EXO {Suho/Chen, Kai/Sehun ; Material Girl (2/2)}

[black_goose]

part 1

“Okay,” said Chanyeol, fiddling with a packet of sugar. Baekhyun reached across, plucked it from his hands, and poured into his coffee. Junmyeon thought that it was all very well and good suggesting that they get brunch more often, but sometimes they were just too couple-like for Junmyeon, apparently forever single, to take.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Chanyeol continued, stirring Baekhyun’s coffee for him, “but I’ve been told something that you might not like.”

The things that Junmyeon didn’t like were wide and varied, and including dodging the point of a conversation. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’m just saying,” Chanyeol said, “it might come as a shock, so don’t-”

“Chanyeol,” said Junmyeon wearily.

“-get angry with me because it’s not really my fault-”g

“Just tell me already,” Junmyeon interrupted.

“Jongdae thinks you’re straight,” Baekhyun said bluntly, then, “Christ, where did she get her earrings, you could hang drapes from them.”

“Wait, what?” Junmyeon asked, horrified.

“Her earrings, look at them.”

“No, not that,” Junmyeon cried. “The part about Jongdae thinking I’m straight.”

“What? Oh, yeah, Chanyeol told him that you were.”

“No I didn’t,” Chanyeol protested, overly loud. “I just told him that you were dating some woman we saw you with! That didn’t mean that you were straight, really, it could have meant-”

“Why would you do that,” Junmyeon breathed, slumped back in his chair feeling faint. Oh god. Jongdae thought he was straight, and how was he supposed to prove otherwise without coming out and telling him. He supposed he could make like Minseok and just buy an obscene amounts of man-purses, but Junmyeon hated those things.

“It was a favour,” Chanyeol said earnestly. “I wanted to see how he would react! Only he didn’t seem to care any so I just never told you, and then I forgot until he reminded me on Tuesday. He doesn’t think you’re straight anymore, I told him.”

“How are you-” Junmyeon started furiously, took a deep breath, and then continued just as furiously. “How did you graduate top of your class, how did you get into law school, how are you this successful when you’re clearly a fucking moron.”

“Okay,” said Chanyeol, looking hurt. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“No,” said Baekhyun, sipping his coffee. “He’s right. You messed up.”

Chanyeol looked even more hurt. “But I fixed it,” he said sadly.

“Fixed it how?” Junmyeon demanded. “He’s still dating that other guy. I’m still the one he doesn’t care about. But now I just look desperate. Like I’m getting you to sniff around and find out my chances.”

Chanyeol looked across at Baekhyun, as if waiting for him to scold Junmyeon for being overly dramatic. Baekhyun just shrugged at him. “I think he does care,” Chanyeol said slowly. “I don’t...Maybe you should ask him out for coffee, or something.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Junmyeon said. “I’m not that pathetic yet.”

It had been Lu Han’s idea to have Jongin over. Even though Sehun was a grown adult, and no longer the skinny, awkward social reject he’d apparently been during high school, Lu Han still insisted on protecting him, just a bit, and Minseok got the feeling that he’d never grow out of that. It was pretty funny to Minseok, to watch the two of them dance around each other, neither quite sure who was really in charge of the friendship. Now that Sehun was older and more independent, he definitely wanted to help Lu Han like he hadn’t been able to earlier, but Lu Han was not quite so willing to give up his older brother position.

It wasn’t as though Minseok minded. Sehun was by far the easiest of Lu Han’s friends to get along with. Zitao still seemed to be convinced that Minseok had been raised on a farm because he grew up in Michigan, and Chanyeol continued to be utterly boggled by the idea that anyone could choose to live in Brooklyn. Minseok could deal with Lu Han and Sehun’s strange snuggle bonding time when sometimes Sehun seemed like the only normal person in a room filled with rich kids.

Minseok knew Lu Han well enough to know that this sudden dinner at their place was less to do with “getting to know” Kim Jongin so much as “scoping out” Kim Jongin. “You just want to be sure he’s good enough for Sehun,” Minseok said, watching Lu Han set out placemats.

“Well, yes,” Lu Han said, looking harassed. “I want to make sure that Sehun isn’t getting into something that he shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t understand,” Minseok said, taking one of the placemats from Lu Han’s hands and holding him still for thirty seconds. “A month and a half ago, the fact that Sehun had called him was the most brilliant thing he’d ever done. Now you’re suddenly apprehensive?”

Lu Han opened his mouth and then closed it again with a sigh. “I don’t know. I guess I was using it as a distraction from, you know, our stuff.” Minseok leaned his forehead against Lu Han’s for a second, putting the placemats down on the table. “I just...wanted him to have something fun, all he ever does is work or study and it’s not really healthy. But I just thought it would be a couple of dates, nothing serious like this. Sehun doesn’t get into serious relationships so quickly. He certainly doesn’t sleep with people so quickly. I just...want to know why, that’s all.”

“And the only way to do this,” Minseok said, muttering against Lu Han’s temple, “was to invite his incredibly rich boyfriend to our tiny, somewhat downtrodden apartment, for a meal that we’ve attempted to cook from scratch ourselves.”

“Yes,” said Lu Han, determined to make the best of the situation. “It shows that we care.”

“It’ll just show how often we eat take out,” Minseok said, but he stepped back and picked up the placemat again. “Where do you want this?”

Half an hour later, Kim Jongin, heir to the multi-billion dollar Kai Hotel Corporation, was standing in their apartment dressed in slacks, white shirt, holding a beer and discussing the chances of the Jets in next week’s game.

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning against the arm of the chair that Sehun was sitting in. “I mean, their season record has been pretty terrible so far, and they’re missing their-”

“I know,” said Minseok animatedly, “but just because they haven’t done so well doesn’t mean that they can’t-”

“Wait,” interrupted Lu Han. “Are the Jets football or baseball? I always forget.” He caught Minseok rolling his eyes and dug his elbow into his side.

“They’re football,” said Jongin, appearing to take sympathy on him. For someone who had seemed aloof and cold when he’d first walked into the apartment, he had a remarkably friendly smile. “We can stop talking about it if you don’t understand.”

“Good,” said Sehun, the first thing he had said since the conversation started, “because I literally didn’t even realise you were talking about sports.”

Jongin rolled his eyes. “That’s one thing I’d like to change,” he said, rubbing Sehun’s temple playfully. Sehun batted him away, smirking slightly.

“I should go sort out the food,” Lu Han said, pushing himself off the couch. He touched his hand to Minseok’s hip, leaning in to hiss, “look at the way he’s looking at Sehun,” before he sauntered into the kitchen, looking smug, like he thought this entire new relationship was somehow his doing, when he’d actually had nothing to do with it.

Minseok did as he was told, watching as Sehun leaned in to tell Minseok about some new project he was working on at work, watching as Jongin’s eyes followed the movement of Sehun’s body almost subconsciously, the way he smiled when Sehun got animated and drew figures on his palm with a finger to illustrate a point that Minseok was willing to bet went over Jongin’s head just like it had done with Minseok. When Lu Han came through to get Minseok to help set up, Sehun jumped up to help too, and Jongin followed, touching Sehun’s shoulder almost as though comforted by the contact.

“Sit down,” Lu Han scolded, pushing Sehun back down. “We’ve got this.”

He grabbed Minseok’s hand and dragged him bodily into the kitchen. “Well?” he demanded, still clutching his hand. “What do you think?”

“About what?” Minseok teased.

“Baozi,” Lu Han moaned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“He clearly adores him,” Minseok acknowledged, moving away so he could start plating up the food. “I must say, when you told me that Sehun was dating that Kim Jongin, I wondered what the attraction was - not that Sehun isn’t attractive-” he added, when Lu Han opened his mouth to protest, “because he is, it’s just that Kim Jongin meets lots of people at lots of parties, and Sehun has never been at home in that kind of situation, has he?”

“I suppose,” Lu Han said, biting his lip. “But,” he added, brightening up, “we weren’t from the same background, and look at us now.”

Minseok snaked his arms around Lu Han’s waist, pulling them hip to hip. “I wasn’t saying that they couldn’t work,” he said. “Just that it was surprising.” Just like it had been surprising to find, after a month of dating, that Lu Han’s family was rich, that he’d grown up in the suburbs of New York, had been privately educated, was fluent in three languages thanks to home tutors during his childhood, that he knew Wu Fan and Zitao because they’d grown up in that environment. It had always been hard to imagine Lu Han like that, the pampered rich kid who wanted for nothing. When Minseok had met him, Lu Han had been sleeping on Wu Fan’s couch, working all hours at a local deli just to cover some of the costs of his tuition so he could mitigate the debt he was racking up.

“He really likes him a lot,” Lu Han murmured, “doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Minseok said, “in spite of the money.”

“I was talking about Sehun,” Lu Han said, pulling back.

“I wasn’t even talking about them,” Minseok admitted, and kissed Lu Han’s forehead.

To celebrate Chanyeol winning his case, Baekhyun threw a party. Chanyeol winning his cases was something which happened quite regularly, but apparently this particular client had paid quite handsomely for her defence, so Baekhyun had figured, what the hell.

Junmyeon wished his life was as easy as Baekhyun’s. He’d probably be bored out of his skull in two weeks, but everything seemed so simple when the most difficult decision to be made was whether to have eggshell or tortoise coloured napkins. Junmyeon’s pressing decision at that moment in time was “should I cross over the room and talk to the man I’ve been in love with for close to two years, the one with the French boyfriend, the one who used to think I was straight and apparently is not interested, or should I stay here and drink Chanyeol’s liquor and listen to Jongin and Kyungsoo reminisce over college memories”.

Apparently they’d gone skinny-dipping in the school pool during freshman year. Junmyeon didn’t think people actually did these things outside movies.

Suddenly there was a hand tugging at his wrist, small and insistent. He turned to find Lu Han trying to drag him somewhere. He took a couple of obedient steps and then asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” said Lu Han, “just come with me.”

Junmyeon let himself be pulled across the room, keeping an eye out to make sure he didn’t get too close to Jongdae. Lu Han pulled him to a sofa and shoved him down onto it. “Sit here,” Lu Han insisted, and then disappeared.

Junmyeon shrugged, figuring that at least this way, he got a place to sit down, and got down to the business of finishing his drink while watching his friends make fools of themselves. One thing was true: Baekhyun knew how to throw a good party. He understood the exact ratio of music to food to alcohol for optimum party.

Junmyeon rubbed his forehead and vowed to spend less time at work.

He watched as Yixing and Jongin had a very serious discussion about, apparently, whether British schoolboys were really all terribly gay (Jongin, it turned out, had attended boarding school in England during his teen years), when suddenly a body fell against his side, and Minseok said, “Look after him!”

“What-”Junmyeon asked, alarmed, but Minseok had already ran off. Junmyeon’s arm automatically went around Jongdae’s shoulders to help him sit back up, but Jongdae had already pulled his feet onto the couch and was curling up into him.

“Hi,” he said, his smile a little unfocused.

“You’re drunk,” Junmyeon said, the only thing he could think of. He could smell Jongdae’s aftershave, sharp and pleasant.

“Well, yes,” said Jongdae, smirking at him. “It’s a party.”

“I’m not drunk,” Junmyeon pointed out.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Jongdae. He lifted his glass to Junmyeon’s mouth. “Drink up.”

Junmyeon did so, unable to resist when Jongdae’s fingers pressed to his jaw to urge him. Jongdae looked pleased when he’d finished; Junmyeon felt a little dizzy. “There,” said Jongdae brightly.

“Mmhmm,” Junmyeon said. Jongdae was drinking something sweet, just edging on sickly. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at the bottom of the glass.

“I don’t know,” Jongdae said, placing it unsteadily on the table and then curling back into Junmyeon. “Something nice. Chanyeol was making them for me.”

“And you trusted Chanyeol to make you drinks? Do you have a death wish?”

“It tasted nice,” Jongdae said vaguely. He pulled Junmyeon’s arm towards him, hugging it. “Did Chanyeol tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Junmyeon was at once pleased by this turn of events and concerned by how drunk Jongdae seemed to be.

“That I thought you were straight,” Jongdae said softly, then laughed. “How silly.”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon said, “and it’s not silly. He told you I was dating someone, it’s his fault.”

“But it’s pretty funny,” Jongdae said, continuing almost as though he hadn’t heard what Junmyeon had said. “I thought you were straight, and you weren’t! That’s funny!”

“Is it?” Junmyeon reached behind him with his free arm and grabbed a random glass of champagne from a table, one of the glasses that had been abandoned once the nicer alcohol had made an appearance.

“You don’t like champagne,” Jongdae said, trying to grab it from him.

“I know,” said Junmyeon, pulling it out of his grasp. “I figure I’ll need it,” he muttered, drinking half of it in one gulp.

Conversations went on around them, like flies buzzing in Junmyeon’s ear. Jongdae talked intermittently, falling silent whenever playing with Junmyeon’s fingers became more interesting. Junmyeon drank more and more champagne so to numb the desperate yearning in his lower stomach.

When he stood, just after Lu Han and Minseok left, he found that he was drunk. When he pulled Jongdae to his feet along with him, he found that, even though he hadn’t seen Jongdae drink all that much more since he’d been deposited on the couch next to him, Jongdae was almost fall down drunk. Junmyeon grunted and propped Jongdae up, taking his weight and wondering what the hell kind of aftershave continued to smell so damn attractive.

He felt tired and in another situation he may have just packed Jongdae into a cab and then crashed in Baekhyun’s spare room, but he was, after all, nice, and so he hauled Jongdae out of the apartment and into the elevator and then out onto the street, where he hailed a cab and, sighing, got into the backseat along with him.

Jongdae mumbled all the way, but luckily didn’t throw up, and when they arrived outside his apartment building, he merely laughed, low in his throat, when Junmyeon stuck his hands in his pockets to find the keys to let him into the building.

The doorman blinked at them tiredly, and didn’t even ask for ID. For all the money Jongdae was spending on this apartment, Junmyeon had expected more than that, but he just gratefully led Jongdae to the elevator.

The doors had shut when Jongdae said, “I thought you were straight.”

“I know,” said Junmyeon, watching the numbers on the display rise.

“But you aren’t,” said Jongdae, and sighed. “Oh well.”

Out of the elevator, scrambling with the keys, until they were falling into the apartment. All of Jongdae’s laughter was gone now, as he pushed Junmyeon off him, almost like Junmyeon had a disease that he was afraid of catching, and stumbled into his bedroom, shutting the door after him. After a moment, he stuck his head back out. “You can sleep here,” he said, and disappeared, this time leaving the door open.

Junmyeon hesitated for only a minute, too tired to care. He searched in a couple of cupboards until he found a blanket and draped it over the couch, piling the pillows on one end so he could sleep. Then he found a bucket and crept into Jongdae’s room. He had fallen asleep sprawled across his bed, fully clothed.

Junmyeon put the bucket by the side of the bed, staring at him. He looked ruffled and, well, drunk, but Junmyeon still had never wanted to kiss a person more in his life. Instead of doing that, he brushed Jongdae’s hair from his face, pulled off his jacket, socks and shoes, and turned him on his side, just in case. Then he shut the bedroom door, and collapsed onto the sofa. He was out before he had the blanket over him.

The sound of a door shutting had Junmyeon jerking awake, jumping into the air before he remembered where he was and sank back down, groaning as his headache made itself known. Jongdae was standing staring at him, dressed in boxer shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, looking skinny and fragile. “What are you doing here?” he asked, squinting, before walking to the kitchen area and switching on his coffee machine decisively.

“I brought you home,” Junmyeon said, even though Jongdae didn’t seem overly bothered by why Junmyeon had just spent the night on his couch. “You said I could stay.”

Jongdae muttered something, Junmyeon only making out the word bed, and poured two cups of coffee, added milk to one of them, just sugar to the other. He handed the black one to Junmyeon. Junmyeon didn’t remember telling him how he took his coffee, but he guessed it was probably the time he’d told him about the blueberry muffins.

“Thanks,” Jongdae said eventually, after sipping his coffee for a minute or so. “I don’t remember coming home, so thank you.”

“It was no problem,” Junmyeon said. His gulp of coffee made nausea rise up in his stomach and he lay it carefully on the table, and leaned back on the couch and groaned. “I feel like crap,” he said. “I hate champagne.”

“I told you that you didn’t like it,” Jongdae said, amused, oversized coffee mug hiding most of his face.

“Yes, I know,” Junmyeon said, clamping a hand over his eyes to block out the light. “But it was the only free thing.”

There was a pause. Then Junmyeon felt a shadow fall over him, the brush of fingers on his forehead and then lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. He slowly removed the hand over his eyes and found Jongdae moving off, still holding onto his coffee, heading for the bedroom.

At the door he stopped and turned, leaning against the frame. “Do you want a shower?” he asked.

“No,” said Junmyeon, shaken and unsure. “I think I’d better leave.”

“What?” Jongdae looked confused, biting his bottom lip. “You don’t have to-”

“No, no,” interrupted Junmyeon. “I need to leave. I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

He gathered his stuff, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch, and had his shoes on before Jongdae managed to get near him. He grabbed Junmyeon’s arm, saying, “Please, you don’t have to go.”

“I’m sorry,” said Junmyeon, horrified to find that he felt on the verge of tears; this was too much. “I just...please let go.”

Jongdae released his arm and stepped back, wrapping his arms around himself and holding his elbows with his hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Junmyeon forced himself to say. “It’s fine. I’m not upset, I just remembered something I have to be at.”

He turned to leave the apartment, door opened before Jongdae snagged the back of his shirt. “I broke up with Marc,” he blurted out. “About a week ago. You don’t have to-”

“I don’t want to be your rebound,” Junmyeon said, and then it was out there, hanging between them, unable to be taken back. Jongdae looked like Junmyeon had reached out and slapped him. But Junmyeon found that it was true; he didn’t want to be second best, the next thing that Jongdae moved onto. He wanted to be everything, or he would take nothing.

He didn’t look back, and Jongdae didn’t try to stop him leaving.

Junmyeon wasn’t surprised when Zitao called him out for coffee a week later, only to sit him down and call him a fucking idiot. The only surprising thing was that Baekhyun hadn’t got to him first, but Junmyeon got the feeling that Baekhyun was so angry with him that he was actually refusing to even speak to him.

Zitao kept up a tirade for almost ten minutes on all the reasons why Junmyeon was an idiot and should be dragged into Central Park and hung, drawn and quartered for crimes against common sense. Meanwhile, Wu Fan sat calmly next to him, drinking black coffee and reading the business section of the New York Times.

Junmyeon shifted uncomfortably. “But I-”

“You what?” Zitao demanded, apparently completely oblivious to the stares of the people around them. “Completely blew it? I hope you know that, because Jongdae was completely - he was so upset, you idiot.”

“Well, what about me?” Junmyeon said, and then snapped his mouth shut, ashamed of how whiny he sounded. He sighed and tried again. “What was I supposed to do? He’s been in a relationship for months, then they break up, and suddenly he’s kissing me and I’m supposed to just go along with that? I don’t want to be the guy he sleeps with in order to get over some other guy.”

Wu Fan calmly sipped his coffee, set it down, and said, “If you think that Jongdae was honestly in love with that guy, you really are actually kind of stupid.”

Junmyeon gaped at him, unable to believe that Wu Fan had got involved only to throw Junmyeon under the bus. “But he-”

“He was lonely,” Wu Fan said. “People are. Sometimes we accept less than we want because the option that we want is taken. Or,” he added, looking at Junmyeon significantly, “we think the option is straight.”

Junmyeon blinked. “But he’s not interested in me,” he said. “That’s the whole point. I was just, you know, a warm body in his apartment.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you ask him in person?” Zitao jerked his head towards the door of the coffee shop. Jongdae was standing there, looking around curiously. For a moment their eyes met, and Junmyeon watched as the colour bled out of Jongdae’s face, and then he looked down at his cup, some horrible emotion gnawing at his stomach.

When he next looked up, Jongdae was already there, his hand gripping Zitao’s shoulder. “We need to talk,” he hissed.

Zitao looked completely unruffled. “Do we?”

“You can’t just invite me out for coffee and then…then do this to me!” The next second he glanced at Junmyeon, looking like he regretted what he’d just said. Another thing hanging in the air that they couldn’t reverse. A “this”.

Zitao shrugged. “You guys needed to talk, and you’re both too stubborn otherwise.” He tipped his head back and grinned up at Jongdae, and Junmyeon felt a short stab of jealousy in his stomach that he knew was completely irrational, but still; that kind of familiarity came from knowing someone intimately, knowing a small amount of what made them tick, and Junmyeon was jealous of anyone who knew Jongdae like that. He wondered if Wu Fan felt it. He wondered if Baekhyun felt it when Wu Fan and Chanyeol were together. Maybe with them it was rational - he had no claim over Jongdae, after all.

“I will kill you,” Jongdae hissed.

“That would be very bad,” Zitao said innocently. “I have plans.” He grabbed Wu Fan’s hand and stood, pulling Wu Fan to his feet beside him. “Come on,” he said, clinging to Wu Fan’s arm a little. “You’re taking me shopping.”

Wu Fan, to his credit, looked confused and exasperated. “I wish you’d tell me when you plan on doing these things,” he said with a sigh. “Then I’d be able to talk you out of it.”

“That’s why I don’t tell you,” Zitao told him. He waved cheerfully at Junmyeon, who was still sitting in his chair blankly. “Bye!” he said. “Have fun.”

“-Wait, no-” Junmyeon said, almost knocking the table over in his haste at jumping to his feet, stretching out a hand. But it was too late, Zitao was already dragging Wu Fan through the tables, completely ignoring anything going on behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae murmured. “I didn’t mean - I didn’t know he was going to do that. I’ll leave.”

Junmyeon reached out and snagged his sleeve with his fingertips. It occurred to him while he was doing it that Jongdae had done something remarkably similar in the entryway to his apartment. Had he felt like this, this urge to do something, anything, swirling and fighting with the urge to leave it well enough alone.

“Stay,” he found himself saying, his mouth deciding for him where his brain could not. “We do need to talk.”

Jongdae hesitated. Then he took the seat that had been vacated by Zitao, his hands tucked under his thighs. He suddenly looked really quite young, his voice soft as he murmured his order to the waitress who swooped down on them. When she’d left, and silence threatened to engulf them both, Junmyeon said, “About last weekend-”

Jongdae looked up, straight at him, and whatever he was going to say died in Junmyeon’s throat. Then Jongdae looked away, shrugging gently. “I made a fool of myself,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should have known that you weren’t interested.”

“It’s not that,” Junmyeon said, struggling, not knowing how to put his thoughts into words without going too far. He was afraid of that place between them, where words could not be taken back. “You know, it was like your breakup was an afterthought, an excuse for kissing me. As if, if you hadn’t broken up, you wouldn’t have done it.” No, that wasn’t right. He closed his eyes for a second. “It’s not that I’m not interested,” he said eventually, “but I can’t just be a rebound.”

Jongdae laughed shortly, just a little bitterly. “Oh,” he said.

“And I’m flattered, I really am, but I just…” He trailed off, because those weren’t the right words either.

Jongdae pulled his hands from under him and lay them on the table, opposite thumbs and fingers pressed together in a triangle. “Do you know why I started dating Marc in the first place?” he asked. Junmyeon shook his head uncomfortably. “Because I couldn’t have you.”

Something about the frank way he said it was more shocking than what he’d actually said. “But you could have had me,” Junmyeon blurted out, then wished he could die on command.

This time Jongdae’s laughter was real. “I thought you were straight,” he said. “And if I couldn’t have you, then what was the point? It was second best or nothing, and I’m not built for nothing. Maybe some people can do it, maybe Sehun can, but I can’t. And so I muddled through, and maybe if it had been anyone else, it would have been a rebound. It would have been someone else just to stave off feeling lonely. But it wasn’t. It was you.”

“I don’t…”

“You don’t see? Anyone else is just a replacement for you. A shit poor replacement,” Jongdae added, and that made Junmyeon smile. “So you’re not the rebound. Everyone else is.”

“Fuck,” said Junmyeon hoarsely, and then - did he move, or was it Jongdae? He could feel the edge of the table pressing into his stomach so he supposed it must have been him. He pressed in close, kissing Jongdae fervently, insistently, Jongdae’s fingers pressed to his jaw like they had been when he was giving him the drink at the party.

There was a yell, a crash. They broke apart and Junmyeon saw that his chair had fallen back as he dived forward to press his mouth against Jongdae’s, and had knocked into a lady, whose cup of tea was now staining into the suit of her husband.

“Oops,” said Jongdae, hand still gripping Junmyeon’s elbow.

Junmyeon could feel the laughter bubbling in his chest, almost hysterical. He was going to giggle, he could tell, and so he kissed Jongdae again to stop himself.

“But I don’t understand,” Chanyeol said imploringly. “Why are you staying in Brooklyn? Why are you choosing to live in Brooklyn?”

“So that I’m as far away from you as possible,” Minseok told him, grinning, and Chanyeol pouted.

“Leave it,” Baekhyun said with a sigh. “It could be a lot worse.” He slid his eyes across at Sehun. Just like Chanyeol would never get over Brooklyn, Baekhyun would never get over choosing to live in Inwood.

Lu Han and Minseok’s new place was roughly twice the size of their old apartment, and none of the kitchen counters looked like they were about to collapse imminently. The furniture was all second-hand, like before, but still nicer than what they had had. Junmyeon thought it was an improvement all round, even if it was in a neighbourhood that no one seemed to like. Junmyeon didn’t get it. He liked Brooklyn. But then he was from California and as such, no one seemed to think his opinions mattered.

“Baozi!” Lu Han called from the kitchen, sounding somewhat out of breath. “Come and help me with these plates!”

Minseok moved, but Sehun moved faster. Minseok and Jongin looked at each other, and then Minseok shrugged and followed anyway.

“I don’t understand that nickname,” Zitao said, swirling his drink in his glass. “What’s so cute about it? It’s pretty offensive, if you ask me.”

Baekhyun muttered something that sounded like peach and Zitao glared at him. Jongdae muffled his laughter in Junmyeon’s shoulder. Zitao turned his glare on Jongdae, who just stuck his tongue out. Junmyeon no longer felt any sort of jealousy at that. Jongdae’s body was pressed up to his, arm to arm, hip to hip, warm and firm and there. Though he supposed he knew Jongdae intimately now, so maybe it was that which had changed.

He smiled, and smothered it with a drink of beer. Jongdae looked at him curiously, and Junmyeon shrugged and kissed him, slow and easy. Jongdae’s fingers pressed to his jaw, just like they always did. Junmyeon had thought lots of things were attractive about Jongdae; the quiet confidence, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his ears had turned red when he admitted as to how, exactly, he knew about the blueberry muffins, but he thought the firm press of fingers against his jaw was by far the sexiest thing, reminding him irresistibly of lazy weekends in bed or the frantic kisses as they’d pulled at each other’s clothes that first time, Jongdae pressed against the doorframe, the ten yards to the bed too far to go.

Sehun and Minseok came back through, both carrying bowls of snacks. Jongin immediately helped himself to the chips in Sehun’s bowl, crunching cheerfully while Sehun gave him a flustered glare and pointedly placed the bowl on the table. Jongin grinned at him, and Junmyeon could see the smile peeking out of the corner of Sehun’s stoic expression, so he had no doubt that Jongin could see it too.

Lu Han walked into, draped himself happily over Minseok, and said, “So does anyone actually know where Yixing is?”

There was a pause. Baekhyun and Zitao glanced at each other. “Who cares,” said Baekhyun, very uncomfortable, because neither of the two gossips knew.

Junmyeon grinned and sipped his beer. Apparently he was the only one who knew that Yixing was in Montreal, shacked up in a cabin with the son of the guy who ran the MGM Hotel in Las Vegas. The wonders never ceased.