Secrets Worth Keeping: Taochen Side Story
secrets worth keeping: side story #2
Pairings: Tao/Chen
Genre: High School!AU
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1, 130
prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | {xiuhan side story} | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | {taochen side story} | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen
It’s hot and sticky; the humidity of an imminent thunderstorm crawling across their skin as they wait for the bus. They’re the last students leaving from the school due to being caught throwing bits of eraser at each other during class and then subsequently made to serve detention in the afternoon. Zitao sits a bit further away from Jongdae than he usually would, placing enough distance between them to indicate his annoyance.
They sit in silence for a few moments and Zitao lets his eyes follow the dark swirls of cloud circling in the distance, silently hoping he can make it back in time to miss the rain that is sure to follow. Jongdae watches him, shuffling closer.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, and although Zitao doesn’t look over, he can practically hear his pout.
“Yes,” he answers curtly. Jongdae takes no heed of the warning tone in his voice and only moves closer.
“You could never hate me though,” Jongdae says, and he sounds so utterly certain, that it causes Zitao to turn to him with a raised eyebrow.
“What makes you so sure?”
Jongdae smiles and it reaches his eyes, pulling them up at the corners so that they become perfectly slanted, the top row of his teeth peeking through between his lips.
“Well I could never hate you,” he answers simply.
Zitao nods and hums as though he needs to consider it, before he feels his own lips curve into an uneven smile.
“It would be pretty difficult to replace you as the most annoying person in my life.”
Jongdae snorts, but his smile doesn’t fade.
“You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re a dick.”
“You’re not much better.”
“Shut up.”
Zitao kicks out his legs, feeling far lighter than he had been before. There’s something about Jongdae that always manages to make him feel like that. It’s this immaturity - a torrent of hollow words that somehow, strangely, works only to strengthen their friendship.
Jongdae makes himself busy by tracing the outline of an invisible moustache on the advertisement of a male model hanging up beside him on the wall of the bus shelter. Zitao lets his eyes follow the movement of his finger for a bit, over the perfect bow of lips, the flawless skin against his mouth, and he sighs.
“I wish I looked like that,” he says dejectedly. Jongdae’s finger pauses in its movement and he turns around.
“Why?”
“Maybe then I wouldn’t be alone.” He fiddles with the cuffs of his school shirt, a sense of despair worming its way into his heart.
There’s a small pause where Jongdae’s finger falls, curling up against the palm of his hand into a loose fist.
“You’re better looking than him anyway,” Jongdae says, and it’s only quiet, possibly meant to go unheard, but Zitao hones in on it.
“Did you just compliment me?”
Jongdae looks at him, offering an alarmed shake of his head.
“No.”
“Yes you did, you gave me a compliment!”
“I didn’t.”
“Wow this is a first! Who would have thought that Jongdae would ever give me a compliment!”
“Zitao…”
“It’s a historical moment! Forever to be remembered in the history books!”
“Zitao.”
“It will be passed on from generation to gen-“
The rest of Zitao’s sentence is cut short when Jongdae tugs him forward and presses their lips together. Jongdae pulls away, the irritation in his eyes countered by the slight flush of pink over his pale cheeks.
“Sometimes you need to learn when to shut up,” he says, hand still fisted in Zitao’s shirt. Zitao blinks and croaks out an unintelligible sound. His mouth opens and closes for a few moments before he finally seems to settle on words.
“If that’s how you shut me up, you can do it again,” he says weakly and Jondgae grins, shuffling a little closer so that his legs fall more comfortably against the side of the seat, knees pressed against Zitao’s and breath falling across his lips. He leans forward and kisses Zitao again and Zitao can feel the curve of a smile against his lips. When he goes to move away, Zitao pulls him back down, lips pressing against the corner of Jongdae’s mouth, a light brush of wet warmth.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs against his skin and so Jondgae complies, sliding his mouth back over Zitao’s, pressing them closer, insistent.
“Do you really think I’m attractive?” Zitao asks when they finally part again, Jongdae’s breath hot against his mouth.
“No,” Jongdae says, lacing their fingers together despite the already suffocating heat. “Okay maybe a little,” he admits cheekily when Zitao flicks him on the forehead.
Zitao lets his eyes graze over the downcast eyes, crinkled into crescent moons, the dots of pink on Jongdae’s cheek, and the tug of his fingers as they squeeze Zitao’s hand tighter.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and the sudden realisation that Jondae has liked him for god knows how long, watching him pine over Wu Fan like a love-sick child, hits him with a terrible lurch. A slight wave of nausea rolls his stomach and Zitao feels regret trickle down his spine.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, and although he doesn’t specify, Jongdae seems to understand the implication.
“Well it is almost impossible to compete with a tall, hot, star basketball player,” Jongdae replies, and although his words are light, there is an element of bitterness laced beneath them. Zitao pulls him close, one hand on the nape of Jongdae’s neck and the other still held in between his warm hands.
“No,” he whispers, and its low; fierce against his lips. “You mean so much more to me than him.” Jongdae’s eyes flitter up and they look so large this close - Zitao almost goes cross-eyed from watching them.
“What?” he asks, and his lips part, breath warm as it rushes out over Zitao’s skin.
“I have always loved you more than Wu Fan, Jongdae. It’s just, I never realised that I loved you.”
Jongdae raises an eyebrow.
“So, what you basically mean, is that you are an idiot.”
Zitao’s lips quirk into a smile, a short laugh escaping between them.
“Yeah,” he says softly; gently, “I guess so.”
He can feel the way Jongdae’s body rumbles beside him, pressed against his ribs, as laughter shakes through him. It’s more than slightly strange, he thinks, Jongdae’s fingers squeezing his palm, a tenderness in the latter’s eyes that he’s only seen in passing flashes before. But when Jongdae makes some remark about how terrible Zitao is at kissing, he thinks that they couldn’t fit together more perfectly.
“Shut up,” Zitao says, pressing a series of stuttering kisses to his mouth. “I hate you.”
“I hate you too.”
Jongdae grins and yes, Zitao thinks as their lips meet again, they really do fit perfectly.
AN: ohohoho both the chapter and this end with things being perfect. (idk if im aiming for symmetry or something) also things I have learnt from this: I can not write either zitao or jongdae. please excuse me. never again /cries
Pairings: Tao/Chen
Genre: High School!AU
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1, 130
prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | {xiuhan side story} | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | {taochen side story} | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen
It’s hot and sticky; the humidity of an imminent thunderstorm crawling across their skin as they wait for the bus. They’re the last students leaving from the school due to being caught throwing bits of eraser at each other during class and then subsequently made to serve detention in the afternoon. Zitao sits a bit further away from Jongdae than he usually would, placing enough distance between them to indicate his annoyance.
They sit in silence for a few moments and Zitao lets his eyes follow the dark swirls of cloud circling in the distance, silently hoping he can make it back in time to miss the rain that is sure to follow. Jongdae watches him, shuffling closer.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, and although Zitao doesn’t look over, he can practically hear his pout.
“Yes,” he answers curtly. Jongdae takes no heed of the warning tone in his voice and only moves closer.
“You could never hate me though,” Jongdae says, and he sounds so utterly certain, that it causes Zitao to turn to him with a raised eyebrow.
“What makes you so sure?”
Jongdae smiles and it reaches his eyes, pulling them up at the corners so that they become perfectly slanted, the top row of his teeth peeking through between his lips.
“Well I could never hate you,” he answers simply.
Zitao nods and hums as though he needs to consider it, before he feels his own lips curve into an uneven smile.
“It would be pretty difficult to replace you as the most annoying person in my life.”
Jongdae snorts, but his smile doesn’t fade.
“You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re a dick.”
“You’re not much better.”
“Shut up.”
Zitao kicks out his legs, feeling far lighter than he had been before. There’s something about Jongdae that always manages to make him feel like that. It’s this immaturity - a torrent of hollow words that somehow, strangely, works only to strengthen their friendship.
Jongdae makes himself busy by tracing the outline of an invisible moustache on the advertisement of a male model hanging up beside him on the wall of the bus shelter. Zitao lets his eyes follow the movement of his finger for a bit, over the perfect bow of lips, the flawless skin against his mouth, and he sighs.
“I wish I looked like that,” he says dejectedly. Jongdae’s finger pauses in its movement and he turns around.
“Why?”
“Maybe then I wouldn’t be alone.” He fiddles with the cuffs of his school shirt, a sense of despair worming its way into his heart.
There’s a small pause where Jongdae’s finger falls, curling up against the palm of his hand into a loose fist.
“You’re better looking than him anyway,” Jongdae says, and it’s only quiet, possibly meant to go unheard, but Zitao hones in on it.
“Did you just compliment me?”
Jongdae looks at him, offering an alarmed shake of his head.
“No.”
“Yes you did, you gave me a compliment!”
“I didn’t.”
“Wow this is a first! Who would have thought that Jongdae would ever give me a compliment!”
“Zitao…”
“It’s a historical moment! Forever to be remembered in the history books!”
“Zitao.”
“It will be passed on from generation to gen-“
The rest of Zitao’s sentence is cut short when Jongdae tugs him forward and presses their lips together. Jongdae pulls away, the irritation in his eyes countered by the slight flush of pink over his pale cheeks.
“Sometimes you need to learn when to shut up,” he says, hand still fisted in Zitao’s shirt. Zitao blinks and croaks out an unintelligible sound. His mouth opens and closes for a few moments before he finally seems to settle on words.
“If that’s how you shut me up, you can do it again,” he says weakly and Jondgae grins, shuffling a little closer so that his legs fall more comfortably against the side of the seat, knees pressed against Zitao’s and breath falling across his lips. He leans forward and kisses Zitao again and Zitao can feel the curve of a smile against his lips. When he goes to move away, Zitao pulls him back down, lips pressing against the corner of Jongdae’s mouth, a light brush of wet warmth.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs against his skin and so Jondgae complies, sliding his mouth back over Zitao’s, pressing them closer, insistent.
“Do you really think I’m attractive?” Zitao asks when they finally part again, Jongdae’s breath hot against his mouth.
“No,” Jongdae says, lacing their fingers together despite the already suffocating heat. “Okay maybe a little,” he admits cheekily when Zitao flicks him on the forehead.
Zitao lets his eyes graze over the downcast eyes, crinkled into crescent moons, the dots of pink on Jongdae’s cheek, and the tug of his fingers as they squeeze Zitao’s hand tighter.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and the sudden realisation that Jondae has liked him for god knows how long, watching him pine over Wu Fan like a love-sick child, hits him with a terrible lurch. A slight wave of nausea rolls his stomach and Zitao feels regret trickle down his spine.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, and although he doesn’t specify, Jongdae seems to understand the implication.
“Well it is almost impossible to compete with a tall, hot, star basketball player,” Jongdae replies, and although his words are light, there is an element of bitterness laced beneath them. Zitao pulls him close, one hand on the nape of Jongdae’s neck and the other still held in between his warm hands.
“No,” he whispers, and its low; fierce against his lips. “You mean so much more to me than him.” Jongdae’s eyes flitter up and they look so large this close - Zitao almost goes cross-eyed from watching them.
“What?” he asks, and his lips part, breath warm as it rushes out over Zitao’s skin.
“I have always loved you more than Wu Fan, Jongdae. It’s just, I never realised that I loved you.”
Jongdae raises an eyebrow.
“So, what you basically mean, is that you are an idiot.”
Zitao’s lips quirk into a smile, a short laugh escaping between them.
“Yeah,” he says softly; gently, “I guess so.”
He can feel the way Jongdae’s body rumbles beside him, pressed against his ribs, as laughter shakes through him. It’s more than slightly strange, he thinks, Jongdae’s fingers squeezing his palm, a tenderness in the latter’s eyes that he’s only seen in passing flashes before. But when Jongdae makes some remark about how terrible Zitao is at kissing, he thinks that they couldn’t fit together more perfectly.
“Shut up,” Zitao says, pressing a series of stuttering kisses to his mouth. “I hate you.”
“I hate you too.”
Jongdae grins and yes, Zitao thinks as their lips meet again, they really do fit perfectly.
AN: ohohoho both the chapter and this end with things being perfect. (idk if im aiming for symmetry or something) also things I have learnt from this: I can not write either zitao or jongdae. please excuse me. never again /cries