#52 [EXO, Baekhyun/Sehun]
Fandom: EXO
Title: personal growth (the slow fall remix)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s)/Focus: Baekhyun/Sehun
Length: 5,425 words
Summary: Baekhyun'd expected the Girl Scouts or UNICEF or something. Not sex-on-legs.
Warnings: language
Notes: hi author-nim! i really enjoyed browsing through your masterlist, and especially enjoyed this story. hopefully you like this remix!
Remixee author: emo_what97
Title of work you remixed: a little piece of heaven
Link to work you remixed: http://frayed-cuts.livejournal.com/7259.html
Jongdae picks up on the third ring. "You really had to send me a letter?" Baekhyun asks, palming his face. "Couldn't have texted me like a normal person? Suddenly we're back in the 50s."
"No, I couldn't," Jongdae replies. The ambient noise of the publishing office filters in down the line, the squeaking of desk chairs and fingers carding through slush piles, the sputter of the coffeepot just beyond Jongdae's cubicle. "I know how you are. You'd block every message that even seemed like mine, asshole."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Baekhyun says.
"Actually, I'm surprised you didn't burn the letter when you saw it was from me," Jongdae adds, equal parts amused and irate. "Also surprised you called. You're usually much more avoidant."
Baekhyun sighs. It isn't a lie.
He stretches out on the couch, laptop whirring against his thighs, and surveys the dim clutter of his bungalow. He can barely see the plush carpet underneath all the dusty, half-finished manuscripts, and week-old pizza crusts rot on the coffee table. There's a crack in the curtain over the bay windows. A sliver of sunlight draws a line down the center of the living room and disappears through the arched entryway into the kitchen.
Baekhyun closes his eyes for a minute and runs his tongue along his lip. Chapped and dry. His hair's so oily he can't even feel the grease anymore.
"Still there?" Jongdae inquires.
"Yeah."
"Let me guess," he says. "You got my letter about the deadline and panicked. Spent the night hunched over your laptop on the couch, typing away, and woke up with drool on your keyboard and a QWASDZX-shaped indentation on your left cheek."
"We've known each other for far too long," Baekhyun mutters. He slides his computer off his lap and crosses his legs beneath him. "Listen. I need an extension-"
"I figured," Jongdae interrupts, laughter in his voice. "Don't worry, it's done. I managed to buy you another six months." He pauses. Baekhyun's throat constricts. "Jesus, don't hurt yourself thanking me-"
"Jongdae," he croaks, squeezing his phone so hard the case threatens to buckle, "I could kiss you-"
Baekhyun can hear his grimace over the phone. "Thanks, but no thanks. You probably haven't brushed your teeth in three days."
"No, wait," Baekhyun says, an idea punching through his sleep-deprived delirium. Why hadn't he thought of this before? "Hey, will you sleep with me?"
Jongdae snorts loudly. "I'm almost offended it took you this long to ask," he says, and Baekhyun perks up for a moment before slumping over again when Jongdae continues, "The answer's still no, though."
"Dude-come on, please, you know how I work-"
"I'm your editor, not your call boy," Jongdae says smoothly. "I've done all I can on this end. Go find someone else to sexually objectify. Musify. Whatever."
Baekhyun tries to fit another entreaty in, but the line's already dead.
Kyungsoo stops by the house a couple of days later. Baekhyun's still vegetating on his couch, trying to pound something out, anything that doesn't sound like shit. He doesn't even notice the front door open.
He does notice when Kyungsoo hauls the couch aside to sweep underneath it. Baekhyun clutches the armrest to keep from slipping off. "What the hell?"
"Jongdae called," Kyungsoo explains. "Said you needed someone to save you from yourself, you big baby." He wrinkles his nose at the mess. "This is so gross, Baekhyun. Definitely worse than junior year."
Baekhyun rubs at his throbbing temples and shuts his laptop. He sways a little when he climbs to his feet, blood rushing down to tingle in his toes.
"He also said you tried to proposition him," Kyungsoo says, clearing the pizza boxes off the coffee table.
"A moment of weakness," Baekhyun mutters. He stares at Kyungsoo: his strong brow, his wide eyes, the generous bow of his mouth.
"Stop looking at me like that," Kyungsoo says, cool as ever. "When's the last time you got laid?"
"The last time I published something, obviously," Baekhyun snaps. Kyungsoo levels him an unimpressed look and Baekhyun waves a hand in the air. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just."
"I know." Kyungsoo heaves the extra-large Hefty bag in his hands, three quarters of the way full already, and deposits it by the front door.
Baekhyun slinks into the kitchen for water. He's running low on paper cups and plates. Should probably go for groceries soon.
When he returns to the living room, Kyungsoo's clearing manuscripts off the floor and stacking them in neat piles on the coffee table.
"What day is it?"
"Saturday," Kyungsoo says. "May 25th. Seven months before your book is due." He rolls his eyes. "Please don't write about college again."
Baekhyun cracks a grin. "Are you still mad about that?"
He'd been out of university for half a year when his first book came out to rave reviews. Startling insight on growing up as a second-generation Asian American, said the Washington Post. Business frat students can have fun too! said the New Yorker, and, hilariously, from the NPR: Perhaps the funniest story in the collection is a play-by-play recount of a friend's disastrous first emcee gig at a school concert, where he'd introduced a song as orgasmic instead of orchestral. It'd done so well that Jongdae quit his lucrative entry-level job with Goldman-Sachs to be his editor full time.
That had also been when Baekhyun'd had regular fucks to keep him going. He'd been sleeping with Zitao at the time. Maybe it's a psychological thing, a personal crutch; maybe he doesn't actually need the intimacy of sex to be able to write well. Maybe he just has to push himself hard enough. It's certainly irrational. But all Baekhyun knows is that after a good round he feels like he's about to burst open, words pushing at the dam of his throat, and his fingers can't get to a pencil or a keyboard fast enough.
But Zitao moved out west for grad school last year. Baekhyun's been stuck trying to fill in the void ever since.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, following Kyungsoo into the laundry room and watching him load dirty clothes into the machine. "I'll make you the hero of the story this time, I promise."
"We all know that's a lie," Kyungsoo returns calmly. "I do expect some sort of dedication, though." He thrusts a change of clothing into Baekhyun's arms. "Go wash up," he says, wrinkling his nose again. "You smell disgusting."
He feels a little more human after the shower. Kyungsoo's gone when he pads out, hair dripping, towel wrapped around his head. The house still looks pretty shoddy, but Kyungsoo managed to make it at least semi-presentable. No decaying dishes in the sink. No dust on the furniture, no cigarette butts littering the floor, no overflowing ashtrays. Even his sheets have been changed. Baekhyun curls up on the couch and arranges to have the florist on 8th Avenue send the gaudiest bouquet imaginable to Kyungsoo's place of work on Monday morning.
He ekes out two hundred paltry words of nothing before flinging his laptop away. It's past noon. His stomach's growling. He's about to shuffle into the kitchen to scrounge for food when the doorbell rings.
Huh. He isn't expecting anyone, but maybe Kyungsoo left something behind on accident. Baekhyun peers through the blinds, but the person in question is standing too close to the door for him to tell who it is.
He swings it open with the latch on. A tall kid in an ill-fitting suit peers back at him, mouth twitching nervously, a thin briefcase clasped to his chest. "Hi," the stranger says.
Baekhyun squints at him. "Who are you?"
"My name's Sehun Oh, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in what I have to say about-"
"Ah," Baekhyun cuts in, tapping his chin. "Door-to-door."
Sehun nods.
"I didn't know they did that shit anymore," he muses. "It's the 21st century."
Sehun swallows. Deer in the headlights, like he's afraid Baekhyun's going to shut the door in his face. It's probably happened to him a hundred times today already. Baekhyun follows the bobbing of his Adam's apple with interest. "Well-"
"If you don't come bearing gifts of food, then you're completely useless to me," Baekhyun remarks. He shuts the door and undoes the latch, swings the wood back open. "It's too bad you aren't a Girl Scout."
The kid blinks. Baekhyun shades his eyes from the sun. With the latch out of the way, he finally gets a good look at Sehun's face. Small mouth, flat eyes, tapered jaw. Thin eyebrows. His hair is dyed a dusty blond. He's very tall. His shoulders fill the suit out, but the rest of his body hasn't really caught up yet. The jacket's baggy around his waist. A fine sheen of sweat glistens at his hairline from walking around all morning.
Still, the overall package is pretty handsome. Baekhyun wonders how Sehun got stuck with a dead-end job like this, and it's his entirely intellectual curiosity that has him opening the door wider and saying, "Come in, then." A second before he swivels on his heel, Sehun's face lights up at the offer. He gets even cuter when he smiles. Baekhyun clears his throat. "What do you sell?"
"Life insurance," Sehun says behind him. The door clicks shut.
Baekhyun chuckles. "Do you even have that? How old are you? Sixteen? Want something to drink?" The only things in the fridge are some random condiments and an expired bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. He weighs the pros and cons of aiding and abetting a minor and comes up about even.
"I'm legal," the kid insists. When Baekhyun tosses a glance at him, Sehun's standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking affronted, his mouth pinched into a frown.
"We'll just go with water," Baekhyun says, pulling the last paper cup from its packaging. He fills it from the tap and hands it over as he passes, making a beeline for the couch.
Sehun totters after him. He sinks into the armchair next to the coffee table and slides his briefcase across the glass, staring into his cup, almost at a loss.
After a brief moment, Baekhyun balances his elbows on his knees and sends Sehun what he hopes is an encouraging smile. "Aren't you going to give me your spiel?"
Sehun's eyes go wide. "Right," he says, and opens the briefcase.
Admittedly, most of what he has to say sails right over Baekhyun's head: the difference between whole life, universal life, and limited pay policies, term and permanent, interest and maturation. All of Baekhyun's working knowledge of life insurance comes from mystery novels where beneficiaries murdered the insured for the payout because they needed the money. Or Detective Conan.
He's twenty-four years old. He doesn't plan on dying any time soon. But Sehun's earnest mumble is, like his smile, pretty fucking cute, and he isn't talking to Baekhyun like he's an idiot. "I mean, this stuff is important," he's saying, shoving one of his charts in Baekhyun's face with a flourish. "Especially for people with dangerous jobs. What do you do for a living?"
Baekhyun grins. "I'm a writer," he says. "Not a very perilous vocation."
"Oh," Sehun says, deflating. He reaches back into the front pocket of his bag and tugs a crisp set of business cards out. "Well, this is all my contact information, if you're interested." He rises and hands one to Baekhyun, who tucks it away in the pocket of his sweats as Sehun sweeps his material back into the briefcase.
"Don't feel bad," Baekhyun says, seeing him to the door. "I'll definitely think about it."
He gazes up at Sehun's dejected face and feels an overwhelming sense of kinship; he knows that look. Had seen it on his own face in college during spring rush, and later, the first several times his manuscripts had come back with a thin rejection envelope. Sorry, they read, in between the lines of carefully detached language. Just not good enough.
"Come back tomorrow," he blurts out, on a whim, not even quite sure why he's offering. Sehun stares at him. Baekhyun smiles, hip braced against the wooden frame of the door. "Bring food."
He isn't really expecting anything. Sehun, presumably, has shit to do, peddling his wares on the streets of New York City like a modern-day costermonger, and Baekhyun has a book to crank out in six months or less. Right now, he doesn't even have an idea.
But the shrill ring of the doorbell does cut through his Sunday afternoon nap. When he pulls the door open, Sehun's standing on his porch with two overflowing grocery bags. He's dressed in more comfortable clothing today. Jeans, collared shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a pair of beat-up Chucks. His briefcase is sandwiched in between in his thighs.
"Hey," Baekhyun croaks. "Wow. You came back."
"Yeah," Sehun says, shifting on his feet. He gapes a little when he realizes Baekhyun's in nothing but a flimsy NYU shirt two sizes too big for him and some ratty boxers he's owned since high school. "Uh, sorry, was I not supposed to?"
"No, no," he counters, yawning, and waves Sehun inside. "Caught me at a bad time. Just woke up."
"Seriously?" Sehun says. He sets the bags on the dining room table and stares as Baekhyun sticks his nose in them. "It's like, 5PM."
"It's like, the weekend," Baekhyun mimics. "Oh, you got tortellini! Good taste." There's pesto sauce and French bread with the pasta and an assorted allotment of cereal and yogurt cups in the other bag. Not bad.
Sehun helps him move all the perishables into the fridge. Baekhyun shoves the cereal in a cabinet and sets a pot of water to boil. He hops up on the counter next to the baguette, hisses when the cold marble sticks to his skin.
He watches Sehun pull a board off the wall to cut the bread. "How much did all this cost you?"
Sehun saws at the loaf. "It doesn't matter."
"Sure it does," Baekhyun says sternly. "I'm the adult here. It isn't right, making you pay for everything."
"I told you," Sehun says, rolling his eyes. "I'm legal."
"Are you gonna whip out your fake I.D. to show me?" Baekhyun snorts. "If you won't tell me then I'll just overpay you."
"It was thirty bucks, give or take," he says, looking alarmed. "Do you have plates?"
Baekhyun points at the dishwasher. Sehun deposits half the sliced baguette onto a ceramic dish that Baekhyun doesn't even remember buying and shoves the rest back into the wrapping it came in.
The kid starts talking insurance again as Baekhyun cooks the tortellini. "Are you, like-" He cuts himself off and nibbles on his lower lip.
"Like what?"
"Are you a successful writer?"
Baekhyun claps a hand over his chest and pretends to scowl. "You mean you've never read my work? Philistine."
The corners of Sehun's mouth droop as he slumps. "Sorry, I don't really-"
Baekhyun shakes his head and pats Sehun on the shoulder, warm and solid beneath his palm. "Don't worry, it's fine. I only go by my initials. BB."
"Oh," Sehun says. "Oh, shit. My friend Jongin loves you. He's read everything you've ever written. Even the blog posts for the New Yorker." He makes a face. "I have to hear about it all the time."
"Huh," Baekhyun says, trying for modest, but he can't help the pleased grin that pulls at his mouth. "I'm glad."
"Back to life insurance, though," Sehun says, gathering himself up to his full height. "Well-known writers can get death threats and stuff, right? And if you can afford to live in a nice house on your own in the city, you can definitely afford this."
"I suppose you have a point," Baekhyun says. He pokes at the tortellini with his ladle. "So what do you suggest?"
Sehun looks thrown again. Like he isn't used to people asking for his opinion, or isn't used to expressing it. He recovers after a minute and launches into a long speech extolling the virtues of his company's annuity contracts. Baekhyun bends over the pot and smiles into the plume of steam that rises to meet his face.
"I think I might invest in some life insurance," he says over the phone. It's mid-June by now, and through his front windows Baekhyun can see kids on summer break cycling in the street.
Chanyeol chokes on whatever he's eating and spends a few moments trying to hack it back up. "Are you dying?" he wheezes.
"No, dumbass," Baekhyun returns. "But clearly you are."
"It was just a little sudden, alright?" He coughs again. "Is this a quarter-life crisis? Are you going to explain yourself?"
"You know how I get when I'm stuck," Baekhyun says automatically. "I'll do anything."
Only he's not really sure that's what it is this time at all. It isn't a terrible arrangement, having a glorified errand boy around, someone who pushes his own agenda but also gives Baekhyun something in return. And it doesn't hurt that he looks like Sehun, best eye candy Baekhyun's seen in years, his wiry body casting shadows across the threshold on late summer afternoons, a welcome reprieve from the dull monotony of staring at a blank Word document all day.
Baekhyun doesn't feel acute guilt very often, but he doesn't want Sehun to feel as if his hard work has come to naught. He's a sweet kid. Fresh out of college-Baekhyun'd studied Sehun's driver's license closely when he'd whipped it out to settle his age, once and for all-with nothing better to do in this shitty economy than work at his uncle's insurance company. He hadn't wanted to move back in with his parents after graduating, and with steady commissions, door-to-door isn't terrible. Baekhyun knows how it feels; not wanting to return to a home you've long since outgrown, but not knowing what to do, either.
"Don't hurt yourself trying too hard," Chanyeol's saying over the line, as serious as Baekhyun's ever heard him. "It'll come to you. And if it doesn't-well. The publishers will wring it out of you, won't they?"
"Wow," Baekhyun says drily. "Thanks, I think."
Chanyeol laughs. "Maybe you should just write a novella about how great I am," he suggests.
"Maybe I should write a novella about my idiotic college friends," Baekhyun replies. "Oh, wait. I already did that."
Over Sehun's next two visits, Baekhyun starts and scraps four thousand words across five potential projects. There's the one about Bonnie & Clyde-esque serial killers working their way across the Americas, and the period piece set in the Joseon dynasty, and some nebulous idea involving Journey to the West set in space. Nothing sticks.
how's it going? Jongdae texts at the end of the month.
u want the bad news or the bad news? Baekhyun shoots back.
hul~ and a disappointed emoticon are all Jongdae responds with.
Baekhyun finally signs a lengthy universal life insurance contract in July. "Does this mean you won't be coming to see me anymore?" Baekhyun says, scribbling his name on the dotted line. He pouts as he hands Sehun's pen back, swallows his glee when Sehun flushes pink and licks his lips.
"As your agent, I'm required to make periodic visits to see how you're doing."
Baekhyun sticks his tongue out. "You make it sound like such a chore."
"It isn't," Sehun says hastily. He flushes a little darker. "It really isn't."
In August, one of his dinners with Sehun neatly coincides with Chanyeol dropping in unannounced. "When's the last time you got out of the house?" Chanyeol asks without preamble, just as Sehun walks out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of tossed salad.
Baekhyun crosses his arms, unfazed. "Yesterday."
Chanyeol tears his gaze from Sehun, who's frozen at the dining table, and squints at Baekhyun's face. Takes in the grungy sweatshirt and loose flannel sleep pants with a critical eye. "Really?"
"Yeah," Baekhyun says staunchly. "To check the mail."
"Uh," Sehun says. "I'm gonna-"
Baekhyun waves his hand. "The soup should be ready."
Chanyeol eases through the door and glances around the living room. "Yo, I'm impressed. I can't believe I can actually see the floor." He turns in a tight circle. "I didn't know you got a housekeeper. Or is he a nanny? A mail-order bride from Korea?" Chanyeol starts cackling at his own joke and Baekhyun smacks him on the arm.
"He's a friend," Baekhyun says, though that isn't quite right either. It'll do for now. "What do you want?"
"A guy can't come visit a buddy he hasn't seen in months?" Chanyeol shakes his head. "Jongdae told me you could use some help. I arrived intending to be the sacrificial lamb, but you obviously don't need me anymore." He waggles his eyebrows. "That guy has a really nice ass. Good job, Baekhyun."
Sehun makes a mortified noise in the kitchen. Baekhyun scrapes a hand over his face. "Still classless, I see."
"Takes one to know one, my friend," Chanyeol says, swinging an arm around his shoulder.
In typical fashion, Chanyeol invites himself to stay for dinner. Baekhyun complains about three eating a meal only big enough for two, but he doesn't mind as much as he lets on. He really has missed being around people, and Chanyeol is one of the funniest guys he knows. He grills Sehun about his age, too, and Baekhyun nearly bursts a lung laughing when Sehun casts them a severe look of displeasure.
"Weird," Chanyeol says, waving his fork beneath Sehun's nose. "It's not like you have a baby face, or anything. You just seem young."
"It's a good thing," Baekhyun insists. "Always better to look younger than older." Sehun ducks away when he reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Chanyeol laughs.
"Come out with us tonight," he says, turning to Baekhyun. "Jongdae and Kyungsoo will be there. We're bar hopping in the East Village."
"I," Baekhyun says. "Well-"
The plan had been dinner and a movie. Sehun brought the food, as per their usual agreement, and Baekhyun dug around in his basement and resurfaced with a grimy box of unopened DVDs that he and Jongdae had gotten from the discount aisle at Blockbuster their sophomore year of college. He chews on his fingernail. Chanyeol raises his eyebrows.
"It's okay," says Sehun, hands twisting in his lap. "We can do it some other time, you don't have to-"
"No, you should come, too," Baekhyun interrupts, and disregards the knowing look Chanyeol sends his way. Sehun straightens up from his slouch, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Bring your friends. What's that one guy's name? Jong-"
"Jongin," Sehun says. He's already pulling his phone out. "Kim Jongin."
Jongin's quiet and awed around Baekhyun for about five minutes before he starts shooting his mouth off about how big a fan he is. Baekhyun preens under the attention. They're crammed around one of the tables at McSorley's and everyone's just watching Jongin go at it, ale in hand, exchanging amused glances over the rims of their seidels.
"Okay," Jongin says. "My first question is what you feed him at your house."
Baekhyun snorts beer up his nose. "What?"
"Seriously," he continues. "Crystal meth? Because I don't think I've seen him so excited, like, ever, except when he's supposed to be going to yours. I'm pretty sure he spends more time with you than he does with me."
Sehun buries his face in his hands. Jongdae turns his head into Kyungsoo's shoulder to hide his laughter. "Really," Baekhyun says, wiping his chin. "Must be the meth."
"My second question is-" and he slams his fist into Sehun's shoulder, here, "why the fuck did it take you so long to introduce us?"
"Because I knew you'd be like this," Sehun mutters. He takes a deep sip of his drink. There's a thin line of foam gathered over his upper lip after he pulls his mug away, and Baekhyun's hand twitches on the table.
"Baekhyun never explained how you met, Sehun," Jongdae edges in, face propped up on his hand.
"He's my life insurance agent," Baekhyun says. He drains the rest of his glass and signals for another.
"Wait," Kyungsoo says, voice sharp. "That wasn't a scam?"
Sehun rolls his eyes. "People always think that."
"Not me, though," Baekhyun protests.
"That's because you don't think," Jongdae says patiently.
Baekhyun kicks his ankle. Jongdae lets out a yelp and reaches over to flick Baekhyun's forehead. A server drops by with a new mug of ale for him and they clink glasses again, beer sloshing over the sides. Baekhyun licks his hand clean and wipes it on Chanyeol's sleeve. Chanyeol purposely tips his mug over and drenches Baekhyun's arm. Kyungsoo ignores them all, turns to Sehun and starts interrogating him about Baekhyun's life insurance plan.
When Jongin gets over his starry eyes, he's actually pretty articulate. He and Sehun have apparently been roommates since freshman year. Sehun'd graduated with a degree in econ, and Jongin was an English major who found a job writing for a lit magazine right out of college. Now, they live somewhere in Gramercy Park, on 23rd Street. Half an hour later, when they leave McSorley's and amble into another bar, and then a third, Jongin manages to sustain a conversation about Baekhyun's work that's more thoughtful than a lot of interviews he's had with professional critics, even through the gentle haze of alcohol. Maybe it's something about the closeness of the experience-of going to college in the city, being Korean American, the unique duality of all second-generation immigrants. Jongin's sharp. Funny, in his own way. Sehun has good taste.
By the fourth place (a packed club, half past midnight), Baekhyun's worked his way through six drinks and five cigarettes and hasn't really broken a sweat yet. He doesn't notice Sehun's boggling until Chanyeol hooks an arm around Baekhyun's waist and pulls him to the edge of the dance floor. "Baekhyun goes through cycles of wild night life and hermitude," Chanyeol explains. "You kind of caught him on the downswing."
"I was trying to detox so I could write," Baekhyun grumbles, twisting out of his grasp.
Chanyeol shrugs. "Too bad all signs point to artistry and alcoholism going hand in hand." Jongdae appears at his shoulder with what looks like a Long Island Iced Tea and shoves it into Baekhyun's hands before tugging Chanyeol into the crowd.
Sehun's staring at him. Baekhyun gives him an easy smile. "Hope Kyungsoo didn't bother you too much," he says. "About, you know."
"He was very thorough," Sehun says, and the corner of his mouth turns up.
"I'm pretty sure he came out of the womb with Microsoft Excel coded into his DNA," Baekhyun comments. "He makes the nicest pivot tables in all the land."
Sehun fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "He's orgasmic guy, right?"
Baekhyun blinks. "Huh?"
"From your book."
Ah. He'd read it, then. Baekhyun beams. "Yeah, he is. Don't mention it to him, though, he'll strangle me."
Sehun shifts on his feet. Baekhyun's seen it enough times by now to know what it means.
"What's up?"
Sehun swallows. "Jongin, he-do you like him?"
"Um," Baekhyun says. "He's nice. Smart kid. Why do you ask?"
"Well, Chanyeol told me about the thing."
"What thing?"
"Like." Sehun makes a vague grabbing gesture in the air. "Your sex thing?"
"Oh, my God," Baekhyun says, pressing a palm to his forehead. His cheeks heat up despite himself. "That fucking idiot, I'll kill him-"
"I don't think Jongin would mind-"
"Sehun," Baekhyun says, a little desperate, "it's not what you think, okay, Chanyeol's just-all my friends are bozos-"
"I wouldn't mind," Sehun says, so quiet that Baekhyun can barely hear him over the music and the people. He sees Sehun's mouth move, though, and the look on his face.
Baekhyun almost drops his drink. "What did you say?"
Sehun coughs into his hand and ducks his head. "You could have sex with me."
Oh, Baekhyun thinks. His ears ring. His stomach heaves, not unpleasantly, but like something in it's magnetized and pulling him toward Sehun until he's right up in front of him, beneath his chin, gazing up at him. "Are you serious? You-you aren't fucking with me?"
"I'd like to be," Sehun blurts out. His face turns a mottled puce color. He covers his mouth with a hand.
Baekhyun reaches up and tugs it away, wipes his own thumb over Sehun's lower lip. "Really."
"Yeah," he says, and his breath crests over Baekhyun's fingertip. Sehun relaxes slowly, like he's releasing all this pent-up energy that's accumulated over the past three months. All this want. Baekhyun doesn't know how he failed to notice before. "Really."
"Can I ask you something?"
Sehun blinks. Nods.
"Why did you come back? After that first day. I couldn't have been the first potential customer that turned you down."
Sehun looks down. He's still playing with the hem of his shirt, flipping the fabric over his fingers. "Because I wanted to," he says, staring at the floor. "And you asked me to. And I liked you."
Baekhyun scrunches his nose. "I bet you tell that to all your policyholders," he grouses, and a panicked expression flickers over Sehun's face before he realizes Baekhyun's joking. Baekhyun walks him backwards to the bar and sets his untouched drink on the counter. "Listen," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm using you-"
"I don't think-"
"Because I was, you know. At the beginning." Sehun tilts his head, uncomprehending. "I needed someone, a change of pace, and you landed right in my lap." Baekhyun reaches out and palms Sehun's hips. "It was nice that you bought me groceries, you know?"
"You paid me back, though."
Baekhyun laughs. Brushes Sehun's bangs out of his eyes. "The point, kid. You're missing it."
Sehun's mouth twitches. "Okay. What about now?"
"Well," Baekhyun says. "Somewhere down the line, stringing you along turned into genuine friendship. And something else, I guess. I know. I'm not sure how it happened, either." He leans in, gets up on his tiptoes so they're breathing the same air. Sehun's eyes flick down to trace Baekhyun's mouth. "I really like you, too. So if you want, we can give it a try."
They ditch the others and take a cab back to Baekhyun's place. The alcohol finally hits some time during the ride, and Baekhyun dozes off against Sehun's broad shoulder.
He wakes up enough when they get to the house to key them both inside, and drags Sehun into bed with him. His mouth is warm and wet beneath Baekhyun's, lets his tongue slide in easily. They're both a little too drunk to do much more than make out, but Sehun's hands dive beneath Baekhyun's shirt and skate up to tickle his ribs, palms rough against his skin, and Baekhyun feels a pang of affection in his chest so strong that he can't even move.
Baekhyun falls asleep with his fingers tangled in blond hair. At five in the morning, he wakes up again with a jolt. His hands, still nestled in the dark roots growing out of Sehun's scalp, are tingling.
It hits him then, in the predawn glow, that perhaps replicating his previous success was impossible. Maybe he'd been trying too hard to go back to something that wasn't there anymore, when really, it was time to move away from old patterns. Think outside the box.
Baekhyun's pressing his mouth to Sehun's temple when he remembers. Last Christmas, Baekbeom had gifted him with an old vintage typewriter that Baekhyun had promptly shoved into the back of his closet and completely forgotten about until now.
He rolls off the bed and pads into the closet. Digs the bulky thing out from behind a stack of winter sweaters and settles back in bed. Sehun stirs as the mattress sinks, mumbles something under his breath. Baekhyun watches him for a while, surveys the dip of his waist and the curve of his spine as it disappears beneath his rucked up shirt, the gentle rise and fall of his back.
He turns back to the typewriter. Slides two sheets of paper between the table and the platen. Rolls the knob, lifts the bail, and begins to type.
Title: personal growth (the slow fall remix)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s)/Focus: Baekhyun/Sehun
Length: 5,425 words
Summary: Baekhyun'd expected the Girl Scouts or UNICEF or something. Not sex-on-legs.
Warnings: language
Notes: hi author-nim! i really enjoyed browsing through your masterlist, and especially enjoyed this story. hopefully you like this remix!
Remixee author: emo_what97
Title of work you remixed: a little piece of heaven
Link to work you remixed: http://frayed-cuts.livejournal.com/7259.html
Jongdae picks up on the third ring. "You really had to send me a letter?" Baekhyun asks, palming his face. "Couldn't have texted me like a normal person? Suddenly we're back in the 50s."
"No, I couldn't," Jongdae replies. The ambient noise of the publishing office filters in down the line, the squeaking of desk chairs and fingers carding through slush piles, the sputter of the coffeepot just beyond Jongdae's cubicle. "I know how you are. You'd block every message that even seemed like mine, asshole."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Baekhyun says.
"Actually, I'm surprised you didn't burn the letter when you saw it was from me," Jongdae adds, equal parts amused and irate. "Also surprised you called. You're usually much more avoidant."
Baekhyun sighs. It isn't a lie.
He stretches out on the couch, laptop whirring against his thighs, and surveys the dim clutter of his bungalow. He can barely see the plush carpet underneath all the dusty, half-finished manuscripts, and week-old pizza crusts rot on the coffee table. There's a crack in the curtain over the bay windows. A sliver of sunlight draws a line down the center of the living room and disappears through the arched entryway into the kitchen.
Baekhyun closes his eyes for a minute and runs his tongue along his lip. Chapped and dry. His hair's so oily he can't even feel the grease anymore.
"Still there?" Jongdae inquires.
"Yeah."
"Let me guess," he says. "You got my letter about the deadline and panicked. Spent the night hunched over your laptop on the couch, typing away, and woke up with drool on your keyboard and a QWASDZX-shaped indentation on your left cheek."
"We've known each other for far too long," Baekhyun mutters. He slides his computer off his lap and crosses his legs beneath him. "Listen. I need an extension-"
"I figured," Jongdae interrupts, laughter in his voice. "Don't worry, it's done. I managed to buy you another six months." He pauses. Baekhyun's throat constricts. "Jesus, don't hurt yourself thanking me-"
"Jongdae," he croaks, squeezing his phone so hard the case threatens to buckle, "I could kiss you-"
Baekhyun can hear his grimace over the phone. "Thanks, but no thanks. You probably haven't brushed your teeth in three days."
"No, wait," Baekhyun says, an idea punching through his sleep-deprived delirium. Why hadn't he thought of this before? "Hey, will you sleep with me?"
Jongdae snorts loudly. "I'm almost offended it took you this long to ask," he says, and Baekhyun perks up for a moment before slumping over again when Jongdae continues, "The answer's still no, though."
"Dude-come on, please, you know how I work-"
"I'm your editor, not your call boy," Jongdae says smoothly. "I've done all I can on this end. Go find someone else to sexually objectify. Musify. Whatever."
Baekhyun tries to fit another entreaty in, but the line's already dead.
Kyungsoo stops by the house a couple of days later. Baekhyun's still vegetating on his couch, trying to pound something out, anything that doesn't sound like shit. He doesn't even notice the front door open.
He does notice when Kyungsoo hauls the couch aside to sweep underneath it. Baekhyun clutches the armrest to keep from slipping off. "What the hell?"
"Jongdae called," Kyungsoo explains. "Said you needed someone to save you from yourself, you big baby." He wrinkles his nose at the mess. "This is so gross, Baekhyun. Definitely worse than junior year."
Baekhyun rubs at his throbbing temples and shuts his laptop. He sways a little when he climbs to his feet, blood rushing down to tingle in his toes.
"He also said you tried to proposition him," Kyungsoo says, clearing the pizza boxes off the coffee table.
"A moment of weakness," Baekhyun mutters. He stares at Kyungsoo: his strong brow, his wide eyes, the generous bow of his mouth.
"Stop looking at me like that," Kyungsoo says, cool as ever. "When's the last time you got laid?"
"The last time I published something, obviously," Baekhyun snaps. Kyungsoo levels him an unimpressed look and Baekhyun waves a hand in the air. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just."
"I know." Kyungsoo heaves the extra-large Hefty bag in his hands, three quarters of the way full already, and deposits it by the front door.
Baekhyun slinks into the kitchen for water. He's running low on paper cups and plates. Should probably go for groceries soon.
When he returns to the living room, Kyungsoo's clearing manuscripts off the floor and stacking them in neat piles on the coffee table.
"What day is it?"
"Saturday," Kyungsoo says. "May 25th. Seven months before your book is due." He rolls his eyes. "Please don't write about college again."
Baekhyun cracks a grin. "Are you still mad about that?"
He'd been out of university for half a year when his first book came out to rave reviews. Startling insight on growing up as a second-generation Asian American, said the Washington Post. Business frat students can have fun too! said the New Yorker, and, hilariously, from the NPR: Perhaps the funniest story in the collection is a play-by-play recount of a friend's disastrous first emcee gig at a school concert, where he'd introduced a song as orgasmic instead of orchestral. It'd done so well that Jongdae quit his lucrative entry-level job with Goldman-Sachs to be his editor full time.
That had also been when Baekhyun'd had regular fucks to keep him going. He'd been sleeping with Zitao at the time. Maybe it's a psychological thing, a personal crutch; maybe he doesn't actually need the intimacy of sex to be able to write well. Maybe he just has to push himself hard enough. It's certainly irrational. But all Baekhyun knows is that after a good round he feels like he's about to burst open, words pushing at the dam of his throat, and his fingers can't get to a pencil or a keyboard fast enough.
But Zitao moved out west for grad school last year. Baekhyun's been stuck trying to fill in the void ever since.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, following Kyungsoo into the laundry room and watching him load dirty clothes into the machine. "I'll make you the hero of the story this time, I promise."
"We all know that's a lie," Kyungsoo returns calmly. "I do expect some sort of dedication, though." He thrusts a change of clothing into Baekhyun's arms. "Go wash up," he says, wrinkling his nose again. "You smell disgusting."
He feels a little more human after the shower. Kyungsoo's gone when he pads out, hair dripping, towel wrapped around his head. The house still looks pretty shoddy, but Kyungsoo managed to make it at least semi-presentable. No decaying dishes in the sink. No dust on the furniture, no cigarette butts littering the floor, no overflowing ashtrays. Even his sheets have been changed. Baekhyun curls up on the couch and arranges to have the florist on 8th Avenue send the gaudiest bouquet imaginable to Kyungsoo's place of work on Monday morning.
He ekes out two hundred paltry words of nothing before flinging his laptop away. It's past noon. His stomach's growling. He's about to shuffle into the kitchen to scrounge for food when the doorbell rings.
Huh. He isn't expecting anyone, but maybe Kyungsoo left something behind on accident. Baekhyun peers through the blinds, but the person in question is standing too close to the door for him to tell who it is.
He swings it open with the latch on. A tall kid in an ill-fitting suit peers back at him, mouth twitching nervously, a thin briefcase clasped to his chest. "Hi," the stranger says.
Baekhyun squints at him. "Who are you?"
"My name's Sehun Oh, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in what I have to say about-"
"Ah," Baekhyun cuts in, tapping his chin. "Door-to-door."
Sehun nods.
"I didn't know they did that shit anymore," he muses. "It's the 21st century."
Sehun swallows. Deer in the headlights, like he's afraid Baekhyun's going to shut the door in his face. It's probably happened to him a hundred times today already. Baekhyun follows the bobbing of his Adam's apple with interest. "Well-"
"If you don't come bearing gifts of food, then you're completely useless to me," Baekhyun remarks. He shuts the door and undoes the latch, swings the wood back open. "It's too bad you aren't a Girl Scout."
The kid blinks. Baekhyun shades his eyes from the sun. With the latch out of the way, he finally gets a good look at Sehun's face. Small mouth, flat eyes, tapered jaw. Thin eyebrows. His hair is dyed a dusty blond. He's very tall. His shoulders fill the suit out, but the rest of his body hasn't really caught up yet. The jacket's baggy around his waist. A fine sheen of sweat glistens at his hairline from walking around all morning.
Still, the overall package is pretty handsome. Baekhyun wonders how Sehun got stuck with a dead-end job like this, and it's his entirely intellectual curiosity that has him opening the door wider and saying, "Come in, then." A second before he swivels on his heel, Sehun's face lights up at the offer. He gets even cuter when he smiles. Baekhyun clears his throat. "What do you sell?"
"Life insurance," Sehun says behind him. The door clicks shut.
Baekhyun chuckles. "Do you even have that? How old are you? Sixteen? Want something to drink?" The only things in the fridge are some random condiments and an expired bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. He weighs the pros and cons of aiding and abetting a minor and comes up about even.
"I'm legal," the kid insists. When Baekhyun tosses a glance at him, Sehun's standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking affronted, his mouth pinched into a frown.
"We'll just go with water," Baekhyun says, pulling the last paper cup from its packaging. He fills it from the tap and hands it over as he passes, making a beeline for the couch.
Sehun totters after him. He sinks into the armchair next to the coffee table and slides his briefcase across the glass, staring into his cup, almost at a loss.
After a brief moment, Baekhyun balances his elbows on his knees and sends Sehun what he hopes is an encouraging smile. "Aren't you going to give me your spiel?"
Sehun's eyes go wide. "Right," he says, and opens the briefcase.
Admittedly, most of what he has to say sails right over Baekhyun's head: the difference between whole life, universal life, and limited pay policies, term and permanent, interest and maturation. All of Baekhyun's working knowledge of life insurance comes from mystery novels where beneficiaries murdered the insured for the payout because they needed the money. Or Detective Conan.
He's twenty-four years old. He doesn't plan on dying any time soon. But Sehun's earnest mumble is, like his smile, pretty fucking cute, and he isn't talking to Baekhyun like he's an idiot. "I mean, this stuff is important," he's saying, shoving one of his charts in Baekhyun's face with a flourish. "Especially for people with dangerous jobs. What do you do for a living?"
Baekhyun grins. "I'm a writer," he says. "Not a very perilous vocation."
"Oh," Sehun says, deflating. He reaches back into the front pocket of his bag and tugs a crisp set of business cards out. "Well, this is all my contact information, if you're interested." He rises and hands one to Baekhyun, who tucks it away in the pocket of his sweats as Sehun sweeps his material back into the briefcase.
"Don't feel bad," Baekhyun says, seeing him to the door. "I'll definitely think about it."
He gazes up at Sehun's dejected face and feels an overwhelming sense of kinship; he knows that look. Had seen it on his own face in college during spring rush, and later, the first several times his manuscripts had come back with a thin rejection envelope. Sorry, they read, in between the lines of carefully detached language. Just not good enough.
"Come back tomorrow," he blurts out, on a whim, not even quite sure why he's offering. Sehun stares at him. Baekhyun smiles, hip braced against the wooden frame of the door. "Bring food."
He isn't really expecting anything. Sehun, presumably, has shit to do, peddling his wares on the streets of New York City like a modern-day costermonger, and Baekhyun has a book to crank out in six months or less. Right now, he doesn't even have an idea.
But the shrill ring of the doorbell does cut through his Sunday afternoon nap. When he pulls the door open, Sehun's standing on his porch with two overflowing grocery bags. He's dressed in more comfortable clothing today. Jeans, collared shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a pair of beat-up Chucks. His briefcase is sandwiched in between in his thighs.
"Hey," Baekhyun croaks. "Wow. You came back."
"Yeah," Sehun says, shifting on his feet. He gapes a little when he realizes Baekhyun's in nothing but a flimsy NYU shirt two sizes too big for him and some ratty boxers he's owned since high school. "Uh, sorry, was I not supposed to?"
"No, no," he counters, yawning, and waves Sehun inside. "Caught me at a bad time. Just woke up."
"Seriously?" Sehun says. He sets the bags on the dining room table and stares as Baekhyun sticks his nose in them. "It's like, 5PM."
"It's like, the weekend," Baekhyun mimics. "Oh, you got tortellini! Good taste." There's pesto sauce and French bread with the pasta and an assorted allotment of cereal and yogurt cups in the other bag. Not bad.
Sehun helps him move all the perishables into the fridge. Baekhyun shoves the cereal in a cabinet and sets a pot of water to boil. He hops up on the counter next to the baguette, hisses when the cold marble sticks to his skin.
He watches Sehun pull a board off the wall to cut the bread. "How much did all this cost you?"
Sehun saws at the loaf. "It doesn't matter."
"Sure it does," Baekhyun says sternly. "I'm the adult here. It isn't right, making you pay for everything."
"I told you," Sehun says, rolling his eyes. "I'm legal."
"Are you gonna whip out your fake I.D. to show me?" Baekhyun snorts. "If you won't tell me then I'll just overpay you."
"It was thirty bucks, give or take," he says, looking alarmed. "Do you have plates?"
Baekhyun points at the dishwasher. Sehun deposits half the sliced baguette onto a ceramic dish that Baekhyun doesn't even remember buying and shoves the rest back into the wrapping it came in.
The kid starts talking insurance again as Baekhyun cooks the tortellini. "Are you, like-" He cuts himself off and nibbles on his lower lip.
"Like what?"
"Are you a successful writer?"
Baekhyun claps a hand over his chest and pretends to scowl. "You mean you've never read my work? Philistine."
The corners of Sehun's mouth droop as he slumps. "Sorry, I don't really-"
Baekhyun shakes his head and pats Sehun on the shoulder, warm and solid beneath his palm. "Don't worry, it's fine. I only go by my initials. BB."
"Oh," Sehun says. "Oh, shit. My friend Jongin loves you. He's read everything you've ever written. Even the blog posts for the New Yorker." He makes a face. "I have to hear about it all the time."
"Huh," Baekhyun says, trying for modest, but he can't help the pleased grin that pulls at his mouth. "I'm glad."
"Back to life insurance, though," Sehun says, gathering himself up to his full height. "Well-known writers can get death threats and stuff, right? And if you can afford to live in a nice house on your own in the city, you can definitely afford this."
"I suppose you have a point," Baekhyun says. He pokes at the tortellini with his ladle. "So what do you suggest?"
Sehun looks thrown again. Like he isn't used to people asking for his opinion, or isn't used to expressing it. He recovers after a minute and launches into a long speech extolling the virtues of his company's annuity contracts. Baekhyun bends over the pot and smiles into the plume of steam that rises to meet his face.
"I think I might invest in some life insurance," he says over the phone. It's mid-June by now, and through his front windows Baekhyun can see kids on summer break cycling in the street.
Chanyeol chokes on whatever he's eating and spends a few moments trying to hack it back up. "Are you dying?" he wheezes.
"No, dumbass," Baekhyun returns. "But clearly you are."
"It was just a little sudden, alright?" He coughs again. "Is this a quarter-life crisis? Are you going to explain yourself?"
"You know how I get when I'm stuck," Baekhyun says automatically. "I'll do anything."
Only he's not really sure that's what it is this time at all. It isn't a terrible arrangement, having a glorified errand boy around, someone who pushes his own agenda but also gives Baekhyun something in return. And it doesn't hurt that he looks like Sehun, best eye candy Baekhyun's seen in years, his wiry body casting shadows across the threshold on late summer afternoons, a welcome reprieve from the dull monotony of staring at a blank Word document all day.
Baekhyun doesn't feel acute guilt very often, but he doesn't want Sehun to feel as if his hard work has come to naught. He's a sweet kid. Fresh out of college-Baekhyun'd studied Sehun's driver's license closely when he'd whipped it out to settle his age, once and for all-with nothing better to do in this shitty economy than work at his uncle's insurance company. He hadn't wanted to move back in with his parents after graduating, and with steady commissions, door-to-door isn't terrible. Baekhyun knows how it feels; not wanting to return to a home you've long since outgrown, but not knowing what to do, either.
"Don't hurt yourself trying too hard," Chanyeol's saying over the line, as serious as Baekhyun's ever heard him. "It'll come to you. And if it doesn't-well. The publishers will wring it out of you, won't they?"
"Wow," Baekhyun says drily. "Thanks, I think."
Chanyeol laughs. "Maybe you should just write a novella about how great I am," he suggests.
"Maybe I should write a novella about my idiotic college friends," Baekhyun replies. "Oh, wait. I already did that."
Over Sehun's next two visits, Baekhyun starts and scraps four thousand words across five potential projects. There's the one about Bonnie & Clyde-esque serial killers working their way across the Americas, and the period piece set in the Joseon dynasty, and some nebulous idea involving Journey to the West set in space. Nothing sticks.
how's it going? Jongdae texts at the end of the month.
u want the bad news or the bad news? Baekhyun shoots back.
hul~ and a disappointed emoticon are all Jongdae responds with.
Baekhyun finally signs a lengthy universal life insurance contract in July. "Does this mean you won't be coming to see me anymore?" Baekhyun says, scribbling his name on the dotted line. He pouts as he hands Sehun's pen back, swallows his glee when Sehun flushes pink and licks his lips.
"As your agent, I'm required to make periodic visits to see how you're doing."
Baekhyun sticks his tongue out. "You make it sound like such a chore."
"It isn't," Sehun says hastily. He flushes a little darker. "It really isn't."
In August, one of his dinners with Sehun neatly coincides with Chanyeol dropping in unannounced. "When's the last time you got out of the house?" Chanyeol asks without preamble, just as Sehun walks out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of tossed salad.
Baekhyun crosses his arms, unfazed. "Yesterday."
Chanyeol tears his gaze from Sehun, who's frozen at the dining table, and squints at Baekhyun's face. Takes in the grungy sweatshirt and loose flannel sleep pants with a critical eye. "Really?"
"Yeah," Baekhyun says staunchly. "To check the mail."
"Uh," Sehun says. "I'm gonna-"
Baekhyun waves his hand. "The soup should be ready."
Chanyeol eases through the door and glances around the living room. "Yo, I'm impressed. I can't believe I can actually see the floor." He turns in a tight circle. "I didn't know you got a housekeeper. Or is he a nanny? A mail-order bride from Korea?" Chanyeol starts cackling at his own joke and Baekhyun smacks him on the arm.
"He's a friend," Baekhyun says, though that isn't quite right either. It'll do for now. "What do you want?"
"A guy can't come visit a buddy he hasn't seen in months?" Chanyeol shakes his head. "Jongdae told me you could use some help. I arrived intending to be the sacrificial lamb, but you obviously don't need me anymore." He waggles his eyebrows. "That guy has a really nice ass. Good job, Baekhyun."
Sehun makes a mortified noise in the kitchen. Baekhyun scrapes a hand over his face. "Still classless, I see."
"Takes one to know one, my friend," Chanyeol says, swinging an arm around his shoulder.
In typical fashion, Chanyeol invites himself to stay for dinner. Baekhyun complains about three eating a meal only big enough for two, but he doesn't mind as much as he lets on. He really has missed being around people, and Chanyeol is one of the funniest guys he knows. He grills Sehun about his age, too, and Baekhyun nearly bursts a lung laughing when Sehun casts them a severe look of displeasure.
"Weird," Chanyeol says, waving his fork beneath Sehun's nose. "It's not like you have a baby face, or anything. You just seem young."
"It's a good thing," Baekhyun insists. "Always better to look younger than older." Sehun ducks away when he reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Chanyeol laughs.
"Come out with us tonight," he says, turning to Baekhyun. "Jongdae and Kyungsoo will be there. We're bar hopping in the East Village."
"I," Baekhyun says. "Well-"
The plan had been dinner and a movie. Sehun brought the food, as per their usual agreement, and Baekhyun dug around in his basement and resurfaced with a grimy box of unopened DVDs that he and Jongdae had gotten from the discount aisle at Blockbuster their sophomore year of college. He chews on his fingernail. Chanyeol raises his eyebrows.
"It's okay," says Sehun, hands twisting in his lap. "We can do it some other time, you don't have to-"
"No, you should come, too," Baekhyun interrupts, and disregards the knowing look Chanyeol sends his way. Sehun straightens up from his slouch, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Bring your friends. What's that one guy's name? Jong-"
"Jongin," Sehun says. He's already pulling his phone out. "Kim Jongin."
Jongin's quiet and awed around Baekhyun for about five minutes before he starts shooting his mouth off about how big a fan he is. Baekhyun preens under the attention. They're crammed around one of the tables at McSorley's and everyone's just watching Jongin go at it, ale in hand, exchanging amused glances over the rims of their seidels.
"Okay," Jongin says. "My first question is what you feed him at your house."
Baekhyun snorts beer up his nose. "What?"
"Seriously," he continues. "Crystal meth? Because I don't think I've seen him so excited, like, ever, except when he's supposed to be going to yours. I'm pretty sure he spends more time with you than he does with me."
Sehun buries his face in his hands. Jongdae turns his head into Kyungsoo's shoulder to hide his laughter. "Really," Baekhyun says, wiping his chin. "Must be the meth."
"My second question is-" and he slams his fist into Sehun's shoulder, here, "why the fuck did it take you so long to introduce us?"
"Because I knew you'd be like this," Sehun mutters. He takes a deep sip of his drink. There's a thin line of foam gathered over his upper lip after he pulls his mug away, and Baekhyun's hand twitches on the table.
"Baekhyun never explained how you met, Sehun," Jongdae edges in, face propped up on his hand.
"He's my life insurance agent," Baekhyun says. He drains the rest of his glass and signals for another.
"Wait," Kyungsoo says, voice sharp. "That wasn't a scam?"
Sehun rolls his eyes. "People always think that."
"Not me, though," Baekhyun protests.
"That's because you don't think," Jongdae says patiently.
Baekhyun kicks his ankle. Jongdae lets out a yelp and reaches over to flick Baekhyun's forehead. A server drops by with a new mug of ale for him and they clink glasses again, beer sloshing over the sides. Baekhyun licks his hand clean and wipes it on Chanyeol's sleeve. Chanyeol purposely tips his mug over and drenches Baekhyun's arm. Kyungsoo ignores them all, turns to Sehun and starts interrogating him about Baekhyun's life insurance plan.
When Jongin gets over his starry eyes, he's actually pretty articulate. He and Sehun have apparently been roommates since freshman year. Sehun'd graduated with a degree in econ, and Jongin was an English major who found a job writing for a lit magazine right out of college. Now, they live somewhere in Gramercy Park, on 23rd Street. Half an hour later, when they leave McSorley's and amble into another bar, and then a third, Jongin manages to sustain a conversation about Baekhyun's work that's more thoughtful than a lot of interviews he's had with professional critics, even through the gentle haze of alcohol. Maybe it's something about the closeness of the experience-of going to college in the city, being Korean American, the unique duality of all second-generation immigrants. Jongin's sharp. Funny, in his own way. Sehun has good taste.
By the fourth place (a packed club, half past midnight), Baekhyun's worked his way through six drinks and five cigarettes and hasn't really broken a sweat yet. He doesn't notice Sehun's boggling until Chanyeol hooks an arm around Baekhyun's waist and pulls him to the edge of the dance floor. "Baekhyun goes through cycles of wild night life and hermitude," Chanyeol explains. "You kind of caught him on the downswing."
"I was trying to detox so I could write," Baekhyun grumbles, twisting out of his grasp.
Chanyeol shrugs. "Too bad all signs point to artistry and alcoholism going hand in hand." Jongdae appears at his shoulder with what looks like a Long Island Iced Tea and shoves it into Baekhyun's hands before tugging Chanyeol into the crowd.
Sehun's staring at him. Baekhyun gives him an easy smile. "Hope Kyungsoo didn't bother you too much," he says. "About, you know."
"He was very thorough," Sehun says, and the corner of his mouth turns up.
"I'm pretty sure he came out of the womb with Microsoft Excel coded into his DNA," Baekhyun comments. "He makes the nicest pivot tables in all the land."
Sehun fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "He's orgasmic guy, right?"
Baekhyun blinks. "Huh?"
"From your book."
Ah. He'd read it, then. Baekhyun beams. "Yeah, he is. Don't mention it to him, though, he'll strangle me."
Sehun shifts on his feet. Baekhyun's seen it enough times by now to know what it means.
"What's up?"
Sehun swallows. "Jongin, he-do you like him?"
"Um," Baekhyun says. "He's nice. Smart kid. Why do you ask?"
"Well, Chanyeol told me about the thing."
"What thing?"
"Like." Sehun makes a vague grabbing gesture in the air. "Your sex thing?"
"Oh, my God," Baekhyun says, pressing a palm to his forehead. His cheeks heat up despite himself. "That fucking idiot, I'll kill him-"
"I don't think Jongin would mind-"
"Sehun," Baekhyun says, a little desperate, "it's not what you think, okay, Chanyeol's just-all my friends are bozos-"
"I wouldn't mind," Sehun says, so quiet that Baekhyun can barely hear him over the music and the people. He sees Sehun's mouth move, though, and the look on his face.
Baekhyun almost drops his drink. "What did you say?"
Sehun coughs into his hand and ducks his head. "You could have sex with me."
Oh, Baekhyun thinks. His ears ring. His stomach heaves, not unpleasantly, but like something in it's magnetized and pulling him toward Sehun until he's right up in front of him, beneath his chin, gazing up at him. "Are you serious? You-you aren't fucking with me?"
"I'd like to be," Sehun blurts out. His face turns a mottled puce color. He covers his mouth with a hand.
Baekhyun reaches up and tugs it away, wipes his own thumb over Sehun's lower lip. "Really."
"Yeah," he says, and his breath crests over Baekhyun's fingertip. Sehun relaxes slowly, like he's releasing all this pent-up energy that's accumulated over the past three months. All this want. Baekhyun doesn't know how he failed to notice before. "Really."
"Can I ask you something?"
Sehun blinks. Nods.
"Why did you come back? After that first day. I couldn't have been the first potential customer that turned you down."
Sehun looks down. He's still playing with the hem of his shirt, flipping the fabric over his fingers. "Because I wanted to," he says, staring at the floor. "And you asked me to. And I liked you."
Baekhyun scrunches his nose. "I bet you tell that to all your policyholders," he grouses, and a panicked expression flickers over Sehun's face before he realizes Baekhyun's joking. Baekhyun walks him backwards to the bar and sets his untouched drink on the counter. "Listen," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm using you-"
"I don't think-"
"Because I was, you know. At the beginning." Sehun tilts his head, uncomprehending. "I needed someone, a change of pace, and you landed right in my lap." Baekhyun reaches out and palms Sehun's hips. "It was nice that you bought me groceries, you know?"
"You paid me back, though."
Baekhyun laughs. Brushes Sehun's bangs out of his eyes. "The point, kid. You're missing it."
Sehun's mouth twitches. "Okay. What about now?"
"Well," Baekhyun says. "Somewhere down the line, stringing you along turned into genuine friendship. And something else, I guess. I know. I'm not sure how it happened, either." He leans in, gets up on his tiptoes so they're breathing the same air. Sehun's eyes flick down to trace Baekhyun's mouth. "I really like you, too. So if you want, we can give it a try."
They ditch the others and take a cab back to Baekhyun's place. The alcohol finally hits some time during the ride, and Baekhyun dozes off against Sehun's broad shoulder.
He wakes up enough when they get to the house to key them both inside, and drags Sehun into bed with him. His mouth is warm and wet beneath Baekhyun's, lets his tongue slide in easily. They're both a little too drunk to do much more than make out, but Sehun's hands dive beneath Baekhyun's shirt and skate up to tickle his ribs, palms rough against his skin, and Baekhyun feels a pang of affection in his chest so strong that he can't even move.
Baekhyun falls asleep with his fingers tangled in blond hair. At five in the morning, he wakes up again with a jolt. His hands, still nestled in the dark roots growing out of Sehun's scalp, are tingling.
It hits him then, in the predawn glow, that perhaps replicating his previous success was impossible. Maybe he'd been trying too hard to go back to something that wasn't there anymore, when really, it was time to move away from old patterns. Think outside the box.
Baekhyun's pressing his mouth to Sehun's temple when he remembers. Last Christmas, Baekbeom had gifted him with an old vintage typewriter that Baekhyun had promptly shoved into the back of his closet and completely forgotten about until now.
He rolls off the bed and pads into the closet. Digs the bulky thing out from behind a stack of winter sweaters and settles back in bed. Sehun stirs as the mattress sinks, mumbles something under his breath. Baekhyun watches him for a while, surveys the dip of his waist and the curve of his spine as it disappears beneath his rucked up shirt, the gentle rise and fall of his back.
He turns back to the typewriter. Slides two sheets of paper between the table and the platen. Rolls the knob, lifts the bail, and begins to type.