Behind Blue Eyes; baekyeol [2/5]

[aprilclash]

Behind Blue Eyes (2/5)



<- part 1

“What was life asking of me? How could I respond when I didn’t know the question?”
- Ruta Sepetys, Between Shades of Gray

x. IMBROGLIO
(n) a confused, embarrassing situation

It had been a rushed, foolish idea but Chanyeol was a young chaebol heir who had just turned his back to an overbearing family and found himself alone and broke, thus willing to do anything to prove his parents he could find a way to survive without them.

It had also been Yura’s idea, which made it a terrible idea by default.

“I know a woman,” she had said, “one of mom’s friends from college. She has a blind son and she needs someone to keep him company. She’s willing to pay. A lot. But it’s... a delicate situation.”

The way she had frowned - Chanyeol could picture her even through the phone - should’ve been a red flag, but the echoes of the last fight and his father’s booming voice (responsabilities and duties and what did I do to deserve a son like you) were still fresh in his mind and Yura’s warning fell on deaf ears. He decided to meet the woman and the son. That was his first mistake.

Mrs. Kim lived in a big mansion in the countryside, where the last offshoots of the capital blend with green fields and dark woods and the nouveau riche, a new kind of silver spoons risen to power in the last three decades, build their summerhouses away from the dirt of the big city (the same dirt they had sprouted from). It was an austere, Western mansion with tall ceilings and a wide rose garden, so different from the gracious, tidy houses of Korean traditional villages, with their tiled roofs, brick walls and wooden pavements. Mrs. Kim’s grandfather had hired a foreign architect to build it, the oldest maid had explained as she led Chanyeol around the house to meet his future employer. It was truly beautiful, but in all its beauty it was spooky, unfamiliar. As a rich kid himself, Chanyeol was used to luxury (he’d spent half his life running away from it) but he’d never seen such a wasteful, exaggerated display of wealth. He used to associate the idea of money with light, big condos with every comfort, airy and bright, with giant windows looking down on the city lights from the last floor of a skyscraper. Crystal, champagne and the last tech device. Shiny cars. Flight tickets for a last minute vacation in Italy.

This was different. Old money, he thought, old money that spoke of dust and gold and skeleton hands. Of darkness. The dolls were the worst thing. Their glass eyes always seemed to follow Chanyeol everywhere and he never really got used to them.

The owner of the house was rich and lonely. Back when he had first met her, Chanyeol hadn’t known the reason her husband had filed for divorce, nor he had known she was CEO Byun’s ex wife. (The same Byun who was running for mayor of the capital. The same Byun who would, in a few years, run for president. The same Byun who never misses a business dinner with Chanyeol’s father. Chanyeol knows him quite well.)

Of course it was to protect his own political career. After all, like the younger maids whispered, Mrs. Kim’s grandfather made his fortune through cooperation with the Japanese invaders seventy years ago and her husband couldn’t afford to have a stain like that on his family report. But Mrs. Lee, the oldest maid shook her head at the rumors. “Her family had nothing to do with the divorce. The lady is sick,” she said, her accent thick and rough, when Chanyeol asked. “Sometimes she... sees things. Or talks to people who aren’t there. It was bad publicity for his campaign to have a mad wife and a blind son. He left them behind.”

Mrs. Kim, who had taken her maiden name back after the divorce, didn’t look mad to Chanyeol. Not in the beginning, at least. She looked young, nervous and authoritarian. Well-educated, as expected from an Ewha graduated alumna who had completed her studies abroad. Pretty like a doll, as expected from a former beauty pageant.

The blind son, Baekhyun, was even prettier, but in a haunted, cruel way. A beauty like a papercut, unexpected and stinging. A beauty like roses, which hides thorns.

Chanyeol had accepted the job because he needed the money and because he thought dealing with a blind boy his age couldn’t have possibly been difficult. Even if he’s an ass, I just have to endure it and not get involved, right? I can walk away whenever I want.

It should’ve been simple, really. But it wasn’t. Chanyeol should’ve just listened to his gut feeling and ignored Yura’s advice. But what is done can't be undone. Baekhyun, all soft skin and puffy cheeks and nightmares tucked behind his closed eyelids, can't be undone.

Chanyeol doesn’t know what to do with the boy curled on his bed, his breaths uneven and his eyes tightly shut, his fists even tighter like he wants to fight the world (it shouldn’t be possible to sleep all pulled taut and tense like he is, but Baekhyun is Baekhyun and of course he sleeps like he wants to fight the world.) Baekhyun coughs and fidgets in his sleep, burying himself in Chanyeol’s pillow and sniffling against it. Chanyeol pulls another blanket over him, goes back to the living door and sits on the couch, eyeing the door warily.

The clock ticks two, three, twenty minutes. There’s an empty tteokbokki paper cup on the table, Baekhyun’s discarded vest is draped over the armchair and Chanyeol is almost sure one of Mrs. Kim’s men will knock at his door any time now to demand the lost boy back.

A few hours before dawn, his phone rings. Unknown number.

Chanyeol doesn’t recognize the voice on the other side. A male voice, firm and sure. He introduces himself as one of Yura’s friends. He says he’s the one who told her about the job at Mrs. Kim’s house.

Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Yura told him she had heard about the job from Mrs. Kim herself. But, in retrospect, Chanyeol should’ve known Yura couldn’t have met Mrs. Kim on her own. (Just like he should’ve known Sunyoung would’ve never sneaked Baekhyun out on her own.)

“Who is this?”

“My name is Byun Baekbom. I hear from Sunyoungie that my brother has taken quite a liking to you.”

Byun Baekbom, and Chanyeol feels so stupid for not making that connection earlier, was the name of a boy who attended his sister’s same private school. He was two years her senior, rich, handsome and, she remembers her sighing at the thought, so cool when he played piano. He wonders when Baekbom got to meet his sister Yura again. Maybe a party at a common friend’s place, maybe they met through their parents (from what Chanyeol knows, jis father and Byun are still on excellent terms.) He doesn’t know when it happened, but it isn’t difficult to guess what happened. Even through the phone, Baekbom sounds like a charming converser. He probably slipped the information easily, between one drink and another, “And anyway, if your brother needs an easy job that makes a lot of money you could send him to my mother’s house. My little brother could use some company.”

It’s the same Baekbom who befriended a young maid called Sunyoung and asked her to keep an eye on his little brother before he left, and probably the one who convinced her to take Baekhyun to Chanyeol’s house today. It was Baekbom’s doing. Chanyeol meeting Baekhyun, Chanyeol staying - for more than two years - and coming back every time he decided to leave, under his sister’s advice. Baekhyun coming to Chanyeol, under Sunyoung’s advice. It had all been Baekbom.

Chanyeol realizes it with painful clarity, when he picks up the phone and talks to Baekhyun’s older brother for the first time. The plan unfolds in Baekbom's words, his explanations clear and neat, and for a moment Chanyeol is jealous. He wants to be like that, he wants to have that kind of control, of power.

“So, where is my Baekhyunnie now? I hope you’re treating him well.”

Baekhyun is still sleeping on Chanyeol’s bed, curled on his side under the blankets and dead tired, while his brother weaves his webs of lies and unfurls them just for Chanyeol.

Arrogant, cocky, self assured. Chanyeol can find a bit of Baekhyun in him. Except Baekhyun has wrapped the attitude around his weaknesses, while Baekbom doesn’t seem to have any weaknesses.

Chanyeol doesn’t like Baekbom. It’s an instinctive, prickling antipathy that runs across his skin like a rash. Baekbom left. He was the older brother and he left his fourteen years old blind sibling to the only care of a schizophrenic, controlling woman who barely let him out of the house. He’s an asshole and Chanyeol kinda loathes him. But he’s Baekhyun’s only sibling and, apparently, he has a plan.

xi. TORPID
(adj) dormant, lazy

Dealing with Baekhyun is tiring but dealing with his brother is destructive. Chanyeol has never talked to Baekhyun’s father, the infamous President Byun, but he knows he’s considered a shark in both the political and economic scene. They say he doesn’t take prisoners.

If that is true, then Byun Baekbom is a little like him. Smart, handsome and clever. Devastatingly in love with his little brother. It’s a good thing that he’s worried about Baekhyun, but Chanyeol thinks he could have worried a little earlier, before Baekhyun was scarred for life. But that’s not really his business.

He leans against the wall and listens to Baekhyun talking to his brother on the phone. He’s locked himself inside the bathroom and Chanyeol can’t make out the words, but the door is thin and he can hear little stumps of conversation, butchered syllables and his whiny tone. Maybe Baekhyun is crying. He doesn’t shout. He probably knows Chanyeol is eavesdropping.

Chanyeol listen to Baekbom’s plan with two parts of disbelief and one part of anger. He is to drive Baekhyun to the flat Baekbom has already rented for him and make sure he’s safe. “For now,” Baekbom says, matter-of-factly, “the most important thing is keeping my brother away from my mother. If she finds him, I won’t be able to get him out of that house. I am rich, but my mother has both money and power. She can afford better lawyers and with Baekhyun’s disability obtaining a few years more of parental rights would be easy.” There's a moment of static through the phone as Byun Baekbom covers the phone to say something in English to someone Chanyeol cannot see. Where did he say he was living again? The States? He comes back with rustling noises and not a word of apology for leaving Chanyeol hanging. “My mother will come looking for you. Feign innocence, alright? She can't know where Baekhyun is until I've settled things with her personally, so don't tell her anything.”

He says it as if Chanyeol is on his payroll and bound to do everything he wants.

“And what if I don’t want to do it?” he asks, feeling a little daring. Next to him, Baekhyun squirms, clearly feeling uncomfortable at the way Chanyeol is undermining his brother’s authority, but unable to say anything.

“Oh, you will do it. Sunyoung says you’re a good guy and I trust her judgement.”

Chanyeol glares at the phone when the call ends. Saying he feels a little used might be an understatement. No, he doesn’t feel used. He feels robbed. As if Byun Baekbom has just drawn a clear line between Chanyeol and his little brother, a line meant to keep Chanyeol away.

But Chanyeol is a good guy and he does what he was told to do. He drives Baekhyun to the address Baekbom sent to him on kakaotalk and drops Baekhyun at the right door, he even opens it for him.

“Your brother will send someone to look after you,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

He hesitates, looks at Baekhyun, wonders if it’s alright to leave him alone. As usual, Baekhyun cuts through him like a knife.

“I’m not worried. I don’t need you. And I won’t thank you either.”

Strangely enough, the usual sneer makes Chanyeol feel more at ease. He wouldn’t know how to deal with a Baekhyun who shows his feelings, expresses gratitude and is considerate. That Baekhyun would be a stranger to him.

“It’s a studio apartment,” he says. “Tiny. The bathroom is on the left. Be careful if you walk on the right, that’s where the stove is. Don't try to use it. There’s a bed at the back of the room. And a big window, with white curtains.”

Baekhyun feigns disinterest, but he drinks the information and starts picturing the room in his head.

“I’m leaving the lights on.”

“It won’t really help me.”

“It will at least keep you from running into a wall, if you pay attention.”

“Just leave, Park Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol should leave. Baekbom was right. What’s Baekhyun to him anyway? Some boy he used to hang out with for money. Some boy he kissed once for fun. Because he was curious about the taste, the texture, the warmth of his lips. Baekhyun was a silent kisser but Chanyeol wonders, if he had insisted, if he had pressed more and harder and longer against him, the kind of sounds Baekhyun could’ve made other than the single, choked moan Chanyeol had managed to extort from him.

He shakes his head. The game is still on and he doesn’t know if he wants to play. He doesn’t know if he can win, and Chanyeol only plays to win.

“Bye, Baekhyun.”

Chanyeol walks out the door, biting his lips to keep himself from saying more. He needs to think about what he wants. He needs time. He needs a plan.

xii. MOUNTEBANK
(n) con artist

“I did have a plan,” says Baekhyun. He also has a red pepper sauce stain on his cheek, at the corner of his lips, and Chanyeol wants to lean over and lick it clean but watching Baekhyun while he sloppily eats tteokbokki with his fingers is much more entertaining.

“Wasn’t your only plan to come to my house and force me to take you in at any cost?”

“And then what? How would you have fed me? How would you have dressed me? How would you have taken care of me assuming you were so poor you accepted to have a blind boy throw food at you for the past two years as long as you got paid? And now that you don’t even have that well paid job you’ve either found a rich sugar daddy or you’re working two to three part-time jobs to afford this place.”

Chanyeol wants something snarky to say but there’s really nothing. Baekhyun is right, completely and infuriatingly right.

“I’m blind, you know, not stupid.”

“Coming to me was pretty stupid, since you just admitted I can’t help you.”

“Did you just call me stupid? Who was the one who assumed I came here to leech on him and then literally threw me on the streets to die?”

It’s easy to offend Baekhyun, literally every thing Chanyeol says gets on his nerves. But it’s even easier to say things to him instead of bottling everything up now that Chanyeol too can play the outrage card. Baekhyun hasn’t changed overnight. (Chanyeol is not sure Baekhyun will ever change.) He’s overly emotional and sharp and mean but it doesn’t matter because now Chanyeol has a choice. He doesn’t have to stay here and bite the bullet. He can shoot back. He does.

“Who was the one who assumed I owed him anything after he treated me like shit for years?”

“I’m not going to apologize for having you do the things my mother was paying you to do.”

“You’re not going to apologize for being a horrible human being.”

Oh, that hit a little too close to home. Baekhyun puffs his cheeks and drums on the table with long, nervous fingers.

“No one ever apologized to me for turning me into a horrible human being.”

“That’s not the point. You can’t ignore your responsibilities and think it’s always someone else’s fault.”

Baekhyun doesn’t apologize. The impasse lasts for a few minutes of stubborn munching on Baekhyun’s part and intense staring on Chanyeol’s part. He stares at Baekhyun’s bare face, at the little blemishes he never got to see before, painfully and acutely visible under the naked light of the lamp in Chanyeol’s kitchen. He stares at Baekhyun’s grimace when he licks his fingers clean of the sauce, too spicy for him. He stares and Baekhyun knows he’s staring - he can’t know, he has no way to know, but he knows. He just knows.

“I know nothing about the world,” says Baekhyun, in the end, after he’s done sulking. “Even before I was... like this-”

“Even before you were blind, you can say it.”

Baekhyun nods, but tightly, as if he’s refraining from snapping again.

“I don’t know what’s outside my door, Chanyeol. Ever since my parents divorced, I’ve always lived with my mother and she was... She wasn’t well. Even I could see she wasn’t well and I’m well...” He takes a deep breath. “I’m blind, but I’m not stupid.”

He frowns for a moment as his fingers touch the bottom of the box meeting only the hot sauce. Chanyeol gets up and takes it away, dragging his chair so Baekhyun can hear and realize what is happening.

“So, you talked about a plan.”

“Yes, a plan. I like the flat my brother has rented for me. I like the driver and the cook and I like that he hired one of the maids I knew from mother’s house to make me feel at ease. But I haven’t left the house in weeks except for visiting you today. And all we’ve done today is fighting. Why do you always pick a fight with me, Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol slams the door of the cabinet shut a bit too strongly. “Maybe because you’re insufferable?”

“See? You’re doing it again. I need better friends! Or better people to hang out with. I don’t think we’re friends.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know what they are, but somehow he was expecting Baekhyun to pop up again in front of his door, wearing his worst scowl and a mean greeting. He’s so recalcitrant he could almost fool Chanyeol into believing he doesn’t really want to be here. But there’s no way he doesn’t want to be here seeing how he came here on his own.

“The sea is full of fishes, they say. Go out, find someone else then.”

“I want to,” says Baekhyun, frowning. “I think I want to go to school.”

Chanyeol sits straighter. He would never admit it, but this is the most reasonable thing he’s ever heard Baekhyun say since he’s known him.

“Are you impressed?”

“No.”

“You’re a bad liar, Park Chanyeol. Don’t you have more of those rice cakes?”

“I have instant ramyun.”

“Let’s try it.”

He says it so casually, so easily, like he has any idea what instant ramyun is. Chanyeol explains it, even if Baekhyun doesn’t ask, because one of them has to be the mature person in the room and Baekhyun looks like he’s dying to know what Chanyeol is doing but he would never ask. On the other hand, he decides he won’t ask about the school thing. Baekhyun wants him to ask, but things can’t always go like Baekhyun wants.

The ramyun is poorly done and not even close to the level of spiciness Chanyeol fancies. Baekhyun finds it rather bland, but finishes it all. He makes a mess on the table and when he realizes he blushes a little. He doesn’t apologize. He finishes his food in silence.

“You’re not going to ask me about the school?”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

Baekhyun fidgets with the empty bowl, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve asked Sunyoung to find me a school for blind people. I know I’m an exception. Most blind people can go out on their own, cook on their own and live their life without people fussing over them all the time.”

Chanyeol tries to imagine a world where Baekhyun isn’t angry all the time because he needs help, a world where Baekhyun can give himself the help he can’t accept from everyone else.

“I think it’s a good idea. It’s a really good idea, Baekhyun.”

“Do you really think so?” He bites the inside of his cheek and, when he tilts his head, the reflection of the light on his watch draws white fireflies on his nose and cheek. He looks strangely vulnerable and even prettier like this. Chanyeol is not lying when he says, “I do.”

He could very much kiss Baekhyun, right now. It’s a fleeting thought, one he hasn’t entertained in a long time. He had thought those kisses, back at Baekhyun’s old house, had been enough. There are some itches you can’t help but scratch, some itches you can’t get rid of unless you scratch, and Baekhyun was both, but Chanyeol thought one time had been enough. Now, as Baekhyun looks up towards the only thing he can see in the room, the naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling, Chanyeol can’t help but stare and realize one time was not enough. It could never be enough.

He can see glimpses of the person Baekhyun could become, glimpses of the person Baekhyun could have already been if not for the years he spent crawling in the darkness. Glimpses of someone Chanyeol could fall in love with. Baekhyun is becoming that person. In front of Chanyeol. He just needs a little push in the right direction.

“Baekhyun-ah,” he says, and it comes out forced and strangled, even more awkward than the honorific Baekhyun-ssi Chanyeol used to use. He’s never addressed Baekhyun so informally in his life, and it surprised them both. “I think we are. Friends.”

It takes a long time for Baekhyun to answer that.

“I’m not sure. You said it yourself many times, I’m a horrible person. I can only hurt other people. It’s fine, I know. I think I’ve always known. I won’t change overnight. I won’t become caring, or sweet or funny. I’m mean.”

“People can change.”

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to.”

What do you want? Chanyeol once asked Baekhyun that question. What does Baekhyun want? He never answered. Maybe he doesn’t know.

And Chanyeol? What does Chanyeol want? He wants Baekhyun’s lips and his hands on Baekhyun’s skin, but other than that? Does he want Baekhyun? Sultry, cruel and broken Baekhyun, with his fissures and his cracks and his empty eyes? Does he want a different Baekhyun? One who smiles and dreams and sings under the shower? Will that person ever exist or it’s just a dream? Chanyeol doesn’t know if he wants Baekhyun, but he wants to kiss Baekhyun again. He doesn’t know if he should, or if he can, but the thought throbs in his head. It would be so easy to…

Chanyeol’s phone vibrates, Byun Baekbom’s name flashing on it, and Baekhyun stutters, a little startled. It’s a text message, short and rude.

“What is happening?” asks Baekhyun.

“Your brother has sent a driver. He’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“Is it that late already?”

“It’s past midnight. I’ll take your jacket, wait a moment.”

Baekhyun tries to stop him when he walks next to his chair. He misses Chanyeol by a good inch but he grabs his attention.

“What?”

“Next time, you can visit me.”

He says it like he’s making a concession instead of asking for a favor. Chanyeol stops in front of him.

“You have hot sauce, right here,” he says, gently tapping Baekhyun’s right cheek at the corner of his mouth, where his cheeks puff when he pouts. Baekhyun doesn’t shy away at the touch, and Chanyeol rubs it with his finger. When he’s done, he pats Baekhyun’s head, combing his hair with his fingers. Baekhyun tilts his head up, blindly chasing the warmth of Chanyeol’s hand.

“Do I have hot sauce there too?” he asks, and Chanyeol maybe regrets coming so close. He can count Baekhyun’s long lashes and the moles on his face, one above his lip, one on his ear, one on the side of his face, on his temple and the one Chanyeol can’t see right now, on his thumb. He would kiss them all. It’s actually easy to picture himself kissing them all, taking his time to unravel Baekhyun and put him back together. Baekhyun steps forward until he’s standing in Chanyeol’s arms, chest to chest, as if waiting for Chanyeol to take him, but he doesn’t take the final step to close the distance on his own.

He’s offering himself and he doesn’t even know what he’s offering, how much Chanyeol wants this and how much he’s waited to do this (since the first time they met, actually.) Chanyeol could kiss him just like that. It would be a victory, sure, but what is a won battle if he’s going to lose the war in the end? If he’s going to get Baekhyun, he’s going to have to play smart.

“No, you don’t,” he says, and ruffles Baekhyun’s hair again.

“Then why are you touching my hair?”

“I just wanted to do it. I’ll come to your house when I’m free, alright?”

Disappointment spreads on Baekhyun’s face, red on his neck and nose and ears. He looks confused and a little betrayed. It’s alright, Chanyeol doesn’t want him to know how close he went to asking for a kiss. That would give him leverage, an advantage Chanyeol can’t afford to lose, not if he wants to win this game.

Baekhyun pouts. He looks like he wants to ask whether Chanyeol likes him or not, but he won’t do it on his own, he’s too proud. Chanyeol won’t tell him either. Let him languish. Let him wonder whether Chanyeol still wants him, whether that kiss at his house a two months ago was just a random twist of fate or something more. Let him want Chanyeol, in secret or out in the open, until he wants so much he’s willing to play according to Chanyeol’s rules. The game is on.

xiii. CRAPULENT
(adj) sick from excessive eating or drinking

Chanyeol is not a wizard, he doesn’t know how to deal with spells, how to break curses. Sometimes, when he looks at Baekhyun, he sees the ghost of his mother following him around closely, the shadows of that house still lurking around him. He can see them in broad daylight and he wonders how terrible, how dark they become in the world of shades of grey and black only Baekhyun can see.

He brings chicken and beer and gets Baekhyun tipsy, not quite drunk but happier than usual, giddy and blushed and almost smiling. He teaches him how to order jjajangmyeon with his shiny new phone and Baekhyun surprises him by getting the money right on his second try when the door rings.

“I learned that in school,” he mumbles, under his breath. “Orientation and mobility. They’re teaching us a lot of things.”

The smell of jjajangmyeon invades the air and Baekhyun perks up on an elbow and sniffs the air curiously.

“Do you want me to describe it?”

They both freeze. He’s said those words so many times, in different circumstances, and, just like a spell, something the right words can make the difference. It’s all it takes, and for a moment Chanyeol can feel it again. The oppressing, dusty darkness, the silence, the dark curse keeping Baekhyun prisoner.

He blinks, realizing he’s not in that house anymore. The nightmare is over. Baekhyun hasn’t been there in the last ten months. He hasn’t seen or talked to his mother in the last six months.

Chanyeol has. Away from the constricting spell of the mansion, Mrs. Kim too looked different, less like a sorceress in her own lair of darkness and more like the rich and powerful ex-wife of a rich, powerful man. The edge of madness hadn’t changed, and if, for a moment, Chanyeol had felt bad for taking her son away, the feeling had quickly died. This was, after all, the woman who had turned Baekhyun into an ugly thing made of rage, or regret, of wishes trapped in a tiny room of velvet and brocade.

Ten months, and Baekhyun has changed, but not too much. He still talks like a spoiled kid, he still gets angry when things don’t go his way, he’s still mean, purposefully creal, emotionally abusive when he can. They fight, a lot. Chanyeol always fights back. Sometimes, Baekhyun apologizes.

It’s all about the small victories, the tiny steps. Chanyeol breaks the plastic film open and the smell of jjajangmyeon becomes more intense.

“It’s black. White noodles and black sauce.” He tastes it, to make sure it’s not too hot. “I can’t believe you haven’t tried jjajangmyeon before, though. Are you sure you’re Korean?”

Baekhyun shrugs.

“Have you seen my mother? Can you imagine her eating something that wasn’t specially made by her personal chef? Yes, me neither.” He pouts. “I don’t know anything. I used to think it was because of my disability, but talking with my brother I realized it has nothing to do with how much I can see. She kept Baekbom at home too, she would never let him leave the house. He knew nothing of the world, just like me. When our parents divorced and he was forced to leave it was the best day of his life.”

But he left you behind. How could he.

“Scoot closer,” he says, sitting next to him. He watches Baekhyun reach for him, slowly, tentatively, until he has an exact idea of where and how Chanyeol is sitting. He places the chopsticks in Baekhyun’s hands, waits as he separates them and tries to place them between his fingers. “You’re holding them wrong, let me help.”

One year ago, Baekhyun would’ve scoffed. He would’ve needed the help and he would’ve refused it. Now, he lets Chanyeol adjust his grip on the chopsticks and lead his hands down, towards the bowl.

“Can I touch it?” he asks.

“You paid for it, you can do anything you want. But things would get messy. Jjajang is... black.”

“What I can’t see can’t hurt me,” says Baekhyun, and it’s difficult to say if it’s said in a joking or self-deprecating manner. Lately, it’s so difficult to read Baekhyun. He used to wear his emotion on his sleeve, on his chest, on the poisonous tip of his tongue. Now he’s softer, more reserved, the sharp edges tempered and sanded, the poison hidden but still deadly.

Baekhyun doesn’t try to touch the noodles. He eats them clumsily, but without Chanyeol’s help. Small victories, tiny steps. Chanyeol is not a wizard, he’s just a boy. Baekhyun is one too.

“Is it good?” he asks, watching Baekhyun munch slowly.

“It’s not spicy. I like it.”

They eat in silence, clean and comfortable silence, the sound Baekhyun has learnt to like the most. Normally they would chat, Chanyeol would ask about the classes Baekhyun is taking or if he’s gone out on his own lately. Baekhyun would inquire about Chanyeol’s internship and his mother’s health and Jongdae’s last girlfriend. They would end up fighting, like usual, but they’re too tired and they’ve drunk too much for verbal spars and Chanyeol finds himself dozing off and almost wakes up before he realizes Baekhyun is napping too. He yawns, closes his eyes, rests his head against the couch. Only five minutes, he thinks.

That’s how Sunyoung finds them when she opens the door, Baekhyun sprawled on the pristine floor, Chanyeol sitting cross-legged next to him. She nudges him awake and silently gestures towards Chanyeol’s phone. A yellow light is flashing, and when he unlocks it he finds at least twenty messages from Baekbom and a missed call.

He gets up and follows the girl outside, on the balcony. He closes the door carefully. Two months ago Baekbom came to visit and left the door open when he came back from a smoke. Chanyeol and Sunyoung found Baekhyun on the balcony, staring at the street below without really seeing it.

(“How tall is it?” he had asked, his face unreadable. It was sixteen floors. Baekbom never smoked in Baekhyun’s apartment again.)

“The young Master asked me to check on you two. He said neither of you was answering his calls.”

“We fell asleep,” says Chanyeol, shrugging. To his dismay, the older Byun sibling calls to inquire about his little brother on a daily basis. He doesn’t like when Chanyeol doesn’t pick up. Self-conceited asshole. He browses through the incoming messages, noticing Baekbom’s increasing annoyance at the lack of response. “You didn’t need to come down.”

“It’s just two floors,” answers her. “Besides, this is my job now. He’s always been a better boss than his mother was.”

“Well, it would be really difficult to be worse than her, you know? But he’s still a smug fucker. I don’t like him.”

Chanyeol honestly thinks Baekbom is a controlling bastard. It takes one to find another, after all. He’s quite aware the older Byun heir doesn’t really like him either - at least the feeling is mutual - but he’s…

“How did he say? Willing to put up with me on the assumption I make his brother happy.”

“And you, oppa? Are you willing to put up with him for our Baekhyunnie?”

Chanyeol doesn’t really know the answer. It’s too early to know whether Baekbom sees him as a threat or an ally. (He’s too early to choose between being a threat or being an ally.)

Sunyoung smokes slowly. “Maybe the young Master is just feeling guilty for leaving his brother behind. Maybe he didn’t think...”

“He knew. He knew what was happening. He even tried to see Baekhyun more than once, but Mrs. Kim… It’s difficult to do something against her, even for him.”

Sunyoung grimaces. “I’m glad I don’t work for her anymore.”

“Same. Same.”

“Bringing him to you was the best thing I’ve done for him in the five years I’ve worked as a maid in that house.”

Chanyeol is not sure of that but she smiles and he smiles back.

xiv. ABSQUATULATE
(v) to leave without saying goodbye; french exit

Sometimes Chanyeol forgets how it really began. It’s easy to forget and just fall into step with Baekhyun, with the long, loud audio messages he sends Chanyeol at night before he goes to sleep, with the long walks they take together in spring, feeling the last cherry blossoms falling with the rain on their shoulders. With his first, terrible spicy ramyun - really, he just heats the water and throws noodles and spices in the pot when it’s boiling, but for everyone, for Chanyeol, for Sunyoung, for Baekbom who’s skype calling from New York, for Baekhyun himself, it’s like winning a long war.

Baekhyun has improved so much. He’s changing every day, making efforts, growing up, so it’s easy to forget the angry, cruel, venom spitting child Chanyeol first met at the Kim family mansion. But he’s still there, with his red, tender lips and his whispered threats and that cry choked in his throat, that cry he never wants to let go. His accusing, blind eyes.

When he comes back - he’s never really left, he was just accurately hidden behind all the lines of defence, the layers of self-control Baekhyun has learnt how to put up - Chanyeol is not ready.

He’s still deciding what to wear for the night, a sogaeting Jongdae organized for him with a secretary working in his same firm, when his phone chirps. At first, he doesn’t understand the words appearing on the screen. They’re garbled and broken, some completely unintelligible. Baekhyun must’ve used a speech recognition software to write it, but he either wasn’t spelling the words very well or…

He calls Baekhyun, but the boy doesn’t pick up. Sunyoung doesn’t either. It’s her free day, Chanyeol remembers. He thinks about it for a moment, wondering whether he should be worried. He calls Baekbom. It’s a quick conversation and it leaves him even more restless and nervous than before.

“Yes, I’m going to check on him. Yes, I’ll tell you when I know. Don’t worry, he’s probably... It sounded like he was drunk... No, I said not to worry, ok? I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just... I’m hanging up, Baekbom-ssi.”

He calls Jongdae.

“Don’t wait for me tonight. Yes, it’s a Baekhyun problem. No, really, don’t worry. There’ll be another time, ok? Tell Kang Seulgi-ssi I’m sorry. I really have no time, Jongdae.”

He runs towards the subway station. He tells himself everything is alright, Baekhyun is strong. Baekhyun is better than before, but he can’t quite believe his own words. He frets, wishing the train could move faster.

The concierge opens the door easily, already used to Chanyeol’s constant visits, but the elevator ride seems to be taking forever. Chanyeol stares at his own reflection in the mirror, surprised at how tense he looks.

It’s normal, isn’t it? Baekhyun is his friend, it’s only natural that he’s worried about him. He smoothes out his expression, feigning a calmness he doesn’t feel. The elevator doors open with a ding and Chanyeol strides towards Baekhyun’s door, typing the secret code on the pad in a frenzy. He rushes inside.

“Baekhyun-ah!” he calls, to let Baekhyun know he’s there. The apartment is dark, but he doesn’t waste time in finding the lights.

Baekhyun is sitting on his armchair in front of the window. The view is beautiful, city lights shining brightly, orange and gold and blue and red, but Baekhyun stares past them, past what he can’t see, to something Chanyeol can’t dare to imagine.

“Baekhyun,” he says, and it’s a reminiscence, a swift deja vu. He remembers the tightness in Baekhyun’s shoulder, he remembers the curl in his mouth. He remembers his anger, ice cold and jagged, keen edged. Mrs. Kim’s pretty doll, her son, is back.

“What are you doing here?” asks Baekhyun, drawling every word. Chanyeol approaches him warily, as if he’s getting close to a wounded beast.

“I came to check on you. You sent me a message, remember? I was worried.”

“Worried,” Baekhyun chuckles. There’s a soft clink and a bright twinkling as he puts the empty bottle of soju on the table in front of him, stretching down to reach it. He lays it too close to the edge and the bottle falls down, breaking in thousand pieces.

There’s a sigh, maybe a hiccup, but Baekhyun is not crying. He would never cry. He’s only drunk. A quick glance to the counter shows the smashed bottle is not the only one he opened tonight. He’s not as wasted as he wants Chanyeol to believe, but he’s not in control either.

Baekhyun leans back on the armchair and Chanyeol stands next to him for a moment, staring at the glass spread on the floor and cursing slowly under his breath. He sends a quick message to Baekbom, explaining the situation, but he puts the phone on silent immediately afterwards.

“What are you doing here?” asks Baekhyun again, slurring all the words. His head lolls onto his shoulder, showing his neck. He looks languid, exposed, but it’s not the first time Chanyeol has seen him drunk. He knows how calculated, how deliberate, everything Baekhyun is doing or saying is. “I thought you had a date.”

“Is that why you sent me that message? To make me rush here and to ruin my night?”

Baekhyun chortles again, full of fake joy. “Ah. You were very worried, really?” He pushes himself up, slowly, staggering. Chanyeol tries to help him but his hand is slapped away. “Don’t touch me, I need to drink.”

He blindly feels around the table until his fingers close around the neck of another bottle. He weighs it in his hand to make sure it contains alcohol.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Baekhyun.”

“What would you know? What...”

He drinks, again, straight from the battle, his adam’s apple going up and down and his neck stretched and exposed. Chanyeol waits until he’s drunk more than half of the bottle before he takes it away from him. Baekhyun struggles a little but his hold is weak and he lets it go.

“Give it back,” he says, in a cold, hard voice. “Give it back and go away!”

“You called me here! You should at least admit that!”

“Did I ruin your night, Chanyeol? Is that why you won’t me let enjoy mine in peace?”

He flails, a little, blindly trying to get the bottle from Chanyeol. It might be calculated or it might not be - Baekhyun is blind, but Chanyeol’s voice was close enough for him to have a very good idea of where Chanyeol is standing. He finds his face instead, and it’s not strong but it’s still a punch and it sends him down. Chanyeol feels a strong, intense spike of pain in his shoulder and leg. He faintly realizes he’s managed to hit both the coffee table and the armchair and he’s landed in a poodle of glass shard. It’s only when he hears the smash of the bottle on the ground that he realizes Baekhyun has fallen too, right next to him.

The smell of alcohol becomes more pungent, acrid on Chanyeol’s nostrils and sour on his clothes. He feels cold as the puddle of soju grows on the ground, soaking his shirt. He feels the stab of glass on his back, his elbow, his thighs, he feels Baekhyun’s hot breath on his neck, smelling of blueberry soju and anger.

He knows Baekhyun is not as wasted as he looks. He knows Baekhyun is warm, as if feverish, and heavy. He knows Baekhyun is bleeding, because it trickles down his arm and drips on Chanyeol’s neck and chest.

“Is this what you wanted when you called me here?”

Baekhyun sighs, long and drawn out, and his nails dig into the skin of Chanyeol’s shoulders through the fabric. He barely feels the sting over the pain in his back.

Where have you been? he wants to ask. He knows this Baekhyun. He knows his games and his subtle tactics and his weaknesses he’ll never be allowed to hit. In this game, Baekhyun is the enemy, but if Chanyeol defeats him it’s game over for himself too.

“I thought we were past this, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun only laughs sourly and his hands follow the curve of Chanyeol’s neck, feeling his pulse, lingering on the night stubble on his chin. Baekhyun has never touched him, never like this. He uses his hands to look at him and it’s sticky and bloody and feather light.

“Go away,” he says, softly, as if he’s only talking with himself. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Baekhyun, we have to...”

His voice hardens, not soft and lost but shrill and sharp, like a crystal dagger.

“Go back to your girls and your dates and your friends. You think I don’t know? I know we’re not really friends. I know my brother is paying you to stay with me just like my mom did. I’m not stupid.”

And it’s, really, the most unconceivable thing, the last thing Chanyeol would’ve ever expected from him.

“Am I pitiful? Do you feel happy when you walk away from here?” He lowers his head until their foreheads are touching and his voice breaks. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want... I thought I could, but I didn’t know anything back then. I thought having you there, even if you had to pretend, was good enough for me, but it’s not good enough. It’s not.”

He sobs, and he’s not crying. Chanyeol isn’t crying either but it feels like they both are.

“Is this what you think? Is this what you were thinking all this time?” he asks, and Baekhyun is breathing so harshly and shaking and they’re both bleeding and they can’t do this. Not now, not like this.

Chanyeol considers his options for a moment and acts quickly. He dislodges Baekhyun from his thighs in a single motion. It’s easy. Baekhyun is too drunk to resist. He only got them in this position because he managed to surprise Chanyeol, but he’s no match for Chanyeol, not even when he’s sober. Baekhyun curses violently when he falls and Chanyeol winces, remembering the glass shards. He gets up, hits the lights first. The entire apartment is a mess. Baekhyun is sitting on the floor, surrounded by spilled soju and broken glass. His face is swollen and flushed. His shoulders are tense. He hides his face in his knees when he feels the cold, white light.

Chanyeol squats in front of him. He sighs.

“No reasonable amount of money would convince me to deal with someone as obnoxious and stupid as you are if I didn’t like you, Byun Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun squares his shoulders. If he could see, he would probably punch Chanyeol. If he could see, Chanyeol would probably kiss him. He only thrashes a little when the glass shards are extracted from his body and Chanyeol showers him in antiseptic. When he comes back after doing the same for himself, Baekhyun is lying on his bed, pretending to be asleep. He’s not, but Chanyeol doesn’t care.

Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow we’ll talk.

xv. SOCKDOLAGER
(n) decisive retort; mic drop

When he wakes up, the apartment is empty. He tries to fool himself into thinking Baekhyun only left for a walk, but the boy doesn’t come back for the whole morning. Baekbom sends him a message.

He’s coming to visit me for a few days. I know you’re angry but please give him time. He’s just confused.

Chanyeol laughs, incredulous, at the screen of his phone, because even Byun Baekbom - arrogant prick Byun Baekbom, smug and bossy and conceited, who’d justify his brother’s behavior until the end of the world - is admitting Baekhyun did something wrong.

Chanyeol doesn’t want to give Baekhyun time. He gave him a lot of time. He tried to do the right thing for himself, to cut all ties with Baekhyun, and it didn’t work. He tried to do the right thing for Baekhyun, to become his friend, and that too didn’t work. He’s starting to run out of options. He doesn’t want to do the wrong thing, but he will if he needs to.

He sends a message to Baekhyun. Only one. His own voice, because he doesn’t want a synthesizer to say this to Baekhyun.

He listens to it many times before he sends it. He wonders if it can convey how much he’s tired, how much he’s disappointed. How much he wants things to go his way. He doesn’t know when things moved past the point of simple physical attraction and he wonders whether becoming friends with him actually helped or made it worse. He knows he can’t be with someone who runs away every time things go wrong. (He knows it and he wants Baekhyun to come back anyway.)

They’re only a few words, but he wants them to reach Baekhyun and he wants Baekhyun to reach him. He listens to the message one last time.

Aren’t you tired of playing games?

He presses send.

xvi. SESQUIPEDALIAN
(adj) containing many syllables; long winded

Hide-and-seek doesn’t last for long this time.

Chanyeol comes home after a terrible day at the office, feeling tired and tense, ready to punch someone in the face, and he finds Baekhyun sitting on his couch like he owns the house, talking to Chanyeol’s roommate like he owns him too. It’s kinda annoying.

“Oh, Chanyeol, you’re back. Jongdae was telling me about that girl you went out with two days ago. What was her name? Seulgi?”

Chanyeol can’t believe he’s doing this. Meanwhile, Jongdae replies, completely missing the elephant in the room. “Yes! She’s a coworker of mine and she’s really cute. I can’t believe he turned her down for three weeks before he accepted. I was starting to believe he wasn’t interested at all.”

Baekhyun has the nerve to smirk, but it comes out just a little sour.

“I actually had someone else in mind,” says Chanyeol, deciding to interrupt this little charade before he ends up killing Baekhyun. “But that person doesn’t seem to be interested.” Jongdae stares, a little confused, but Baekhyun’s eyes narrow dangerously.

Chanyeol can’t believe he’s being so petty. Baekhyun is the king of pettiness and Chanyeol is usually wise enough to recognize a trap when he sees it, but right now he’s beyond caring. After all, Baekhyun lays his traps in broad daylight and doesn’t even bother to hide them because he knows someone will walk on them anyway. Chanyeol wants to stomp on them with all his weight.

“And how would that person know you’re interested when you’ve done nothing to show them?” insists Baekhyun, voice cold and biting.

“Well, sure, because becoming their friend and hanging around them all the time even if they’re the grossest assholes of this world is not good enough for them. Maybe they needed a written declaration, I don’t know.”

He can feel Jongdae’s eyes, going back and forth between him and Baekhyun as he does the math in his head. He opens his mouth in a silent oh that widens into an aaah, before he gets up quickly.

“Oh, I... I think I need to go? Like, I’m late. For something.”

He pats Chanyeol on his way out, mouthing Baekhyun??? Really? and flees. His absence makes the room even heavier.

Chanyeol doesn’t move from where he’s standing next to the door. He knows it makes Baekhyun antsy when he doesn’t know where the other people in the room are, but he doesn’t care. He can be petty too.

Baekhyun takes a short breath and his fists tighten at his sides.

“So, I suppose you want an explanation.”

“Shouldn’t it be an apology?”

Baekhyun grits his teeth. “Are you really holding me responsible for what happened at my place, Chanyeol?”

Oh, yes, he is. He knows Baekhyun planned it. He knows Baekhyun sent him that message because he knew Chanyeol had a date and he wanted to ruin it. Chanyeol is aware it takes more than a few bottles of soju to make Baekhyun that drunk. But he's also sure Baekhyun slipped that day and showed something he didn’t really want to show. He said something he would’ve never said under normal circumstances.

“I got drunk, Chanyeol, that’s what people do. When they have a rough day, when they’re depressed and sad and alone and their only friend is out to have fun with other people,” he sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t stop, “or when they like someone but it doesn’t work... Sometimes, people are allowed to drink... Right?”

“Baekhyun,” he tries, but Baekhyun has clearly researched this speech in his mind and he won’t stop until he’s done.

“Why are you even mad, Chanyeol? I just wanted to get drunk. Actually most people my age get drunk. Should I not be allowed just because I can’t see? I’m still able to make decisions for myself, you know? And if I decide to spend and entire night chugging alcohol and wake up the following day in the most painful state of hangover I should be free to do it without anyone questioning me.”

Chanyeol chuckles silently. Good argument, really, but Baekhyun is completely missing the point.

“I am your friend, if I don’t question you then who will?”

“Are you really sure we’re friends?”

“What should we be then?” he says, taking a step forward and slipping on the couch next to Baekhyun, purposefully hovering just to feel him tense at their sudden closeness. That’s the slip, the thing Baekhyun didn’t want him to know. Baekhyun is slipping, again, and he bites his lips to hold the words in but Chanyeol is having none of this shit from him, not now.

“No, dare to tell, Baekhyun. Give me a rational explanation or an apology or something. If we’re not friends, what are we? But be careful, last time I forgave you because you were drunk, but if you dare say some other bullshit about your brother paying me to hang out with you I won’t be held responsible for my actions. It’s insulting, ok? That I would stay here and endure your shitty personality and your even shittier behavior for money when I’m doing my best to stay despite every terrible thing you say or do! Because I like you!”

He hadn’t realized he was raising his voice, but he finds himself shouting all of a sudden. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, because he wanted to say those words out loud, simple and clean, and he wanted Baekhyun to get it. Those words are precious. Too precious to be used like weapons in a war they’re both going to lose anyway.

Baekhyun stops. He shakes, for a long moment, like a leaf in the autumn wind, torn between holding tight to the branch or letting go, letting itself fall.

“You like me?” he says, voice thin and nervous and full of disbelief. “Are you sure you like me? Because then, why won’t make a move?”

“I’m trying to give you time!” he explodes. “To grow up! To improve! To stop being so angry! What do you think? That I like when you treat me like shit all the time only because, oh buh buh, you cannot see?”

He pants, breathless, staring at Baekhyun’s beautiful face, at his empty eyes. Like a leaf in the autumn wind, Baekhyun stops shaking. He doesn’t hold on and he doesn’t fall. Instead, he catches fire.

“Oh, no, Park Chanyeol, you don’t want me,” he says, low and poisonous, blood rushing to his face bright and warm. “You want a better version of me, because I’m apparently not good enough for you! Well, if you want someone like that you can get out Chanyeol, because I’m not that person. I’ll never be that person!”

“It’s not what I said, don’t twist my words Baekhyun.”

“Then what do you want? Tell me! You don’t like me the way I am, you know I can’t change, why are you here? What do you want from me?

Chanyeol takes a step forward and it takes all his self control to keep his hands on his sides, away from Baekhyun - and to keep his heart inside his chest, away from Baekhyun.

“You’re asking me what do I want?” he says, and it’s difficult, so difficult not to touch Baekhyun, because he’s just there, looking flushed and angry and breathless and terribly, cruelly available. Sometimes Chanyeol wishes he could be selfish. He could just extend a hand and touch Baekhyun the way he wants. He could. But this moment is precious and fragile and Chanyeol is not a child in a china shop anymore. He must be careful or everything will break. (He must be careful or he’ll give up to the instinct of smashing everything to pieces on purpose just to stop being careful around it.)

“Yes, I am. What do you want, Chanyeol?”

He asked the same question to Baekhyun, a long time ago - it feels like another lifetime. He also asked the same question to himself, so many times. He knows the answer by now.

(I want to kiss you, now and then. I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you and for all the time I was working for you, and I kissed you before I left because I don’t think I could’ve ever left without trying, at least once. And I thought it was over but I never really stopped thinking about you, so I want to kiss you. I’d like to push you against the wall, the door, the bed, anywhere really, and kiss you how much I want. I want to tilt your head and kiss your neck and stick my hands under your shirt and inside your pants and I want you to like me too, I want you to kiss me back and call me all the time and think about me so much you think you’re going crazy. I want you.)

“I want you, Baekhyun. And it has nothing to do with the way you are. I like you when you’re angry and when you’re sad and when you’re happy and I really like you all the time, you get it? I like you even if everything you do is sending me mixed signals and running away and hurting me. And I don’t want you to change, but I’m not going to start anything until I’m one hundred percent sure you’re not going to end it. I won’t let anyone ruin this, not even you. That’s how much I want you.”

He doesn’t know if Baekhyun understands the ugliness of what he’s saying. Baekhyun thinks he’s good at manipulating people, but he’s never met someone like Chanyeol, someone who’s unrelenting and dedicated, someone who’s implacable and unyielding and remorseless. Baekhyun is cunning and sharp, but Chanyeol is smooth and sweet like honey and that makes the deception look even more innocent. He will have Baekhyun and he will have him at his own conditions. That’s why he’s been waiting, until Baekhyun is so in love with him, so caught in his trap, that he’ll never even realize it’s a trap. Chanyeol won’t let him realize.

But Chanyeol was right, the time for games is gone. He needs facts. He needs declarations of love. He needs Baekhyun.

“Do you really like me too?” asks Baekhyun. He looks stubborn, he looks unsure. He looks angry. It’s usually so easy to read him, because he wears his emotions proudly, but this time he looks so confused Chanyeol can’t read him at all.

He takes Baekhyun’s hand, spreads it with his own and locks their fingers together, then slowly, delicately brings it to his own face.

“And you? Do you like me Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun’s hand is light, hesitant, his fingers cool against Chanyeol’s face.

“I asked first,” he mutters, and Chanyeol scoffs. Typical.

“I’m not going to say it if you don’t say it first.”

The line of Baekhyun’s mouth hardens and he tries to take a step back, but Chanyeol pulls him back against his chest.

“I thought we weren’t playing games anymore, Baekhyun. I can’t chase you forever.”

“But I want you to chase me forever,” he says, like it’s obvious, like it’s a good thing the one he’s asking.

Chanyeol would really chase him forever if he thought it would lead him to Baekhyun’s heart. But it wouldn’t. The more he chases, the more Baekhyun runs away.

He lets the boy go, takes a step back himself. A deep breath to clear his head.

“You’re so selfish, Baekhyun. But I can’t do that. I just poured my heart to you and you can’t even say you like me back.” Chanyeol pulls and pulls. Whether Baekhyun snaps or Chanyeol lets go first, the recoil will hurt them both. But if he stops now he loses the final prize. “Maybe we’re better off as...”

To be someone who likes to lay traps, Baekhyun really doesn’t know how to recognize one. Or maybe, just like Chanyeol, he doesn’t care. (Unlike Chanyeol he’s too desperate to care.)

“I like you. I like you, ok? I... I like you too. But please don’t go. I can’t even see you, so I wouldn’t know how to chase you back. I...”

His lips tremble and he breathes as if there's not enough air in this world for him. Chanyeol wraps his arms around him, feels him tense and relax and tense again.

“I’m here. Even you can’t see me, I’m here.”

Baekhyun doesn’t know how to be hugged. He doesn’t know how to be kissed. He leans his head on Chanyeol’s chest, stiffly, explores his back with trembling hands.

“I won’t change overnight.”

“I never asked you to.”

“It will be difficult.”

“Because getting here was such a piece of cake. Baekhyun-ah, don’t worry, I know what I’m getting myself into...”

“No, you should listen. You should know. I don’t trust people, I’m paranoid and jealous and petty and mean. I only know how to hurt the ones I love.” Chanyeol’s heart misses a beat. He said that to Baekhyun, a long time ago. He’s still thinking about it. “I’m always angry and there will be days when I’ll hate you and you’ll hate me and...”

Chanyeol stops him with a finger on his lips.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says. “Any moment now. I won’t care if you’re still talking.”

He leans down and... the doorbell rings.

Chanyeol groans and Baekhyun groans and the doorbell rings again, insistent and cruel, and Baekhyun murmurs something that sounds awfully like, “I think it’s my brother,” and Chanyeol maybe curses. Ok, he definitely curses. But he opens the door, because he knows better than to antagonize Baekhyun’s brother.

When the door opens, Baekbom looks at his face and then at Baekhyun’s, who’s trailing behind Chanyeol like a lost duckling. His face opens in a wicked smile. “Were you busy?” he asks, looking smug and clearly happy to be a cockblocker. “You said two hours Baekhyun and you’ve been here for the whole afternoon.”

“It’s not my fault he came home like ten minutes ago,” mutters Baekhyun, but his brother promptly ignores him.

“Although I’m really glad you managed to find a compromise, you still have stuff to do with me.”

“What kind of stuff?” asks Chanyeol immediately. His hold on Baekhyun tightens. He can’t believe Byun Baekbom managed to interrupt him again.

The smile he receives is overly sweet and fake.

“Family stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m bringing Baekhyun home.”

part 3 ->