Fic: Sunflowers [TVXQ RPS | AU] 1/2
Title: Sunflowers
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Needing residency in Spain so he can marry Changmin, Yunho takes a job at East Coast/West Coast Hotels’ newest acquisition in Málaga. In between renovations, a flock of birds, a new puppy, Changmin’s Chanel job and the distraction of a wet vest, there’s just enough time for them to make it to the altar...
Notes: AU. Sequel to For Fashion’s Sake.
Sunflowers
i. Before you go
Changmin knows his father means business when he receives an actual written invitation to a meeting at East Coast/West Coast’s most premier hotel in Seoul. Not the flagship hotel, the one he knew he was expected to manage when he returned home after his time in London, but the Hideaway.
The name is so literal he always wants to pull an ugh face when he sees it, but the boutique hotel is so exclusive there’s a ten-month waiting list to stay there. It’s his sisters’ brainchild-a discreet, ultra-luxurious home-better-than-home catering for the jet-set elite. Royalty, oligarchs, a certain breed of music and movie stars... Basically, it’s a hotel with bespoke service for anyone who wants to avoid media attention rather than court it.
According to his father, the Hideaway has enjoyed greater success than he’d anticipated. Changmin wasn’t surprised. His sisters were determined women. They were winners, just like him. And maybe now they’ve decided to add more of the winning Shim formula to their hotel by commissioning Changmin to design the bed linen or the curtains.
He hopes not. Prints really aren’t his thing. Yunho, on the other hand-Yunho just loves prints. A shame that most of them would be too garish for a place like the Hideaway. Maybe they could work together and create something elegant and classy. Yes, Changmin thinks as he makes his way across the city, that would do it. Yunho has always wanted them to work together, and although curtains and duvet covers aren’t exactly what either of them had envisaged for HoMin pour Homme, such a project will be a good test of their abilities to work as a team.
They’ve worked together before, of course, creating an outfit for one another on Stitched Up. Changmin can’t actually remember a whole lot about that creative process. His mind always gets stuck on the memory of Yunho seducing him, over and over. And maybe he seduced Yunho a few times, too. Looking back, it’s a wonder either of them made it into the final three at all.
Changmin can’t stop the foolish happy smile from spreading across his face. He only ever lets out a smile of this sappy silliness when he’s alone in the car, because otherwise Yunho would pounce on him and say something ridiculous like, “Changminnie, why are you smiling, did I make my posh boy happy just by existing?” and while it’s true that yes, Yunho does make him happy just by existing and being such a huge, warm, snuggly, aggravating, adorable, smart, idiotic part of his life, Changmin doesn’t like to admit it too often.
Especially not now they’re engaged. He refuses to be under the thumb for his affianced life, and when they get married he’s going to be the one wearing the trousers in the relationship. Perhaps literally, since Yunho is currently on a kick for shorts and three-quarter length trousers, which in Changmin’s opinion are not really trousers at all.
He drives down a ramp into an underground car park and comes to a halt outside the hotel entrance. A valet opens the door for him and takes his keys. Changmin steps through into the lobby and nods at the smiling receptionist.
“Your father is expecting you,” she says. “Go right up to the terrace garden.”
Changmin thanks her and heads for the lifts. The Hideaway has three apartments, all luxuriously appointed, and each one offers subtle play on an aspect of Korean culture. The apartments are all separate, so guests need not mingle with one another, but the terrace garden is a shared space. It’s constructed in such a way that, if certain distinguished visitors want to enjoy the view but aren’t feeling sociable, an elegant curved, interlocking wall can be raised to divide the garden and to ensure privacy.
Today the walls are down, and there’s a long table set beneath the elaborate trellised archways hung with vines and bougainvillea. A few fancy snacks are laid upon the table, alongside a bottle of champagne. Changmin’s father sits at the head of the table, his wife beside him. On either side of the table, Changmin’s two sisters are seated. There’s two other chairs. Everyone’s smiling at him in a soothing, indulgent kind of way.
Changmin feels his hackles rise. His father had worn the same expression when he’d come back home, a graduate of St Martin’s with an internship at Chanel beneath his belt and an impressive portfolio of work. His achievements hadn’t mattered. His father had sat him down and told him he’d be taking over management of the Seoul Plaza Majestic whilst studying at business school, and that he’d better show the same drive and determination he’d applied to his fashion design because he was lagging behind his sisters in experience.
That had been a hideous interview. Changmin had stood his ground and refused to go into the family business. The resulting argument led him to apply for Stitched Up, and now here he is-successful, happy, engaged to be married to the man he loves, with two insane dogs and a never-ending legal wrangle between Versace and Chanel for his design services.
And his father is smiling that smile. That I know better than you smile.
“Son!” His father gets to his feet in welcome, smile getting wider. “Glad you could make it. Do sit down.”
His youngest sister shoves out the seat closest to her and gives him a wink.
“Thank you.” Changmin sits, looking at his family. Then he looks at the empty chair. There’s a champagne flute placed at its setting. “Are we expecting someone else?”
His father’s brow wrinkles and he casts a glance at his watch. “As a matter of fact, yes, but I had word that he’s been delayed.”
“I see.” Changmin tries to relax, sitting back in his chair. His other sister grins, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. He wishes Yunho were here. Yunho has always been able to charm his family, especially his sisters and mother, and his father respects Yunho and considers him a sound businessman. But Yunho is in Gwangju for a few days, sorting out some drama at the warehouse and checking over some ‘really good’ stock that Donghae had ‘acquired’ from somewhere.
“Well, now.” His father sits back down again and reaches for his wife’s hand. His smile flickers towards uncertainty for a moment and then he recovers his poise. It’s a Shim trait to turn uncertainty into confidence, but the sight of it in his father makes Changmin uneasy.
“Your wedding,” his father says, and then stops.
The uneasy feeling starts a slow unravel towards panic. Changmin swallows and starts to fiddle with his platinum engagement ring. “What about it?”
His youngest sister rolls her eyes. “Dad! Get on with it or I’ll tell him.”
His father glowers. “That wouldn’t be proper. Just give me a minute to collect my thoughts.”
Changmin’s mother sighs and pats her husband’s hand. “Dongsik, you wrote out a speech a week ago. Don’t pretend to be tongue-tied now.”
“Speech?” Changmin echoes, startled and possibly also a little horrified. “You’ve been discussing my wedding? Without reference to me? Why would you do that? I know what I want my wedding to be like. I’m going to organise everything. You don’t need to concern yourselves. I’ll take care of the whole thing. I know what I’m doing.”
His family turn reassuring looks upon him and smile.
“Sure, big brother,” his youngest sister says. “You know how you and Yun want to get married in Spain? You did know about the residency criteria, didn’t you-the part where you actually have to have residency in Spain so you can get married there? You were totally aware of that, weren’t you?”
Changmin stares at her. “I-I... Yunho said he was going to take care of that. I just have to-to arrange the flowers and the guest list and the location and-and I’ve been learning a bit of Spanish but I’ve been busy, the puppies need me when Yunho isn’t around and he’s been even busier than me lately, and it’s probably because he’s been so busy that he forgot to tell me about the residency thing, and oh God how could he have forgotten something like that?”
His other sister giggles. “Are you throwing your fiancé under the bus?”
“No!” Changmin flails and then takes a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s fine. We were planning on a June wedding. That’s eight months away. We have plenty of time to sort out residency.”
His father leans forward. “And when does your contract with Chanel start?”
Changmin exhales. “The middle of February.”
“So...” his father is smiling again, looking encouraging, “wouldn’t it make sense to go to Spain sooner rather than later? It only takes two and a half hours to fly between Paris and Málaga, and there’s at least four flights a day-a reasonable commute, I think you’ll agree, and if you maintain a little apartment in Paris and go back to Málaga for the weekends, you’ll be able to maintain your relationship, too!”
“What?” Changmin grips the side of the table. His head is starting to spin. “Málaga? What are you talking about? I don’t even know where Málaga is!”
“It’s a city in Spain,” his youngest sister says, straight-faced but with repressed hilarity dancing in her eyes. “It’s on the Costa del Sol. Sun, sea, and I’m sure Yunho can provide the third part of that particular equation...”
“Don’t be crude, darling.” Changmin’s mother gives her daughter a mock-severe look then turns a loving smile on her son. “It’s like this. Your father has just acquired a property in Spain-in Málaga, to be precise-and we thought it would be helpful for your residency status if you and Yunho were to live there for the next eight months until the wedding.”
“A property.” Changmin looks at each member of his family, suspicion deepening. “You mean a hotel.”
His father nods. “The Hotel Mirador, a beautiful 1920s villa-style hotel built on the Gibralfaro, commanding views of the whole city!”
“You want me and Yun to live in a hotel.” Changmin sits back in his seat, folds his arms, and lets his chin jut out in annoyance. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told me yet. Some kind of catch. You want me to invite an extra sixty people to the wedding and make them all stay at your new hotel. Or maybe you want all of the Stitched Up contestants to be there. Or-”
“I wouldn’t mind if you invited Siwon, he’s hot,” the elder of his sisters murmurs.
“Actually, he’s not hot at all,” Changmin says, bristling. “But you’re right. I should invite him.”
“There’s no catch,” his father says, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “But there is a proviso.”
Of course there is. Changmin goes still. “What is it?”
His father beams. “To ensure residency, you need to be employed within Spain.”
“I’ll be working for Chanel,” Changmin says, bewildered. “I’ll be employed by the French.”
“Fortunately,” his father continues, smile still fixed in place as if Changmin hadn’t interrupted, “only one person within the couple intending to marry needs to be employed within Spain, although both need to be resident. Therefore-”
“Wait,” Changmin says, frowning, “is this your way of making me work for you? Because I refused the Plaza Majestic, you’re trying to palm off your new Spanish hotel onto me instead? Father, we’ve already had this discussion! I know you think designing clothes is something I can do in my sleep, but it’s not that easy! The Chanel job is too important for me to dilute it with-with-”
“Changmin.” His father’s expression turns serious. “Son. I’m well aware of how difficult it is to be a fashion designer. I watched that ridiculous reality TV show you did. Both of them. I know I told you I didn’t, but I did. Your mother made me watch, and I have to say I quite enjoyed it. I’ve even watched some of the other seasons, but none of the other designers were as good as you.”
Changmin pushes his champagne flute towards his sister. “I really need a drink.”
She laughs.
“So no, I wasn’t going to make you manage the hotel, even though I still think you’d be good at it,” his father continues. “Instead I’m going to appoint you to a spurious nepotistic position that means all you need to do is keep an eye on the deputy manager.”
“Deputy manager,” Changmin repeats. “Who...?”
His father glances at his watch. “He should be arriving any minute now.”
Right on cue, the doors to the terrace open and Yunho comes rushing out, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder and three-day stubble darkening his jaw, and he’s wearing ripped jeans and a Gwangju Skank t-shirt under a bright orange puffa jacket. He shoves his sunglasses up onto his head, disordering his already dishevelled hair, and he beams around at the gathered Shim family.
“Hi, future in-laws! Changminnie, ooh, you look so edible...” Yunho bounces around the table and cuddles Changmin, gives him a swift kiss and rubs the plush of his stubble against Changmin’s face. At the same time he whispers, “Don’t kill me, baby. Your dad came to me with the idea and I thought it was a good one. We have to be resident in Spain to be able to get married there, and since I can design from anywhere in the world and Donghae is mostly capable of running things on his own, it seemed like a good opportunity for us to spend some time having fun in the sun.”
“I... You...” Changmin is speechless. He tries to pull himself together. It’s hard to be all tough and businesslike when your idiot fiancé is pressed against you and he smells so good, feels so warm, looks so sexy, and the touch of his skin is so welcome and wanted and and and...
“Wait.” Changmin tamps down on his wandering thoughts and fixes his father with a gimlet eye. “You’re appointing Yunho as the deputy manager of your new hotel?”
“Why not?” his father asks, popping the cork on the champagne bottle and filling all the glasses with practised ease. “It’s not as if anything could go wrong. He’ll be reporting to an experienced manager from one of our Jeju resorts. If he’s not performing to Shim standards, you’ll be his line manager, so it’ll be up to you to-to...”
“Discipline him,” Changmin’s sister says, tongue firmly in cheek.
Yunho splutters with laughter and raises his champagne flute. “I’ll drink to that.”
Summoning a cool, haughty look, Changmin touches his glass to Yunho’s. “You may regret that remark. I’m a hard taskmaster.”
“I know how demanding you are, baby.” Yunho smiles and leans closer, lips whispering over the shell of Changmin’s ear. “Chastise and discipline me all you want-but make sure you do it in Spanish.”
Changmin quivers. Suddenly this idea doesn’t seem so crackpot after all.
* * *
ii. Like a Disney princess
Every Sunday morning they have a Skype date. Sunday morning in Spain is late afternoon in Korea, and no matter what they’ve been doing the night before, whether it was a hotel function or a romantic meal out or simply a long, tender session of lovemaking, Yunho is up bright and early and dragging the laptop over to the bed.
“It won’t hurt to miss it just this once,” Changmin says, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Eight o’clock on a Sunday morning is too damn early for anything in his opinion. Not that Yunho pays any attention to his opinion in this particular matter.
“I’m not going to miss it.” Yunho gives him a look of devastated woe. “How can you be so mean? Our puppies will forget us if they don’t see Happy Daddy and Grumpy Daddy every week. It’s bad enough that we had to leave them behind when we came here. Donghae said that Lagerfeld was inconsolable for a whole month and cried every night, and Pucci practically wore out the rug at the front door pacing back and forth waiting for us to come home. How can you dismiss such faithful behaviour by suggesting that we skip our Skype date?”
Changmin huffs and runs a hand through his fringe, pushing it back. “Donghae also said that after a month they calmed down and now they’re completely happy with him and the rest of the Gwangju Skank mob. He even said that Pucci is so well behaved these days that Zhou Mi isn’t frightened of him anymore.”
“I’m sure Zhou Mi is just stringing Donghae along.” Yunho boots up the laptop and settles back against the pillows as he waits. “He was totally dating Siwon and now he’s all over Donghae.”
“He’s probably just using him to get more discounted Tag Heuer watches and dishwashers.” Changmin snuggles closer and clicks on the Skype icon.
“Or maybe he’s just using him for sex,” Yunho says darkly, skimming down their list of contacts and selecting Donghae’s number.
“What’s wrong with that?” Changmin turns onto his side and nuzzles at Yunho’s neck. “I’m still using you for sex. The fact that I got a marriage proposal out of it is the icing on the cake.”
“Mm.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow. “You do know I’m only marrying you because I need to be able to tap this,” he pats Changmin’s pyjama-clad ass, “whenever I want for the rest of my life?”
Changmin giggles and presses even closer. “Baby, that’s why I said yes.”
They kiss, smiling into each other’s mouths, and then the embrace turns hot and passionate. Changmin gasps, puts one arm around Yunho and shoves against him, cock instantly hard. The laptop slides sideways as Yunho turns and gathers Changmin closer.
“I love you, I love you,” Yunho whispers, brushing tiny kisses all over his face before claiming his mouth again.
Changmin can only make a muffled sound in reply as he slides his hand up into Yunho’s hair and sighs.
“Oh God.” Donghae’s annoyed tone jerks them apart and they stare at the laptop, which is lying at an odd angle on the bed.
Yunho sits up again and rights it, then curls an arm around Changmin’s shoulders and beams at the screen. “Hi, Donghae. Sorry about that.”
Donghae shakes his head in mock disgust. “Seriously, guys, if you want Skype visiting rights to your mutts, you have to show yourselves to be responsible parents. Making out in front of me is not winning you points. Just letting you know.”
Aware of the blush burning across his face, Changmin sinks towards the duvet.
Yunho pulls the laptop a little closer, his expression bright with anticipation. “Can we see them?”
“Sure.” Donghae looks off-camera and whistles. “Hey, mutts. Wanna see Horny Daddy and Embarrassed Daddy?”
“They’re not mutts,” Yunho corrects automatically, “they’re- Puppies!” His tone changes and he bounces where he sits, joy blazing from him as Pucci looms into the screen. The huge Leonberger barks with excitement, doggy drool spattering the laptop.
“Eww, gross,” Changmin says, then laughs when Donghae says the exact same thing a second later.
“And here’s Lagerfeld.” Donghae wipes the drool from the camera, making the picture smear a little, and then he picks up the pug and holds him to the screen.
“Feldie!” Yunho reaches out as if he can pet the dogs. “Feldie, are you being a good boy for Uncle Hae?”
“Yeah, he’s been pretty good this week, haven’t you, mate?” Donghae rolls the pug in his arms and tickles Lagerfeld’s tummy. The pug yips and squirms all the way around and then starts licking Donghae’s jaw, trying to give him an adoring kiss. “Dude, please-doggy breath,” Donghae exclaims, but he’s laughing and he’s not pushing Lagerfeld away.
Changmin chuckles at how cute it is, but when he glances over at Yunho, he sees not amusement but a look of hurt. It’s gone in an instant, and then Yunho is laughing along with Donghae and teasing Lagerfeld, and then Pucci’s fluffy tail smacks Donghae in the face and Yunho’s laughter becomes genuine, but even so, Changmin knows what he just saw.
After a few more minutes of the dogs shoving their noses towards the camera and Yunho baby-talking to them, Donghae whistles again and says, “Scram, mutts,” and the dogs chase away, barking and yapping. A moment later there’s a loud crash. Donghae winces.
“Is everything alright?” Changmin asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t like that lamp anyway.” Donghae grins. “A gift from Mimi. The guy has no taste in interior decoration but man, does he have legs and does he know how to use ‘em.”
“Changmin’s legs were the first things I noticed about him,” Yunho says.
“You said it was my eyes.” Changmin digs his elbow into Yunho’s ribs.
Yunho yelps. “Your legs and your eyes. And your mouth. And your grumpy expression. All at the same time. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Better.” Changmin smiles and kisses his cheek, then waves to Donghae. “I’ll let you guys chat. See you at the same time next week.”
“Catch ya later.” Donghae salutes.
Changmin gets out of bed while Yunho asks after several of his Gwangju friends and enquires how the market stalls are doing. This part of the conversation generally takes up to anything between half an hour to an hour, so Changmin usually excuses himself from it, makes his ablutions and gets dressed, and then fetches the newspaper and breakfast. True, the newspaper is in Spanish, but it’s part of their nesting ritual from home. The Sunday newspaper and warm, fresh croissants with butter and jam, all to be consumed whilst lolling on the bed.
It’s the middle of January, and bright morning sunlight streams through the windows of their apartment. Changmin stands for a moment and gazes out at the panorama of the city. Though the apartment only has three rooms-a kitchen, a bathroom, and a huge open plan bedroom/office/dining room-the views are spectacular. From their bed they can see half of Málaga from the Moorish fortress-palace of the Alcazaba north towards the rolling hills. From the kitchen window they can look out over their private patio and pool area, surrounded by pine forest and with a view of the walls of Gibralfaro Castle.
The apartment is built on top of and behind the Hotel Mirador, occupying its own little terrace. The hotel itself is impressive even by East Coast/West Coast standards. An elegant villa-style building spread across a plateau, it’s both classy and discreet. Once a private residence, it’s since been extended in a manner wholly sympathetic to the original design and with an eye to the beauty of the national park around it.
Changmin strips off his pyjamas and steps into the shower cubicle. The apartment is the only truly modern addition to the hotel. Though updated and modernised, the guest rooms and public rooms retain their 1920s decor and furnishings. One of Yunho’s tasks when they first arrived here was to decide with Onew, the manager Changmin’s father had appointed fresh from one of the company’s Jeju resorts, whether or not the Mirador needed renovation or redecoration. The number of guests staying at the hotel had dwindled over the last few years, and Changmin’s father wanted to change that.
“I think we should emulate your sisters’ idea with the Hideaway,” Yunho had said. “This city has so much history. We should use it, but subtly. The Mirador shouldn’t be some tacky theme hotel. Phoenicians, Romans, Moors, Conquistadors... We have a lot to work with. We shouldn’t close the hotel while we renovate, either; we should keep sections of it open and maybe drop the prices, offer weekly deals. We want the clientele to come back even when the Mirador is completely refurbished and charging full whack.”
Onew had agreed. So did Changmin, and the board of directors and Changmin’s father, and they’d asked Yunho to project-manage the whole thing as well as to act as lead designer. That had thrown him, and he’d clung to Changmin, confidence crumbling, and said, “But I don’t know anything about interior design! I don’t know anything about hotels! Changminnie, please help me!”
And so Changmin had found himself doing what his father had planned for him all along-working for the family business. Strangely enough, it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.
Turning the dial, Changmin switches on the shower and luxuriates beneath the spray of hot water. He lets the cubicle steam up, smiling at the blurred ghost-lines of the Hangeul characters Yunho had written on the glass last night: Gwangju Skank loves Posh Boy. Deputy Manager Jung loves Designer Shim. And then, with hearts and flowers around it: Yunho & Changmin.
Good job they do the cleaning themselves. Onew had told them they could use the services of the hotel staff, like he did in maintaining his suite within the main body of the Mirador, but Yunho had insisted that he’d keep their apartment tidy himself.
“If I’m going to help run this hotel, I should know how to do even the most menial of tasks,” he’d said, and so for their first few weeks in Spain he’d worked alongside the chambermaids, the cooks, the waiters, the receptionists, the gardeners, and the porters. He’d gone to the market every weekday morning and learned how to haggle over the produce, and he’d gone down to the port to meet the fishermen who brought in the daily catch. He’d visited all the Mirador’s suppliers throughout the city and further afield, and he’d got to know Málaga and its people, dragging Changmin with him on voyages of discovery through narrow streets, into tapas bars and cafes, into museums and churches and shops, and on bus and train trips to Ronda and Cordoba and Granada and Seville.
Along the way he’d fallen in love with Andalusia. Changmin can see it in him, and he’s glad. He’d been so worried that Yunho would resent the job thrust upon him, but he’d underestimated Yunho’s gift of exuberance and his willingness to embrace anything new and exciting. Yunho’s comprehension of Spanish is improving by leaps and bounds, aided by a phrasebook, a dictionary, and one of the chambermaids, Rosa, who comes to sit with him after her shift is over and patiently teaches him not just her language but also about Spanish food and dance and music and history and literature.
In short, he’s an absolutely ideal deputy manager, and Changmin’s father is delighted. So is Onew, who struggles to understand even the most basic of conversations with his staff and keeps making mistakes, which Yunho then fixes. It should lead to tension, but it doesn’t, because Onew is genuinely nice and he does know how to run a hotel, just not a hotel in Spain.
Changmin turns off the shower and gets out, wraps a towel around his waist while he shaves, and then he wanders out of the bathroom.
The bed is empty. The laptop is back on the desk. Yunho is nowhere in sight.
Dressing quickly in a pair of jeans and a thin rust-coloured woollen sweater, Changmin opens the back door of their apartment and goes out barefoot onto the patio. The stone paving is cold beneath his feet, but he knows that the sun will warm the terrace through soon enough. It’s a perfect suntrap even in winter, protected from the wind by the pine forest, which spreads its cool, sharp scent over the patio, and by the walls of the castle high above them.
Yunho is standing at the edge of the terrace on the other side of the pool. He’s looking up at Gibralfaro. They both like sitting out on the sun loungers of an evening, watching the sky darken into night, waiting for the tinted floodlights to come on and illuminate the castle walls. While they lie cuddled together beneath a blanket, Yunho spins wild, fantastical stories about the people who once lived there.
Changmin loves listening to him, finds himself thinking of the stories for days and sometimes even weeks afterwards, and occasionally he asks for sequels. Yunho obliges, and sometimes the stories take a sensual, erotic turn, and Changmin likes those even more, especially when Yunho whispers those stories to him when they’re making love. Changmin imagines himself as tribute for a king, with Yunho dressed in gold and silks and sitting arrogant upon a throne, or he imagines himself as the commander of a battalion of soldiers trying to storm the castle, and Yunho is the feisty runaway slave who falls in love with him and reveals the secret weakness in the castle defences.
Yunho’s stories always have happy endings. Changmin looks at him now and sees sadness and confusion. Trying to ignore the feeling that he’s caused this somehow, Changmin pads over and asks, “Everything okay?”
Without looking around, Yunho nods. “Yes. The new advertising campaign for Posh Boy has been a success. It was a good idea of yours to approach that crappy boyband to model for us. There’s so many kids in that group we didn’t need to double them up for any of the garments. The clothes are flying off the shelves, Donghae says. The remainder of last season’s stock as well as this season’s, and-”
“Yun.” Changmin hugs him from behind and presses a kiss to his nape. “I know you miss the dogs. It’s okay.”
A deep sigh shudders out of him. “I miss them so much.” Yunho’s voice is tight, unhappy. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve tried so hard not to let it get to me, but I just wish we could’ve brought them with us.”
Changmin rests his chin on Yunho’s shoulder. “We discussed this before we left. It would’ve been cruel to bring them all this way, to subject them to the turmoil and discomfort of long-haul travel and then making them endure the same thing when we go back. We both agreed it was best for the puppies to stay at home with someone they know and trust. Donghae is your best friend. He takes good care of them. I think he even enjoys having them around.”
“They’re forgetting us. It hasn’t even been three months and they’re forgetting us already.” Yunho’s shoulders quiver and he swallows a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “No, it’s not that. You saw the way Feldie was with Hae just now. He only ever cuddles like that with me. He won’t even do that with you, but...”
Changmin pulls Yunho around to face him. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” Yunho tips his head back, blinking furiously. He touches his fingertips to his eyes, wipes at his cheeks. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all mopey on you.”
“I’m your fiancé,” Changmin says, taking Yunho’s hands and squeezing them. “You’re supposed to share everything with me. Including mopiness. Especially that.” He tilts his head, gives Yunho a questioning look. “So you’re really not jealous of Donghae stealing the love and affection of our puppies?”
Yunho laughs. “No. Really, I’m not. I’m happy that they’re having fun and that he’s so comfortable with them. It’s what I wanted when I asked Hae if he’d take them. It’s just...”
Changmin knows they’re getting to the root of it now. He moves closer, lets go of one of Yunho’s hands so he can touch his cheek. “What is it?”
“Oh.” Yunho closes his eyes and leans into Changmin’s caress. “It’s stupid.”
“I’ve never seen you this upset before.” Turning his hand, Changmin cradles Yunho’s face, heart clenched tight. “Tell me.”
Yunho sniffs. He takes a deep breath and looks into Changmin’s eyes. “I love it here. I absolutely love it. I love my job and I love the people and I love Málaga. I’m having so much fun and I’m still able to design for Gwangju Skank and Posh Boy, and Spoon has asked me to collaborate with him again because his festival wear collection was such a big hit, and the Estonian guy wants my input on a range of shoes, and... I have you and everything’s perfect, but...”
“But?” Changmin repeats, softly.
“It’s stupid,” Yunho says again. He disengages from Changmin and moves away, taking a few steps towards the swimming pool. “I miss the puppies because I’m afraid of being lonely.”
Before Changmin can find the words to respond, Yunho turns to face him. “In less than a month you’ll be going to Paris and starting work for Chanel. I’m excited for you, baby, I’m really, really excited. I know you want this. You’ve worked for it and you’ve suffered for it, and I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be amazing. You’re going to be a star. And I know Paris is only two and a half hours away by plane and I’m going to turn up uninvited like I did in Milan and you’re going to show me the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and a thousand other things, and I know you’ll be coming back here as often as you can, but...”
His brave, determined expression crumples. “Changminnie, I’m going to miss you. It’s selfish and I’m sorry, but I missed you so much when you were in Italy and it was okay then because we were still finding our way together as a couple, it was okay because when you came home it was so much sweeter because of the separation, but this time-oh God, this time it’s going to be so much harder because pretty much for the last ten months I’ve had you all to myself, and I’m selfish, okay? I’m selfish, but I want you to do the things that are important to you, to us, and I’m just... I’m going to be lonely. That’s all.”
Changmin stares, flailing inwardly, stunned by this outpouring of emotion. “Yunho,” he says, and it comes out choked and broken. “Yunho,” he says again and goes to him, wraps his arms around him and holds on tight. “I’ll resign,” he promises, his heart torn in two. “I’ll find a way to do it even if Chanel sues me, and we’ll go home.”
“No. God, no.” Yunho lifts his head. He looks fierce and resolute. “This is what you want. It’s what I want for you. We’ve moved halfway around the world for this. It’s your dream.” He smiles, and this time it’s real and it’s beautiful even though it wobbles at the corners. “I’m happy, don’t you see? I’m happy. I’m content. I love my life. I’m just afraid of being lonely. It’s always been my biggest fear, and though I got sad while you were in Milan, I had the puppies to keep me company at night.”
Now Changmin feels just as wobbly. Unable to help himself, he blurts out, “I always knew you let them sleep on the bed when I wasn’t there.”
That makes Yunho laugh. “Sorry.” They lean together, foreheads touching, and Yunho smiles again. “Everything will be fine, baby. Rosa has already invited me to join her family for tapas evenings, and Pedro is going to teach me how to play flamenco guitar, and Onew might be a bit of an idiot but he’s a good guy really and he’s cool to hang out with, so I know I won’t really be lonely.”
“I’ll come home every weekend. I promise.” Changmin holds him tighter. “And if I can’t, you’re coming to Paris. I insist. I absolutely insist. Because it’s going to be just as hard for me to be away from you. And I’m going to run up a huge phone bill because even though you just design skanky urban clothes, I’m going to want your opinion on my fabulous couture outfits.”
Stepping back, Changmin cuffs at his cheeks, feeling raw and vulnerable. He looks up at the castle walls and feels a huge crushing swell of emotion. God, he’s going to cry, he’s one hundred percent going to start sobbing any moment now and he can’t deal with it. He’s a winner, not some kind of ridiculous emotional sap.
He’s desperate for a distraction, something, anything, and there it is. A bright flash of colour, a flock of birds flying between the trees, twittering and swooping, painting the morning with blue and green and yellow and pink.
He blinks hard, sniffs, then once he’s got himself under control, he points upwards. “If you think you’re going to be lonely, you should set yourself a project. You should tame those birds. Canaries or parakeets or whatever they are. People have them as pets and they’re quite loving. It’s not the same as the puppies, but...”
Yunho looks at the birds, blank for a moment, and then slowly his expression brightens and he smiles. “My mum always said I could charm the birds from the trees if I wanted. I think I’ll try it.”
*
Yunho sets about accomplishing his task the very next day. He sneaks out of bed at some god-awful hour, trying hard to be as quiet as possible, and then trips over the rug and goes sprawling on the floor. Changmin yowls in complaint at the disturbance and pulls the duvet over his head, hiding there until Yunho crawls over him and cuddles him through the quilt.
“I’m going out, baby,” Yunho tells him. “I’ll be back for breakfast.”
“Are you going into town?” Changmin peeps bleary-eyed over the top of the duvet. “If you are, can you go into that bakery on Larios and buy some lemon tart?”
“I wasn’t going into town, but I will now.” Yunho kisses Changmin’s head and bounces off the bed.
“No,” Changmin says, not particularly loudly and muffling his words with a pillow, “don’t make a special journey just for me. Oh, if you insist...”
He falls asleep again, feeling spoiled and happy.
When Changmin wakes again, it’s almost nine o’clock. He finds the lemon tart on the kitchen bench along with two plates, their favourite mugs, and with a jug of fresh coffee keeping warm. Yawning and stretching, Changmin glances out of the window and sees Yunho standing stock-still at the edge of the patio, gazing towards the pine trees.
The terrace is cut from the rock, the cliff rising up and doubling back on itself in bumps and folds as it climbs up to Gibralfaro. Grasses, flowers and trailing plants grow where they can, and where the forest starts, the property is fenced in with black-painted wrought iron railings. Yunho’s attention is fixed on the railings, Changmin realises as he leans closer to the window. And then he sees why.
A yellow canary is perched there. As Changmin watches, the bird jigs back and forth, then darts down to the ground. It hops towards Yunho, then pecks at something-is that bird seed?-before flying back to the railings. It repeats this action a few more times, and then a green parakeet appears, swoops right down and takes the remaining seed, and the yellow canary chases it.
Yunho finally moves. He’s smiling.
He does the same thing in the afternoon, leaving a scatter of bird seed on the far side of the pool and then standing nearby, waiting for the parakeets and canaries and finches to come and feed. The yellow canary makes a reappearance, along with the green parakeet and a slightly smaller pink bird. Changmin stands at the back door and watches as the birds hop down and take the seed, and Yunho talks to them, very softly, talks to them in Korean and then in Spanish, and he crouches down and offers more seed.
He does it every day, twice a day. At first Changmin finds it entertaining, but Yunho can be out there communing with the birds for half an hour or more, and after that he’s either going straight to the office to oversee the refurbishment or he’s off doing some other hotel business, and after a week, Changmin starts to find it a little bit annoying.
“I was joking about taming the birds,” he says.
Yunho blinks. “I like them. They’re pretty. And they sing.”
“It’s more like a screech.” Changmin goes over and fixes Yunho’s tie. He’s wearing a Posh Boy suit and he looks gorgeous. Ordinarily Changmin would grab the tie and tow Yunho over to the bed for a quickie, but thanks to those damn birds, they don’t have time.
“They whistle,” Yunho says. “I’m trying to whistle to them, too, but I’m not very good at whistling. I think that’s why the puppies like Donghae so much, because he can whistle.”
“I can whistle.” Changmin finishes arranging the tie and puts his hands on Yunho’s chest. “It’s not hard to do. You just put your lips together and-”
Yunho kisses him just as Changmin tries to demonstrate.
“I have to run, baby.” Yunho breaks free with obvious reluctance. “Let’s have lunch together in town.”
“Sure.” Changmin walks him to the front door and waves him off. The world’s shortest commute, home to work in the amount of time it takes to walk down the steps into the hotel grounds. Changmin leans against the doorframe, the warmth of Yunho’s kiss still lingering. He watches Yunho stride along the path through the gardens, watches him greet Pedro, the head gardener, and then Changmin straightens up, staring, as a small flock of colourful birds comes swooping out of the date palms and-honest to God-follows Yunho as far as the arched colonnade leading to the main dining room.
Changmin doesn’t know if that’s impressive or creepy.
By the start of February, the flock of birds has swelled in numbers. When Changmin looks out of the kitchen window in the mornings, the trees are alive with green and blue and pink and yellow birds, and when Yunho goes out, smiling and making the noise he claims is a whistle, the avian audience erupts in a cacophony of trills and shrills. They launch themselves from the branches and circle the patio, practically darkening the sky, while Yunho scatters a generous amount of seed and breadcrumbs on the ground. But it’s only when he calls to them, puts his hand up into the air as a signal, that the birds descend.
Onew witnesses it one morning when he comes by with a fax from one of the hotel suppliers. Changmin leads him into the kitchen and they both watch in awe as dozens of birds fly and squabble and swarm across the patio at Yunho’s feet.
“Wow,” Onew says. “He’s like a Disney princess, but with genus Myiopsitta instead of bluebirds.”
“Disney bluebirds don’t crap all over the patio,” Changmin grumbles. “Do you know how hard it is to get guano off stone? Not to mention the smell. And they follow him, did you know that? Even when it’s not feeding time. They follow him like something out of a Hitchcock movie. I’m terrified that one day they’ll turn on him and peck him to death, or else they’ll carry him away and make him their king in a gigantic nest in the mountains, or-”
Onew snorts. “Is there the slightest possibility that you might be over-reacting?”
Changmin glares at him. “No.”
“A gigantic nest in the mountains,” Onew repeats.
“Okay.” Changmin sighs. “Maybe just a little.”
“A little nest?”
“I’m exaggerating a little.” Changmin presses his mouth into a line, trying not to laugh. “But the poop problem is real. And the birds really do follow him around.”
“Yeah, the staff have mentioned it.” Onew grins. “But if we spin it the right way, it could be a unique selling point and draw in visitors.”
“But will those visitors really want bird shit spattered over their windows or on their patios? I’m telling you, it’s hell to clean. Or at least I find it quite troubling to watch Yunho clean it up.”
Onew laughs so hard he has to hold onto the kitchen counter. “You really are your father’s son,” he says, wiping at his tears of mirth.
Once the comparison would have annoyed him, but now Changmin just smiles. “Yes,” he says, an idea taking shape. An idea worthy of his father’s modus operandi. “Yes, I am.”
He doesn’t say anything to Yunho about his plan. He wants it to be a surprise. He approaches Pedro and a few other staff members, asking for their assistance, and five days before Changmin is due to go to Paris, their search is successful.
Changmin puts his packing to one side and goes with Pedro into the mountains. They return with a cardboard box lined with a raggedy pink blanket, and Changmin sits in the back of the car with the box cradled on his knees and croons soothing nonsense to the precious contents all the way back to the hotel.
It takes some quick thinking to hustle the box past Yunho, who’s standing in the central courtyard with Onew and a contractor, discussing plans for a new Nasrid-style marble pool to replace the old fountain. When he sees Changmin, Yunho starts to come over, asking for his opinion on a selection of tiles. Changmin takes off his Ralph Lauren jacket and casually slings it on top of the box, which he then hands to Pedro, saying, “Could you just drop that off outside the apartment? Thank you so much.”
As Pedro hurries away, Changmin hears a small growl and his jacket is yanked into the box. He hopes Yunho didn’t notice.
The next fifteen minutes seem interminable. Changmin listens to the discussion between Yunho and the contractor, and Onew nods occasionally, pretending he understands what’s being said, and they look at the tiles and refer to the plans Yunho has drawn up, and all the while, Changmin worries that his surprise will have got out of the box and wandered off.
Finally the meeting comes to an end. They shake hands with the contractor and Onew starts to lead the man away. Before he goes, he raises his eyebrows at Changmin in silent question, and when Changmin gives a small nod, Onew’s grin is almost as sunshine-bright as one of Yunho’s smiles.
“Are you sure those tiles were the best choice?” Yunho asks, frowning at the pattern sheet still clutched in his hand. “I liked these, too. But perhaps the design is too modern and the ones we agreed on are best.”
“Don’t over-think it,” Changmin says, aware of the irony of that statement as he takes Yunho’s free hand. “Leave that for a moment. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Yunho smiles. “A surprise? Does it involve you and me getting naked somewhere we shouldn’t?”
“No.” Changmin ducks his head and blushes, thinking of the day last week when they’d hidden in the castle ruins after closing time. Once the staff had gone home and they had Gibralfaro all to themselves, they’d re-enacted one of Yunho’s stories. Changmin had pretended to be a nobleman’s son taken as hostage-tribute, and Yunho was the king who desired him. Feigning unwillingness, Changmin fled across the castle grounds and ran along the battlements, heart pounding and excitement thrilling every part of him as he tried to evade capture. But then Yunho caught him, dragged him into the watchtower on the north side of the castle, and hauled him up to the top floor where a rug had been spread out, and there, to their noisy, mutual satisfaction, he’d claimed his prize.
“It’s nothing like that,” Changmin says, tugging on Yunho’s hand. “Come and see.”
From out of the trees, the flock of parakeets comes swooping. Changmin flashes them a smug glance, knowing that their days of crapping all over the patio are numbered. He just hopes Yunho won’t be too sad about losing his status as the resident Disney princess.
They reach the hotel gardens. Pedro is sitting on the steps to their apartment, the box placed to one side. Changmin smiles with relief. He should have known that Pedro wouldn’t have abandoned the surprise and left it without supervision. He also should have known better than to throw his Ralph Lauren jacket over the box, because one of the sleeves is hanging over the side and it looks like it’s been comprehensively chewed.
Nevertheless, he thanks Pedro, who gives him a big grin and sidles off, and then, keeping one eye on the contents of the box-it’s squirming beneath his jacket and making soft little sounds-he turns to Yunho.
“This is for you,” he says, gesturing towards the box. “Actually it’s for both of us, but mainly it’s for you. So you won’t be lonely when I’m in Paris. So you’ll have someone to talk to when I’m not there. So you’ll have someone to hold at night. So you’ll have someone who’ll give you back all that crazy love and affection you share so easily, and for all the love she gives you, know it’s from me, too.”
Smiling, Yunho raises his eyebrows. “She?”
“Just look.” Changmin flaps his hands towards the box.
Yunho goes over to the steps and sits beside the box. Carefully he lifts off the chewed Ralph Lauren jacket. He stares down at the contents and then looks at Changmin, an expression of utter incredulous joy shining from his face. “A puppy,” he says. “You bought me a puppy!”
“Do you like her?” Changmin twists back and forth, suddenly shy and uncertain. “She’s three months old. She’s had all her shots and everything, and she’s microchipped and I’ve got the paperwork to get her a pet passport, so if you like her we can take her home with us at the end of the year.”
“Like her? I love her!” Yunho reaches into the box and gently picks up the spaniel pup. “A Springer spaniel. Look at her darling ears. And her tail. Oh Changminnie, she’s beautiful.”
“A Welsh Springer,” Changmin says. “Apparently they’re quite crazy. I thought she’d fit right into our little family.”
“God, I love you.” Cradling the puppy against his chest, Yunho gets up and kisses Changmin. “Thank you. Thank you so much. She’s perfect.”
“You have to think of a name for her.” Changmin slides an arm around Yunho and rests his head on his shoulder, smiling at the wriggling red and white puppy with her big, melting brown eyes.
“Marchesa,” Yunho says. “She’s going to be a proper lady amongst a household of men.”
“Hi, Marchesa.” Changmin strokes the puppy’s head and lets her lick his fingers. “Hey, girl. You’re allowed to sleep on the bed when I’m not here, okay?”
Yunho laughs and holds Marchesa up. She yaps excitedly, and there’s a flurry from the trees as the flock of parakeets takes flight. Noticing the movement, Marchesa wags her tail and yaps some more.
“Changmin!” Eyes dancing with amusement, Yunho cuddles Marchesa close again. “Did you buy me a puppy just to scare away the birds?”
Changmin gives what he hopes is a mysterious smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I was just being a loving, caring fiancé.”
Yunho laughs again and shakes his head. “Shim Changmin, you’re-you’re...”
“A winner,” Changmin says. He picks up the box and gestures up the steps to their front door. “Let’s get Marchesa settled in her new home.”
* * *
Part 2 >>
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Needing residency in Spain so he can marry Changmin, Yunho takes a job at East Coast/West Coast Hotels’ newest acquisition in Málaga. In between renovations, a flock of birds, a new puppy, Changmin’s Chanel job and the distraction of a wet vest, there’s just enough time for them to make it to the altar...
Notes: AU. Sequel to For Fashion’s Sake.
Sunflowers
i. Before you go
Changmin knows his father means business when he receives an actual written invitation to a meeting at East Coast/West Coast’s most premier hotel in Seoul. Not the flagship hotel, the one he knew he was expected to manage when he returned home after his time in London, but the Hideaway.
The name is so literal he always wants to pull an ugh face when he sees it, but the boutique hotel is so exclusive there’s a ten-month waiting list to stay there. It’s his sisters’ brainchild-a discreet, ultra-luxurious home-better-than-home catering for the jet-set elite. Royalty, oligarchs, a certain breed of music and movie stars... Basically, it’s a hotel with bespoke service for anyone who wants to avoid media attention rather than court it.
According to his father, the Hideaway has enjoyed greater success than he’d anticipated. Changmin wasn’t surprised. His sisters were determined women. They were winners, just like him. And maybe now they’ve decided to add more of the winning Shim formula to their hotel by commissioning Changmin to design the bed linen or the curtains.
He hopes not. Prints really aren’t his thing. Yunho, on the other hand-Yunho just loves prints. A shame that most of them would be too garish for a place like the Hideaway. Maybe they could work together and create something elegant and classy. Yes, Changmin thinks as he makes his way across the city, that would do it. Yunho has always wanted them to work together, and although curtains and duvet covers aren’t exactly what either of them had envisaged for HoMin pour Homme, such a project will be a good test of their abilities to work as a team.
They’ve worked together before, of course, creating an outfit for one another on Stitched Up. Changmin can’t actually remember a whole lot about that creative process. His mind always gets stuck on the memory of Yunho seducing him, over and over. And maybe he seduced Yunho a few times, too. Looking back, it’s a wonder either of them made it into the final three at all.
Changmin can’t stop the foolish happy smile from spreading across his face. He only ever lets out a smile of this sappy silliness when he’s alone in the car, because otherwise Yunho would pounce on him and say something ridiculous like, “Changminnie, why are you smiling, did I make my posh boy happy just by existing?” and while it’s true that yes, Yunho does make him happy just by existing and being such a huge, warm, snuggly, aggravating, adorable, smart, idiotic part of his life, Changmin doesn’t like to admit it too often.
Especially not now they’re engaged. He refuses to be under the thumb for his affianced life, and when they get married he’s going to be the one wearing the trousers in the relationship. Perhaps literally, since Yunho is currently on a kick for shorts and three-quarter length trousers, which in Changmin’s opinion are not really trousers at all.
He drives down a ramp into an underground car park and comes to a halt outside the hotel entrance. A valet opens the door for him and takes his keys. Changmin steps through into the lobby and nods at the smiling receptionist.
“Your father is expecting you,” she says. “Go right up to the terrace garden.”
Changmin thanks her and heads for the lifts. The Hideaway has three apartments, all luxuriously appointed, and each one offers subtle play on an aspect of Korean culture. The apartments are all separate, so guests need not mingle with one another, but the terrace garden is a shared space. It’s constructed in such a way that, if certain distinguished visitors want to enjoy the view but aren’t feeling sociable, an elegant curved, interlocking wall can be raised to divide the garden and to ensure privacy.
Today the walls are down, and there’s a long table set beneath the elaborate trellised archways hung with vines and bougainvillea. A few fancy snacks are laid upon the table, alongside a bottle of champagne. Changmin’s father sits at the head of the table, his wife beside him. On either side of the table, Changmin’s two sisters are seated. There’s two other chairs. Everyone’s smiling at him in a soothing, indulgent kind of way.
Changmin feels his hackles rise. His father had worn the same expression when he’d come back home, a graduate of St Martin’s with an internship at Chanel beneath his belt and an impressive portfolio of work. His achievements hadn’t mattered. His father had sat him down and told him he’d be taking over management of the Seoul Plaza Majestic whilst studying at business school, and that he’d better show the same drive and determination he’d applied to his fashion design because he was lagging behind his sisters in experience.
That had been a hideous interview. Changmin had stood his ground and refused to go into the family business. The resulting argument led him to apply for Stitched Up, and now here he is-successful, happy, engaged to be married to the man he loves, with two insane dogs and a never-ending legal wrangle between Versace and Chanel for his design services.
And his father is smiling that smile. That I know better than you smile.
“Son!” His father gets to his feet in welcome, smile getting wider. “Glad you could make it. Do sit down.”
His youngest sister shoves out the seat closest to her and gives him a wink.
“Thank you.” Changmin sits, looking at his family. Then he looks at the empty chair. There’s a champagne flute placed at its setting. “Are we expecting someone else?”
His father’s brow wrinkles and he casts a glance at his watch. “As a matter of fact, yes, but I had word that he’s been delayed.”
“I see.” Changmin tries to relax, sitting back in his chair. His other sister grins, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. He wishes Yunho were here. Yunho has always been able to charm his family, especially his sisters and mother, and his father respects Yunho and considers him a sound businessman. But Yunho is in Gwangju for a few days, sorting out some drama at the warehouse and checking over some ‘really good’ stock that Donghae had ‘acquired’ from somewhere.
“Well, now.” His father sits back down again and reaches for his wife’s hand. His smile flickers towards uncertainty for a moment and then he recovers his poise. It’s a Shim trait to turn uncertainty into confidence, but the sight of it in his father makes Changmin uneasy.
“Your wedding,” his father says, and then stops.
The uneasy feeling starts a slow unravel towards panic. Changmin swallows and starts to fiddle with his platinum engagement ring. “What about it?”
His youngest sister rolls her eyes. “Dad! Get on with it or I’ll tell him.”
His father glowers. “That wouldn’t be proper. Just give me a minute to collect my thoughts.”
Changmin’s mother sighs and pats her husband’s hand. “Dongsik, you wrote out a speech a week ago. Don’t pretend to be tongue-tied now.”
“Speech?” Changmin echoes, startled and possibly also a little horrified. “You’ve been discussing my wedding? Without reference to me? Why would you do that? I know what I want my wedding to be like. I’m going to organise everything. You don’t need to concern yourselves. I’ll take care of the whole thing. I know what I’m doing.”
His family turn reassuring looks upon him and smile.
“Sure, big brother,” his youngest sister says. “You know how you and Yun want to get married in Spain? You did know about the residency criteria, didn’t you-the part where you actually have to have residency in Spain so you can get married there? You were totally aware of that, weren’t you?”
Changmin stares at her. “I-I... Yunho said he was going to take care of that. I just have to-to arrange the flowers and the guest list and the location and-and I’ve been learning a bit of Spanish but I’ve been busy, the puppies need me when Yunho isn’t around and he’s been even busier than me lately, and it’s probably because he’s been so busy that he forgot to tell me about the residency thing, and oh God how could he have forgotten something like that?”
His other sister giggles. “Are you throwing your fiancé under the bus?”
“No!” Changmin flails and then takes a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s fine. We were planning on a June wedding. That’s eight months away. We have plenty of time to sort out residency.”
His father leans forward. “And when does your contract with Chanel start?”
Changmin exhales. “The middle of February.”
“So...” his father is smiling again, looking encouraging, “wouldn’t it make sense to go to Spain sooner rather than later? It only takes two and a half hours to fly between Paris and Málaga, and there’s at least four flights a day-a reasonable commute, I think you’ll agree, and if you maintain a little apartment in Paris and go back to Málaga for the weekends, you’ll be able to maintain your relationship, too!”
“What?” Changmin grips the side of the table. His head is starting to spin. “Málaga? What are you talking about? I don’t even know where Málaga is!”
“It’s a city in Spain,” his youngest sister says, straight-faced but with repressed hilarity dancing in her eyes. “It’s on the Costa del Sol. Sun, sea, and I’m sure Yunho can provide the third part of that particular equation...”
“Don’t be crude, darling.” Changmin’s mother gives her daughter a mock-severe look then turns a loving smile on her son. “It’s like this. Your father has just acquired a property in Spain-in Málaga, to be precise-and we thought it would be helpful for your residency status if you and Yunho were to live there for the next eight months until the wedding.”
“A property.” Changmin looks at each member of his family, suspicion deepening. “You mean a hotel.”
His father nods. “The Hotel Mirador, a beautiful 1920s villa-style hotel built on the Gibralfaro, commanding views of the whole city!”
“You want me and Yun to live in a hotel.” Changmin sits back in his seat, folds his arms, and lets his chin jut out in annoyance. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told me yet. Some kind of catch. You want me to invite an extra sixty people to the wedding and make them all stay at your new hotel. Or maybe you want all of the Stitched Up contestants to be there. Or-”
“I wouldn’t mind if you invited Siwon, he’s hot,” the elder of his sisters murmurs.
“Actually, he’s not hot at all,” Changmin says, bristling. “But you’re right. I should invite him.”
“There’s no catch,” his father says, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “But there is a proviso.”
Of course there is. Changmin goes still. “What is it?”
His father beams. “To ensure residency, you need to be employed within Spain.”
“I’ll be working for Chanel,” Changmin says, bewildered. “I’ll be employed by the French.”
“Fortunately,” his father continues, smile still fixed in place as if Changmin hadn’t interrupted, “only one person within the couple intending to marry needs to be employed within Spain, although both need to be resident. Therefore-”
“Wait,” Changmin says, frowning, “is this your way of making me work for you? Because I refused the Plaza Majestic, you’re trying to palm off your new Spanish hotel onto me instead? Father, we’ve already had this discussion! I know you think designing clothes is something I can do in my sleep, but it’s not that easy! The Chanel job is too important for me to dilute it with-with-”
“Changmin.” His father’s expression turns serious. “Son. I’m well aware of how difficult it is to be a fashion designer. I watched that ridiculous reality TV show you did. Both of them. I know I told you I didn’t, but I did. Your mother made me watch, and I have to say I quite enjoyed it. I’ve even watched some of the other seasons, but none of the other designers were as good as you.”
Changmin pushes his champagne flute towards his sister. “I really need a drink.”
She laughs.
“So no, I wasn’t going to make you manage the hotel, even though I still think you’d be good at it,” his father continues. “Instead I’m going to appoint you to a spurious nepotistic position that means all you need to do is keep an eye on the deputy manager.”
“Deputy manager,” Changmin repeats. “Who...?”
His father glances at his watch. “He should be arriving any minute now.”
Right on cue, the doors to the terrace open and Yunho comes rushing out, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder and three-day stubble darkening his jaw, and he’s wearing ripped jeans and a Gwangju Skank t-shirt under a bright orange puffa jacket. He shoves his sunglasses up onto his head, disordering his already dishevelled hair, and he beams around at the gathered Shim family.
“Hi, future in-laws! Changminnie, ooh, you look so edible...” Yunho bounces around the table and cuddles Changmin, gives him a swift kiss and rubs the plush of his stubble against Changmin’s face. At the same time he whispers, “Don’t kill me, baby. Your dad came to me with the idea and I thought it was a good one. We have to be resident in Spain to be able to get married there, and since I can design from anywhere in the world and Donghae is mostly capable of running things on his own, it seemed like a good opportunity for us to spend some time having fun in the sun.”
“I... You...” Changmin is speechless. He tries to pull himself together. It’s hard to be all tough and businesslike when your idiot fiancé is pressed against you and he smells so good, feels so warm, looks so sexy, and the touch of his skin is so welcome and wanted and and and...
“Wait.” Changmin tamps down on his wandering thoughts and fixes his father with a gimlet eye. “You’re appointing Yunho as the deputy manager of your new hotel?”
“Why not?” his father asks, popping the cork on the champagne bottle and filling all the glasses with practised ease. “It’s not as if anything could go wrong. He’ll be reporting to an experienced manager from one of our Jeju resorts. If he’s not performing to Shim standards, you’ll be his line manager, so it’ll be up to you to-to...”
“Discipline him,” Changmin’s sister says, tongue firmly in cheek.
Yunho splutters with laughter and raises his champagne flute. “I’ll drink to that.”
Summoning a cool, haughty look, Changmin touches his glass to Yunho’s. “You may regret that remark. I’m a hard taskmaster.”
“I know how demanding you are, baby.” Yunho smiles and leans closer, lips whispering over the shell of Changmin’s ear. “Chastise and discipline me all you want-but make sure you do it in Spanish.”
Changmin quivers. Suddenly this idea doesn’t seem so crackpot after all.
* * *
ii. Like a Disney princess
Every Sunday morning they have a Skype date. Sunday morning in Spain is late afternoon in Korea, and no matter what they’ve been doing the night before, whether it was a hotel function or a romantic meal out or simply a long, tender session of lovemaking, Yunho is up bright and early and dragging the laptop over to the bed.
“It won’t hurt to miss it just this once,” Changmin says, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Eight o’clock on a Sunday morning is too damn early for anything in his opinion. Not that Yunho pays any attention to his opinion in this particular matter.
“I’m not going to miss it.” Yunho gives him a look of devastated woe. “How can you be so mean? Our puppies will forget us if they don’t see Happy Daddy and Grumpy Daddy every week. It’s bad enough that we had to leave them behind when we came here. Donghae said that Lagerfeld was inconsolable for a whole month and cried every night, and Pucci practically wore out the rug at the front door pacing back and forth waiting for us to come home. How can you dismiss such faithful behaviour by suggesting that we skip our Skype date?”
Changmin huffs and runs a hand through his fringe, pushing it back. “Donghae also said that after a month they calmed down and now they’re completely happy with him and the rest of the Gwangju Skank mob. He even said that Pucci is so well behaved these days that Zhou Mi isn’t frightened of him anymore.”
“I’m sure Zhou Mi is just stringing Donghae along.” Yunho boots up the laptop and settles back against the pillows as he waits. “He was totally dating Siwon and now he’s all over Donghae.”
“He’s probably just using him to get more discounted Tag Heuer watches and dishwashers.” Changmin snuggles closer and clicks on the Skype icon.
“Or maybe he’s just using him for sex,” Yunho says darkly, skimming down their list of contacts and selecting Donghae’s number.
“What’s wrong with that?” Changmin turns onto his side and nuzzles at Yunho’s neck. “I’m still using you for sex. The fact that I got a marriage proposal out of it is the icing on the cake.”
“Mm.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow. “You do know I’m only marrying you because I need to be able to tap this,” he pats Changmin’s pyjama-clad ass, “whenever I want for the rest of my life?”
Changmin giggles and presses even closer. “Baby, that’s why I said yes.”
They kiss, smiling into each other’s mouths, and then the embrace turns hot and passionate. Changmin gasps, puts one arm around Yunho and shoves against him, cock instantly hard. The laptop slides sideways as Yunho turns and gathers Changmin closer.
“I love you, I love you,” Yunho whispers, brushing tiny kisses all over his face before claiming his mouth again.
Changmin can only make a muffled sound in reply as he slides his hand up into Yunho’s hair and sighs.
“Oh God.” Donghae’s annoyed tone jerks them apart and they stare at the laptop, which is lying at an odd angle on the bed.
Yunho sits up again and rights it, then curls an arm around Changmin’s shoulders and beams at the screen. “Hi, Donghae. Sorry about that.”
Donghae shakes his head in mock disgust. “Seriously, guys, if you want Skype visiting rights to your mutts, you have to show yourselves to be responsible parents. Making out in front of me is not winning you points. Just letting you know.”
Aware of the blush burning across his face, Changmin sinks towards the duvet.
Yunho pulls the laptop a little closer, his expression bright with anticipation. “Can we see them?”
“Sure.” Donghae looks off-camera and whistles. “Hey, mutts. Wanna see Horny Daddy and Embarrassed Daddy?”
“They’re not mutts,” Yunho corrects automatically, “they’re- Puppies!” His tone changes and he bounces where he sits, joy blazing from him as Pucci looms into the screen. The huge Leonberger barks with excitement, doggy drool spattering the laptop.
“Eww, gross,” Changmin says, then laughs when Donghae says the exact same thing a second later.
“And here’s Lagerfeld.” Donghae wipes the drool from the camera, making the picture smear a little, and then he picks up the pug and holds him to the screen.
“Feldie!” Yunho reaches out as if he can pet the dogs. “Feldie, are you being a good boy for Uncle Hae?”
“Yeah, he’s been pretty good this week, haven’t you, mate?” Donghae rolls the pug in his arms and tickles Lagerfeld’s tummy. The pug yips and squirms all the way around and then starts licking Donghae’s jaw, trying to give him an adoring kiss. “Dude, please-doggy breath,” Donghae exclaims, but he’s laughing and he’s not pushing Lagerfeld away.
Changmin chuckles at how cute it is, but when he glances over at Yunho, he sees not amusement but a look of hurt. It’s gone in an instant, and then Yunho is laughing along with Donghae and teasing Lagerfeld, and then Pucci’s fluffy tail smacks Donghae in the face and Yunho’s laughter becomes genuine, but even so, Changmin knows what he just saw.
After a few more minutes of the dogs shoving their noses towards the camera and Yunho baby-talking to them, Donghae whistles again and says, “Scram, mutts,” and the dogs chase away, barking and yapping. A moment later there’s a loud crash. Donghae winces.
“Is everything alright?” Changmin asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t like that lamp anyway.” Donghae grins. “A gift from Mimi. The guy has no taste in interior decoration but man, does he have legs and does he know how to use ‘em.”
“Changmin’s legs were the first things I noticed about him,” Yunho says.
“You said it was my eyes.” Changmin digs his elbow into Yunho’s ribs.
Yunho yelps. “Your legs and your eyes. And your mouth. And your grumpy expression. All at the same time. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Better.” Changmin smiles and kisses his cheek, then waves to Donghae. “I’ll let you guys chat. See you at the same time next week.”
“Catch ya later.” Donghae salutes.
Changmin gets out of bed while Yunho asks after several of his Gwangju friends and enquires how the market stalls are doing. This part of the conversation generally takes up to anything between half an hour to an hour, so Changmin usually excuses himself from it, makes his ablutions and gets dressed, and then fetches the newspaper and breakfast. True, the newspaper is in Spanish, but it’s part of their nesting ritual from home. The Sunday newspaper and warm, fresh croissants with butter and jam, all to be consumed whilst lolling on the bed.
It’s the middle of January, and bright morning sunlight streams through the windows of their apartment. Changmin stands for a moment and gazes out at the panorama of the city. Though the apartment only has three rooms-a kitchen, a bathroom, and a huge open plan bedroom/office/dining room-the views are spectacular. From their bed they can see half of Málaga from the Moorish fortress-palace of the Alcazaba north towards the rolling hills. From the kitchen window they can look out over their private patio and pool area, surrounded by pine forest and with a view of the walls of Gibralfaro Castle.
The apartment is built on top of and behind the Hotel Mirador, occupying its own little terrace. The hotel itself is impressive even by East Coast/West Coast standards. An elegant villa-style building spread across a plateau, it’s both classy and discreet. Once a private residence, it’s since been extended in a manner wholly sympathetic to the original design and with an eye to the beauty of the national park around it.
Changmin strips off his pyjamas and steps into the shower cubicle. The apartment is the only truly modern addition to the hotel. Though updated and modernised, the guest rooms and public rooms retain their 1920s decor and furnishings. One of Yunho’s tasks when they first arrived here was to decide with Onew, the manager Changmin’s father had appointed fresh from one of the company’s Jeju resorts, whether or not the Mirador needed renovation or redecoration. The number of guests staying at the hotel had dwindled over the last few years, and Changmin’s father wanted to change that.
“I think we should emulate your sisters’ idea with the Hideaway,” Yunho had said. “This city has so much history. We should use it, but subtly. The Mirador shouldn’t be some tacky theme hotel. Phoenicians, Romans, Moors, Conquistadors... We have a lot to work with. We shouldn’t close the hotel while we renovate, either; we should keep sections of it open and maybe drop the prices, offer weekly deals. We want the clientele to come back even when the Mirador is completely refurbished and charging full whack.”
Onew had agreed. So did Changmin, and the board of directors and Changmin’s father, and they’d asked Yunho to project-manage the whole thing as well as to act as lead designer. That had thrown him, and he’d clung to Changmin, confidence crumbling, and said, “But I don’t know anything about interior design! I don’t know anything about hotels! Changminnie, please help me!”
And so Changmin had found himself doing what his father had planned for him all along-working for the family business. Strangely enough, it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.
Turning the dial, Changmin switches on the shower and luxuriates beneath the spray of hot water. He lets the cubicle steam up, smiling at the blurred ghost-lines of the Hangeul characters Yunho had written on the glass last night: Gwangju Skank loves Posh Boy. Deputy Manager Jung loves Designer Shim. And then, with hearts and flowers around it: Yunho & Changmin.
Good job they do the cleaning themselves. Onew had told them they could use the services of the hotel staff, like he did in maintaining his suite within the main body of the Mirador, but Yunho had insisted that he’d keep their apartment tidy himself.
“If I’m going to help run this hotel, I should know how to do even the most menial of tasks,” he’d said, and so for their first few weeks in Spain he’d worked alongside the chambermaids, the cooks, the waiters, the receptionists, the gardeners, and the porters. He’d gone to the market every weekday morning and learned how to haggle over the produce, and he’d gone down to the port to meet the fishermen who brought in the daily catch. He’d visited all the Mirador’s suppliers throughout the city and further afield, and he’d got to know Málaga and its people, dragging Changmin with him on voyages of discovery through narrow streets, into tapas bars and cafes, into museums and churches and shops, and on bus and train trips to Ronda and Cordoba and Granada and Seville.
Along the way he’d fallen in love with Andalusia. Changmin can see it in him, and he’s glad. He’d been so worried that Yunho would resent the job thrust upon him, but he’d underestimated Yunho’s gift of exuberance and his willingness to embrace anything new and exciting. Yunho’s comprehension of Spanish is improving by leaps and bounds, aided by a phrasebook, a dictionary, and one of the chambermaids, Rosa, who comes to sit with him after her shift is over and patiently teaches him not just her language but also about Spanish food and dance and music and history and literature.
In short, he’s an absolutely ideal deputy manager, and Changmin’s father is delighted. So is Onew, who struggles to understand even the most basic of conversations with his staff and keeps making mistakes, which Yunho then fixes. It should lead to tension, but it doesn’t, because Onew is genuinely nice and he does know how to run a hotel, just not a hotel in Spain.
Changmin turns off the shower and gets out, wraps a towel around his waist while he shaves, and then he wanders out of the bathroom.
The bed is empty. The laptop is back on the desk. Yunho is nowhere in sight.
Dressing quickly in a pair of jeans and a thin rust-coloured woollen sweater, Changmin opens the back door of their apartment and goes out barefoot onto the patio. The stone paving is cold beneath his feet, but he knows that the sun will warm the terrace through soon enough. It’s a perfect suntrap even in winter, protected from the wind by the pine forest, which spreads its cool, sharp scent over the patio, and by the walls of the castle high above them.
Yunho is standing at the edge of the terrace on the other side of the pool. He’s looking up at Gibralfaro. They both like sitting out on the sun loungers of an evening, watching the sky darken into night, waiting for the tinted floodlights to come on and illuminate the castle walls. While they lie cuddled together beneath a blanket, Yunho spins wild, fantastical stories about the people who once lived there.
Changmin loves listening to him, finds himself thinking of the stories for days and sometimes even weeks afterwards, and occasionally he asks for sequels. Yunho obliges, and sometimes the stories take a sensual, erotic turn, and Changmin likes those even more, especially when Yunho whispers those stories to him when they’re making love. Changmin imagines himself as tribute for a king, with Yunho dressed in gold and silks and sitting arrogant upon a throne, or he imagines himself as the commander of a battalion of soldiers trying to storm the castle, and Yunho is the feisty runaway slave who falls in love with him and reveals the secret weakness in the castle defences.
Yunho’s stories always have happy endings. Changmin looks at him now and sees sadness and confusion. Trying to ignore the feeling that he’s caused this somehow, Changmin pads over and asks, “Everything okay?”
Without looking around, Yunho nods. “Yes. The new advertising campaign for Posh Boy has been a success. It was a good idea of yours to approach that crappy boyband to model for us. There’s so many kids in that group we didn’t need to double them up for any of the garments. The clothes are flying off the shelves, Donghae says. The remainder of last season’s stock as well as this season’s, and-”
“Yun.” Changmin hugs him from behind and presses a kiss to his nape. “I know you miss the dogs. It’s okay.”
A deep sigh shudders out of him. “I miss them so much.” Yunho’s voice is tight, unhappy. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve tried so hard not to let it get to me, but I just wish we could’ve brought them with us.”
Changmin rests his chin on Yunho’s shoulder. “We discussed this before we left. It would’ve been cruel to bring them all this way, to subject them to the turmoil and discomfort of long-haul travel and then making them endure the same thing when we go back. We both agreed it was best for the puppies to stay at home with someone they know and trust. Donghae is your best friend. He takes good care of them. I think he even enjoys having them around.”
“They’re forgetting us. It hasn’t even been three months and they’re forgetting us already.” Yunho’s shoulders quiver and he swallows a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “No, it’s not that. You saw the way Feldie was with Hae just now. He only ever cuddles like that with me. He won’t even do that with you, but...”
Changmin pulls Yunho around to face him. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” Yunho tips his head back, blinking furiously. He touches his fingertips to his eyes, wipes at his cheeks. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all mopey on you.”
“I’m your fiancé,” Changmin says, taking Yunho’s hands and squeezing them. “You’re supposed to share everything with me. Including mopiness. Especially that.” He tilts his head, gives Yunho a questioning look. “So you’re really not jealous of Donghae stealing the love and affection of our puppies?”
Yunho laughs. “No. Really, I’m not. I’m happy that they’re having fun and that he’s so comfortable with them. It’s what I wanted when I asked Hae if he’d take them. It’s just...”
Changmin knows they’re getting to the root of it now. He moves closer, lets go of one of Yunho’s hands so he can touch his cheek. “What is it?”
“Oh.” Yunho closes his eyes and leans into Changmin’s caress. “It’s stupid.”
“I’ve never seen you this upset before.” Turning his hand, Changmin cradles Yunho’s face, heart clenched tight. “Tell me.”
Yunho sniffs. He takes a deep breath and looks into Changmin’s eyes. “I love it here. I absolutely love it. I love my job and I love the people and I love Málaga. I’m having so much fun and I’m still able to design for Gwangju Skank and Posh Boy, and Spoon has asked me to collaborate with him again because his festival wear collection was such a big hit, and the Estonian guy wants my input on a range of shoes, and... I have you and everything’s perfect, but...”
“But?” Changmin repeats, softly.
“It’s stupid,” Yunho says again. He disengages from Changmin and moves away, taking a few steps towards the swimming pool. “I miss the puppies because I’m afraid of being lonely.”
Before Changmin can find the words to respond, Yunho turns to face him. “In less than a month you’ll be going to Paris and starting work for Chanel. I’m excited for you, baby, I’m really, really excited. I know you want this. You’ve worked for it and you’ve suffered for it, and I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be amazing. You’re going to be a star. And I know Paris is only two and a half hours away by plane and I’m going to turn up uninvited like I did in Milan and you’re going to show me the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and a thousand other things, and I know you’ll be coming back here as often as you can, but...”
His brave, determined expression crumples. “Changminnie, I’m going to miss you. It’s selfish and I’m sorry, but I missed you so much when you were in Italy and it was okay then because we were still finding our way together as a couple, it was okay because when you came home it was so much sweeter because of the separation, but this time-oh God, this time it’s going to be so much harder because pretty much for the last ten months I’ve had you all to myself, and I’m selfish, okay? I’m selfish, but I want you to do the things that are important to you, to us, and I’m just... I’m going to be lonely. That’s all.”
Changmin stares, flailing inwardly, stunned by this outpouring of emotion. “Yunho,” he says, and it comes out choked and broken. “Yunho,” he says again and goes to him, wraps his arms around him and holds on tight. “I’ll resign,” he promises, his heart torn in two. “I’ll find a way to do it even if Chanel sues me, and we’ll go home.”
“No. God, no.” Yunho lifts his head. He looks fierce and resolute. “This is what you want. It’s what I want for you. We’ve moved halfway around the world for this. It’s your dream.” He smiles, and this time it’s real and it’s beautiful even though it wobbles at the corners. “I’m happy, don’t you see? I’m happy. I’m content. I love my life. I’m just afraid of being lonely. It’s always been my biggest fear, and though I got sad while you were in Milan, I had the puppies to keep me company at night.”
Now Changmin feels just as wobbly. Unable to help himself, he blurts out, “I always knew you let them sleep on the bed when I wasn’t there.”
That makes Yunho laugh. “Sorry.” They lean together, foreheads touching, and Yunho smiles again. “Everything will be fine, baby. Rosa has already invited me to join her family for tapas evenings, and Pedro is going to teach me how to play flamenco guitar, and Onew might be a bit of an idiot but he’s a good guy really and he’s cool to hang out with, so I know I won’t really be lonely.”
“I’ll come home every weekend. I promise.” Changmin holds him tighter. “And if I can’t, you’re coming to Paris. I insist. I absolutely insist. Because it’s going to be just as hard for me to be away from you. And I’m going to run up a huge phone bill because even though you just design skanky urban clothes, I’m going to want your opinion on my fabulous couture outfits.”
Stepping back, Changmin cuffs at his cheeks, feeling raw and vulnerable. He looks up at the castle walls and feels a huge crushing swell of emotion. God, he’s going to cry, he’s one hundred percent going to start sobbing any moment now and he can’t deal with it. He’s a winner, not some kind of ridiculous emotional sap.
He’s desperate for a distraction, something, anything, and there it is. A bright flash of colour, a flock of birds flying between the trees, twittering and swooping, painting the morning with blue and green and yellow and pink.
He blinks hard, sniffs, then once he’s got himself under control, he points upwards. “If you think you’re going to be lonely, you should set yourself a project. You should tame those birds. Canaries or parakeets or whatever they are. People have them as pets and they’re quite loving. It’s not the same as the puppies, but...”
Yunho looks at the birds, blank for a moment, and then slowly his expression brightens and he smiles. “My mum always said I could charm the birds from the trees if I wanted. I think I’ll try it.”
*
Yunho sets about accomplishing his task the very next day. He sneaks out of bed at some god-awful hour, trying hard to be as quiet as possible, and then trips over the rug and goes sprawling on the floor. Changmin yowls in complaint at the disturbance and pulls the duvet over his head, hiding there until Yunho crawls over him and cuddles him through the quilt.
“I’m going out, baby,” Yunho tells him. “I’ll be back for breakfast.”
“Are you going into town?” Changmin peeps bleary-eyed over the top of the duvet. “If you are, can you go into that bakery on Larios and buy some lemon tart?”
“I wasn’t going into town, but I will now.” Yunho kisses Changmin’s head and bounces off the bed.
“No,” Changmin says, not particularly loudly and muffling his words with a pillow, “don’t make a special journey just for me. Oh, if you insist...”
He falls asleep again, feeling spoiled and happy.
When Changmin wakes again, it’s almost nine o’clock. He finds the lemon tart on the kitchen bench along with two plates, their favourite mugs, and with a jug of fresh coffee keeping warm. Yawning and stretching, Changmin glances out of the window and sees Yunho standing stock-still at the edge of the patio, gazing towards the pine trees.
The terrace is cut from the rock, the cliff rising up and doubling back on itself in bumps and folds as it climbs up to Gibralfaro. Grasses, flowers and trailing plants grow where they can, and where the forest starts, the property is fenced in with black-painted wrought iron railings. Yunho’s attention is fixed on the railings, Changmin realises as he leans closer to the window. And then he sees why.
A yellow canary is perched there. As Changmin watches, the bird jigs back and forth, then darts down to the ground. It hops towards Yunho, then pecks at something-is that bird seed?-before flying back to the railings. It repeats this action a few more times, and then a green parakeet appears, swoops right down and takes the remaining seed, and the yellow canary chases it.
Yunho finally moves. He’s smiling.
He does the same thing in the afternoon, leaving a scatter of bird seed on the far side of the pool and then standing nearby, waiting for the parakeets and canaries and finches to come and feed. The yellow canary makes a reappearance, along with the green parakeet and a slightly smaller pink bird. Changmin stands at the back door and watches as the birds hop down and take the seed, and Yunho talks to them, very softly, talks to them in Korean and then in Spanish, and he crouches down and offers more seed.
He does it every day, twice a day. At first Changmin finds it entertaining, but Yunho can be out there communing with the birds for half an hour or more, and after that he’s either going straight to the office to oversee the refurbishment or he’s off doing some other hotel business, and after a week, Changmin starts to find it a little bit annoying.
“I was joking about taming the birds,” he says.
Yunho blinks. “I like them. They’re pretty. And they sing.”
“It’s more like a screech.” Changmin goes over and fixes Yunho’s tie. He’s wearing a Posh Boy suit and he looks gorgeous. Ordinarily Changmin would grab the tie and tow Yunho over to the bed for a quickie, but thanks to those damn birds, they don’t have time.
“They whistle,” Yunho says. “I’m trying to whistle to them, too, but I’m not very good at whistling. I think that’s why the puppies like Donghae so much, because he can whistle.”
“I can whistle.” Changmin finishes arranging the tie and puts his hands on Yunho’s chest. “It’s not hard to do. You just put your lips together and-”
Yunho kisses him just as Changmin tries to demonstrate.
“I have to run, baby.” Yunho breaks free with obvious reluctance. “Let’s have lunch together in town.”
“Sure.” Changmin walks him to the front door and waves him off. The world’s shortest commute, home to work in the amount of time it takes to walk down the steps into the hotel grounds. Changmin leans against the doorframe, the warmth of Yunho’s kiss still lingering. He watches Yunho stride along the path through the gardens, watches him greet Pedro, the head gardener, and then Changmin straightens up, staring, as a small flock of colourful birds comes swooping out of the date palms and-honest to God-follows Yunho as far as the arched colonnade leading to the main dining room.
Changmin doesn’t know if that’s impressive or creepy.
By the start of February, the flock of birds has swelled in numbers. When Changmin looks out of the kitchen window in the mornings, the trees are alive with green and blue and pink and yellow birds, and when Yunho goes out, smiling and making the noise he claims is a whistle, the avian audience erupts in a cacophony of trills and shrills. They launch themselves from the branches and circle the patio, practically darkening the sky, while Yunho scatters a generous amount of seed and breadcrumbs on the ground. But it’s only when he calls to them, puts his hand up into the air as a signal, that the birds descend.
Onew witnesses it one morning when he comes by with a fax from one of the hotel suppliers. Changmin leads him into the kitchen and they both watch in awe as dozens of birds fly and squabble and swarm across the patio at Yunho’s feet.
“Wow,” Onew says. “He’s like a Disney princess, but with genus Myiopsitta instead of bluebirds.”
“Disney bluebirds don’t crap all over the patio,” Changmin grumbles. “Do you know how hard it is to get guano off stone? Not to mention the smell. And they follow him, did you know that? Even when it’s not feeding time. They follow him like something out of a Hitchcock movie. I’m terrified that one day they’ll turn on him and peck him to death, or else they’ll carry him away and make him their king in a gigantic nest in the mountains, or-”
Onew snorts. “Is there the slightest possibility that you might be over-reacting?”
Changmin glares at him. “No.”
“A gigantic nest in the mountains,” Onew repeats.
“Okay.” Changmin sighs. “Maybe just a little.”
“A little nest?”
“I’m exaggerating a little.” Changmin presses his mouth into a line, trying not to laugh. “But the poop problem is real. And the birds really do follow him around.”
“Yeah, the staff have mentioned it.” Onew grins. “But if we spin it the right way, it could be a unique selling point and draw in visitors.”
“But will those visitors really want bird shit spattered over their windows or on their patios? I’m telling you, it’s hell to clean. Or at least I find it quite troubling to watch Yunho clean it up.”
Onew laughs so hard he has to hold onto the kitchen counter. “You really are your father’s son,” he says, wiping at his tears of mirth.
Once the comparison would have annoyed him, but now Changmin just smiles. “Yes,” he says, an idea taking shape. An idea worthy of his father’s modus operandi. “Yes, I am.”
He doesn’t say anything to Yunho about his plan. He wants it to be a surprise. He approaches Pedro and a few other staff members, asking for their assistance, and five days before Changmin is due to go to Paris, their search is successful.
Changmin puts his packing to one side and goes with Pedro into the mountains. They return with a cardboard box lined with a raggedy pink blanket, and Changmin sits in the back of the car with the box cradled on his knees and croons soothing nonsense to the precious contents all the way back to the hotel.
It takes some quick thinking to hustle the box past Yunho, who’s standing in the central courtyard with Onew and a contractor, discussing plans for a new Nasrid-style marble pool to replace the old fountain. When he sees Changmin, Yunho starts to come over, asking for his opinion on a selection of tiles. Changmin takes off his Ralph Lauren jacket and casually slings it on top of the box, which he then hands to Pedro, saying, “Could you just drop that off outside the apartment? Thank you so much.”
As Pedro hurries away, Changmin hears a small growl and his jacket is yanked into the box. He hopes Yunho didn’t notice.
The next fifteen minutes seem interminable. Changmin listens to the discussion between Yunho and the contractor, and Onew nods occasionally, pretending he understands what’s being said, and they look at the tiles and refer to the plans Yunho has drawn up, and all the while, Changmin worries that his surprise will have got out of the box and wandered off.
Finally the meeting comes to an end. They shake hands with the contractor and Onew starts to lead the man away. Before he goes, he raises his eyebrows at Changmin in silent question, and when Changmin gives a small nod, Onew’s grin is almost as sunshine-bright as one of Yunho’s smiles.
“Are you sure those tiles were the best choice?” Yunho asks, frowning at the pattern sheet still clutched in his hand. “I liked these, too. But perhaps the design is too modern and the ones we agreed on are best.”
“Don’t over-think it,” Changmin says, aware of the irony of that statement as he takes Yunho’s free hand. “Leave that for a moment. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Yunho smiles. “A surprise? Does it involve you and me getting naked somewhere we shouldn’t?”
“No.” Changmin ducks his head and blushes, thinking of the day last week when they’d hidden in the castle ruins after closing time. Once the staff had gone home and they had Gibralfaro all to themselves, they’d re-enacted one of Yunho’s stories. Changmin had pretended to be a nobleman’s son taken as hostage-tribute, and Yunho was the king who desired him. Feigning unwillingness, Changmin fled across the castle grounds and ran along the battlements, heart pounding and excitement thrilling every part of him as he tried to evade capture. But then Yunho caught him, dragged him into the watchtower on the north side of the castle, and hauled him up to the top floor where a rug had been spread out, and there, to their noisy, mutual satisfaction, he’d claimed his prize.
“It’s nothing like that,” Changmin says, tugging on Yunho’s hand. “Come and see.”
From out of the trees, the flock of parakeets comes swooping. Changmin flashes them a smug glance, knowing that their days of crapping all over the patio are numbered. He just hopes Yunho won’t be too sad about losing his status as the resident Disney princess.
They reach the hotel gardens. Pedro is sitting on the steps to their apartment, the box placed to one side. Changmin smiles with relief. He should have known that Pedro wouldn’t have abandoned the surprise and left it without supervision. He also should have known better than to throw his Ralph Lauren jacket over the box, because one of the sleeves is hanging over the side and it looks like it’s been comprehensively chewed.
Nevertheless, he thanks Pedro, who gives him a big grin and sidles off, and then, keeping one eye on the contents of the box-it’s squirming beneath his jacket and making soft little sounds-he turns to Yunho.
“This is for you,” he says, gesturing towards the box. “Actually it’s for both of us, but mainly it’s for you. So you won’t be lonely when I’m in Paris. So you’ll have someone to talk to when I’m not there. So you’ll have someone to hold at night. So you’ll have someone who’ll give you back all that crazy love and affection you share so easily, and for all the love she gives you, know it’s from me, too.”
Smiling, Yunho raises his eyebrows. “She?”
“Just look.” Changmin flaps his hands towards the box.
Yunho goes over to the steps and sits beside the box. Carefully he lifts off the chewed Ralph Lauren jacket. He stares down at the contents and then looks at Changmin, an expression of utter incredulous joy shining from his face. “A puppy,” he says. “You bought me a puppy!”
“Do you like her?” Changmin twists back and forth, suddenly shy and uncertain. “She’s three months old. She’s had all her shots and everything, and she’s microchipped and I’ve got the paperwork to get her a pet passport, so if you like her we can take her home with us at the end of the year.”
“Like her? I love her!” Yunho reaches into the box and gently picks up the spaniel pup. “A Springer spaniel. Look at her darling ears. And her tail. Oh Changminnie, she’s beautiful.”
“A Welsh Springer,” Changmin says. “Apparently they’re quite crazy. I thought she’d fit right into our little family.”
“God, I love you.” Cradling the puppy against his chest, Yunho gets up and kisses Changmin. “Thank you. Thank you so much. She’s perfect.”
“You have to think of a name for her.” Changmin slides an arm around Yunho and rests his head on his shoulder, smiling at the wriggling red and white puppy with her big, melting brown eyes.
“Marchesa,” Yunho says. “She’s going to be a proper lady amongst a household of men.”
“Hi, Marchesa.” Changmin strokes the puppy’s head and lets her lick his fingers. “Hey, girl. You’re allowed to sleep on the bed when I’m not here, okay?”
Yunho laughs and holds Marchesa up. She yaps excitedly, and there’s a flurry from the trees as the flock of parakeets takes flight. Noticing the movement, Marchesa wags her tail and yaps some more.
“Changmin!” Eyes dancing with amusement, Yunho cuddles Marchesa close again. “Did you buy me a puppy just to scare away the birds?”
Changmin gives what he hopes is a mysterious smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I was just being a loving, caring fiancé.”
Yunho laughs again and shakes his head. “Shim Changmin, you’re-you’re...”
“A winner,” Changmin says. He picks up the box and gestures up the steps to their front door. “Let’s get Marchesa settled in her new home.”
* * *
Part 2 >>