out the syllables with his eyes closed and his mouth stretched into a drowsy smile, “I’m performing. That classy restaurant across from the bookstore scheduled me for a two hour block.”
Jongdae hug-tackles him into the cushions, grinning wildly and pressing a messy kiss to Yixing’s lips. “That’s great!” he laughs and lays his cheek against the other’s chest, his next sentence spilling out in warm, soft words. “I’m really proud of you.”
Yixing crinkles his eyes up happily and returns Jongdae’s embrace, carefully bringing them back up together into a sitting position again. “You’ll come, right?” He asks, his eyes wide and hopeful.
Jongdae nods and makes to reply yes, of course, but then he falters, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he pulls his eyebrows together, suddenly unsure. “I... I have a shift on Wednesday...” he winces visibly as Yixing’s smile slips.
“It’s only one day, Jongdae! Can’t you take a leave, just once...?”
“I-” Jongdae stumbles over his words and his voice cracks.
Yixing pulls back, an empty look settling onto his face, and Jongdae feels something clench painfully in his chest as Yixing slowly gets up and walks away, as if in a trance, his head hanging low and his shoulders hunched over as he heads towards their bedroom, all traces of excitement drained from his body.
“I’m sorry,” Jongdae whispers, half expecting Yixing to ignore him. The other pauses, one hand supporting him on the doorframe. He doesn’t turn around. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, and Jongdae curls up on the couch and doesn’t sleep at all.
-
He stumbles into the hospital at six the next morning, having spent the whole night sulking on the couch without a wink of sleep, and wants to cry at the sight of the stack of paperwork sitting at the front desk. Blinking with puffy eyes and unconsciously adjusting the crisp, navy colored tie around his throat, Jongdae settles down into the swivel chair and rustles through the top few patient forms on the pile. With any luck, he can maybe get half the stack done before the crowds start coming.
He’s on the fifth form when Junmyeon, the head surgeon, stops by and places a second heap of papers next to the first. “These are the people scheduled for surgeries this week, could you double check the current medical information for all of them in the database?”
Jongdae stares at the new addition to his work load dumbly, blinking a couple of times and wondering if he’s seeing things because of his sleep deprivation. Junmyeon pats him on the shoulder, beaming down at Jongdae and looking fully-rested and as fresh and ready for the day as ever. The older man chuckles good-naturedly doesn’t wait for Jongdae to answer, wandering off and leaving him to his misery.
Jongdae spends the day frantically switching back and forth between conversing with arriving patients and visitors and trying to go through all the forms in between. He misses his lunch break because of a particularly stubborn, middle-aged woman who can’t seem to understand the concept of a waiting room, and by the time four-thirty rolls around he’s irritable, tired, and about ready to eat a grocery store out of business.
He still has at least two hundred forms to go.
-
Tuesday isn’t any better.
Jondae almost feels bad for the customers at the Italian place who have to sit through the torture of having him as a server that evening, but he’s also too exhausted to really care about the undesirable tip amounts he’s receiving. He’s a little more preoccupied with the fact that Yixing’s been avoiding him since Sunday evening, and that he’s completely and utterly miserable and fed up with just about everything.
The busboy, Jongin, finds him hiding in the corner of the kitchen in the middle of working hours and gives him a questioning stare, leaning on the handle of his mop as he observes Jongdae’s pity party.
“You know, you’ve always hated this job, but I’m pretty sure you just reached a new level of unhappiness,” he says, the end of his sentence punctuated with a loud yawn. “I probably wouldn’t be much help, but... do you wanna talk about it?”
Jongdae smiles weakly and shakes his head. “It’s all right,” he replies quietly, his words directed towards the ground. “I’ll be... I’ll be fine.”
Jongin seems unconvinced, but he doesn’t push it. With a shrug, he plunges his mop back into the bucket of soapy water beside him, returning to the task at hand. Jongdae watches him silently as he draws watery pathways along the floor tiles, often times losing focus and accidently retracing areas he’s already cleaned.
“Yah, Jongin.” The boy looks up.
“Do you have a dream?”
Jongin blinks, taken aback by the sudden question, but he straightens his back and curls his fingers tighter around the mop handle. “I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. Why?”
Jongdae doesn’t answer the question. “I have a degree in literature,” he says instead, picking distractedly at his fingernails. Jongin frowns at him. “And what are you going to do with that degree?”
“I- what?”
The busboy rolls his eyes and swishes his mop across the floor again. “What I mean is, why did you want to get that degree in the first place?”
“I wanted... to work as an editor.”
“And?” Jongin looks at him expectantly.
“...And I still do.”
-
“I’m quitting.”
“You’re what?” Junmyeon gapes at him in disbelief, spluttering as Jongdae hands in his last stack of finished forms on Wednesday afternoon. “But you can’t, we won’t have enough people to man the front desk-”
Jongdae shrugs and gives the head surgeon a disarmingly cheerful smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder. “They’ll find someone.”
“Jongdae, you can’t just walk out-”
“Watch me.” Jongdae adjusts his jacket and exits Junmyeon’s office, strolling leisurely down the hallway and ignoring Junmyeon’s weak protests in the background.
The air outside is way too cold and Jongdae feels alive.
-
He stops by the Italian place and returns his waiter’s apron, grinning when he spots Jongin giving him a thumbs up from the kitchen door.
Jongdae feels a new kind of fire burning within him, a dizzy feeling of recklessness as he finds himself outside in the middle of town around five in the evening, cold and tired and completely jobless. It’s exhilarating, and Jongdae shrinks in his shoulders to conserve body heat and focuses on the the chilly puffs of air his breath leaves behind. He doesn’t realize just how wide he’s grinning until his face starts to hurt.
-
Yixing greets the owners of the restaurant at the door and they lead him to a small, raised platform located near the back of the establishment. There’s not much, just a mic stand and a stool, and Yixing bows his thanks to the owners as they leave him to prepare.
He sets his guitar case on the ground and stretches once, hiding a yawn in his hand. He’s hardly slept the past few days, and the tired circles rimming his eyes are a little out of place with his crisp white dress shirt and purple tie. He almost wonders if he’s underdressed, considering the waiters there are going about their shifts sporting tuxedo vests, but the object of restaurant entertainment is to remain background noise, so Yixing figures the state of his appearance is not quite as important as the music he’s playing.
He pulls out his guitar, setting it on his lap and re-tuning it for the countless time that day. He knows he should feel nervous, excited, maybe a tad queasy as he glances up at all the nameless faces enjoying a leisurely dinner, but mostly he just feels lonely.
He turns on the mic and then freezes, his eyes focusing in on a newcomer that stumbles through the front doors.
Jongdae meets his gaze from the entrance way, his face red with cold and his eyes ridiculously bright, his torso wrapped up in his puffy blue jacket. He looks completely out of place in the fancy decor surrounding him and as Yixing stares, Jongdae walks over to him and halts just in front of the raised platform, a triumphant shine dancing in his eyes.
“Close your mouth, Yixing, you look stupid.” Yixing flushes and snaps his jaw shut quickly, ignoring Jongdae’s delighted laugh as he turns towards with a huff to the wide, open room and strums the strings of his guitar once, beginning a soft tune that floats through the air and quietly tucks itself into the corners of the room so as not to disrupt the customers. Jongdae sits himself cross-legged on the small stage and Yixing briefly hopes the owners won’t mind if Jongdae stays there.
When his first song fades out on the last note, there’s a smattering of applause from a few of the tables and Yixing looks down at Jongdae, his eyebrows scrunched up with confusion. “You said you had a shift.”
“I did.”
“Did?”
“And now I don’t.” Jongdae grins wickedly and Yixing doesn’t get it.
“What, did you just...” he frowns and leans his elbows lightly against the side of his guitar. “Did you skip out on work or something?” Jongdae shakes his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I quit.”
Yixing stares. “You what?”
Jongdae hums and purses his lips, his fingers drumming sporadic patterns against his knees. “I quit everything. I am officially unemployed. Oh man, you should have seen Junmyeon’s face when I walked out-”
He laughs and covers his mouth with his hand to keep the sound from bothering the restaurant's patrons, his shoulders still shaking in silent mirth. “Don’t just stare at me like that. Don’t you have music to be providing?”
Yixing rolls his eyes and fumbles with his guitar, taking a little longer than usual to successfully place his fingers along the instrument’s neck. He lowers the mic slightly and keeps his gaze focused on the room of people before him. “Hey, Jongdae.”
“Hey, what?”
“I love you.” Yixing says calmly, his eyes crinkling up as he strums his fingers once and starts up a new song.
It’s Jongdae’s turn to feel flustered, his ears turning red as he blubbers at the man on the stool. “W-why do you always say that so naturally?”
Yixing grins and leans away from the microphone to whisper back. “Because it is natural.”
Jongdae averts his eyes and pulls his knees up to his chest to hide his embarrassed smile, and Yixing returns to the mic and begins to sing along to the melody.
-
Later when they’re walking through the streets of town, towards the bus stop that has a route to their neighborhood, Jongdae reaches out and slides his hand into Yixing’s, flushing when Yixing happily entwines their fingers and pulls both their hands into his coat pocket. With a rather uncharacteristically shy expression, he hides his face in Yixing’s shoulder with a small squeak as they pass by a large gathering of people talking loudly near a crosswalk.
“What’s with you?” Yixing chuckles and looks down, watching his partner with curious eyes. Jongdae pouts childishly and turns his head so his cheek is resting on Yixing’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For becoming a lame jobless person.” Jongdae mutters quietly under his breath, glaring unhappily at the pavement. Yixing’s mouth forms a small ‘oh’, and he stops walking, turning to face Jongdae fully and resting his palms on the smaller man’s shoulders.
“You want to know what I was doing all Sunday?” He asks abruptly, and Jongdae frowns at him, not seeing a connection between the question and the conversation. Yixing ignores Jongdae’s bewildered stare.
“I sorted through all you college papers and took them to the X.O Headquarters. I uh, kinda persuaded them to take a look.”
“You what...?” Jongdae responds weakly, looking as though he’s about to faint. Yixing holds onto his shoulders more securely and nods encouragingly. “They called me earlier today. Said that they think you’re interesting, and they want you to come in for an interview next week.”
Jongdae flounders at him noiselessly, unable to come up with anything to say, and eventually settles with launching at Yixing with a back-breaking hug, squeezing tighter until Yixing waves his arms and pries Jongdae off to prevent himself from being strangled. Jongdae resorts to kissing him instead, his arms still thrown around Yixing’s neck as he presses a small peck to the corner of Yixing’s mouth and then meets Yixing’s lips properly with his own, his fingers threading through the other’s hair and his mouth twisting into a silly little smile as Yixing wraps his arms around Jongdae’s slim waist and holds him close. With their foreheads pressed together and their heavy breaths mingling in the chilly night air, Jongdae closes his eyes and lets out a happy sigh. “Thank you, Yixing,” he breathes out, his words tickling against the other’s mouth. Yixing grins and shifts to throw an arm over Jongdae’s shoulder, holding him close and giving him a nudge to start walking. “Come on, lets go home.”
Jongdae nods and they find their way to the bus stop. They don’t have to wait too long, and when it arrives they find two seats near the back and Jongdae curls up into Yixing’s side as the bus lurches into motion.
“Yixing.”
“Mm?”
Jongdae yawns and grips the sleeve of Yixing’s coat. “I save all your notes.” he murmurs sleepily. Yixing blinks in surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Jongdae falls silent for a while, his nose tucked into his scarf and his head resting against Yixing’s shoulder. Yixing watches the window without seeing much, only distantly taking in the nighttime scenery that passes by in a blur as the bus moves along.
“Yixing.” Jongdae pipes up a second time, about ten minutes later, and Yixing looks over at him, having been certain that Jongdae drifted off. “Yeah?”
“There was one note you left me once that got me thinking.” Yixing nods and waits for him to continue. With another yawn, Jongdae sits up just enough to meet his gaze, his own eyes tired but very serious. “Do you want to adopt?”
Whatever Yixing is expecting Jongdae to say, it’s not that. His eyes wide, Yixing shifts in his seat, watching Jongdae carefully. “... Do you?”
Jongdae nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think it’s a good idea. We aren’t exactly financially capable of taking care of a child though, to be completely honest.”
Yixing grins and grabs hold of Jongdae’s hand, not caring that the other passengers on the bus are probably watching. “Then that’s something we’ll just have to work on, right?”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling up in a sneaky sort of way. “Okay, but for now can we at least get another fish for Minseok?”
“You mean Xiu Min.” Yixing pokes him squarely on the forehead as a reminder.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jongdae curls back up into Yixing’s side contentedly, and they lapse into a comfortable silence until the bus finally grinds to a stop at the entrance to their neighborhood.
-
-
-
Yixing gets approached by a representative during one of his performances and begins working as a songwriter and producer for SM Talent Agency, a young and slightly lesser known but fast growing company in the music industry. Jongdae, in the meanwhile, works his way up the rungs of the editorial department, quickly gaining recognition from his co-workers after helping to publish several successful works.
The best part about going to work at the same time as Yixing is that Jongdae finally gets to be with him in the mornings. Their alarm rings at seven and they both run around and get ready together, picking out ties for each other and eating a fast breakfast, though Jongdae has learned his lesson well and leaves any cooking to Yixing. He usually ends up feeding Minseok and Luhan as they swim excited circles around each other within the confines of their fish bowl, fighting over who gets the first bite as the food disperses into the water.
It’s a light, breezy spring morning a few years later when Yixing sits down in the kitchen chair across from Jongdae, holding out a slightly crumpled piece of yellow notebook paper that’s been sloppily folded in half. "I wrote you a note."
Hesitantly, Jongdae takes the paper from him with careful fingers and Yixing folds his hands nervously in front of him on the table as he waits for the other's reaction.
It’s a list of all the adoption centers in the area.
A/N: the idea for this may or may not have originated from playing the Sims shhhhh
ugly sobbing i finALLy finished merrgnh thank you for reading i hope you enjoyed i must go cry now bye
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jongdae/Yixing
Genre: Romance, Domestic!AU
Word Count: 9,198 words
Summary: Getting your life in order isn't always as easy as it looks, even when you have someone by your side.
Jongdae stretches and yawns, his eyes bright and his mouth curled up in that strange cat-like smile of his as he admires the view, and it finally hits Yixing that this is real, that the small white house in front of him is theirs. From the blue shutters to the uneven cobblestone path, the lush green grass that’s a bit too long and the wilting violets scattered in front of the windows that look like they could use a gallon or three of water, it’s all for them.
And it’s absolutely perfect.
“Aish, Yixing! Move your lazy ass, no way am I carrying all these boxes by myself.” Jongdae sidles past Yixing and smacks him on the butt, cackling viciously, one of the many cardboard boxes littered across the yard stuck under his armpit. Before Jongdae can escape, Yixing grabs hold of the offending hand in response, wrapping one arm around Jongdae’s shoulders in order to pull him in close. Curling his fingers into the soft brown locks on the back of his partner’s head, Yixing plants a kiss firmly on Jongdae’s lips.
“I love you so much,” he comments casually, his eyes sparkling with amusement as Jongdae turns scarlet and wacks him upside the head. With a huff, the smaller man untangles himself from Yixing’s arms and re-adjusts his hold on the box, giving Yixing a disapproving eyebrow raise but grinning nonetheless. “It’s way too early for cheesy stuff like that,” he says, even as he leans up and returns Yixing’s affections with small peck on the cheek. In a dash he’s gone before Yixing can react, running up the path towards the front door in all its peeling paint glory. “Now go be useful!” he shouts, and then he’s disappeared into their house.
Their house. Not Jongdae’s, not Yixing’s. Theirs.
Yixing picks up the largest box that’s within reasonable distance to his being and follows after Jongdae, pausing briefly to admire the towering oak tree providing shade for a good third of the front lawn, its leaves rustling lightly in the late summer breeze.
He doubts it would be possible to stop the ridiculous smile spreading across his face, even if he wanted to.
-
The house has only one floor to brag about, with four rooms that they’ve divided into the bedroom, bathroom, study room, and the cardboard box room, and then the kitchen and the living room are in a larger, conjoined area, with the kitchen towards the back of the house and the living room towards the front, separated by a single step. Thankfully, they had already taken the time to get all the furniture in place a few days prior, but It still takes them all afternoon and well into the evening to move in all the boxes and get situated enough to call it a day, finally plopping down on the dark navy couch. Outside the windows, the sun is already low in the sky, most of its rays hidden behind the roofs of the neighboring houses.
Jongdae kicks his feet over one of the armrests and lays his head in Yixing’s lap, grinning up at him with barely contained excitement shining in his eyes. Prodding the other lightly on the arm, he waits to make sure Yixing’s full attention is focused on him before reaching up to poke him on the forehead as well. “Guess what, Yixing.”
“What?” Yixing wrinkles his nose in response and moves his face just out of Jongdae’s reach. Undeterred, Jongdae returns to a sitting position and leans comfortably against Yixing’s shoulder, taking a hold of Yixing’s left hand with his and pressing their palms together, his eyes focused on the identical silver bands settled on both of their ring fingers.
“We did it,” Jongdae murmurs quietly, and Yixing entwines their fingers and nods in agreement, using his other hand to reach around Jongdae’s waist and bring them closer. “We really did.”
The walls need a good paint job, and there’s still too much space in the corners of all the rooms to truly consider the place welcoming, but Yixing’s more than ready to call it home.
-
Yixing goes to town in search of a job the next morning, so Jongdae busies himself with unpacking the rest of their boxes, spending most of the day setting up lamps on the side tables and arranging their belongings around the house in an effort to make the rooms seem less bare. Though Yixing’s more of a budding musician, as he likes to put it, they do need to pay the bills somehow, and Jongdae will most likely have to go job hunting himself within the next few days. For now though, he’s quite satisfied with the growing amount of empty cardboard boxes in the cardboard box room, which he’s taken to stacking up in a coordinated pattern called a pile along the far wall.
Around six in the evening, Yixing’s still not home, so Jongdae busies himself with attempting to cook dinner for the two of them, with whatever ingredients their depressingly bare fridge has offer. Considering they’ve kind of neglected grocery shopping since they began preparations to move, the selection isn’t exactly impressive. There’s a bag of raw pasta next to the instant ramen in the cabinet, and a packet of cheese sticks in the fridge that Jongdae’s almost positive he bought just a few days ago, so he takes out both and gets to work, because it can’t be that hard to make macaroni and cheese, can it?
Yixing gets home just in time to sneak up behind him as he’s putting his final creation in the oven, coming into the kitchen to peer over Jongdae’s shoulder with interest at the uneven strips of cheese scattered haphazardly over a casserole dish of freshly cooked pasta.
“And that’s still probably the best I’ve ever seen you cook.”
Jongdae closes the oven door and turns on his partner, using an oven mitt as artillery against him. “Better than you could do, I’m sure!” Yixing dodges and the mitten flies past his head, landing harmlessly under the kitchen table.
Chuckling, Yixing leans in and presses his lips lightly to Jongdae’s temple, a delighted smile spreading across his face when Jongdae returns the affection with a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in the other’s chest. “I missed you,” he mumbles softly, his voice muffled by Yixing’s V-neck, but the other still laughs and wraps his arms tighter around Jongdae. “I’m back now.”
Jongdae snorts and pulls back his head to look the other in the eye, a teasing smirk dancing across his face. “Are you really?”
“Do you need proof?”
“Maybe.”
-
Jongdae’s really not sure how he manages to do it because he swears he only turned around for a second, but suddenly something smells suspiciously like burning cheese and so he looks over and there’s flames coming out of the oven and the smoke is quickly curling up and out, reaching tendrils for him and this is really not what he had in mind when he decided to make dinner.
There’s a really shrill, high-pitched scream coming from his mouth but Jongdae swears it’s not his, and he grabs the kitchen chair behind him and holds it in front of him as a shield, his eyes wide and watering from the smoke as he watches the flames leaping higher and higher and what if their whole house burns down. “YIXING OH MY GOD-”
Yixing’s there within seconds, using a bath towel to smother the flames and when the last flicker of orange has vanished Jongdae hesitantly returns the chair to it’s proper place at the table, biting his lip as he gives Yixing what he hopes is a convincing ‘I didn’t do it’ face.
Yixing sighs heavily, carefully removing the towel and examining the ruined appliance, now blackened with soot stains and leaking wisps of leftover smoke. Jongdae winces when Yixing gingerly opens the oven door and a sudden cloud of ash escapes, billowing up towards the ceiling.
“That’s probably going to stain,” is all Yixing says, staring up absently at the ceiling. He shakes his head and washes the the soot off his hands before retrieving two packets of instant ramen from the cabinet.
He sets down a bowl in front of Jongdae only moments later, to find the smaller man still gaping at him in confusion. “Uh.”
Yixing reaches over and uses his pair of disposable chopsticks to tap underneath Jongdae’s chin, effectively causing the other to close his mouth. “It’s fine, we’ll just have to get a new one.”
Jongdae groans, flopping his head down onto the table. “It didn’t even last two days,” he grumbles into the placemat. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh. Do we even have enough money to get a new one?”
At this, Yixing grins and nods enthusiastically, waving his chopsticks in Jongdae’s direction. “Sure we do! I landed myself a job today, as a matter of fact.”
Jongdae sits up immediately, staring at Yixing in surprise. “Wait, but that’s awesome! What is it? When do you start?”
“Tomorrow, in the afternoon. It’s not much, but there’s a local theater downtown, and they needed someone to run odd jobs for them, as well as some backstage work. The pays not terrible, and they’ve got connections with some of the cafés so if I work hard I might be able to land a gig.” Yixing grins at him and Jongdae can’t help but grin back.
“That’s great, Yixing.” Jongdae says, and he really is truly happy for his partner, but he can’t help but think that a job like that probably won’t pay for a new oven and stove. Or any of the bills, for that matter.
He’ll go searching tomorrow.
-
Later that night, Yixing finds Jongdae sitting on their bed with his legs pulled up to his chest, hugging a pillow tight between his arms and his eyes downcast. With a quiet murmur of ‘what’s the matter?’, Yixing sits down and immediately wraps his arms around his lover, pulling the other into his lap and pressing gentle kisses to the back of Jongdae’s neck. Jongdae sighs and allows himself to lean back in Yixing’s arms, relaxing into the touch as Yixing smooths the fringe of his bangs down with gentle strokes.
“I just... I’m really sorry,” he whispers, pulling his knees in tight again, “I should have been more careful, but I-I just wanted to surprise you, and-” Yixing shushes him with a finger to Jongdae’s lips, his other hand still rubbing light circles on Jongdae’s scalp.
“I said it was fine, Jongdae. It was an accident, no need to apologize.” With a light smile, he gives the other a gentle nudge, motioning for him to lie down while he does the same, burrowing under the covers and ending up on Jongdae’s side of the bed.
“Again? It’s too warm for this, seriously...” Jongdae gives Yixing an appraising look but makes no effort to push him away, letting Yixing tangle their legs together and drape himself over Jongdae.
“Nah, I like it better this way.”
--
For Jongdae, the next few days are filled with endless hours of job hunting, from scouring the newspapers and the internet for now hiring adds to visiting places personally to set up interviews. Yixing keeps himself busy at the theater, coming home every night with various stories to tell Jongdae, usually regarding the countless eccentric people he always seems to run into.
“Any luck today?” Yixing brings up the question over the Italian take-out that’s actually left-overs from the day before, having finished recounting the events of his day, something about his boss and a stubborn mic stand. Jongdae nods, swallowing his mouthful of noodles before elaborating on his response.
“I had my interview with the hospital today, and they seemed satisfied. If all goes well I can start working next Monday.”
“The hospital?? Jongdae, you have a degree in literature, what-”
Jongdae laughs and shakes his head. “As a secretary, stupid. I’m not becoming a heart surgeon anytime soon, don’t worry.”
Yixing scrunches up his face and watches as Jongdae picks up another forkful of pasta. “That’s great and all, but... a secretary? That’s a rather far shot from what you had in mind, isn’t it? I mean, are you sure-” Jongdae shushes him and shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it. For now, it pays well enough, and we need as much money as we can get. Actually, I’m considering also picking up some part time shifts waiting at the Italian place we got this from. And-” He holds up a finger when Yixing tries to interrupt, “before you say it, I did look into the editorial building but they aren’t hiring, all right?”
Yixing sighs and nods, stabbing his own utensil half-heartedly at his meal. “I know, I know. I just- Jongdae, we chose here partly because of the proximity to the X.O. Publishing Headquarters, and I don’t... I don’t want you to miss out on your dream just because I’m chasing my own.” He looks down with guilt written across his face, unconsciously pulling the silver chain hanging around his neck. With a small smile, Jongdae reaches across the table to pull Yixing’s hand away from the necklace and laces their fingers together.
“Don’t, Yixing. I want you to chase your dream. I’m not giving up, okay? It’ll just be a little while before I can go after my own. Just until we’ve got a foundation for ourselves.”
Yixing nods quietly and tightens his grip on Jongdae’s hand. “Okay.”
-
Jongdae fails to mention that being a secretary somehow requires him getting up at ridiculous hours of the morning, with his alarm clock going off each day at five AM. Yixing groans and tries to pull Jongdae back into bed each time, but the other always manages to wriggle free from the sheets and Yixing’s arms, dressing quickly and pressing a small kiss to older man’s forehead before he leaves the room. Yixing can still hear the other moving around the house, but he usually drifts back to sleep sometime between the sounds of Jongdae grabbing a bite to eat and the dull thud of the front door swinging closed behind him.
Most of the times, the theater only requires him to be there by noon, so Yixing has the house to himself in the mornings. It’s nice to have quiet time, he figures. He opens all the windows and listens to the birds, lets the morning breeze float in and ruffle the curtains. Sometimes he’ll sit in the living room and focus on composing, but he also managed to set up the easel he inherited from his grandfather, so on other days he passes the time painting, or at least trying to.
The house always seems too big when he’s alone.
-
There’s a bus stop just ten minutes from their neighborhood, so Jongdae usually gets home around six in the evening, although Yixing’s long gone by then. Jongdae often stops by the supermarket before returning, so the first thing to do when he gets home is put away all the groceries, which isn’t so bad because Yixing always leaves him a little note on the kitchen table since he knows that’s the first place Jongdae goes.
Hope work went well today!
I borrowed your purple tie I’ll return it tonight.
Did you know that polar bears aren’t actually white?
Hi Jongdae!
After you left this morning I fell back asleep and dreamt you were a singer. Funny right? Haha I bet you could be one if you wanted to, your voice is pretty.
Heart for you: ♥
I borrowed your tie again. Can I keep it?
We’re out of acrylic paint. ):
The neighbors have a dog and it’s in our yard what should I do...
Come home safely!
I miss you.
Yixing can be rather forgetful. He’ll leave the paints lying out and they’ll all dry up, or the windows will still be open and Jongdae will have to chase around stray papers flying through the house. Once he even left the faucet running in the bathroom, successfully raising their water bill to unnecessary levels for the month. Yet every single day, without fail, he leaves a little message or even a quick doodle, scribbled onto a torn piece of notebook paper or other various materials, sometimes on a paper crane when he’s feeling extra creative or a crumpled napkin when he’s in a hurry.
Jongdae secretly keeps them all in a shoebox under their bed.
-
Yixing usually returns in time for them to eat a late dinner together, but occasionally he ends up working way later than intended and shows up on the doorstep past ten, sometimes eleven, with dark circles under his eyes and an apology on his lips.
“They needed extra help in the backrooms and I just-” They’re still in the entranceway and Jongdae laughs and interrupts Yixing with a hug, standing up on his toes to wrap his arms tightly around the other’s shoulders and hide his smile in the crook of Yixing’s neck. “Welcome home.”
Yixing sighs, his breath ruffling the hairs at the top of Jongdae’s head. “I wanted to be home sooner.”
Jongdae leans up to kiss him. “I know.”
-
The only day they’re both off work is Sunday, which easily makes it their favorite day of the week. Jongdae often accidently sets his alarm, but Yixing doesn’t really mind having to wake up unnecessarily so early in the morning, because it just makes it feel that much better when Jongdae turns the alarm off and crawls right back into bed, curling up with his head on Yixing’s chest and mumbling about absurd work hours.
Sunday is a day to spend time together.
It’s a day to take walks in the park, with Jongdae swinging their linked hands enthusiastically to the rhythm of the tune he’s humming under his breath. It’s a day to lie down in the front yard, under the shade of their oak tree, with no purpose at all except to roll around and play music for the unsuspecting neighbors and have a picnic and maybe a food fight too (at least until a grape gets stuck in Yixing’s guitar and it takes them thirty minutes to force it back out). It’s a day to try and cook Yixing breakfast without blowing up their brand new stove, and then giving up in exasperation and resigning to being Yixing’s assistant chef instead. It’s a day to stay in bed until noon, even though they’re both perfectly wide awake.
Sunday is also a day to forget.
It’s a day to forget the long hours of paperwork and typing, the phone calls and the endless lines of patients that couldn’t care less that Jongdae’s been there since six in the morning, plastering on a smile for each one. It’s a day to forget the late nights Yixing continues to tack on in efforts to be recognized, the secret scouting trips he takes to find any cafés that may or may not be willing to book live entertainment. It’s a day to forget that the new oven still cost much more than they should be spending, even though they got the cheapest one they could find that still worked and even though Jongdae insisted that it would be fine, that the money would even out. It’s a day to forget the Italian restaurant and its ‘now hiring’ sign that swings back and forth in the windowsill, the option for part time hours on the late shift that Jongdae may or may not have applied for.
It’s a day to forget that Jongdae is getting thinner, his cheekbones growing more prominent and pointed against shallow skin, dark circles permanently etched under his eyes as he slips away from Yixing every morning. It’s a day to forget the long hours Yixing spends scribbling away in his notebook and tinkering with the strings of his guitar and feverishly searching the internet and paper for any sort of opportunity, trying to push away the guilt as he brings home yet another measly paycheck.
It’s a day to forget the bills that are due at the end of the month, sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter.
-
Yixing finally, finally gets a raise for all the work he’s been doing, and Jongdae insists they do something to celebrate.
“That art museum over in the city is having a special exhibit,” he says one Thursday evening when Yixing gets home, shoving an ad he got from the mail into his partner’s arms and then proceeding to fall headfirst across the couch, his face colliding with the pillows with a muffled ‘fwump.’ Yixing sits down on top of Jongdae’s behind without any hesitation, pointedly ignoring Jongdae’s yelp of protest as his eyes scan the piece of paper.
Yixing frowns. “Jongdae, the exhibit ends tonight.”
“Yeah, but you came home early today. If we leave now, we could still go see it.” Jongdae squirms until Yixing moves enough for him to readjust himself, sitting up properly on the couch and giving Yixing his best pleading look. “Please? We never do things like this any more...”
There’s something about Jongdae’s eager face that has Yixing giving in with a nod, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Jongdae immediately jumps up excitedly and rushes for the door, already reaching for a coat to keep out the chill of the evening.
-
Bundled up in a scarf and his puffy blue jacket, Jongdae looks smaller and more fragile than ever, his cheeks puffed out against the cold air and a slight tremble in his steps even though it’s barely October. They stumble off the city bus a little after seven, and then its only a few short blocks until they can see the museum looming in front of them.
Once inside, Jongdae reluctantly leaves his jacket in the coat room, insisting on keeping his scarf tightly wound around his neck. Yixing can’t help but notice the way he buries his nose deep into the knitted wool, his eyes droopy and his feet carrying just the slightest bit of drag as he clings weakly to Yixing’s arm.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea afterall.
There’s a wooden bench parked just outside the entrance to the special exhibit and Yixing forces Jongdae to sit down, ignoring the shallow noises of protest coming from the other. Under the florescent lights of the museum, Jongdae’s pale skin becomes sickly and the purplish lines under his eyes are dark enough to look like bruises.
Jongdae tries to stand back up, pulling his face into a stubborn pout when the other pulls him down again immediately. “Yixing, I’m fine!”
Yixing is not convinced. “Jongdae, we can do this another time, there will be other special exhibits. You look like you’re about to pass out at any second-”
Jongdae shakes his head furiously and struggles against the strong grip holding him in place. “No, you don’t understand, we can’t do this another time, this is our only chance, I-”
“Our only chance?” Yixing stills, suddenly feeling queasy. “Jongdae, what...?”
“Yixing, I...” Jongdae scuffs the toes of his boots together and refuses to meet the other’s eyes. “There won’t be another night to do this, because I applied for a second job at that Italian place, for the late shifts.” He bites his lip nervously. “I start tomorrow.”
Yixing doesn’t reply.
He’s not sure how long they sit there, hunched over a wooden bench in the middle of a museum, their arms brushing as Jongdae hides in his scarf and Yixing blankly watches the wall across from them. The evening crowd in the museum slowly filters out, and just before nine, an announcement crackles through the building, reminding guests that the museum will be closing in just a few moments, and could they please make sure to collect all personal belongings before exiting.
When they finally step back out into the crisp, night air, Yixing feels a numbness spreading through his body that has nothing to do with the weather.
-
Jongdae’s new job hours are eight to ten, so he gets home around eleven and collapses onto their bed, asleep in seconds, only to rise at five and leave to work himself to death all over again.
Yixing almost never sees him on weekdays, considering Jongdae’s two hours off overlap with his job at the theater. The mornings are dreadfully slow. He keeps busy, always working on compositions or assignments for the theater or preparing for gigs he doesn’t yet have, and it’s the only way to keep himself from drowning in the loneliness and the knowledge that it’s his fault that Jongdae’s like this.
Emotions are strange things, Jongdae, don’t you think?
-
Yixing steps outside to check the mailbox one morning and finds the neighbor kid from a few houses down crying softly on the sidewalk, his red bike tilted lopsidedly across the lawn. Without a second thought, Yixing immediately rushes back to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, his fingers shaking just slightly when he returns and approaches the boy, kneeling down next to him on the concrete. “Are you all right?”
The boy shakes his head through his tears, gesturing with tiny, trembling hands towards one small, knobby knee. “I f-fell off the bike,” he hiccups. “Mr. Zhang, it r-really hurts.”
Yixing inspects the scrape on the boy’s knee, gently cleaning out the gravel bits stuck to the raw skin. Even though it’s quite a large and bloody graze, it doesn’t seem too deep, and Yixing pulls out one of those big square band-aids and applies it carefully, covering the wound.
“Did you get injured anywhere else?” He asks the boy gently, helping him to his feet. The kid shakes his head and holds on tightly to Yixing’s fingers, tears still brimming around his eyes.
Yixing returns the bike to its proper, upright position. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Together, they roll the bicycle slowly down the sidewalk, the boy still gripping Yixing’s hand. He can’t be older than eight, Yixing thinks, and suddenly he regrets not getting to know the neighbors well enough, besides a few short conversations and a couple names remembered. Jongdae had always been better at talking to new people.
The boy’s mother sees them through the front window and rushes out into the yard when they approach, an apron tied around her waist and her hair in curlers. She picks her son up into her arms and desperately smoothes his messy bangs flat against his forehead. “Oh my dear, are you all right?” She cries, pressing a kiss on top of her child’s head and holding him close.
The boy nods and points excitedly at Yixing, his tears having died down quite a bit. “Mr. Zhang got me a band aid!” He exclaims to his mother, squirming until she relinquishes her hold and sets him back down on the ground. He runs over to Yixing and gives him a hug, his head barely reaching Yixing’s chest, and the mother laughs, meeting Yixing’s gaze with a grateful look dancing in her eyes. “Thank you so much,” she says, smiling as she looks down at her son, who’s still clinging to the man. “What do you say?”
“Thanks Mr. Zhang!!” The kid gives him a bright toothy grin before running back to his mother and embracing her instead.
Yixing feels the first genuine smile he’s had in what seems like ages spreading across his face. “It was no trouble.” With a small wave, he turns and walks back down the street to his own home, pausing in the driveway to observe the painted shutters and the overgrown flower bushes and the rickety stone path and the oak tree off to the side that’s already a deep orange color, it’s leaves collecting in strewn patterns across the lawn.
He misses Jongdae.
Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had a child?
-
Jongdae gets home one day to find a goldfish bowl sitting in the middle of their kitchen table. The only explanation is Yixing’s note, which manages to provide the unhelpful information of I named him Xiu Min! Isn’t he great?
‘Xiu Min’ is an orange little thing, with a single white splash on his face and a tail fin that’s long and flowy. He flutters his fins nervously in the water as Jongdae takes a closer look, peering through the glass and examining the purple pebbles collected at the bottom.
Jongdae grumbles to himself, his lower lip jutting out into a pout as he slouches down in the chair in front of the fish bowl, watching the fish swim about aimlessly. “Can’t we name him Minseok instead?”
-
Xiu Min is a great companion, Yixing thinks. He listens to everything Yixing says with a quiet stirring of his fins, never interrupting, although it’s not like he could answer anyways. Nonetheless, Yixing feels more comfortable having another living being in the house with him, even though he’s pretty sure Xiu Min’s somersaults mean something along the lines of FEED ME HUMAN rather than Wow, Yixing, I totally understand how you feel.
He still misses Jongdae.
Minseok? Really, Jongdae? Even he likes the name Xiu Min better, he does backflips and everything when I say it.
-
Nowadays, it’s rare that Jongdae gets back before him, so Yixing’s a little surprised to come home on a Saturday night to a dimly lit house and the sounds of soft snores coming from the couch. With great care not to wake his slumbering partner, Yixing crouches down in front of him, watching Jongdae with a softened gaze.
It’s amazing to him how different Jongdae looks in his sleep, his face free of worry for once and his lips parted just slightly as he takes in slow, deep breaths, his eyelids fluttering once when he lets out a small noise of discomfort and makes a marginal shift in his position. With messy hair that falls over his eyebrows and his fingers curled into the sleeves of an old green sweater that Yixing’s pretty sure is his, Jongdae looks so innocent, so ridiculously young, and Yixing feels his breath catch in his lungs. He drops backwards onto the floor, his hands reaching out to support him against the carpet, because seeing Jongdae like this reminds him of how his partner used to be, so carefree and lively and full of bubbly laughter, poking fun at everyone and everything and sharing his opinions with the world.
And Yixing is watching that part of Jongdae die a little bit more everyday.
With a sudden stinging in the corners of his eyes that he rubs away, Yixing gets up and goes to pull out a spare blanket from the bedroom closet, a soft blue one that he doesn’t really remember seeing before. He returns to the living room and tucks it gently into Jongdae’s sides, then carefully re-adjusts the pillow under the man’s head and presses a shaky kiss on Jongdae’s cheekbone. The other man stirs and murmurs incoherently, his lips forming the smallest of smiles before he slips back into his much-needed sleep.
Yixing makes himself a cup of coffee and spends the rest of the night digging through Jongdae’s old college files.
-
Jongdae wakes up to find himself still curled up on the couch, squinting his eyes against the pale light filtering in from the living room curtains. With a yawn, he manages to sit up and stretch, clutching the fluffy blue blanket tightly around his shoulders before he stumbles over to the kitchen.
There’s a note stuck to Minseok’s fish bowl.
Happy Sunday, Jongdae!! Sorry about leaving you, but I didn’t want to wake you up and I have to take care of something real quick. It’s a secret so don’t ask!! >:O Haha I love you and I will be home soon. ♥
Jongdae frowns and rereads the message a few times, glancing up at Minseok afterwards and giving him a suspicious stare. “Did you put him up to this?”
Minseok swims to the other side of the bowl in response.
Exhaling loudly, Jongdae places the note back down on the table and shuffles over to the cupboard, grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal to make himself a quick breakfast. It’s uncomfortably quiet in the house, and he wonders absently if this is what Yixing’s mornings are always like.
The doorbell rings.
With a jolt, Jongdae whips around to scrutinize the front door, his eyes narrowed, suspicious of who would possibly want to visit this early in the morning. The impact of his thoughts are somewhat lessened when he realizes the clock already reads a quarter past ten, but he still makes his way to the entrance somewhat cautiously.
There is a small boy standing on the front steps.
“Ah! It’s Mr. Kim!”
“Can I... help you?” Jongdae blinks and stares down at the boy, vaguely recognizing him as the elementary schooler that lives a few houses down. The kid beams up at him with rosy cheeks and a lopsided grin that’s missing it’s two front teeth, a red beanie hat with a large pompom on the end fitted snugly over his ears and his arms hidden behind his back.
“Is Mr. Zhang home?”
Jongdae shakes his head and the boy’s smile deflates. “Will he be home soon?”
“I don’t know, he said he would.” Jongdae frowns and the boy frowns with him, his mouth quivering and his expression crestfallen. Jongdae cringes inwardly at the sight, wanting to somehow comfort the boy that looks like he’s about to cry all over their doorstep. He crouches down so that he’s eye level with the kid, showing him a gentle smile. “Is there something you wanted to tell him?”
“I j-just wanted to give him some c-cookies...” The boy sniffles and holds up the basket he’d been hiding behind him, and Jongdae can see a pile of chocolate chip cookies peeking out from under the the red cloth draped over the top. “My momma made extra and she said I could g-give them to anyone I wanted...”
Jongdae can’t stop the smile that breaks onto his face, and he laughs brightly and pats the boy on his pompom-covered head. “I’ll tell you what. You can leave them with me, and I’ll make sure to give them to Mr. Zhang when he comes back. Does that sound good?”
The boy scrunches up his nose, thinking hard about Jongdae’s proposition. “Do you promise not to eat any?”
Jongdae makes a pouty face and holds up an index finger. “Just one?”
“Hmmm.” The kid contemplates for a moment longer, before nodding decisively and holding out the basket for Jongdae to take. “Okay. But only one!!”
Jongdae nods with absolute seriousness. “I promise.”
With the basket on his arm, Jongdae stands up and makes to go back inside, but the boy speaks up again before Jongdae has even turned around.
“Mr. Kim?”
“Yeah?” He crouches back down and waits as the boy bites his lip hesitantly.
“Why aren’t you and Mr. Zhang ever together?”
“I-” Jongdae stiffens and stares at the boy, his eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
The boy shrugs and puffs out his cheeks, watching Jongdae curiously. “My momma says you and Mr. Zhang are married like her and daddy, but I never see you with him.”
Jongdae self-consciously fingers the silver band on his left hand, averting his gaze towards his feet. “That’s... It’s because of work. I’m always gone when he’s here and he’s always gone when I’m here.”
The boy pulls a face again. “But that’s stupid! Do you like your work more than you like Mr. Zhang?”
“Of course not! But-”
“Then you should change it.” The boy glares at him with big, brown eyes, his mouth pursed childishly as he nods to himself in triumph.
Jongdae shakes his head and stands up, a weak grin wavering on his face. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is!” The kid sticks his tongue out rudely, before giggling and racing away down the stone pathway. “Bye Mr. Kim!!” He calls over his shoulder, waving cheerfully as he runs off towards his own house.
Jongdae waves uncertainly until the boy has disappeared, his brow furrowed as he looks down at the basket still clutched in his hands. With careful fingers, he plucks out one of the freshly baked cookies and takes a bite as he walks back into the house, chewing slowly and humming appreciatively at the gooey sweetness that melts into his taste buds. He makes a mental note to compliment the boy’s mother when they return the basket, and almost reaches for a second cookie.
He stops just as his fingers brush against the red cloth lining the basket, remembering his promise to the boy. He’d been kidding of course, because there were plenty of cookies and there was no way Yixing could possibly eat all of them.
Even so, he finds himself carefully folding the cloth over the top of the basket and pushing it away.
-
Yixing shows up late, around seven in the evening, looking as if he hasn’t slept for days. Jongdae helps him pull off his jacket and scarf, hanging them up and then squishing Yixing’s face in his hands, examining him with concern clouding his features. “Yixing, you look terrible.”
The taller man grins stupidly at him and leans his head against Jongdae’s shoulder, making a happy, contented noise when Jongdae cards his fingers through his wind tousled hair. “It’s all good,” he says, waving his hand vaguely in the air and laughing at the confused face Jongdae pulls. “More than good.”
“Are you going to tell me what you were up to all day?” Jongdae raises an eyebrow. Yixing chuckles and shakes his head, his tired eyes glimmering excitedly. “Nope! But I’ll tell you something else!”
Jongdae pushes Yixing into the living room and forces him to sit down on the couch before he continues. Yixing waits for Jongdae to settle down next to him and then bumps his shoulder teasingly against Jongdae’s. “Guess what.”
“What?”
“This Wednesday evening,” Yixing says it slowly, drawing out the syllables with his eyes closed and his mouth stretched into a drowsy smile, “I’m performing. That classy restaurant across from the bookstore scheduled me for a two hour block.”
Jongdae hug-tackles him into the cushions, grinning wildly and pressing a messy kiss to Yixing’s lips. “That’s great!” he laughs and lays his cheek against the other’s chest, his next sentence spilling out in warm, soft words. “I’m really proud of you.”
Yixing crinkles his eyes up happily and returns Jongdae’s embrace, carefully bringing them back up together into a sitting position again. “You’ll come, right?” He asks, his eyes wide and hopeful.
Jongdae nods and makes to reply yes, of course, but then he falters, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he pulls his eyebrows together, suddenly unsure. “I... I have a shift on Wednesday...” he winces visibly as Yixing’s smile slips.
“It’s only one day, Jongdae! Can’t you take a leave, just once...?”
“I-” Jongdae stumbles over his words and his voice cracks.
Yixing pulls back, an empty look settling onto his face, and Jongdae feels something clench painfully in his chest as Yixing slowly gets up and walks away, as if in a trance, his head hanging low and his shoulders hunched over as he heads towards their bedroom, all traces of excitement drained from his body.
“I’m sorry,” Jongdae whispers, half expecting Yixing to ignore him. The other pauses, one hand supporting him on the doorframe. He doesn’t turn around. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, and Jongdae curls up on the couch and doesn’t sleep at all.
-
He stumbles into the hospital at six the next morning, having spent the whole night sulking on the couch without a wink of sleep, and wants to cry at the sight of the stack of paperwork sitting at the front desk. Blinking with puffy eyes and unconsciously adjusting the crisp, navy colored tie around his throat, Jongdae settles down into the swivel chair and rustles through the top few patient forms on the pile. With any luck, he can maybe get half the stack done before the crowds start coming.
He’s on the fifth form when Junmyeon, the head surgeon, stops by and places a second heap of papers next to the first. “These are the people scheduled for surgeries this week, could you double check the current medical information for all of them in the database?”
Jongdae stares at the new addition to his work load dumbly, blinking a couple of times and wondering if he’s seeing things because of his sleep deprivation. Junmyeon pats him on the shoulder, beaming down at Jongdae and looking fully-rested and as fresh and ready for the day as ever. The older man chuckles good-naturedly doesn’t wait for Jongdae to answer, wandering off and leaving him to his misery.
Jongdae spends the day frantically switching back and forth between conversing with arriving patients and visitors and trying to go through all the forms in between. He misses his lunch break because of a particularly stubborn, middle-aged woman who can’t seem to understand the concept of a waiting room, and by the time four-thirty rolls around he’s irritable, tired, and about ready to eat a grocery store out of business.
He still has at least two hundred forms to go.
-
Tuesday isn’t any better.
Jondae almost feels bad for the customers at the Italian place who have to sit through the torture of having him as a server that evening, but he’s also too exhausted to really care about the undesirable tip amounts he’s receiving. He’s a little more preoccupied with the fact that Yixing’s been avoiding him since Sunday evening, and that he’s completely and utterly miserable and fed up with just about everything.
The busboy, Jongin, finds him hiding in the corner of the kitchen in the middle of working hours and gives him a questioning stare, leaning on the handle of his mop as he observes Jongdae’s pity party.
“You know, you’ve always hated this job, but I’m pretty sure you just reached a new level of unhappiness,” he says, the end of his sentence punctuated with a loud yawn. “I probably wouldn’t be much help, but... do you wanna talk about it?”
Jongdae smiles weakly and shakes his head. “It’s all right,” he replies quietly, his words directed towards the ground. “I’ll be... I’ll be fine.”
Jongin seems unconvinced, but he doesn’t push it. With a shrug, he plunges his mop back into the bucket of soapy water beside him, returning to the task at hand. Jongdae watches him silently as he draws watery pathways along the floor tiles, often times losing focus and accidently retracing areas he’s already cleaned.
“Yah, Jongin.” The boy looks up.
“Do you have a dream?”
Jongin blinks, taken aback by the sudden question, but he straightens his back and curls his fingers tighter around the mop handle. “I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. Why?”
Jongdae doesn’t answer the question. “I have a degree in literature,” he says instead, picking distractedly at his fingernails. Jongin frowns at him. “And what are you going to do with that degree?”
“I- what?”
The busboy rolls his eyes and swishes his mop across the floor again. “What I mean is, why did you want to get that degree in the first place?”
“I wanted... to work as an editor.”
“And?” Jongin looks at him expectantly.
“...And I still do.”
-
“I’m quitting.”
“You’re what?” Junmyeon gapes at him in disbelief, spluttering as Jongdae hands in his last stack of finished forms on Wednesday afternoon. “But you can’t, we won’t have enough people to man the front desk-”
Jongdae shrugs and gives the head surgeon a disarmingly cheerful smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder. “They’ll find someone.”
“Jongdae, you can’t just walk out-”
“Watch me.” Jongdae adjusts his jacket and exits Junmyeon’s office, strolling leisurely down the hallway and ignoring Junmyeon’s weak protests in the background.
The air outside is way too cold and Jongdae feels alive.
-
He stops by the Italian place and returns his waiter’s apron, grinning when he spots Jongin giving him a thumbs up from the kitchen door.
Jongdae feels a new kind of fire burning within him, a dizzy feeling of recklessness as he finds himself outside in the middle of town around five in the evening, cold and tired and completely jobless. It’s exhilarating, and Jongdae shrinks in his shoulders to conserve body heat and focuses on the the chilly puffs of air his breath leaves behind. He doesn’t realize just how wide he’s grinning until his face starts to hurt.
-
Yixing greets the owners of the restaurant at the door and they lead him to a small, raised platform located near the back of the establishment. There’s not much, just a mic stand and a stool, and Yixing bows his thanks to the owners as they leave him to prepare.
He sets his guitar case on the ground and stretches once, hiding a yawn in his hand. He’s hardly slept the past few days, and the tired circles rimming his eyes are a little out of place with his crisp white dress shirt and purple tie. He almost wonders if he’s underdressed, considering the waiters there are going about their shifts sporting tuxedo vests, but the object of restaurant entertainment is to remain background noise, so Yixing figures the state of his appearance is not quite as important as the music he’s playing.
He pulls out his guitar, setting it on his lap and re-tuning it for the countless time that day. He knows he should feel nervous, excited, maybe a tad queasy as he glances up at all the nameless faces enjoying a leisurely dinner, but mostly he just feels lonely.
He turns on the mic and then freezes, his eyes focusing in on a newcomer that stumbles through the front doors.
Jongdae meets his gaze from the entrance way, his face red with cold and his eyes ridiculously bright, his torso wrapped up in his puffy blue jacket. He looks completely out of place in the fancy decor surrounding him and as Yixing stares, Jongdae walks over to him and halts just in front of the raised platform, a triumphant shine dancing in his eyes.
“Close your mouth, Yixing, you look stupid.” Yixing flushes and snaps his jaw shut quickly, ignoring Jongdae’s delighted laugh as he turns towards with a huff to the wide, open room and strums the strings of his guitar once, beginning a soft tune that floats through the air and quietly tucks itself into the corners of the room so as not to disrupt the customers. Jongdae sits himself cross-legged on the small stage and Yixing briefly hopes the owners won’t mind if Jongdae stays there.
When his first song fades out on the last note, there’s a smattering of applause from a few of the tables and Yixing looks down at Jongdae, his eyebrows scrunched up with confusion. “You said you had a shift.”
“I did.”
“Did?”
“And now I don’t.” Jongdae grins wickedly and Yixing doesn’t get it.
“What, did you just...” he frowns and leans his elbows lightly against the side of his guitar. “Did you skip out on work or something?” Jongdae shakes his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I quit.”
Yixing stares. “You what?”
Jongdae hums and purses his lips, his fingers drumming sporadic patterns against his knees. “I quit everything. I am officially unemployed. Oh man, you should have seen Junmyeon’s face when I walked out-”
He laughs and covers his mouth with his hand to keep the sound from bothering the restaurant's patrons, his shoulders still shaking in silent mirth. “Don’t just stare at me like that. Don’t you have music to be providing?”
Yixing rolls his eyes and fumbles with his guitar, taking a little longer than usual to successfully place his fingers along the instrument’s neck. He lowers the mic slightly and keeps his gaze focused on the room of people before him. “Hey, Jongdae.”
“Hey, what?”
“I love you.” Yixing says calmly, his eyes crinkling up as he strums his fingers once and starts up a new song.
It’s Jongdae’s turn to feel flustered, his ears turning red as he blubbers at the man on the stool. “W-why do you always say that so naturally?”
Yixing grins and leans away from the microphone to whisper back. “Because it is natural.”
Jongdae averts his eyes and pulls his knees up to his chest to hide his embarrassed smile, and Yixing returns to the mic and begins to sing along to the melody.
-
Later when they’re walking through the streets of town, towards the bus stop that has a route to their neighborhood, Jongdae reaches out and slides his hand into Yixing’s, flushing when Yixing happily entwines their fingers and pulls both their hands into his coat pocket. With a rather uncharacteristically shy expression, he hides his face in Yixing’s shoulder with a small squeak as they pass by a large gathering of people talking loudly near a crosswalk.
“What’s with you?” Yixing chuckles and looks down, watching his partner with curious eyes. Jongdae pouts childishly and turns his head so his cheek is resting on Yixing’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For becoming a lame jobless person.” Jongdae mutters quietly under his breath, glaring unhappily at the pavement. Yixing’s mouth forms a small ‘oh’, and he stops walking, turning to face Jongdae fully and resting his palms on the smaller man’s shoulders.
“You want to know what I was doing all Sunday?” He asks abruptly, and Jongdae frowns at him, not seeing a connection between the question and the conversation. Yixing ignores Jongdae’s bewildered stare.
“I sorted through all you college papers and took them to the X.O Headquarters. I uh, kinda persuaded them to take a look.”
“You what...?” Jongdae responds weakly, looking as though he’s about to faint. Yixing holds onto his shoulders more securely and nods encouragingly. “They called me earlier today. Said that they think you’re interesting, and they want you to come in for an interview next week.”
Jongdae flounders at him noiselessly, unable to come up with anything to say, and eventually settles with launching at Yixing with a back-breaking hug, squeezing tighter until Yixing waves his arms and pries Jongdae off to prevent himself from being strangled. Jongdae resorts to kissing him instead, his arms still thrown around Yixing’s neck as he presses a small peck to the corner of Yixing’s mouth and then meets Yixing’s lips properly with his own, his fingers threading through the other’s hair and his mouth twisting into a silly little smile as Yixing wraps his arms around Jongdae’s slim waist and holds him close. With their foreheads pressed together and their heavy breaths mingling in the chilly night air, Jongdae closes his eyes and lets out a happy sigh. “Thank you, Yixing,” he breathes out, his words tickling against the other’s mouth. Yixing grins and shifts to throw an arm over Jongdae’s shoulder, holding him close and giving him a nudge to start walking. “Come on, lets go home.”
Jongdae nods and they find their way to the bus stop. They don’t have to wait too long, and when it arrives they find two seats near the back and Jongdae curls up into Yixing’s side as the bus lurches into motion.
“Yixing.”
“Mm?”
Jongdae yawns and grips the sleeve of Yixing’s coat. “I save all your notes.” he murmurs sleepily. Yixing blinks in surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Jongdae falls silent for a while, his nose tucked into his scarf and his head resting against Yixing’s shoulder. Yixing watches the window without seeing much, only distantly taking in the nighttime scenery that passes by in a blur as the bus moves along.
“Yixing.” Jongdae pipes up a second time, about ten minutes later, and Yixing looks over at him, having been certain that Jongdae drifted off. “Yeah?”
“There was one note you left me once that got me thinking.” Yixing nods and waits for him to continue. With another yawn, Jongdae sits up just enough to meet his gaze, his own eyes tired but very serious. “Do you want to adopt?”
Whatever Yixing is expecting Jongdae to say, it’s not that. His eyes wide, Yixing shifts in his seat, watching Jongdae carefully. “... Do you?”
Jongdae nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think it’s a good idea. We aren’t exactly financially capable of taking care of a child though, to be completely honest.”
Yixing grins and grabs hold of Jongdae’s hand, not caring that the other passengers on the bus are probably watching. “Then that’s something we’ll just have to work on, right?”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling up in a sneaky sort of way. “Okay, but for now can we at least get another fish for Minseok?”
“You mean Xiu Min.” Yixing pokes him squarely on the forehead as a reminder.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jongdae curls back up into Yixing’s side contentedly, and they lapse into a comfortable silence until the bus finally grinds to a stop at the entrance to their neighborhood.
-
-
-
Yixing gets approached by a representative during one of his performances and begins working as a songwriter and producer for SM Talent Agency, a young and slightly lesser known but fast growing company in the music industry. Jongdae, in the meanwhile, works his way up the rungs of the editorial department, quickly gaining recognition from his co-workers after helping to publish several successful works.
The best part about going to work at the same time as Yixing is that Jongdae finally gets to be with him in the mornings. Their alarm rings at seven and they both run around and get ready together, picking out ties for each other and eating a fast breakfast, though Jongdae has learned his lesson well and leaves any cooking to Yixing. He usually ends up feeding Minseok and Luhan as they swim excited circles around each other within the confines of their fish bowl, fighting over who gets the first bite as the food disperses into the water.
It’s a light, breezy spring morning a few years later when Yixing sits down in the kitchen chair across from Jongdae, holding out a slightly crumpled piece of yellow notebook paper that’s been sloppily folded in half. "I wrote you a note."
Hesitantly, Jongdae takes the paper from him with careful fingers and Yixing folds his hands nervously in front of him on the table as he waits for the other's reaction.
It’s a list of all the adoption centers in the area.
A/N: the idea for this may or may not have originated from playing the Sims shhhhh
ugly sobbing i finALLy finished merrgnh thank you for reading i hope you enjoyed i must go cry now bye