you are the dream (i'll never give up) (1/2), for xingnamoroll
Title: you are the dream (i’ll never give up)
For: xingnamoroll
Word count: 11,399 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Kris writes songs of the past to find his future.
“Here are the keys to the studio,” Joonmyeon says, sliding open the drawer to hold up a set of key cards. “Make sure you don’t give the wrong card to the wrong person,” he continues as he slides the drawer shut again.
“Some, or should I say, one of our regulars won’t react very nicely if that happens.”
At Yixing’s raised eyebrow, Joonmyeon merely shakes his head. “It’s best you don’t let that happen, he’s scared off all the previous receptionists working here because they mixed up his key cards.”
“Key cards?”
“Yes, key cards. He likes to do his work in different studios every time. Pretty weird, but yeah he gets his stuff done eventually. And damn good stuff he produces.” Joonmyeon says with a wry grin.
“You’ll see him soon enough,” he claps a hand on Yixing’s shoulder, as he hoists his bag over his shoulder. “Try not to get into trouble with any of my customers okay? Especially the one I told you about. I’ve had a hard time looking for new receptionists after he sends them all crying for their mothers at the smallest mistakes they make.”
“Stay alive, yeah?” Joonmyeon says with a last grin before stepping out of the door.
Yixing slumps onto his chair, blowing at his fringe with a huff. When Luhan had introduced Yixing to this job, he did not tell him about scary customers and that the possibility of him getting scared off by that customer was high. But then again, Luhan has always been good at making bad things look good. In fact, his best friend had described this job as - “Extremely easy, very comfortable, you sit on a plush chair, look pretty and just hand the keys over to the customers and collect them when they’re done.”
Yixing scowls. He should have known something was up when Luhan used puppy eyes to beg him to take up this job as a favour for his friend, whom Yixing later found out to be Joonmyeon, the young owner of the recording studio.
To: Luhan
From: Yixing
You ass, you didn’t tell me that there were 1283710298371290837 receptionists before me.
The response is almost immediate. It’s as if Luhan was waiting for him to send him a text. Yixing can almost imagine said boy, pouncing on his phone in glee and laughing at his impending demise.
From: Luhan
To: Yixing
Don’t be stupid. There were only 12. Do you not know how to count?
Yixing almost chokes on the hot chocolate he’s sipping.
“Only 12????” he explodes, setting his cup down roughly on the table, causing the brown liquid in it to slosh dangerously, nearly spilling over the edge.
His fingers fly over the screen furiously, typing out a reply to his ass of a best friend, and he’s about to hit “send” when the bells of the door chime quietly, indicating that a customer had stepped in.
Yixing hastily puts his phone aside. Luhan can wait.
“Kris Wu,” a gruff voice comes from in front of the counter.
Yixing looks up only to see a tall figure with blonde hair, eyes hidden behind a pair of RayBans, more focused on the phone in his hands than on the receptionist looking curiously at him.
Junmyeon mentioned that some of the famous lyricists and producers often came here to do their work. So judging from his aura and the fact that he’s wearing shades indoors, this man must be one of them.
“Kris. Wu.” The voice comes again, this time sounding slightly more annoyed.
Right. Job. Keys. Right.
Yixing hurriedly flips through the file, finger sliding down the paper, eventually stopping at Kris’ name.
Key 107.
He yanks the cupboard open, fingers fumbling past the many cards in the drawer. He eventually picks out the card he’s looking for and hands it over to Kris, who simply plucks it out of his hands and heads to the direction of the studios without even looking at Yixing or uttering a word of thank you.
“Wow, Zhang Yixing, you’re paid to do your job, not to stare at celebrities,” he mutters to himself as he picks up his phone again, trying to forget how embarrassing he must have looked just now.
A sudden thump on the counter startles him, causing his phone to land on the smooth wooden surface of the table with a loud thud.
“Do you not know how to read?” Kris hisses dangerously as he holds out the card trapped between his index and middle finger, his tall frame towering over the poor receptionist.
Key 101.
Fuck.
Yixing curses silently and takes the card out of Kris’ hands. He searches for the right card and hands it over, feeling more embarrassed than he should. Kris grabs the lot from him and stomps off while muttering angrily under his breath.
“Joonmyeon must be an idiot for hiring idiots who can’t even read numbers.”
Yixing winces as the door to the studio slams shut. That was a very good first impression, he mentally berates himself as he presses his forehead against the cool surface of the table, trying to calm himself down.
Beside him, his phone buzzes.
From: Luhan
To: Yixing
Still alive?
Fucking Luhan, he is going to be SO dead.
xxx
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Luhan assures him while slurping on his bubble tea.
“But it was!” Yixing insists. “And stop that, you slob.” At that his best friend does a particularly loud slurp, practically inhaling all the tapiocas left in the cup, and Yixing just scrunches his nose up in disgust.
Luhan grins widely, leaning forward while opening his mouth to reveal a pool of tapioca balls gathered in his mouth.
“EW!” Yixing dodges the attack and swats Luhan away. Across him, Luhan chews and swallows before bursting into a gurgle of laughter, a hand over his tummy as he rolls about in glee.
“You’re gross. Why are we friends again?” Yixing scowls at the honey-blonde boy.
“I think this is the millionth time you’ve asked me this question since we met,” Luhan (finally) straightens, picking up his cup and poking his straw at the remaining tapioca balls left in the almost empty cup.
“And I wonder why,” Yixing replies with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.
To be honest, Yixing doesn’t know why he is best friends with Luhan. Their personalities are extremely different. Luhan being the loud and boisterous one, the one who prefers to run wild in the field while chasing after a soccer ball, while Yixing is the kind who hides in the comforts of the music room instead, playing around with different melodies and tunes on the black and white ivory keys of the piano.
Their first meeting started, quite literally, with a bang. Yixing had decided to wander around the hospital after being confined to his bed for too long, which was unfair because he was perfectly healthy and fine except for losing a chunk of his memory. His head was still throbbing slightly from the pain of trying to recall things from his life before the operation. He tried to ease the pain by pressing his knuckles lightly into the bandage around his forehead, but to no avail. The plain whitewashed walls of the hospital ward were not helping him either. They were too dull.
He glanced at the bed beside his. It was the only other bed in the ward, yet it was always empty. Ever since he had woken up, he had not seen the occupant of the bed and it made the boring hospital ward seem even emptier and gloomier than it already was. His mother had told him that his neighbour was a cheerful boy around his age, but that was all she could tell Yixing about him since the boy had hopped onto a wheelchair effortlessly, as if he did not just break his ankle, and zoomed out of the ward before she could even blink. That was the first and last time she said she had seen him then.
Sighing, Yixing slowly lifted his legs off the bed, buckling a little at the stiffness of them. He had been out cold for about 2 weeks after the operation and today was the first time he was attempting to walk after regaining consciousness. The doctors had warned him that he might lose the ability to walk but thank god this was not to be. He clenched his teeth as he took slow and unsteady steps down the empty hallway towards the garden, making sure to hold onto the metal railings attached to the walls. He prayed that he doesn’t meet any of his nurses or doctors along the way, because he would definitely be sent back to bed, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen.
Unfortunately he chose the wrong moment to turn his head around to check.
All he heard was a loud “SHIT” before something black, white and round fllew into his line of sight, subsequently knocking him off his feet. He landed in a heap on the pristine white floors with a groan.
“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” his attacker hopped off his wheelchair with such ease that he left Yixing gawking, momentarily forgetting the pain in his leg and the bruise that was about to form from the nasty collision.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked, worriedly patting Yixing’s legs. “I didn’t kill you, didn’t I?” he asked again.
Yixing remembers snorting at the ridiculous question.
"If whatever you aimed at me was supposed to kill me, then I guess you should have to try harder," Yixing poked the other in the ribs, immediately causing him to shrink back in laughter.
"Stop, STOP" the black- haired boy wheezed as he clutched the sides of his stomach.
"This is revenge for almost killing me with-" Yixing paused to look at the deadly weapon lying innocently beside them "- a soccer ball?"
"What."
"You were trying to play soccer while on a wheelchair," Yixing deadpanned.
"Why not! It's really cool, come on let me show you!!"
"No no nononono, hey!!" Yixing protested as Luhan dragged him up, sitting him on the previously abandoned wheelchair.
"They're gonna kick us out for being a public nuisance!!"
"No hospital will kick their patients out. You could sue them if they do that, y'know," the boy told him solemnly. He somehow magicked another wheelchair out of nowhere and planted his own butt on it.
"Are you ready?"
"No-"
"Get set"
"Look here I'm not sure I should-"
"GO!!!!!!!"
And a ball was kicked swiftly in his direction.
Yixing caught it before it actually hit his face.
"That was my face you ass," Yixing huffed, throwing the ball back to the other. The black haired boy dodged and useed his foot to kick it back.
Luhan frowned. "Please don't ruin my pretty face.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t, Bambi,” Yixing giggled.
“What did you just call me?” the other boy narrowed his doe eyes dangerously.
“Bambi.”
“I’m going to end you!!” Luhan yelled, tossing the ball back to Yixing, who shrieked and caught the ball just in time.
They ended up causing a ruckus in the hallway, with their loud squeals and battle cries. The violent bouncing of the ball against the floor and walls did nothing but add to the noise as well.
Needless to say, they got confined to their beds 15 minutes later for public misbehaviour.
As the angry nurse in charge of their ward disappeared behind the slowly closing door, the two glanced at each other and immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles, and for once, Yixing felt happier than he had ever been. The walls of their hospital did not seem so dull after all, and he slowly felt the different colours seeping into his life once again.
This will be a brand new start, he thinks. A fresh sheet of paper, one that he’s ready to splash the different colours of life on.
xxx
“I still can’t believe we met over a game of wheelchair soccer,”
“Can’t believe we became best friends after that,”
“Can’t believe we are still friends.”
“Shut up,” Luhan kicks Yixing under the table. “You’ll never be able to get rid of me that easily, Zhang Yixing. You’re stuck with me-” he slings an arm around the younger boy, “-forever.”
There is a slight throbbing in his head as the words echo back to him.
“You’re stuck with me forever,”
It is as if he’s heard them somewhere before, but where? Yixing shakes his head, trying to recall. But nothing comes to mind.
Maybe it’s just because Luhan has said it too many times.
“Hey, you okay?” Luhan nudges him with an elbow, peering at him with a concerned look on his face.
Yixing snaps out of it and makes a face at him, only to be met by an equally ugly face. The two of them end up bursting into laughter and getting kicked out of the cafe for being too noisy. Some things never change.
xxx
They’re in his room, supposedly doing homework. Well, Yixing is doing his homework while Kris is sitting cross-legged on the floor, guitar on his lap. His long fingers strum idly at the strings of his guitar as he hums a random tune quietly to himself. His eyes wander to the black-haired boy lying on the floor, history books sprawled open in front of him as he scribbles on a piece of paper, pausing occasionally to chew on his pen or to flip through the piles of books in front of him. His hair falls over his face as he writes and Kris resists the urge to brush it away.
“I can feel you staring,” Yixing suddenly says, eyes never leaving the paper he’s writing on.
“A-am not,” Kris stutters, looking back down to focus on his guitar, suddenly very interested in the little specks of dirt on its strings. He tries to ignore the heated flush rising from his neck to his face. He misses a note, and winces as the guitar lets out a loud “twang.” He claps his fingers over the strings, letting the flat silence wash over them.
He leans against the side of the bed, relaxing as his back hits the mattress. He has never told Yixing, and will probably never tell Yixing, that he is in love with him. He knows that he’s stepping on the thin line separating being best friends and being lovers. He knows, and is scared to cross that line, because he will surely fall and will be dangerously close to losing everything.
Including the most important person in his life.
“I’m done!” Yixing cheers as he closes his books and sprawls spread-eagled on the floor, stretching his arms and bending his body while trying to straighten out the kinks in his sore limbs. This snaps Kris out of his reverie, chuckling at the younger boy, who is rolling about on the floor like a little puppy.
“Ge, play a song for me,” the younger whines, tugging at the hem of Kris’s shirt, as he eventually rolls to a stop beside the older boy, his warm body pressing against the the other’s thigh.
Kris sighs but complies anyway, his fingers moving to pluck at the strings of his beloved guitar. They sit together, letting the familiar music wash over them. It is a song that remains to be unfinished, one that Kris started and Yixing continued, but both have yet to come to a consensus as to how to end the song.
It’s a song about dreams, Kris once said. “Then why does it sound so gloomy?” Yixing asked, frowning. “Well my dream isn’t full of sparkly unicorns and rainbows and happy people unlike yours,” Kris snorted, only to earn a punch in the gut.
And so the song remained unfinished, a mix between unfulfilled dreams, and never ending hope.
Kris would have thought that Yixing had fallen asleep judging by Yixing’s sudden silence, the only sound in the room being the endless looping of the unfinished music that Kris’ fingers continuously strum.
“Ge.”
“Hmm?” Kris jumps, and looks at the younger boy who is curled up beside him.
“What is your dream?”
You.
“I want to be….”- he pauses, swallowing hard, “a songwriter or a lyricist,”
Yixing tilts his head up for a moment, staring at his best friend thoughtfully.
“I know, I know. It’s nothing like what my parents expect, which is why it’ll always remain as a drea-”
“Wu Yi Fan, world renowned songwriter,” Yixing announces, looking up as if he’s reading it off somewhere prestigious.
“I can totally see that!” He claps, face crinkling into a smile, dimple prominent on his cheek.
It is during moments like these that Kris falls a little deeper in love. The boy he never would have imagined to become such an important part of his life. The one person, who would silently encourage him to pursue his dreams, and become the steady companion when no one else is there for him. Kris knew that his parents disapproved of his choice of Yixing as a best friend, saying how Yixing was not fit to mingle with people like them. But then, his parents never really approved of every choice and decision he made. In fact, if not for Yixing’s calming presence beside him, he would have become a more rebellious child than he already was.
“Maybe you need to be living the dream before you can finish writing this song...” Yixing trails off with a yawn, and Kris blinks, letting the words sink into his mind.
But before Kris can ask Yixing what he means, the younger boy’s eyelids are already closing and Yixing falls fast asleep.
xxx
"Yixing, wake up!! Yixing don't scare me!!!"
Kris shakes the limp boy frantically, only to receive no response.
He turns the boy over and is thoroughly surprised by the pale, lifeless face that greets him.
"WAKE UP!!!!!" He screams, desperate now, all the while holding Yixing close to his chest. He's never felt so frightened in his life and there is no one at home to help him.
By now, there are frantic tears rolling down his cheeks, as he hugs his best friend tighter.
"Yixing, please wake up. Please."
xxx
He jerks awake, body bolting upright as his eyes fly open.
"Yixing," he breathes heavily, his voice coming out in erratic gasps.
It takes him a moment to realise that he’s in his room, and it was just a dream.
Fuck. He buries his head in his hands as he tries to steady his breathing and calm the wild pounding of his heart.
It has been ten years since Yixing disappeared from his life without a word and it has also been ten years since he's had a good night's sleep. His dreams have since been filled with Yixing.
Yixing laughing at his drawings, Yixing suggesting that he should change his dream and become "Fan Gogh" instead of becoming a songwriter, Yixing sleeping as he plays the guitar, Yixing's flashing him bright smiles and dimples, Yixing doodling on his homework instead of doing it. Then Yixing collapsing in his house, Yixing in the hospital, Yixing, Yixing, Yixing...
Kris sighs and rubs his face, stopping when he realises that it is all wet.
He hasn't been crying because he misses Yixing. And no, he hasn't been crying because he is still haunted by the image of Yixing lying cold and still on the floor.
I’m just sweating because this room is hot as fuck, he tells himself as he lies back down in an attempt to go back to sleep.
But Kris doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
xxx
"You look like shit."
"Shut up and get me some coffee," Kris scowls, pulling his snapback a little lower. They're over at Jongdae's place, about to put together the finishing touches to Jongdae's second album.
It's been a while since Jongdae released a full album. He had been busy travelling, doing tours and fanmeets all over the world, making his fans perfectly satisfied seeing and hearing him croon the songs from his first album and the various singles he has released.
After a well-deserved break, Jongdae is ready to release his second album, much to the excitement of his fans who have been eagerly waiting for over a year.
"You know those things will kill you and your pretty face," Jongdae says as he brings over a warm cup of hot chocolate instead.
Kris glares at the cup in front him. "And I'm pretty sure you're the one in charge of singing the songs I write and not the one in charge of my health.”
"Hot chocolate is disgusting, absolutely disgusting," he continues while pushing the cup away.
"Don't be ridiculous. Hot chocolate is the sweetest thing in the world as compared to that bitter thing you like to drin-" the singer laughs pushing the cup back to Kris.
"I said, NO!" Kris yells as he gives the cup a vicious shove, causing it to topple over, the scalding hot liquid spilling all over the table and onto Jongdae’s hand.
There is a loud yelp and a simultaneous crash. Jongdae leaps up from his chair, clutching his wrist in pain as he yanks it away from the falling cup and the hot chocolate that it holds.
"Jesus, you didn't have to overreact," he snaps, stomping out of the kitchen.
Kris stares silently at the mess before him. The wasted hot chocolate, the shards of glass from the mug scattered on the floor, some so invisible you need to bend low to see it.
Just like him. With the thin, invisible cracks in his heart, so close to breaking point, a push away from shattering.
xxx
Jongdae winces as Kris applies the medicine on the back of his hand, where there is a nasty burn.
"My manager is going to kill you," Jongdae mutters.
And kill him, he would. Junmyeon would definitely slaughter him if he ever found out that Kris scalded his precious boyfriend's hand.
"My fans will kill you, too," the singer continues.
No, they wouldn't kill him. They would hunt him down, torture him, rip off his limbs and then feed him to the piranhas, because how dare he injure their darling Chen-oppa.
He doesn’t realise that he’s thinking out loud until Jongdae snorts, pulling his hand away from Kris as he falls back onto the couch in laughter. And before he knows it, Kris is laughing along with his best friend, even though Jongdae is clearly laughing at him. Just like that, the tension between them is gone.
It’s easy being with Jongdae. They fight, but their fights never last long and it’s easy to fall back into what they were previously, the tension lifting as if nothing happened before.
“You’re such an asshole,” Jongdae wheezes, pressing his uninjured arm over his stomach, while trying to calm himself down.
Kris straightens in an attempt to regain his composure. He keeps a straight face, as he grabs Jongdae’s arm again.
“Don’t move. I’m trying to help you bandage your arm,” he grumbles winding the white material around the singer’s arm.
They sit in quiet silence, save for the sound of Kris wrapping Jongdae’s arm in a bandage.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re still an asshole.”
Kris shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he packs all the medicine back into the first-aid kit. But he knows he’s forgiven.
“What happened to you though? You’ve been such a pissy bitch all day.”
It’s not a question, but more of a statement.
Kris chooses to keep his silence instead, packing the last of the gauze and bottles into the box, before snapping the lid shut.
It’s useless, really, because Jongdae is his best friend, and being his best friend, Jongdae can read him easily and-
“Is it about Yixing?”
- dammit because Jongdae is persistent.
He stills in his movement, sucking in a breath, his grip on the first-aid kit tightening until his knuckles have turned white.
And then he sees it again, Yixing falling down from his scooter in front of his house, Yixing holding his tears back while gritting his teeth as Kris’ butler helps to apply the medication on the cut across his knee, Yixing calling him “Ge ge” for the first time…
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the images away. But they are so fresh and so clear in his head, as if they only happened yesterday.
Then there is a warm arm wrapping around his shoulders, gentle fingers prying his hands away from the box, guiding his head towards a comforting shoulder.
“It’s- I just-” Kris struggles to find the words, his mind unable to keep pace with his aching heart.
“Ssh, it’s okay,” Jongdae soothes, rubbing his back to comfort him.
“I miss him so much,” he whispers hoarsely into the crook of his best friend’s neck.
Jongdae pats him quietly. “He’ll come back to you one day.”
xxx
Rainy Days and Silver Linings is a hit, selling 1 million albums in a month and scoring number one on various chart shows and album rankings. Suddenly Jongdae is caught in a flurry of award ceremonies and invitations to be the opening act for various concerts. He’s being mobbed more than ever, at airports, at concert venues, since his fans seemed to have increased thousandfold with the release of this second album.
There is a huge press conference held, when it is announced that Jongdae has scored a Platinum on the U.S Billboard Charts, becoming the first Korean singer and the youngest award-winner to do so.
Jongdae’s eyes water as he tries not to blink too much. Keeping a smile on his face, he waves at the cameras in the room, showing the audience his best angles. There are camera flashes following his every move and the buzz of the reporters increases with every step he takes into the conference room.
The press conference will be broadcasted live and the venue is packed to the brim with television crews and reporters from all over the world. It is a chance for them to ask Jongdae questions about his latest comeback.
“Who is this album for?”
“It’s for my fans. To thank them for sticking with me from the start, waiting patiently for me to release this new album. For being by my side through every step of this amazing journey, for being the silver lining during my rainy days,” Jongdae beams, showing that well-loved smile of his.
The next question catches him off guard. It is something that he has not prepared for.
“What do the lyrics of your title song mean?”
Jongdae pauses, pretending to look deep in thought. His eyes stray to the back of the room, where a tall figure in sunglasses is leaning against the wall, away from the limelight. He cocks his head at the question.
“Have you ever experienced standing in an open area, waiting for a thunderstorm to approach and then feeling the rain soaking your skin?”
There are quiet murmurs from the audience as many wonder what Jongdae is up to.
“Before I debuted, I doubted my own abilities. I was frightened by how I would not be able to live up to the fame and glory brought by the many seniors in the company. So I hid. I refused to leave the company, practicing as much as I could and refusing to show my face to the outsiders. I feared that once they knew who I was, there would be similar expectations of me, expectations that I could not live up to. I avoided going outside and my days were all dark and gloomy. This went on for weeks until I was forced out of the company one day.”
The buzz from the reporters slowly increase in volume. No one has heard this story before.
Joonmyun stands backstage, chewing his lip nervously. He has no idea what Jongdae is going on about. This song is written by Kris, why the hell did Jongdae even accept the question? He is contemplating going out to stop his boyfriend from digging his grave when Jongdae’s next words cause his to pause in his tracks.
“Then it rained. The day I left the company for the first time in weeks, there was a thunderstorm. I stood there in the rain, feeling the cold wash over me. Call me ridiculous or what, but I felt like a new person. And when I looked up, the clouds were parting and the sun was peeking through them. It was a silver lining for me. That moment was a feeling I can’t explain. So rainy days have now become my favourite days,” Jongdae winks as he finishes off.
The audience burst into a round of applause and soon the press conference ends with a round of photos.
Backstage, Joonmyeon pounces on Jongdae.
“Fuck, you scared me,” he growls, enveloping his boyfriend into a hug.
Jongdae laughs breathlessly, his eyes on the tall male beside Joonmyeon.
“How did you know?” Kris asks, while twirling his shades in his hands.
Jongdae only gives a chuckle, tapping the side of his head with two fingers with a knowing wink.
“My boyfriend is the smartest,” Joonmyeon says as he presses a kiss square on his lips.
Kris only gags as he turns away.
xxx
They are lounging on the couch after Yixing has gotten off work, Luhan snacking on an open packet of chips, crumbs falling all over the floor. It's rare that Yixing is able to get off early since most of the customers usually spend a long time in the studios. He is relieved that he doesn’t have to face Scary Eyebrows, as Luhan has nicknamed Kris.
After a few more encounters with the composer, Yixing has come a conclusion that Kris either can’t smile, doesn’t know how to smile or just doesn’t smile so he can look cool. (Not that Yixing thinks that he looks cool) Kris usually just ignores him, and after a few attempts at being friendly, Yixing gave up. His thick eyebrows make him look scarier than he already is, which explains the nickname.
"Hey look, it's Scary Eyebrows," Luhan says through a mouthful of chips, while nudging his best friend with his toes. Yixing yelps at the coldness of Luhan’s toes and swats him away, his eyes focused on the screen.
The press conference for Chen’s third album is currently airing, and Yixing watches as Kris goes up the stage to take a photo with Chen.
“Did you know that the both of them are best friends?” Luhan mumbles noncommittally as he stuffs more chips into his mouth.
Yixing turns to him with wide disbelieving eyes.
“What, don’t look at me like that, they really are!” Luhan points at the screen in defense, which is now showing the singer and the songwriter smiling at the audience, arms around each other.
There is a flash.
Two boys, arms around each other. They’re smiling at each other.
Yixing blinks, the surroundings go back in place. Luhan is sitting on the other end of the couch, looking at him, confused.
Yixing waves him off but his thoughts still linger on the two boys in his vague and incomplete memory.
“Do you think I had a best friend before…. before the surgery?”
Luhan turns to him and shrugs.
“I don’t know, I only met you after your surgery… but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of you having one…” he trails off, thinking hard.
Yixing hums. He is half-certain that he had one, but he has no idea who he is.
“Why? Are you thinking of abandoning me and running off to find him?” Luhan pouts.
“No, just wondering...”
“You can’t do that to me okay,” Luhan whines, leaning forward as he sticks out his bottom lip and widens his eyes, looking like an adorable puppy instead of a 22 year old.
“Of course I won’t,” Yixing ruffles his honey-blonde hair endearingly. “Now, don’t do that, you look ridiculous,” Yixing continues as he gives a particularly hard pat on his best friend’s cheek before pushing him away, his attention going back to the television screen.
Luhan gives an indignant yell, arms flailing as he falls back onto the couch. He huffs, grabs another bag of chips, and snatches up a handful before stuffing them into his mouth.
The press conference is coming to an end. Chen is joking around with Kris, eliciting a laugh from the taller one and the cameras click even more furiously as Kris slings an arm around the singer in obvious camaraderie.
He actually looks cute when he smiles, he should do that more often, Yixing thinks, while chewing on his lip thoughtfully.
“What was that?” Luhan asks in feigned innocence, a devilish grin on his face.
“Nothing,” Yixing says, but he knows Luhan can see through him easily and the rapid blush on his cheeks is not helping him either.
“Does someone have a crush on Mr. Scary Eyebrows?” Luhan asks, throwing his feet off and crawling on the couch towards Yixing, while wiggling his own eyebrows in glee.
“I do not, now get off you fatass,” the red-faced boy mutters, shoving his best friend away from him. He attempts to snatch the remote away to switch channels, but Luhan is too fast.
“You so do,” Luhan sing-songs, holding the remote out of Yixing’s reach. “Do you want me to arrange a blind date for the both of you?” he continues, as his fingers inch towards the abandoned phone on the table.
“NO!” Yixing all but yells, grabbing his best friend’s phone just in time. He escapes into the room and slams the door shut, leaving the loud, gleeful laughter of the older boy behind it. Nevermind how Luhan is going to arrange the blind date with a famous songwriter, but Yixing is going to prevent him from even starting. Because once Luhan starts, there is no stopping him.
xxx
Yixing is running late. Like really late.
He had woken up half an hour later than planned and it was all thanks to that best friend of his who kept him up the whole night with his cheers and yells for Manchester United. He ended up sleeping at 5am in the morning when the match finally ended but had forgotten to set the goddamned alarm clock, which is why he is now running to the studio, praying fervently that his first customer is yet to arrive.
He is in luck, his first customer is late and that leaves him ample time to prepare before he finally slumps into his seat in exhaustion. As if on cue, the door bells chime softly and he straightens, expecting to see one of the regulars. But he is certainly not expecting to see-
“Chen-ssi?”
The dark-haired singer tilts his head in surprise, obviously not expecting Yixing to recognise him.
“Ah, I saw you on the television yesterday,” Yixing says, scratching the back of his head. “I like your songs,” he continues shyly.
Jongdae smiles. “Thank you,” he laughs. “You can just call me Jongdae,” he says, patting Yixing on the shoulder.
“So you must be the cute receptionist that Kris tells me about,” Jongdae grins.
“Kris what?”
“He tells me that the receptionist working here is rather cute, so I came to check him out today and I must say, he is right,” Jongdae winks.
Yixing is bewildered, to say the least, because Kris has never even given him a second look. His eyes are always fixed on his phone or his tablet. It’s like he only has eyes for those two objects in the world. Literally.
The singer bursts out in boisterous laughter, clutching his sides and Yixing realises that he has spoken out loud again.
His lips quirk up into an embarrassed smile as he rubs the back his neck.
“You’re a funny one,” Jongdae finally straightens, rubbing his teary eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Yi-”
“ZHANG YIXING!!!!!!!”
Something, or someone to be exact, comes barreling into the reception area, almost knocking Jongdae flat onto his feet.
“Luhan???”
“You forgot your phone you idiot,” Luhan pants as he bends over trying to catch his breath.
“Ah, thank you,” Yixing beams as he takes the phone out of his best friend’s hand gratefully, while patting the guy’s back and offering him a sip of water from the bottle in his bag.
Zhang Yixing.
Jongdae feels his blood run cold.
“Zhang?”
Yixing snaps his head in his direction, having forgotten about Jongdae’s presence.
“Yeah, I’m Chinese. I moved to Korea 10 years ago,” he says.
Luhan looks up and almost drops the bottle in surprise, because it's Kim fucking Jongdae standing in front of him right now.
“Chen?? The one we saw on television yesterday??”
Yixing nods and Jongdae gives an amused smile.
“You’re friends with the famous Kim Jongdae and you never told me?” he says accusingly as he gives Yixing a light punch on the shoulder.
“Ow, I’m not-”
“We just met today,” Jongdae supplies helpfully.
Luhan’s mouth widens into an “O” and he slings an arm around Yixing. “Alright, you’re forgiven.”
Yixing shakes his head but he smiles anyway, introducing Luhan to Jongdae.
“Both of you are Chinese?”
Luhan nods vigorously, “Yixing is from Changsha but I’m from Beijing!”
“Then how did you meet?”
“At a hospital in Korea,” Yixing chuckles.
“I almost ran him down with my wheelchair.”
“Yeah and would have probably made me lose my memory again,” Yixing adds, poking his best friend in the ribs.
“Lose your memory?” Jongdae echoes. This is something new.
“Yeah, I flew to Korea with my parents to undergo surgery for my brain tumour. The doctors weren't sure if I would even wake up or not, but I somehow did,” Yixing shrugs. “I lost my memory though, can’t remember what happened in the first 11 years of my life.”
“But it’s okay, you’ve got me,” Luhan wraps both arms around the brown-haired boy, swaying him from side to side. Yixing laughs as he tries to wriggle out of the older boy’s tight grip but to no avail.
Both boys are too into their world to notice that Jongdae has frozen in place, his mind absorbing every piece of information that has just been unknowingly revealed in the past few minutes.
How small can this world be?
The tinkling of the bell startles him and his eyes widen at the sight of his best friend entering the reception area.
“Kr-kris!” he calls, trying to cover up the stutter in his voice.
Kris merely nods and raises a hand to greet him.
“Come, let’s go into the studio, I’ve got lots of work to do!” He grabs the taller one and pushes him towards the direction of the studios.
He gives the other two boys a cheery wave before disappearing into the studio with Kris.
He doesn’t miss the way Yixing smiles, a dimple appearing on his cheek, just like how Kris described the Zhang Yixing 10 years ago, and he certainly doesn’t miss the way Kris’ eyes linger on Yixing a little longer than how they are supposed to.
PART 2
For: xingnamoroll
Word count: 11,399 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Kris writes songs of the past to find his future.
“Here are the keys to the studio,” Joonmyeon says, sliding open the drawer to hold up a set of key cards. “Make sure you don’t give the wrong card to the wrong person,” he continues as he slides the drawer shut again.
“Some, or should I say, one of our regulars won’t react very nicely if that happens.”
At Yixing’s raised eyebrow, Joonmyeon merely shakes his head. “It’s best you don’t let that happen, he’s scared off all the previous receptionists working here because they mixed up his key cards.”
“Key cards?”
“Yes, key cards. He likes to do his work in different studios every time. Pretty weird, but yeah he gets his stuff done eventually. And damn good stuff he produces.” Joonmyeon says with a wry grin.
“You’ll see him soon enough,” he claps a hand on Yixing’s shoulder, as he hoists his bag over his shoulder. “Try not to get into trouble with any of my customers okay? Especially the one I told you about. I’ve had a hard time looking for new receptionists after he sends them all crying for their mothers at the smallest mistakes they make.”
“Stay alive, yeah?” Joonmyeon says with a last grin before stepping out of the door.
Yixing slumps onto his chair, blowing at his fringe with a huff. When Luhan had introduced Yixing to this job, he did not tell him about scary customers and that the possibility of him getting scared off by that customer was high. But then again, Luhan has always been good at making bad things look good. In fact, his best friend had described this job as - “Extremely easy, very comfortable, you sit on a plush chair, look pretty and just hand the keys over to the customers and collect them when they’re done.”
Yixing scowls. He should have known something was up when Luhan used puppy eyes to beg him to take up this job as a favour for his friend, whom Yixing later found out to be Joonmyeon, the young owner of the recording studio.
To: Luhan
From: Yixing
You ass, you didn’t tell me that there were 1283710298371290837 receptionists before me.
The response is almost immediate. It’s as if Luhan was waiting for him to send him a text. Yixing can almost imagine said boy, pouncing on his phone in glee and laughing at his impending demise.
From: Luhan
To: Yixing
Don’t be stupid. There were only 12. Do you not know how to count?
Yixing almost chokes on the hot chocolate he’s sipping.
“Only 12????” he explodes, setting his cup down roughly on the table, causing the brown liquid in it to slosh dangerously, nearly spilling over the edge.
His fingers fly over the screen furiously, typing out a reply to his ass of a best friend, and he’s about to hit “send” when the bells of the door chime quietly, indicating that a customer had stepped in.
Yixing hastily puts his phone aside. Luhan can wait.
“Kris Wu,” a gruff voice comes from in front of the counter.
Yixing looks up only to see a tall figure with blonde hair, eyes hidden behind a pair of RayBans, more focused on the phone in his hands than on the receptionist looking curiously at him.
Junmyeon mentioned that some of the famous lyricists and producers often came here to do their work. So judging from his aura and the fact that he’s wearing shades indoors, this man must be one of them.
“Kris. Wu.” The voice comes again, this time sounding slightly more annoyed.
Right. Job. Keys. Right.
Yixing hurriedly flips through the file, finger sliding down the paper, eventually stopping at Kris’ name.
Key 107.
He yanks the cupboard open, fingers fumbling past the many cards in the drawer. He eventually picks out the card he’s looking for and hands it over to Kris, who simply plucks it out of his hands and heads to the direction of the studios without even looking at Yixing or uttering a word of thank you.
“Wow, Zhang Yixing, you’re paid to do your job, not to stare at celebrities,” he mutters to himself as he picks up his phone again, trying to forget how embarrassing he must have looked just now.
A sudden thump on the counter startles him, causing his phone to land on the smooth wooden surface of the table with a loud thud.
“Do you not know how to read?” Kris hisses dangerously as he holds out the card trapped between his index and middle finger, his tall frame towering over the poor receptionist.
Key 101.
Fuck.
Yixing curses silently and takes the card out of Kris’ hands. He searches for the right card and hands it over, feeling more embarrassed than he should. Kris grabs the lot from him and stomps off while muttering angrily under his breath.
“Joonmyeon must be an idiot for hiring idiots who can’t even read numbers.”
Yixing winces as the door to the studio slams shut. That was a very good first impression, he mentally berates himself as he presses his forehead against the cool surface of the table, trying to calm himself down.
Beside him, his phone buzzes.
From: Luhan
To: Yixing
Still alive?
Fucking Luhan, he is going to be SO dead.
xxx
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Luhan assures him while slurping on his bubble tea.
“But it was!” Yixing insists. “And stop that, you slob.” At that his best friend does a particularly loud slurp, practically inhaling all the tapiocas left in the cup, and Yixing just scrunches his nose up in disgust.
Luhan grins widely, leaning forward while opening his mouth to reveal a pool of tapioca balls gathered in his mouth.
“EW!” Yixing dodges the attack and swats Luhan away. Across him, Luhan chews and swallows before bursting into a gurgle of laughter, a hand over his tummy as he rolls about in glee.
“You’re gross. Why are we friends again?” Yixing scowls at the honey-blonde boy.
“I think this is the millionth time you’ve asked me this question since we met,” Luhan (finally) straightens, picking up his cup and poking his straw at the remaining tapioca balls left in the almost empty cup.
“And I wonder why,” Yixing replies with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.
To be honest, Yixing doesn’t know why he is best friends with Luhan. Their personalities are extremely different. Luhan being the loud and boisterous one, the one who prefers to run wild in the field while chasing after a soccer ball, while Yixing is the kind who hides in the comforts of the music room instead, playing around with different melodies and tunes on the black and white ivory keys of the piano.
Their first meeting started, quite literally, with a bang. Yixing had decided to wander around the hospital after being confined to his bed for too long, which was unfair because he was perfectly healthy and fine except for losing a chunk of his memory. His head was still throbbing slightly from the pain of trying to recall things from his life before the operation. He tried to ease the pain by pressing his knuckles lightly into the bandage around his forehead, but to no avail. The plain whitewashed walls of the hospital ward were not helping him either. They were too dull.
He glanced at the bed beside his. It was the only other bed in the ward, yet it was always empty. Ever since he had woken up, he had not seen the occupant of the bed and it made the boring hospital ward seem even emptier and gloomier than it already was. His mother had told him that his neighbour was a cheerful boy around his age, but that was all she could tell Yixing about him since the boy had hopped onto a wheelchair effortlessly, as if he did not just break his ankle, and zoomed out of the ward before she could even blink. That was the first and last time she said she had seen him then.
Sighing, Yixing slowly lifted his legs off the bed, buckling a little at the stiffness of them. He had been out cold for about 2 weeks after the operation and today was the first time he was attempting to walk after regaining consciousness. The doctors had warned him that he might lose the ability to walk but thank god this was not to be. He clenched his teeth as he took slow and unsteady steps down the empty hallway towards the garden, making sure to hold onto the metal railings attached to the walls. He prayed that he doesn’t meet any of his nurses or doctors along the way, because he would definitely be sent back to bed, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen.
Unfortunately he chose the wrong moment to turn his head around to check.
All he heard was a loud “SHIT” before something black, white and round fllew into his line of sight, subsequently knocking him off his feet. He landed in a heap on the pristine white floors with a groan.
“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” his attacker hopped off his wheelchair with such ease that he left Yixing gawking, momentarily forgetting the pain in his leg and the bruise that was about to form from the nasty collision.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked, worriedly patting Yixing’s legs. “I didn’t kill you, didn’t I?” he asked again.
Yixing remembers snorting at the ridiculous question.
"If whatever you aimed at me was supposed to kill me, then I guess you should have to try harder," Yixing poked the other in the ribs, immediately causing him to shrink back in laughter.
"Stop, STOP" the black- haired boy wheezed as he clutched the sides of his stomach.
"This is revenge for almost killing me with-" Yixing paused to look at the deadly weapon lying innocently beside them "- a soccer ball?"
"What."
"You were trying to play soccer while on a wheelchair," Yixing deadpanned.
"Why not! It's really cool, come on let me show you!!"
"No no nononono, hey!!" Yixing protested as Luhan dragged him up, sitting him on the previously abandoned wheelchair.
"They're gonna kick us out for being a public nuisance!!"
"No hospital will kick their patients out. You could sue them if they do that, y'know," the boy told him solemnly. He somehow magicked another wheelchair out of nowhere and planted his own butt on it.
"Are you ready?"
"No-"
"Get set"
"Look here I'm not sure I should-"
"GO!!!!!!!"
And a ball was kicked swiftly in his direction.
Yixing caught it before it actually hit his face.
"That was my face you ass," Yixing huffed, throwing the ball back to the other. The black haired boy dodged and useed his foot to kick it back.
Luhan frowned. "Please don't ruin my pretty face.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t, Bambi,” Yixing giggled.
“What did you just call me?” the other boy narrowed his doe eyes dangerously.
“Bambi.”
“I’m going to end you!!” Luhan yelled, tossing the ball back to Yixing, who shrieked and caught the ball just in time.
They ended up causing a ruckus in the hallway, with their loud squeals and battle cries. The violent bouncing of the ball against the floor and walls did nothing but add to the noise as well.
Needless to say, they got confined to their beds 15 minutes later for public misbehaviour.
As the angry nurse in charge of their ward disappeared behind the slowly closing door, the two glanced at each other and immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles, and for once, Yixing felt happier than he had ever been. The walls of their hospital did not seem so dull after all, and he slowly felt the different colours seeping into his life once again.
This will be a brand new start, he thinks. A fresh sheet of paper, one that he’s ready to splash the different colours of life on.
xxx
“I still can’t believe we met over a game of wheelchair soccer,”
“Can’t believe we became best friends after that,”
“Can’t believe we are still friends.”
“Shut up,” Luhan kicks Yixing under the table. “You’ll never be able to get rid of me that easily, Zhang Yixing. You’re stuck with me-” he slings an arm around the younger boy, “-forever.”
There is a slight throbbing in his head as the words echo back to him.
“You’re stuck with me forever,”
It is as if he’s heard them somewhere before, but where? Yixing shakes his head, trying to recall. But nothing comes to mind.
Maybe it’s just because Luhan has said it too many times.
“Hey, you okay?” Luhan nudges him with an elbow, peering at him with a concerned look on his face.
Yixing snaps out of it and makes a face at him, only to be met by an equally ugly face. The two of them end up bursting into laughter and getting kicked out of the cafe for being too noisy. Some things never change.
xxx
They’re in his room, supposedly doing homework. Well, Yixing is doing his homework while Kris is sitting cross-legged on the floor, guitar on his lap. His long fingers strum idly at the strings of his guitar as he hums a random tune quietly to himself. His eyes wander to the black-haired boy lying on the floor, history books sprawled open in front of him as he scribbles on a piece of paper, pausing occasionally to chew on his pen or to flip through the piles of books in front of him. His hair falls over his face as he writes and Kris resists the urge to brush it away.
“I can feel you staring,” Yixing suddenly says, eyes never leaving the paper he’s writing on.
“A-am not,” Kris stutters, looking back down to focus on his guitar, suddenly very interested in the little specks of dirt on its strings. He tries to ignore the heated flush rising from his neck to his face. He misses a note, and winces as the guitar lets out a loud “twang.” He claps his fingers over the strings, letting the flat silence wash over them.
He leans against the side of the bed, relaxing as his back hits the mattress. He has never told Yixing, and will probably never tell Yixing, that he is in love with him. He knows that he’s stepping on the thin line separating being best friends and being lovers. He knows, and is scared to cross that line, because he will surely fall and will be dangerously close to losing everything.
Including the most important person in his life.
“I’m done!” Yixing cheers as he closes his books and sprawls spread-eagled on the floor, stretching his arms and bending his body while trying to straighten out the kinks in his sore limbs. This snaps Kris out of his reverie, chuckling at the younger boy, who is rolling about on the floor like a little puppy.
“Ge, play a song for me,” the younger whines, tugging at the hem of Kris’s shirt, as he eventually rolls to a stop beside the older boy, his warm body pressing against the the other’s thigh.
Kris sighs but complies anyway, his fingers moving to pluck at the strings of his beloved guitar. They sit together, letting the familiar music wash over them. It is a song that remains to be unfinished, one that Kris started and Yixing continued, but both have yet to come to a consensus as to how to end the song.
It’s a song about dreams, Kris once said. “Then why does it sound so gloomy?” Yixing asked, frowning. “Well my dream isn’t full of sparkly unicorns and rainbows and happy people unlike yours,” Kris snorted, only to earn a punch in the gut.
And so the song remained unfinished, a mix between unfulfilled dreams, and never ending hope.
Kris would have thought that Yixing had fallen asleep judging by Yixing’s sudden silence, the only sound in the room being the endless looping of the unfinished music that Kris’ fingers continuously strum.
“Ge.”
“Hmm?” Kris jumps, and looks at the younger boy who is curled up beside him.
“What is your dream?”
You.
“I want to be….”- he pauses, swallowing hard, “a songwriter or a lyricist,”
Yixing tilts his head up for a moment, staring at his best friend thoughtfully.
“I know, I know. It’s nothing like what my parents expect, which is why it’ll always remain as a drea-”
“Wu Yi Fan, world renowned songwriter,” Yixing announces, looking up as if he’s reading it off somewhere prestigious.
“I can totally see that!” He claps, face crinkling into a smile, dimple prominent on his cheek.
It is during moments like these that Kris falls a little deeper in love. The boy he never would have imagined to become such an important part of his life. The one person, who would silently encourage him to pursue his dreams, and become the steady companion when no one else is there for him. Kris knew that his parents disapproved of his choice of Yixing as a best friend, saying how Yixing was not fit to mingle with people like them. But then, his parents never really approved of every choice and decision he made. In fact, if not for Yixing’s calming presence beside him, he would have become a more rebellious child than he already was.
“Maybe you need to be living the dream before you can finish writing this song...” Yixing trails off with a yawn, and Kris blinks, letting the words sink into his mind.
But before Kris can ask Yixing what he means, the younger boy’s eyelids are already closing and Yixing falls fast asleep.
xxx
"Yixing, wake up!! Yixing don't scare me!!!"
Kris shakes the limp boy frantically, only to receive no response.
He turns the boy over and is thoroughly surprised by the pale, lifeless face that greets him.
"WAKE UP!!!!!" He screams, desperate now, all the while holding Yixing close to his chest. He's never felt so frightened in his life and there is no one at home to help him.
By now, there are frantic tears rolling down his cheeks, as he hugs his best friend tighter.
"Yixing, please wake up. Please."
xxx
He jerks awake, body bolting upright as his eyes fly open.
"Yixing," he breathes heavily, his voice coming out in erratic gasps.
It takes him a moment to realise that he’s in his room, and it was just a dream.
Fuck. He buries his head in his hands as he tries to steady his breathing and calm the wild pounding of his heart.
It has been ten years since Yixing disappeared from his life without a word and it has also been ten years since he's had a good night's sleep. His dreams have since been filled with Yixing.
Yixing laughing at his drawings, Yixing suggesting that he should change his dream and become "Fan Gogh" instead of becoming a songwriter, Yixing sleeping as he plays the guitar, Yixing's flashing him bright smiles and dimples, Yixing doodling on his homework instead of doing it. Then Yixing collapsing in his house, Yixing in the hospital, Yixing, Yixing, Yixing...
Kris sighs and rubs his face, stopping when he realises that it is all wet.
He hasn't been crying because he misses Yixing. And no, he hasn't been crying because he is still haunted by the image of Yixing lying cold and still on the floor.
I’m just sweating because this room is hot as fuck, he tells himself as he lies back down in an attempt to go back to sleep.
But Kris doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
xxx
"You look like shit."
"Shut up and get me some coffee," Kris scowls, pulling his snapback a little lower. They're over at Jongdae's place, about to put together the finishing touches to Jongdae's second album.
It's been a while since Jongdae released a full album. He had been busy travelling, doing tours and fanmeets all over the world, making his fans perfectly satisfied seeing and hearing him croon the songs from his first album and the various singles he has released.
After a well-deserved break, Jongdae is ready to release his second album, much to the excitement of his fans who have been eagerly waiting for over a year.
"You know those things will kill you and your pretty face," Jongdae says as he brings over a warm cup of hot chocolate instead.
Kris glares at the cup in front him. "And I'm pretty sure you're the one in charge of singing the songs I write and not the one in charge of my health.”
"Hot chocolate is disgusting, absolutely disgusting," he continues while pushing the cup away.
"Don't be ridiculous. Hot chocolate is the sweetest thing in the world as compared to that bitter thing you like to drin-" the singer laughs pushing the cup back to Kris.
"I said, NO!" Kris yells as he gives the cup a vicious shove, causing it to topple over, the scalding hot liquid spilling all over the table and onto Jongdae’s hand.
There is a loud yelp and a simultaneous crash. Jongdae leaps up from his chair, clutching his wrist in pain as he yanks it away from the falling cup and the hot chocolate that it holds.
"Jesus, you didn't have to overreact," he snaps, stomping out of the kitchen.
Kris stares silently at the mess before him. The wasted hot chocolate, the shards of glass from the mug scattered on the floor, some so invisible you need to bend low to see it.
Just like him. With the thin, invisible cracks in his heart, so close to breaking point, a push away from shattering.
xxx
Jongdae winces as Kris applies the medicine on the back of his hand, where there is a nasty burn.
"My manager is going to kill you," Jongdae mutters.
And kill him, he would. Junmyeon would definitely slaughter him if he ever found out that Kris scalded his precious boyfriend's hand.
"My fans will kill you, too," the singer continues.
No, they wouldn't kill him. They would hunt him down, torture him, rip off his limbs and then feed him to the piranhas, because how dare he injure their darling Chen-oppa.
He doesn’t realise that he’s thinking out loud until Jongdae snorts, pulling his hand away from Kris as he falls back onto the couch in laughter. And before he knows it, Kris is laughing along with his best friend, even though Jongdae is clearly laughing at him. Just like that, the tension between them is gone.
It’s easy being with Jongdae. They fight, but their fights never last long and it’s easy to fall back into what they were previously, the tension lifting as if nothing happened before.
“You’re such an asshole,” Jongdae wheezes, pressing his uninjured arm over his stomach, while trying to calm himself down.
Kris straightens in an attempt to regain his composure. He keeps a straight face, as he grabs Jongdae’s arm again.
“Don’t move. I’m trying to help you bandage your arm,” he grumbles winding the white material around the singer’s arm.
They sit in quiet silence, save for the sound of Kris wrapping Jongdae’s arm in a bandage.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re still an asshole.”
Kris shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he packs all the medicine back into the first-aid kit. But he knows he’s forgiven.
“What happened to you though? You’ve been such a pissy bitch all day.”
It’s not a question, but more of a statement.
Kris chooses to keep his silence instead, packing the last of the gauze and bottles into the box, before snapping the lid shut.
It’s useless, really, because Jongdae is his best friend, and being his best friend, Jongdae can read him easily and-
“Is it about Yixing?”
- dammit because Jongdae is persistent.
He stills in his movement, sucking in a breath, his grip on the first-aid kit tightening until his knuckles have turned white.
And then he sees it again, Yixing falling down from his scooter in front of his house, Yixing holding his tears back while gritting his teeth as Kris’ butler helps to apply the medication on the cut across his knee, Yixing calling him “Ge ge” for the first time…
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the images away. But they are so fresh and so clear in his head, as if they only happened yesterday.
Then there is a warm arm wrapping around his shoulders, gentle fingers prying his hands away from the box, guiding his head towards a comforting shoulder.
“It’s- I just-” Kris struggles to find the words, his mind unable to keep pace with his aching heart.
“Ssh, it’s okay,” Jongdae soothes, rubbing his back to comfort him.
“I miss him so much,” he whispers hoarsely into the crook of his best friend’s neck.
Jongdae pats him quietly. “He’ll come back to you one day.”
xxx
Rainy Days and Silver Linings is a hit, selling 1 million albums in a month and scoring number one on various chart shows and album rankings. Suddenly Jongdae is caught in a flurry of award ceremonies and invitations to be the opening act for various concerts. He’s being mobbed more than ever, at airports, at concert venues, since his fans seemed to have increased thousandfold with the release of this second album.
There is a huge press conference held, when it is announced that Jongdae has scored a Platinum on the U.S Billboard Charts, becoming the first Korean singer and the youngest award-winner to do so.
Jongdae’s eyes water as he tries not to blink too much. Keeping a smile on his face, he waves at the cameras in the room, showing the audience his best angles. There are camera flashes following his every move and the buzz of the reporters increases with every step he takes into the conference room.
The press conference will be broadcasted live and the venue is packed to the brim with television crews and reporters from all over the world. It is a chance for them to ask Jongdae questions about his latest comeback.
“Who is this album for?”
“It’s for my fans. To thank them for sticking with me from the start, waiting patiently for me to release this new album. For being by my side through every step of this amazing journey, for being the silver lining during my rainy days,” Jongdae beams, showing that well-loved smile of his.
The next question catches him off guard. It is something that he has not prepared for.
“What do the lyrics of your title song mean?”
Jongdae pauses, pretending to look deep in thought. His eyes stray to the back of the room, where a tall figure in sunglasses is leaning against the wall, away from the limelight. He cocks his head at the question.
“Have you ever experienced standing in an open area, waiting for a thunderstorm to approach and then feeling the rain soaking your skin?”
There are quiet murmurs from the audience as many wonder what Jongdae is up to.
“Before I debuted, I doubted my own abilities. I was frightened by how I would not be able to live up to the fame and glory brought by the many seniors in the company. So I hid. I refused to leave the company, practicing as much as I could and refusing to show my face to the outsiders. I feared that once they knew who I was, there would be similar expectations of me, expectations that I could not live up to. I avoided going outside and my days were all dark and gloomy. This went on for weeks until I was forced out of the company one day.”
The buzz from the reporters slowly increase in volume. No one has heard this story before.
Joonmyun stands backstage, chewing his lip nervously. He has no idea what Jongdae is going on about. This song is written by Kris, why the hell did Jongdae even accept the question? He is contemplating going out to stop his boyfriend from digging his grave when Jongdae’s next words cause his to pause in his tracks.
“Then it rained. The day I left the company for the first time in weeks, there was a thunderstorm. I stood there in the rain, feeling the cold wash over me. Call me ridiculous or what, but I felt like a new person. And when I looked up, the clouds were parting and the sun was peeking through them. It was a silver lining for me. That moment was a feeling I can’t explain. So rainy days have now become my favourite days,” Jongdae winks as he finishes off.
The audience burst into a round of applause and soon the press conference ends with a round of photos.
Backstage, Joonmyeon pounces on Jongdae.
“Fuck, you scared me,” he growls, enveloping his boyfriend into a hug.
Jongdae laughs breathlessly, his eyes on the tall male beside Joonmyeon.
“How did you know?” Kris asks, while twirling his shades in his hands.
Jongdae only gives a chuckle, tapping the side of his head with two fingers with a knowing wink.
“My boyfriend is the smartest,” Joonmyeon says as he presses a kiss square on his lips.
Kris only gags as he turns away.
xxx
They are lounging on the couch after Yixing has gotten off work, Luhan snacking on an open packet of chips, crumbs falling all over the floor. It's rare that Yixing is able to get off early since most of the customers usually spend a long time in the studios. He is relieved that he doesn’t have to face Scary Eyebrows, as Luhan has nicknamed Kris.
After a few more encounters with the composer, Yixing has come a conclusion that Kris either can’t smile, doesn’t know how to smile or just doesn’t smile so he can look cool. (Not that Yixing thinks that he looks cool) Kris usually just ignores him, and after a few attempts at being friendly, Yixing gave up. His thick eyebrows make him look scarier than he already is, which explains the nickname.
"Hey look, it's Scary Eyebrows," Luhan says through a mouthful of chips, while nudging his best friend with his toes. Yixing yelps at the coldness of Luhan’s toes and swats him away, his eyes focused on the screen.
The press conference for Chen’s third album is currently airing, and Yixing watches as Kris goes up the stage to take a photo with Chen.
“Did you know that the both of them are best friends?” Luhan mumbles noncommittally as he stuffs more chips into his mouth.
Yixing turns to him with wide disbelieving eyes.
“What, don’t look at me like that, they really are!” Luhan points at the screen in defense, which is now showing the singer and the songwriter smiling at the audience, arms around each other.
There is a flash.
Two boys, arms around each other. They’re smiling at each other.
Yixing blinks, the surroundings go back in place. Luhan is sitting on the other end of the couch, looking at him, confused.
Yixing waves him off but his thoughts still linger on the two boys in his vague and incomplete memory.
“Do you think I had a best friend before…. before the surgery?”
Luhan turns to him and shrugs.
“I don’t know, I only met you after your surgery… but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of you having one…” he trails off, thinking hard.
Yixing hums. He is half-certain that he had one, but he has no idea who he is.
“Why? Are you thinking of abandoning me and running off to find him?” Luhan pouts.
“No, just wondering...”
“You can’t do that to me okay,” Luhan whines, leaning forward as he sticks out his bottom lip and widens his eyes, looking like an adorable puppy instead of a 22 year old.
“Of course I won’t,” Yixing ruffles his honey-blonde hair endearingly. “Now, don’t do that, you look ridiculous,” Yixing continues as he gives a particularly hard pat on his best friend’s cheek before pushing him away, his attention going back to the television screen.
Luhan gives an indignant yell, arms flailing as he falls back onto the couch. He huffs, grabs another bag of chips, and snatches up a handful before stuffing them into his mouth.
The press conference is coming to an end. Chen is joking around with Kris, eliciting a laugh from the taller one and the cameras click even more furiously as Kris slings an arm around the singer in obvious camaraderie.
He actually looks cute when he smiles, he should do that more often, Yixing thinks, while chewing on his lip thoughtfully.
“What was that?” Luhan asks in feigned innocence, a devilish grin on his face.
“Nothing,” Yixing says, but he knows Luhan can see through him easily and the rapid blush on his cheeks is not helping him either.
“Does someone have a crush on Mr. Scary Eyebrows?” Luhan asks, throwing his feet off and crawling on the couch towards Yixing, while wiggling his own eyebrows in glee.
“I do not, now get off you fatass,” the red-faced boy mutters, shoving his best friend away from him. He attempts to snatch the remote away to switch channels, but Luhan is too fast.
“You so do,” Luhan sing-songs, holding the remote out of Yixing’s reach. “Do you want me to arrange a blind date for the both of you?” he continues, as his fingers inch towards the abandoned phone on the table.
“NO!” Yixing all but yells, grabbing his best friend’s phone just in time. He escapes into the room and slams the door shut, leaving the loud, gleeful laughter of the older boy behind it. Nevermind how Luhan is going to arrange the blind date with a famous songwriter, but Yixing is going to prevent him from even starting. Because once Luhan starts, there is no stopping him.
xxx
Yixing is running late. Like really late.
He had woken up half an hour later than planned and it was all thanks to that best friend of his who kept him up the whole night with his cheers and yells for Manchester United. He ended up sleeping at 5am in the morning when the match finally ended but had forgotten to set the goddamned alarm clock, which is why he is now running to the studio, praying fervently that his first customer is yet to arrive.
He is in luck, his first customer is late and that leaves him ample time to prepare before he finally slumps into his seat in exhaustion. As if on cue, the door bells chime softly and he straightens, expecting to see one of the regulars. But he is certainly not expecting to see-
“Chen-ssi?”
The dark-haired singer tilts his head in surprise, obviously not expecting Yixing to recognise him.
“Ah, I saw you on the television yesterday,” Yixing says, scratching the back of his head. “I like your songs,” he continues shyly.
Jongdae smiles. “Thank you,” he laughs. “You can just call me Jongdae,” he says, patting Yixing on the shoulder.
“So you must be the cute receptionist that Kris tells me about,” Jongdae grins.
“Kris what?”
“He tells me that the receptionist working here is rather cute, so I came to check him out today and I must say, he is right,” Jongdae winks.
Yixing is bewildered, to say the least, because Kris has never even given him a second look. His eyes are always fixed on his phone or his tablet. It’s like he only has eyes for those two objects in the world. Literally.
The singer bursts out in boisterous laughter, clutching his sides and Yixing realises that he has spoken out loud again.
His lips quirk up into an embarrassed smile as he rubs the back his neck.
“You’re a funny one,” Jongdae finally straightens, rubbing his teary eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Yi-”
“ZHANG YIXING!!!!!!!”
Something, or someone to be exact, comes barreling into the reception area, almost knocking Jongdae flat onto his feet.
“Luhan???”
“You forgot your phone you idiot,” Luhan pants as he bends over trying to catch his breath.
“Ah, thank you,” Yixing beams as he takes the phone out of his best friend’s hand gratefully, while patting the guy’s back and offering him a sip of water from the bottle in his bag.
Zhang Yixing.
Jongdae feels his blood run cold.
“Zhang?”
Yixing snaps his head in his direction, having forgotten about Jongdae’s presence.
“Yeah, I’m Chinese. I moved to Korea 10 years ago,” he says.
Luhan looks up and almost drops the bottle in surprise, because it's Kim fucking Jongdae standing in front of him right now.
“Chen?? The one we saw on television yesterday??”
Yixing nods and Jongdae gives an amused smile.
“You’re friends with the famous Kim Jongdae and you never told me?” he says accusingly as he gives Yixing a light punch on the shoulder.
“Ow, I’m not-”
“We just met today,” Jongdae supplies helpfully.
Luhan’s mouth widens into an “O” and he slings an arm around Yixing. “Alright, you’re forgiven.”
Yixing shakes his head but he smiles anyway, introducing Luhan to Jongdae.
“Both of you are Chinese?”
Luhan nods vigorously, “Yixing is from Changsha but I’m from Beijing!”
“Then how did you meet?”
“At a hospital in Korea,” Yixing chuckles.
“I almost ran him down with my wheelchair.”
“Yeah and would have probably made me lose my memory again,” Yixing adds, poking his best friend in the ribs.
“Lose your memory?” Jongdae echoes. This is something new.
“Yeah, I flew to Korea with my parents to undergo surgery for my brain tumour. The doctors weren't sure if I would even wake up or not, but I somehow did,” Yixing shrugs. “I lost my memory though, can’t remember what happened in the first 11 years of my life.”
“But it’s okay, you’ve got me,” Luhan wraps both arms around the brown-haired boy, swaying him from side to side. Yixing laughs as he tries to wriggle out of the older boy’s tight grip but to no avail.
Both boys are too into their world to notice that Jongdae has frozen in place, his mind absorbing every piece of information that has just been unknowingly revealed in the past few minutes.
How small can this world be?
The tinkling of the bell startles him and his eyes widen at the sight of his best friend entering the reception area.
“Kr-kris!” he calls, trying to cover up the stutter in his voice.
Kris merely nods and raises a hand to greet him.
“Come, let’s go into the studio, I’ve got lots of work to do!” He grabs the taller one and pushes him towards the direction of the studios.
He gives the other two boys a cheery wave before disappearing into the studio with Kris.
He doesn’t miss the way Yixing smiles, a dimple appearing on his cheek, just like how Kris described the Zhang Yixing 10 years ago, and he certainly doesn’t miss the way Kris’ eyes linger on Yixing a little longer than how they are supposed to.
PART 2