[fic] sehun/lu han: Take Your Time (Coming Home) (01/04)
title: Take Your Time (Coming Home)
pairing: Sehun/Lu Han
genre: romance
rating: pg-13
word count: ~29k w
summary: Lu Han thinks he's a very trivial person, with a very unproductive life. He thinks he's boring, which is why the world just won't let him be happy. He finds happiness in pastries behind glass cases, chocolate milk, old people, and sayings he's picked up along his 23 years of existence. But he meets Sehun, and everything blows up in flashes of light, and cheese, and soju, and obnoxious Rihanna songs. Somewhere along the way of finding who they are, love happens. Because, really, it was bound to happen anyway.
There is this old mindboggler that goes like this: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
According to Google and Wikipedia, there would only be sound if there were someone or anyone there to hear it. Sound is defined as the vibrations travelling through the air, water, or any other medium, especially those that range in frequencies that can be perceived by the human ear. If there was no one there to pick up the sound waves, there would be no sound.
As Lu Han pedals down the slight slope of the hill leading to the town market, he ponders on this. If a tree were to fall on him right now and no one was present to hear him scream, would he be alone for the rest of his life? It’s quite the thought to entertain, Lu Han thinks as he turns a corner. But the thing is if he is alone, that means no one will hear him scream and, technically, he won’t even be screaming because there’s no one to pick up the sound waves he’s making. And he’ll just probably end up dying from getting a bashed in skull.
Lu Han’s brows scrunch up together as he gets off his bike and walks along with it, making his way towards the local bakery. He’s still busy thinking of his life and his decisions by the time he's already staring at the golden pastries glistening behind crystalline glass cases, the scent of butter and flour and sugar lacing the early winter air.
So far, he’s lived his 23 years to what he thinks is not the fullest. He’s spent most of his life studying; getting A+ to make his Asian parents proud (though he thinks it is perfectly unnecessary since they’ve lived in France for as long as he can remember). After graduating university and receiving a bachelor’s degree in Engineering, he slaves away at his Dad’s wine company, work having absolutely nothing to do with the five year specialisation he went through hell and back for. His friends are all gradually getting married, finding their soulmates, falling in love, falling out of love, fucking around, being fucked around, and the like. Then there’s him. Beautiful and smart and rich and boyfriend-less for a good six years now. Not to mention his father sent him here in Campania, Italy to survey the vineyards they have, hence currently far from what he calls civilisation.
As he takes three baguettes from the basket and heads to the counter, he wonders. Let’s say a tree fell on top of him as he waits for the cashier lady to give him his change and receipt. Would she hear his scream and ask for help? Or would he have to scream at her shell-shocked self to move and help him get the tree off of him? But odds are if a tree falls on him, then it’ll fall on the old lady as well. And on the aromatic pastries on display. Lu Han frowns at the thought, concludes that he shouldn’t think of being tree-bonked inside a nice place as this.
The lady hands him a brown paper bag filled with his purchases (and a small cookie for the road), his change and his receipt, and waves him off with a slow thank you rolling off her Italian tongue. She’s a kind woman around her 70’s, hair cut in a white bob, apron forever wrapped around her waist. She’s one of the first people he met when he first arrived in the humble province of Agropoli and, so far, she’s the kindest. Lu Han gives her one of his brilliant smiles, bows, and exits the little shop, bells tinkling in his wake.
He strides to his bike and puts the bag at the front basket. He fishes out the peppermint cookie from around the baguettes and holds it with his teeth as he squats down to unchain his bike from the lamppost. When he’s just about ready to pedal back to the inn he’s currently staying in, he missteps and the bicycle wobbles, his pastries falling to the floor. Thank God the breads were all wrapped in paper.
He bends down to pick up the baked goods, then sees sneakers in front of him. He arcs an eyebrow and lets his eyes take its sweet time to trace up, gaze taking in lean, masculine legs clad in black corduroy pants, well-built torso clothed in a grey turtleneck sweater, black leather jacket, and God.
Is this guy handsome.
He’s holding out one of Lu Han’s baguette, mouth forming Italian words. Lu Han feels the vibrations in the air and receives them, letting the handsome man’s rash syllables turn into sound in his ears as he listens in awe. He cannot understand a single word the man is saying to him, but damn does he want to listen to him all day. His voice paired with that face, and that body, can make anyone and anything drop. Even trees. Most definitely trees.
A baguette rolls out of his grasp and Mr. Handsome bends down to pick it up, and places the pastries inside Lu Han’s crooked arm. He gives Lu Han a small, crooked smile (oh my God what a tree-dropping smile), and stands up. Lu Han shoots up as well, bowing.
“Merci,” Lu Han enunciates around his peppermint cookie. He didn’t mean to sound really French, he really didn’t. But the way Mr. Handsome’s eyebrows quirked made him feel like he’s being judged. He takes the cookie out of his mouth, and blushes.
“No worries,” the stranger replies. In French. And Lu Han’s heart stops beating. “Just be careful next time.”
With a simple nod Mr. Handsome walks away, mounts a shiny red Vespa, and drives away.
Lu Han feels his chest constricting and he tries extra hard to remember how to breathe. And to ease his death-hold on his nearly squished baked goods. His heart restarts, beating faster than ever between his lungs and against his chest cavity.
If a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one to hear it, it doesn’t really make a sound. As Lu Han watches the Vespa-riding Mr. Handsome turn into a hot-red speck in the distance, he despairs.
If his heart falls in the middle of the sidewalk for a mysterious hunk-that helps people save their pastries-and there’s no one to hear its erratic beating, did he really just fall in love?
☯
“So, how’s Italy working out for your Franco-Asian arse?” Kris asks as he flicks his fork around a good clump of penne rigate covered in tomato sauce, speckled with diced garlic, capers, and olives, and topped with a generous amount of anchovies. Baekhyun, who’s currently chewing around a forkful of his own serving of pasta, nudges Kris in the ribs with his elbow, mouthing something which seems like “language, please” to Lu Han. Lu Han ignores this, and goes back to his picking and isolating the olives and capers to the edges of his white Corelle plate.
He’s currently having a quaint dinner at his best friend Baekhyun’s restaurant somewhere in a nice street located in downtown Naples, with Baekhyun himself, and his boyfriend, Kris, as company. Baekhyun was his best frien and roommate during his boarding school days, both sharing a mutual hate for the argyle-patterned socks and sweater vests that were obligatorily worn, and part of the school’s strict uniform code. He distinctly remembers all their ploys into “accidentally” setting their socks and vests drawers on fire just to get out of wearing them. Their brother schools didn’t have uniforms as tacky as theirs so why should they go through the agony? But ever since they parted ways in university, Baekhyun transferring to Italy to take up culinary arts, and Lu Han staying in France to pursue Engineering, well, they had to take separate paths.
When news trickled out that the heir of Lu Wineries was to move to the humble province of Agropoli, Campania, Italy, well, let’s just say the amount of messages from a certain Byun Baekhyun persuading him to meet up with him when he’s finally arrived in Italia was too good an opportunity to pass up. He didn’t know anyone who lives in Italy anyway. So now here he is, three weeks into his stay in Italy, eating this more sophisticated version of spaghetti with a different incarnation of pasta, with his former roommate now world-renowned chef, and his high-class boyfriend that seemed like he just stepped out of some catalogue for Calvin Klein.
“Lu Han, please ignore Kris,” Baekhyun says after he wipes at the sides of his lips with a white napkin. “He’s been particularly edgy this week because a good friend of his just came out of hiding, and he doesn’t know what to do next.”
“No, it’s ok.” Lu Han waves at Baekhyun with a hand, a smile curving at his lips. He reaches over to take his glass of complimentary red wine, and swirls it. “You guys have been nothing but kind to me ever since I got shipped here by Father Dearest. And Kris, yes, so far Italy has been nice to my arse. Though I’m still waiting for people to start talking to me with their hands cupped.” Lu Han demonstrates, and Kris’ laughs booms through the quiet, nearly empty restaurant. This Kris isn’t so bad after all.
He takes a measured sip of his drink and mixes it in his mouth, trying to work out its taste and how it blends with the pasta they were eating. Well. This can make trees fall too. But let’s not hope that trees will fall anytime soon. Let him finish his dinner first. Dying with a full stomach seems like a good way to go. “This is good. What wine?”
“Oh, um,” Baekhyun puzzles, then raises his hand. A waiter comes scuttling by and Baekhyun murmurs a string of Italian that Lu Han cannot-and maybe will not ever-understand. Baekhyun sends off the young-not to mention quite attractive-man away, and smiles at Lu Han, “Cantine Borgo di Colloredo. From Molise. Just a train ride from here, I think. Want me to give you a bottle?”
“Yeah, sure,” Lu Han accepts, “It goes really well with this... um.. what is this pasta?”
“Spaghetti alla Puttanesca,” Baekhyun replies, signals another waiter to bring out the dessert and to wrap up a bottle of the wine of choice for Lu Han. He turns back to Lu Han and inquires, “Was it good?”
“Um, that’s a unique name for a dish,” Lu Han remarks, remembering all those days of mistakenly learning Spanish, when he was still under the impression that Italy was a Spanish-speaking country. “Does Puttanesca mean whor-”
“Excuse me,” Kris cuts in, phone in his hand, “I have to take this call. I’ll be right back.” He pats a hand to Baekhyun’s arm before pushing back his chair and standing up, exiting the restaurant while murmuring into his phone receiver.
“What were you saying?” Baekhyun asks, eyes bright and interestedly trained on Lu Han’s face. Lu Han blushes and says, “Oh no, nevermind. I forgot what I was supposed to say. He he he.”
“Oh, ok.” Baekhyun scoots closer to Lu Han, and places his hand over Lu Han’s on top of the table. “Lu Han, I’d like to invite you to my New Year’s Party. You know, to ring in the New Years. It’s going to take place here at the restaurant, and it would mean so much to me if you’d come.”
“I don’t know, Baek,” Lu Han says, staring at his tiramisu. “I don’t really know the people who’ll be attending, and I think I have an appointment with one of my dad's investors in Agropoli. It’s quite a long drive from there to Naples, you know.”
“Oh come on, Lu Han,” Baekhyun insists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Lu Han’s hand, “It’s the perfect occasion to meet friends and socialise. Not to mention to find a potential boyfriend.”
“You are seriously going to go there, aren’t you?”
“Oh please, tell me, when was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my God, is it that guy Yunho? That was six years ago?”
“Hey! I loved him very much, excuse you. It just so happens that his parents didn’t want him to go down the road of having a perfectly able, smart, and not to mention rich boyfriend. They wanted him to have a spouse with birthing hips.”
“I know, shame,” Baekhyun remarks, tsk-ing away under his breath. “I hear he has a kid now?”
“Kids,” Lu Han corrects, swallowing a generous forkful of dessert. “He has triplets. Works fast, that one.”
“Ooh. Cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, so back to what I was saying earlier,” Baekhyun brings up, straightening his back. “Please do come. Admit it, your life has been awfully scalar as of yet.” Lu Han opens his mouth to retort, only to be hushed by Baekhyun with a finger to his lips. “Not another word. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Fine, fine,” Lu Han gives up, prying away Baekhyun’s finger from his lips. “I’m agreeing only because you make the meanest Puttanesca, and a really heavenly tiramisu. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
"Why, thank you."
“I’m back,” Kris announces. Baekhyun and Lu Han both look up, only to find that Kris is not alone. He has his arm around an equally tall guy, about two or three inches shorter that him, and by golly gee, is he gorgeous in that leather jacket of his and his hair pushed up in the way that even James Dean would be jealous and-
It’s Mr. Vespa-riding Hottie. In the flesh and he’s just standing there smirking like it’s his job, and Lu Han thinks maybe, in a forest, trees are already falling, he just can’t hear them from the roaring of the blood in his ears.
“Baekhyun, Lu Han, this is Oh Sehun, my rascal of a best friend. He just arrived from God-knows-where,” Kris introduces. Oh Sehun-goddamn even his name is sexy-smirks, raises up two fingers in recognition. “Sehun-ah, this is my boyfriend, Baekhyun, I’m pretty sure you remember him. And this is his friend Lu Han. Lu Han is French by the way, so ease up on the Italian.”
“How could I forget Baekhyun and his wonderful penchant for cooking the most amazing-tasting food in the world.” Sehun comes over and presses a kiss to Baekhyun’s cheek. Sehun fixates his gaze on Lu Han’s face for a while and, when Lu Han is about to cringe away from his stare, then he tilts his head to the side, recognition dawning on his face. “I know you.”
“You know him?” Kris asks Lu Han, surprised.
“I know him?” Lu Han asks Kris back. Lu Han looks up at Sehun and asks, “I know you?”
“You were the cute boy with the beret outside the bakeshop? You dropped your baguettes and I helped you pick them up?”
And inner Lu Han internally screams his head off at the knowledge that Mr. Handsome remembers him, even though the incident happened three weeks ago, and three weeks is an awfully long time, enough for a person to forget how a complete stranger looks like. Lu Han blushes. He thinks he’s momentarily experiencing a mini cardiac arrest, and he can’t seem to breathe right.
“Um, yeah, that was me. Sorry about that. I think I bothered you that day.”
“Oh no,” Sehun admonishes, waving a capricious hand in the air. He leans down and takes a fork in his hand, spearing through Kris’ serving of tiramisu, “It was no big deal, actually. Though, I should apologise. I think I spoke Italian to you then. I didn’t know you were French. You don’t... seem like it.”
“Wow man, you don’t just tell a man he’s not French. That’s rude.” Kris swats Sehun’s hand and fork away from his dessert. “And it’s ruder to eat someone else’s food.”
“Whatever,” Sehun retorts while straightening up. “Are we going or not?”
“We are,” Kris replies. He takes one more bite of his tiramisu, then moves to press a kiss to Baekhyun’s temple. “Love, I have to go help Sehun with things, ok? I’ll call you later. Love you, ok.”
Baekhyun turns and pulls Kris back, kissing him on the mouth. “Take care.”
“Lu Han, stay safe on your way home, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Baekhyun, Lu Han,” Sehun says, bowing to each of them, “It was really nice to meet you.”
As Lu Han and Baekhyun watch their retreating backs, Lu Han sighs, “Wow, Oh Sehun.”
“He’s handsome right?” Baekhyun muses as he hands a bottle of 2006 red wine to Lu Han.
“Oh Sehun. I am going to marry him someday.”
Baekhyun laughs aloud. “Oh my God, are you serious? Marry him? What’s has gotten into you sweetheart? Did a tree fall on your head or something?”
Well, let’s say a tree really did manage to fall on Lu Han’s head. But, this time around-and contrary to all of the planned, thought out, and morbid scenarios Lu Han already has filed away in some deep recess of his mind-he lives through it, and is now currently living his life with a pretty banged-up head. At least, a pretty head.
“I want to marry him someday,” Lu Han concludes, hugging his bottle of red wine to his chest.
☯
There is an old idiom that says “The early bird catches the early worm”.
Lu Han’s mother had instilled this in his mind since the dawn of time, but Lu Han believes that it never really got ingrained in his body and soul like what she was trying to do. Sorry, Mother.
Lu Han is not an early worm. He never was. There was this time in his boarding school life that he was elected as the Student Council President, and there were meetings after meetings that he had to overlook. Since he was the president, he was required to attend. But the problem was, how will they be able to hold proper meetings if the Most Valuable Person was always late? Lu Han always arrived when a half-hour has already passed from the originally designated time, thus delaying everything. (He never was like this with his football practices though.) And because of this, people managed to adjust their schedules according to Lu Han’s. They learnt to announce meetings an hour earlier than the supposed meeting time start, and Lu Han always ended up arriving 20-25 minutes early.
So maybe for a short time Lu Han became an early bird. He got his job done properly, had enough time to practise football, win awards, and maintain his nr. 1 ranking in academics. But then the school year ended and his term as Student Council President ended and, by extension, his being an early bird ended as well. It was pretty short-lived, but hey, it was fun.
Lu Han awakes with a jolt when he realises his alarm clock certainly did not alarm. His eyes fly open, and he turns in his bed to stare at the red digits flashing 11: 53 AM at his face.
“Shit,” Lu Han hisses as he untangles himself from the sheets. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Let’s just say that he has an appointment with a major investor at a vineyard that’s a good hour drive from where Lu Han is currently staying, and the agreed meeting time is 1: 00 PM. Lu Han throttles into his bathroom, showers at lightning speed and throws on an outfit that he thinks is very French, and leaves, grabbing at his car keys and phone hastily before shutting the door.
The meeting goes along pretty well, despite the fact that he was a good half-hour late because Lord, Italian traffic is a whole new experience altogether. The investor, or in this case investors, was a very comely old couple well in their 60’s, looking for a good place to put their old money to. They seemed to have developed a liking for his face and the culture in which he has been raised into (You’re French, oh chérie, I am French too! J’adore... ) and, apparently, his relationship status.
“With a pretty face like yours?” the old lady remarks, patting at his cherubic cheeks for emphasis.
“None, Madame,” Lu Han replies, smiling around the woman’s fingers. He hands them bottles of the finest Lu wines, and sends them off, nodding and shouting back “OK” to the old lady’s offers of “I’ll set you up with a grandchild of mine someday!”
Turns out that his conversation with his investors lasted a good two hours over schedule, making him almost three hours late for Baekhyun’s party, just shy of some thirteen minutes or so once he’s parked his car at the back of the restaurant. He’s standing in front of the Baroque double doors of Baekhyun’s restaurant, juggling a bottle of well-aged, dry sherry in his hands. When he peeks inside via the glass panels of the windows, he realises he’s awfully underdressed for the occasion. Not that the looks the maitre d’ is shooting at him is enough proof. The disdain in her eyes when she gave him a once over clearly said he was horribly underdressed for the event.
When he is finally let in, his heart sinks from its position in his chest cavity because hell, he’s so out of place right now. She is correct (four for her) as far as he is concerned. Everyone around him is wearing formal dresses, neatly pressed suits, and polished leather shoes, and fuck, he must’ve missed the Most Important Memo of The Year that this is supposed to be a black tie event. Because here is Lu Han. Lu Han and his black-and-white striped long sleeved shirt, faded blue jeans, and black Chuck Taylors. He’s still wearing his beret on top of his head, and the neckerchief the kind old lady gave him is still wrapped loosely around his neck.
He deposits his cask of liquor on the buffet table, and makes to leave, avoiding the eyes of the people obviously eyeing him. But then he is stopped in his tracks by Baekhyun wearing an adorable, matching black suit, hair coiffed primly and properly on top of his head. His nose scrunches up as he takes in Lu Han’s outfit, but engulfs him in a tight hug nonetheless.
“Sweetheart, what are you wearing?” Baekhyun asks him as he pulls away, holding Lu Han at arms’ length. He’s staring at the neckerchief hanging around his neck, and Lu Han thinks Baekhyun must think it’s more of a noose rather than an innocent piece of rolled-up cloth. “Whatever happened to looking for potential boyfriends?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t really expect to be attending a formal party on New Years’ Eve. I should go. I still have these paperworks to finish and I’m pretty sure there’s a Man U marathon on Balls tonight so. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
“Oh no, sweetheart, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m sure it’s bad luck to spend New Years alone. And this is the perfect occasion to meet new people and socialise. Not to mention Oh Sehun is here. Don’t you want to get to know him more?”
Lu Han visibly blanches, the flush in his cheeks from sipping different kinds of liquor from earlier suddenly draining from his face. “You mean he’s here? Oh my God why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve worn something better than this." He gestures wildly at his body up and down. "I seriously need to go now.”
“Nope, not going to happen.” Baekhyun tugs at Lu Han’s arm, stopping him from walking out the door. “You will stay here, and you will have fun, and you will ring in the New Year with me. Now come,” Baekhyun herds him to the buffet table and shoves a skewered sausage marinated in barbecue sauce and chives into his right hand, a bottle of Deutsch beer in the other, “Party hard!”
Lu Han has got to hand it to Baekhyun. Other than his amazing ability of picking great-tasting liquor, and handsome men, he throws the best parties. Though thoroughly formal, they’re still the best. Lu Han is currently sitting down on a cloth-covered plastic chair, holding a red cup filled with some alcoholic (he hopes) beverage, balancing a plate of assorted nuts on his left knee as he nods his head to the sound of cello strings coming from the live orchestra Baekhyun had flown in from Austria.
As he chews away on a walnut, he sees Oh Sehun somewhere in the crowd. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with its two top buttons undone, a completely undone necktie hung around his neck, that damn leather jacket with matching black skinnies, and black Sperry’s. His silver blond hair glistens under the fairy lights lining the walls and the pillars, and Oh God is he handsome.
“I know right,” a voice pipes up. Lu Han bewilderedly looks turns to his side only to see a man about his age, all puffy cheeks and looking awfully like the steamed buns his mother used to make during every Chinese New Year. Lu Han didn’t know he was talking aloud, though.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh Sehun?” Steamed Buns points at Sehun with his cake-and-frosting loaded plastic fork. “He’s handsome, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Lu Han replies, averting his eyes back to Sehun’s frame and the way his thighs look so full in those godforsaken skinn- “I’m going to marry him someday.”
“Me too. Maybe we can share.” Steamed Buns laughs and takes a few legumes from Lu Han’s plate, and smiles toothily up at him. “I’m Xiumin.”
Lu Han sideeyes the hamsterish person next to him and mentally questions him in his head. What gave him the impression that he’d willingly share his future husband?
“I’m Lu Han.” and then Lu Han just hums, neither an answer nor a rejection. It was a conversation-ender, and he not-so-secretly hopes that this Xiumin person gets his hint. The following silence gives him enough leeway to stand up and slink away towards the other side of the buffet table, where the chocolate fountain is.
This is where he meets a nice, attractive young man with an equally attractive dimple that dips at his right cheek whenever he talks, chews, smiles, and etc. Lu Han takes a toothpick and spears a pineapple, then sticks it into the chocolate fountain. He feels Mr. Dimples move his way.
“Hi,” Mr. Dimples greets Lu Han, and Lu Han mentally prepares himself to flirt, releasing puffs of breaths, excusing it as him trying to cool the chocolate coating his pineapple.
“Hello. I’m Lu Han,” Lu Han greets back, giving Mr. Dimples a bright smile he knows can melt hearts.
“I’m Yixing,” he introduces, “I heard what you and my friend, Xiumin, were talking about, and I agree. Oh Sehun is attractive. Very much.”
Well that’s a nice damper to his short-lived flirting career. “I know. I’ll be marrying him someday.”
Lu Han doesn’t even know why he keeps on saying it to anybody that would listen, but he just does, and it’s like automatic word vomit now. The sort that you get when you see vegetables served in front of you, or when shit is served in front of you, or when you see your innards and your brains splattered on the ground after being crushed by a tree.
“Sure you will,” Yixing singsongs, “But I don’t think either of us will be Mr. Oh Sehun anytime soon. Lookie over there.” Yixing lifts up his pinkie finger from its gripped position around his red cup. Lu Han follows the direction Yixing is pointing at, and he’s absolutely crestfallen.
There is a tall, leggy girl next to Oh Sehun, wearing a glittering red dress that comes to a stop in the middle of her thighs, a faux fur white jacket thrown over her shoulders. She currently has a hand curled around Sehun’s bicep, and when she moves to face him, she puts a hand to Sehun’s neck and proceeds to ram her tongue down his throat. Lu Han thinks he’s going to throw up all the nuts he just consumed.
“Oh.”
“Indeed.”
Well damn, no one told him Oh Sehun is straight. There goes another fuck-important memo flying over his head, all folded into a straight airplane made to soar as straight as Sehun’s sexuality. Blame Lu Han for thinking everyone is gay until proven heterosexual. Lu Han shoves fruit after fruit into his mouth, downing cups of alcohol in hopes of finding remorse and answers in the remaining olive at the bottom of his martini glass.
This is sad. Maybe if a tree suddenly fell on top of his head, nothing would’ve made the difference. A tree-flattened Lu Han wouldn’t make Sehun straight.
But then again Oh Sehun is currently approaching him as of this moment and Oh my God Lu Han needs a manly drink right about now.
“Scotch, please,” Lu Han requests from the bartender. Sehun slides into the seat next to him, and calls out, “Make that two. Hello, Lu Han.”
“Hello, Oh Sehun.” Lu Han whips out his phone to fiddle with, locking and unlocking it, the time periodically flashing across the screen. 11:53 PM. He wants to ask Sehun who the sequined slut he’s with is, since when has he been in a relationship with Sequined Slut, where did he meet Sequined Slut, how long has he been fucking straight and playing with Lu Han’s perception of his sexual orientation. But his brain-to-mouth filter is still pretty intact, and the only question that comes out of his mouth is:
“How are you?”
“I’ve been stellar. How about you?” Sehun asks as the bartender slides him his glass. Lu Han places his phone on the counter screen side down, and wraps his fingers around his own glass of scotch.
“Never better, Oh Sehun,” Lu Han replies as he takes a swig. The scotch works its way down his throat and into his stomach fast, the warmth spreading all over his body, and he’s left buzzing.
Sehun hums against his own glass, eyes trained on Lu Han’s face from around the rim. Party music suddenly starts playing, and the familiar tune of Lu Han's favourite song suddenly starts filling the trattoria and making its way to him and Sehun. Lu Han starts becoming antsy, fingers tapping to the beat on his phone’s back cover. He’s bobbing his head up and down, mouthing the lyrics before taking another sip of the warming amber liquid.
“You know,” Sehun starts as he watches Lu Han sway to the song, “You’re quite attractive.”
Wait. This is clearly a flirt manoeuvre. What is a straight guy doing, pulling a flirt manoeuvre on an admitted homosexual. His ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton, the sounds suddenly all muffling out, and he doesn’t really know the lyrics to the second verse anymore, and all he can hear is the sound of his fast heartbeat.
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Lu Han shouts back, though his voice would’ve still been quite discernible even if his voice was of a normal volume. Before he can stop himself, he adds, “Did you know that I’ll be marr-”
“Hey handsome, do you want to dance?” Yixing’s voice cuts Lu Han’s impending demise, and he sort of wants to thank and slap the guy. Thank because wow, he saved him from verbal diarrhoea. Slap because wow, how dare he ask Sehun to dance when he knows perfectly well that Lu Han wants to affiliate with Sehun legally. Sehun looks flabbergasted while Yixing just looks expectant.
Lu Han swallows down the last gulp of his scotch and, even though they all know perfectly well that it was Sehun that was propositioned, he takes Yixing’s hand in his and stumbles away from Sehun, dragging Yixing away with him while slurring Baekhyun’s wise words: “Party hard!”
Yixing is a dancer, Lu Han finds out. He’s a professional choreographer and danseur, stationed somewhere in mainland Basilicata, and currently in Naples to heal his wounds (he just broke up with his boyfriend of three months, a man named Kim Jonghyun that ran off with a fashion designer that goes by the nickname Key) and to attend the party of his ex-boyfriend’s (Kris) boyfriend. To be honest, Yixing had sighed as they plopped down on the seats by the railings overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, most of the people invited here tonight were Baekhyun’s and Kris’ exes, all confined in one space. Lu Han starts wondering whose ex Sehun is. Maybe Kris’.
The countdown starts and, when it’s down to the last five seconds, Lu Han starts jumping up and down to every ticking second. Shouts of Happy New Year in different languages boom across the veranda, and the most beautiful fireworks Lu Han has ever seen in his unproductive life starts exploding across the New Year sky.
Yixing grabs Lu Han by the shoulders and kisses him smack on the mouth. When he pulls away to look dazedly at Yixing, he gets pulled and passed to different people’s arms, kissing and getting kissed by all sorts of strangers. Lu Han tries extra hard not to laugh while pressing his lips on people’s skin.
After a good ten minutes Lu Han finally staggers into the main function room and he is deposited by his last kisser on a plastic chair beside the buffet table (he realises that this was his former seat from earlier). He rests his woozy head on the edge of the table.
“Whoo, Happy New Year!” Lu Han hollers, waggling a finger round and round in the air. This is how Baekhyun sees him. Baekhyun is the epitome of dishevelled, his dandy hair now a mess on top of his head. His dress shirt’s buttons are completely mismatched, and wow he looks pretty sexed up. Kris didn’t waste a minute into the New Year.
“Sweetheart,” Baekhyun murmurs as he picks up Lu Han by the armpits, “You look gorge.”
“Everything looks gorge behind liquor-tinted glasses and after three bottles of Jack Daniel’s, love,” Lu Han replies, patting at Baekhyun's flushed cheeks. “I’ve rung in the New Year. Can I leave now?”
“But I haven’t even seen you dance with Sehun yet! I know you have a thing for him.”
“What, pfsh,” Lu Han splutters, “I do not have a thing for Oh Sehun.”
“Yes, you do, Mr. Denial-pants.” Baekhyun waggles a finger in front of Lu Han’s face, his feline eyes disappearing into kohl lines as he smiles diabolically at Lu Han. “The first time you formally met him you said you wanted to marry him. I specifically ordered Kris to invite him here tonight just for you!”
“Did you invite the long-legged, walking disco bimbo along as well?” Lu Han deadpans as he snatches his coat away from the waiter’s grip. He starts putting it on, pushing his arms through the sleeves.
“The bimbo invited herself.”
Lu Han stops from trying to push his limb through a sleeve, freezing in his spot. Baekhyun is looking at him smugly, liquor-tinted glasses sparkling under the fairy lights. He winks at Lu Han and slinks away, wrapping his arm around the waist of a passing god (Kris).
“I’m still here, Lu Han,” Sehun’s baritone voice says, the vibrations oscillating into his ear and tickling his eardrums. “It’s rude to not look at the person talking to you, you know.”
“I wasn’t even talking to you?” Lu Han replies, pushing his arm back into his jacket sleeve and damn, why won’t it budge. Sehun turns Lu Han around so they’re face to face, and Sehun takes Lu Han’s coat from him. For a moment Lu Han is jacket-less as Sehun pushes his arm through Lu Han’s jacket sleeve, turns it inside out. When it’s finally the correct side out and Lu Han’s face is beyond crimson (but not obvious in this room’s lighting, thank the Lord), he hands the coat back to the owner.
“Good as new,” Sehun announces, and Lu Han manages to finally pull on his coat. As Lu Han rights his lapels, Lu Han asks, “Ok, how much of my and Baekhyun’s conversation did you hear?”
“Enough to know that you want to marry me,” Sehun replies cheekily, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his teeth nearly exposed, “So, when do you plan to propose? Or should I be the one doing the proposing?”
And now maybe is a good time to be crushed by a falling tree. Maybe the sight of his insides exploded everywhere on the floor would make Sehun forget anything that passed between him and Baekhyun, and maybe the fact that Lu Han wants to be Sehun’s husband, or, by some Godly chance, forget Lu Han’s existence altogether.
“I have to go,” Lu Han concludes, evading everything. He makes to leave only to be stopped. Why do people always have to stop him!
“Before we forget,” Sehun begins. He leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Lu Han’s mouth, their lips almost, infinitesimally, meeting. “Happy New Year, Lu Han. What, no kiss for your future husband?”
Lu Han is beyond embarrassed, to say the least. But he looks around the room and, when he’s finally sure that Sequined Slut is nowhere to be seen, he leans up to kiss Sehun’s cheek.
“Happy New Year, Oh Sehun.”
So maybe Lu Han is a late bird. But the worm he’s targeting, let’s just say is a right worm. Not early, not late. Just right.
Happy New Year indeed.
☯
“You’re late.”
“Ok, I know,” Lu Han admits, peeling off his sweater and draping it over his office chair. Lu Han looks up to see his client’s face, and repeats, “I know. I’m sorry. I just got back from a family affair in France, and the traffic was awful, and I just found out that the inn I am-was-currently staying in does not accept long time renting. So I am jetlagged, and travel-tired, and homeless. I am very sorry I am late.”
Lu Han had just returned to Italy after spending a good month and a half back in France, reporting everything to his father, all of the stocks and the sales and the statuses of the grapes and the workers. It was a gruelling month and a half, being scrutinised in and out by his father about the company, and being babied by his mother that claims he doesn’t call home enough (he really doesn’t).
He actually feels good to be back in Italy, far away from his suffocating parents. But when he arrives back at the inn he stays at he finds his bags lined up by the receptionist’s desk. He finds out that the maximum stay at the inn he is-was-living in is only three months and, apparently, he just maxed out.
“I really don’t care,” his long time client, Kim Jongin, replies. “All I care about right now is that my alcohol stash is depleted and I need someone to replenish it.”
“Ok, Jongin, stop being an asshole.”
“Ok. I’m sorry, Lu Han, I wish I could help. But I live way in Basilicata and I know how much you need to stay somewhere close to your work. I also can’t ask you to move in with me when you very well know I’m the most unorganised person in the planet. Quoting you, my house is a pigsty.”
“I know.”
“So about my alcohol stash...”
“I don’t really understand how a danseur, who is under a very strict diet, will need a monthly supply of three cases of Hennessy, and five casks of assorted wines.”
“And you don’t really need to know the answer. Now, can you throw in...”
Lu Han finishes his work for the day in peace, and spends the rest of his 24 hours scouting for a new apartment. When he comes up with zero results, he checks himself in a hotel, and spends the night wallowing in self-pity while drowning in a tub of Haagen-Dazs.
He wakes up to a phone call from Baekhyun. He closes his eyes tightly shut when his phone’s backlight burns through his retinas, and when he presses the answer button, he instantly regrets it.
“Wake up sunshine!” Baekhyun half-shouts, half-sings.
“Shut up,” Lu Han whines, throwing the white quilt over his head, “It’s too early for your perkiness.”
“It’s currently 11: 53 AM, you jackass. And you have a scheduled lunch with me today, or did you forget?”
“Shit.” Lu Han struggles to untangle himself from the sheets and jump off of the bed. This seems awfully like déjà vu, he thinks as he shoves his toothbrush into his mouth and starts brushing at top speed. He sets his phone on speaker, and starts stripping.
“I don’t know if this is accidental or this is just a habitual thing.”
“I’m sorry, ok. It’s just that I’m pooped. I just got back from France and I’m homeless, currently staying in a cheap hotel with faulty plumbing-shit, so cold-and not a single apartment in the vicinity is free for renting. So please tell me why I would rather sleep myself to waste than to stay awake and endure life’s wrath.”
There is silence in the other line for a good moment, and Lu Han takes this as a chance to rinse off the suds all over his body and the shampoo on his head with the arctic cold water as fast as he can. “Idea! You can always stay in Kris’ apartment.”
“You want me to move in with your boyfriend?” Lu Han jokes, his teeth chattering. He wraps a towel over his body and pats himself dry.
“For your information,” Baekhyun sniffs, “Kris just moved out and moved in with me. So please, quit it. I know my boyfriend’s a god.”
“But not my god.”
“Yes, you have Oh Sehun for that.”
“Oh my God.”
“Why?”
“He totally knows I want to marry him, did you know that? Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to see his face again.” Lu Han opens his closet, and takes an oversized white sweater and black pants. He’s pulling up his zipper when he adds, “But I still want to marry him, Oh God.”
“It’s Oh Sehun, but I get what you mean. Sweetheart, it’s fine to want to marry a person. I want to marry Kris. See? It’s perfectly healthy and you’re perfectly single so go for it!”
“Ok, there are so many wrong things with what you just said. For one, Kris is your boyfriend. Second, I’m single, but who says Oh Sehun is single. Remember Sequined Slut?” So maybe Lu Han has to stop calling her that. He ruffles his hair in front of the vanity mirror, and grabs his keys. “And third and Most Important Of All, he’s heterosexual. I cannot marry a man who likes vaginas instead of dicks. That is against my moral code. What if he cheats on me because he wants The Real Thing? I can never live that down.”
“Sweetheart, chillax. Answer to number one, fine Kris is my boyfriend, but even if he is my boyfriend, I can always not want to marry him. Answer to number two, as far as I know Sehun is single. Has been for a good while now. And yes, I remember Sequined Slut, who is named Jung Soojung by the way. She messed up a good part of my guest list, the nerve. Answer to number three, drumroll please.”
Lu Han drums his fingers on his Honda Civic’s steering wheel, and waits for Baekhyun’s voice to sound again. The stoplight turns green, and Lu Han shifts to drive.
“Sehun is perfectly gay.”
“Wow, shocker there. Please enlighten me, Obi Wan.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, I am helping you see the light here. Kris has been best friends with Sehun for as long as they both can remember. They both come from old families, very rich. Being the same age they practically grew up together, much like us. Attended the same preparatory school, entered the same boarding school, passed and studied in Harvard University. I can hear your mind judging from here, Lu Han. Yes, Kris is smart. Kris introduced Sehun to me when he was still with his boyfriend-his name was Jongdae, I think-and before he disappeared from the face of this Earth. So ha to your assumption that Sehun is not gay.”
To say that Lu Han wants to jump around in glee is a big understatement. He wants to fucking jump around in fucking glee, shout in jubilation, and maybe hug a tree in a euphoric rush of happiness. He nearly swerves away from the main road. He steps hard on the brakes, his body launching itself to the front. He clutches at the steering wheel, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. But he has never felt so happy in his entire life.
“Ok, fine. I accept. I will make it my life's mission to make Oh Sehun my future husband.”
☯
“I can see myself living here.”
Lu Han inspects the living room of Kris’ former apartment, and nods to himself in agreement. It’s a really spacious flat, occupying a whole floor and having two bedrooms and one large bathroom. It’s already fully furnished, the kitchen fit for a chef like Baekhyun. The floors are carpeted, and so soft like how Lu Han likes them, and there are large floor-to-ceiling windows in the master bedroom. The view outside is of the Tyrrhenian Sea, so very near the docks. If he opens the windows and steps out the balcony, he can catch whiffs of the briny sea air, the crisp coolness of the breeze.
He gets a four-poster, king-sized bed, and the room is immaculately white it’s almost blinding. There’s working central heating system and, when he puts a hand under the running water, there is proper plumbing. Lu Han sort of wants to cry at his sheer luck.
“So this whole building only has three floors, which means three flats. The two, the one above and below this one, belongs to the owner. This one is yours. You can move the furniture whatever way you want to, and there’s enough room for you to work and pass time by.”
“Wow. How much does a month cost?”
“Not much. It’s actually a good thing you’re homeless right now. The owner needed someone to occupy this fast. He doesn’t really ask for much, just a quiet individual to stay and maybe maintain the place, like what I do, and when I told Baekhyun, he immediately thought of you.”
“I don’t know, Kris,” Lu Han says, facing the fireplace, hands on his hips as he tries to imagine a good work of art he could hang above it. “Maybe I’m not so quiet. I can hold wild orgies here on Friday nights, for all you know.”
“I am learning so much about your choice of words, Lu Han,” Sehun remarks from behind Lu Han.
Here Lu Han goes again. Wishing for a tree to fall on him again. He closes his eyes, and breathes through his nostrils. “Is Oh Sehun behind me?”
“Um, yeah,” Kris replies.
“Is he the owner?”
“Yes, Lu Han, and what did I say about not looking at the person you’re talking to,” Sehun replies, his voice laced with mirth.
Lu Han turns a bit to face Kris, glaring up at him. He knew this was all too good to be true. “You didn’t tell me Oh Sehun owns this place.”
“Because Baekhyun said you will say no. Come on, Lu Han, take it. You know you want to.”
Lu Han musters up enough strength to face Sehun, and look him in the eye. “Fine. I’ll take it. Only because I'm desperate to have a warm bath.”
“Perfect,” Sehun exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Think of it this way: don’t you think it’s more convenient to live near your future husband?”
“About that, I was joking, I’m sorry.”
“Sure. But it seems my assistant thinks your joke was pretty serious. He told me some Frenchie named Lu Han said he’d be marrying me someday.”
“X-Xiumin’s your assistant?” Lu Han chokes out, “He never mentioned he worked for you. He even told me that he wants to marry you, too, and that maybe we can share. I honest-”
“I know you were joking, Lu Han. Relax.”
“Um, ok.” Lu Han pretty much wants to faceplant on the nearest possible surface. Time to change the subject. “So how much is the rent?”
“When do you plan on moving in?” Apparently, Sehun likes changing subjects too.
“Hey, man, I think I have to go, Baekhyun’s waiting for me at home,” Kris interrupts, hands deep in his pockets. “I’ll help you move in tomorrow, Lu Han. Check out of that hellhole hotel you’re currently staying in, nobody goes there anymore. Sehun-ah, take good care of Lu Han here, ok?”
“Yeah, sure, man,” Sehun replies, giving Kris a bro-fist-one-arm-bro-hug. When there’s only the two of them in the room Sehun turns to Lu Han. “Here are the keys to this floor. And here are the keys to the front door and the back door downstairs. You want me to see you out?”
“Sure, Oh Sehun.” They lapse into an almost comfortable silence as Lu Han bolts the doors of his soon-to-be new flat closed. When Lu Han is in front of his car, Sehun stops him.
Sehun gives him a perfectly platonic hug, and softly pushes him away. “See you tomorrow, Lu Han. Stay safe. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to my future husband.” Sehun winks at him before heading back inside, leaving Lu Han standing out in the cold, mouth hanging open.
Here Lu Han goes again. Wanting to unwish his wish of wanting a tree to fall on him again.
i ii
pairing: Sehun/Lu Han
genre: romance
rating: pg-13
word count: ~29k w
summary: Lu Han thinks he's a very trivial person, with a very unproductive life. He thinks he's boring, which is why the world just won't let him be happy. He finds happiness in pastries behind glass cases, chocolate milk, old people, and sayings he's picked up along his 23 years of existence. But he meets Sehun, and everything blows up in flashes of light, and cheese, and soju, and obnoxious Rihanna songs. Somewhere along the way of finding who they are, love happens. Because, really, it was bound to happen anyway.
There is this old mindboggler that goes like this: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
According to Google and Wikipedia, there would only be sound if there were someone or anyone there to hear it. Sound is defined as the vibrations travelling through the air, water, or any other medium, especially those that range in frequencies that can be perceived by the human ear. If there was no one there to pick up the sound waves, there would be no sound.
As Lu Han pedals down the slight slope of the hill leading to the town market, he ponders on this. If a tree were to fall on him right now and no one was present to hear him scream, would he be alone for the rest of his life? It’s quite the thought to entertain, Lu Han thinks as he turns a corner. But the thing is if he is alone, that means no one will hear him scream and, technically, he won’t even be screaming because there’s no one to pick up the sound waves he’s making. And he’ll just probably end up dying from getting a bashed in skull.
Lu Han’s brows scrunch up together as he gets off his bike and walks along with it, making his way towards the local bakery. He’s still busy thinking of his life and his decisions by the time he's already staring at the golden pastries glistening behind crystalline glass cases, the scent of butter and flour and sugar lacing the early winter air.
So far, he’s lived his 23 years to what he thinks is not the fullest. He’s spent most of his life studying; getting A+ to make his Asian parents proud (though he thinks it is perfectly unnecessary since they’ve lived in France for as long as he can remember). After graduating university and receiving a bachelor’s degree in Engineering, he slaves away at his Dad’s wine company, work having absolutely nothing to do with the five year specialisation he went through hell and back for. His friends are all gradually getting married, finding their soulmates, falling in love, falling out of love, fucking around, being fucked around, and the like. Then there’s him. Beautiful and smart and rich and boyfriend-less for a good six years now. Not to mention his father sent him here in Campania, Italy to survey the vineyards they have, hence currently far from what he calls civilisation.
As he takes three baguettes from the basket and heads to the counter, he wonders. Let’s say a tree fell on top of him as he waits for the cashier lady to give him his change and receipt. Would she hear his scream and ask for help? Or would he have to scream at her shell-shocked self to move and help him get the tree off of him? But odds are if a tree falls on him, then it’ll fall on the old lady as well. And on the aromatic pastries on display. Lu Han frowns at the thought, concludes that he shouldn’t think of being tree-bonked inside a nice place as this.
The lady hands him a brown paper bag filled with his purchases (and a small cookie for the road), his change and his receipt, and waves him off with a slow thank you rolling off her Italian tongue. She’s a kind woman around her 70’s, hair cut in a white bob, apron forever wrapped around her waist. She’s one of the first people he met when he first arrived in the humble province of Agropoli and, so far, she’s the kindest. Lu Han gives her one of his brilliant smiles, bows, and exits the little shop, bells tinkling in his wake.
He strides to his bike and puts the bag at the front basket. He fishes out the peppermint cookie from around the baguettes and holds it with his teeth as he squats down to unchain his bike from the lamppost. When he’s just about ready to pedal back to the inn he’s currently staying in, he missteps and the bicycle wobbles, his pastries falling to the floor. Thank God the breads were all wrapped in paper.
He bends down to pick up the baked goods, then sees sneakers in front of him. He arcs an eyebrow and lets his eyes take its sweet time to trace up, gaze taking in lean, masculine legs clad in black corduroy pants, well-built torso clothed in a grey turtleneck sweater, black leather jacket, and God.
Is this guy handsome.
He’s holding out one of Lu Han’s baguette, mouth forming Italian words. Lu Han feels the vibrations in the air and receives them, letting the handsome man’s rash syllables turn into sound in his ears as he listens in awe. He cannot understand a single word the man is saying to him, but damn does he want to listen to him all day. His voice paired with that face, and that body, can make anyone and anything drop. Even trees. Most definitely trees.
A baguette rolls out of his grasp and Mr. Handsome bends down to pick it up, and places the pastries inside Lu Han’s crooked arm. He gives Lu Han a small, crooked smile (oh my God what a tree-dropping smile), and stands up. Lu Han shoots up as well, bowing.
“Merci,” Lu Han enunciates around his peppermint cookie. He didn’t mean to sound really French, he really didn’t. But the way Mr. Handsome’s eyebrows quirked made him feel like he’s being judged. He takes the cookie out of his mouth, and blushes.
“No worries,” the stranger replies. In French. And Lu Han’s heart stops beating. “Just be careful next time.”
With a simple nod Mr. Handsome walks away, mounts a shiny red Vespa, and drives away.
Lu Han feels his chest constricting and he tries extra hard to remember how to breathe. And to ease his death-hold on his nearly squished baked goods. His heart restarts, beating faster than ever between his lungs and against his chest cavity.
If a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one to hear it, it doesn’t really make a sound. As Lu Han watches the Vespa-riding Mr. Handsome turn into a hot-red speck in the distance, he despairs.
If his heart falls in the middle of the sidewalk for a mysterious hunk-that helps people save their pastries-and there’s no one to hear its erratic beating, did he really just fall in love?
☯
“So, how’s Italy working out for your Franco-Asian arse?” Kris asks as he flicks his fork around a good clump of penne rigate covered in tomato sauce, speckled with diced garlic, capers, and olives, and topped with a generous amount of anchovies. Baekhyun, who’s currently chewing around a forkful of his own serving of pasta, nudges Kris in the ribs with his elbow, mouthing something which seems like “language, please” to Lu Han. Lu Han ignores this, and goes back to his picking and isolating the olives and capers to the edges of his white Corelle plate.
He’s currently having a quaint dinner at his best friend Baekhyun’s restaurant somewhere in a nice street located in downtown Naples, with Baekhyun himself, and his boyfriend, Kris, as company. Baekhyun was his best frien and roommate during his boarding school days, both sharing a mutual hate for the argyle-patterned socks and sweater vests that were obligatorily worn, and part of the school’s strict uniform code. He distinctly remembers all their ploys into “accidentally” setting their socks and vests drawers on fire just to get out of wearing them. Their brother schools didn’t have uniforms as tacky as theirs so why should they go through the agony? But ever since they parted ways in university, Baekhyun transferring to Italy to take up culinary arts, and Lu Han staying in France to pursue Engineering, well, they had to take separate paths.
When news trickled out that the heir of Lu Wineries was to move to the humble province of Agropoli, Campania, Italy, well, let’s just say the amount of messages from a certain Byun Baekhyun persuading him to meet up with him when he’s finally arrived in Italia was too good an opportunity to pass up. He didn’t know anyone who lives in Italy anyway. So now here he is, three weeks into his stay in Italy, eating this more sophisticated version of spaghetti with a different incarnation of pasta, with his former roommate now world-renowned chef, and his high-class boyfriend that seemed like he just stepped out of some catalogue for Calvin Klein.
“Lu Han, please ignore Kris,” Baekhyun says after he wipes at the sides of his lips with a white napkin. “He’s been particularly edgy this week because a good friend of his just came out of hiding, and he doesn’t know what to do next.”
“No, it’s ok.” Lu Han waves at Baekhyun with a hand, a smile curving at his lips. He reaches over to take his glass of complimentary red wine, and swirls it. “You guys have been nothing but kind to me ever since I got shipped here by Father Dearest. And Kris, yes, so far Italy has been nice to my arse. Though I’m still waiting for people to start talking to me with their hands cupped.” Lu Han demonstrates, and Kris’ laughs booms through the quiet, nearly empty restaurant. This Kris isn’t so bad after all.
He takes a measured sip of his drink and mixes it in his mouth, trying to work out its taste and how it blends with the pasta they were eating. Well. This can make trees fall too. But let’s not hope that trees will fall anytime soon. Let him finish his dinner first. Dying with a full stomach seems like a good way to go. “This is good. What wine?”
“Oh, um,” Baekhyun puzzles, then raises his hand. A waiter comes scuttling by and Baekhyun murmurs a string of Italian that Lu Han cannot-and maybe will not ever-understand. Baekhyun sends off the young-not to mention quite attractive-man away, and smiles at Lu Han, “Cantine Borgo di Colloredo. From Molise. Just a train ride from here, I think. Want me to give you a bottle?”
“Yeah, sure,” Lu Han accepts, “It goes really well with this... um.. what is this pasta?”
“Spaghetti alla Puttanesca,” Baekhyun replies, signals another waiter to bring out the dessert and to wrap up a bottle of the wine of choice for Lu Han. He turns back to Lu Han and inquires, “Was it good?”
“Um, that’s a unique name for a dish,” Lu Han remarks, remembering all those days of mistakenly learning Spanish, when he was still under the impression that Italy was a Spanish-speaking country. “Does Puttanesca mean whor-”
“Excuse me,” Kris cuts in, phone in his hand, “I have to take this call. I’ll be right back.” He pats a hand to Baekhyun’s arm before pushing back his chair and standing up, exiting the restaurant while murmuring into his phone receiver.
“What were you saying?” Baekhyun asks, eyes bright and interestedly trained on Lu Han’s face. Lu Han blushes and says, “Oh no, nevermind. I forgot what I was supposed to say. He he he.”
“Oh, ok.” Baekhyun scoots closer to Lu Han, and places his hand over Lu Han’s on top of the table. “Lu Han, I’d like to invite you to my New Year’s Party. You know, to ring in the New Years. It’s going to take place here at the restaurant, and it would mean so much to me if you’d come.”
“I don’t know, Baek,” Lu Han says, staring at his tiramisu. “I don’t really know the people who’ll be attending, and I think I have an appointment with one of my dad's investors in Agropoli. It’s quite a long drive from there to Naples, you know.”
“Oh come on, Lu Han,” Baekhyun insists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Lu Han’s hand, “It’s the perfect occasion to meet friends and socialise. Not to mention to find a potential boyfriend.”
“You are seriously going to go there, aren’t you?”
“Oh please, tell me, when was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my God, is it that guy Yunho? That was six years ago?”
“Hey! I loved him very much, excuse you. It just so happens that his parents didn’t want him to go down the road of having a perfectly able, smart, and not to mention rich boyfriend. They wanted him to have a spouse with birthing hips.”
“I know, shame,” Baekhyun remarks, tsk-ing away under his breath. “I hear he has a kid now?”
“Kids,” Lu Han corrects, swallowing a generous forkful of dessert. “He has triplets. Works fast, that one.”
“Ooh. Cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, so back to what I was saying earlier,” Baekhyun brings up, straightening his back. “Please do come. Admit it, your life has been awfully scalar as of yet.” Lu Han opens his mouth to retort, only to be hushed by Baekhyun with a finger to his lips. “Not another word. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Fine, fine,” Lu Han gives up, prying away Baekhyun’s finger from his lips. “I’m agreeing only because you make the meanest Puttanesca, and a really heavenly tiramisu. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
"Why, thank you."
“I’m back,” Kris announces. Baekhyun and Lu Han both look up, only to find that Kris is not alone. He has his arm around an equally tall guy, about two or three inches shorter that him, and by golly gee, is he gorgeous in that leather jacket of his and his hair pushed up in the way that even James Dean would be jealous and-
It’s Mr. Vespa-riding Hottie. In the flesh and he’s just standing there smirking like it’s his job, and Lu Han thinks maybe, in a forest, trees are already falling, he just can’t hear them from the roaring of the blood in his ears.
“Baekhyun, Lu Han, this is Oh Sehun, my rascal of a best friend. He just arrived from God-knows-where,” Kris introduces. Oh Sehun-goddamn even his name is sexy-smirks, raises up two fingers in recognition. “Sehun-ah, this is my boyfriend, Baekhyun, I’m pretty sure you remember him. And this is his friend Lu Han. Lu Han is French by the way, so ease up on the Italian.”
“How could I forget Baekhyun and his wonderful penchant for cooking the most amazing-tasting food in the world.” Sehun comes over and presses a kiss to Baekhyun’s cheek. Sehun fixates his gaze on Lu Han’s face for a while and, when Lu Han is about to cringe away from his stare, then he tilts his head to the side, recognition dawning on his face. “I know you.”
“You know him?” Kris asks Lu Han, surprised.
“I know him?” Lu Han asks Kris back. Lu Han looks up at Sehun and asks, “I know you?”
“You were the cute boy with the beret outside the bakeshop? You dropped your baguettes and I helped you pick them up?”
And inner Lu Han internally screams his head off at the knowledge that Mr. Handsome remembers him, even though the incident happened three weeks ago, and three weeks is an awfully long time, enough for a person to forget how a complete stranger looks like. Lu Han blushes. He thinks he’s momentarily experiencing a mini cardiac arrest, and he can’t seem to breathe right.
“Um, yeah, that was me. Sorry about that. I think I bothered you that day.”
“Oh no,” Sehun admonishes, waving a capricious hand in the air. He leans down and takes a fork in his hand, spearing through Kris’ serving of tiramisu, “It was no big deal, actually. Though, I should apologise. I think I spoke Italian to you then. I didn’t know you were French. You don’t... seem like it.”
“Wow man, you don’t just tell a man he’s not French. That’s rude.” Kris swats Sehun’s hand and fork away from his dessert. “And it’s ruder to eat someone else’s food.”
“Whatever,” Sehun retorts while straightening up. “Are we going or not?”
“We are,” Kris replies. He takes one more bite of his tiramisu, then moves to press a kiss to Baekhyun’s temple. “Love, I have to go help Sehun with things, ok? I’ll call you later. Love you, ok.”
Baekhyun turns and pulls Kris back, kissing him on the mouth. “Take care.”
“Lu Han, stay safe on your way home, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Baekhyun, Lu Han,” Sehun says, bowing to each of them, “It was really nice to meet you.”
As Lu Han and Baekhyun watch their retreating backs, Lu Han sighs, “Wow, Oh Sehun.”
“He’s handsome right?” Baekhyun muses as he hands a bottle of 2006 red wine to Lu Han.
“Oh Sehun. I am going to marry him someday.”
Baekhyun laughs aloud. “Oh my God, are you serious? Marry him? What’s has gotten into you sweetheart? Did a tree fall on your head or something?”
Well, let’s say a tree really did manage to fall on Lu Han’s head. But, this time around-and contrary to all of the planned, thought out, and morbid scenarios Lu Han already has filed away in some deep recess of his mind-he lives through it, and is now currently living his life with a pretty banged-up head. At least, a pretty head.
“I want to marry him someday,” Lu Han concludes, hugging his bottle of red wine to his chest.
☯
There is an old idiom that says “The early bird catches the early worm”.
Lu Han’s mother had instilled this in his mind since the dawn of time, but Lu Han believes that it never really got ingrained in his body and soul like what she was trying to do. Sorry, Mother.
Lu Han is not an early worm. He never was. There was this time in his boarding school life that he was elected as the Student Council President, and there were meetings after meetings that he had to overlook. Since he was the president, he was required to attend. But the problem was, how will they be able to hold proper meetings if the Most Valuable Person was always late? Lu Han always arrived when a half-hour has already passed from the originally designated time, thus delaying everything. (He never was like this with his football practices though.) And because of this, people managed to adjust their schedules according to Lu Han’s. They learnt to announce meetings an hour earlier than the supposed meeting time start, and Lu Han always ended up arriving 20-25 minutes early.
So maybe for a short time Lu Han became an early bird. He got his job done properly, had enough time to practise football, win awards, and maintain his nr. 1 ranking in academics. But then the school year ended and his term as Student Council President ended and, by extension, his being an early bird ended as well. It was pretty short-lived, but hey, it was fun.
Lu Han awakes with a jolt when he realises his alarm clock certainly did not alarm. His eyes fly open, and he turns in his bed to stare at the red digits flashing 11: 53 AM at his face.
“Shit,” Lu Han hisses as he untangles himself from the sheets. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Let’s just say that he has an appointment with a major investor at a vineyard that’s a good hour drive from where Lu Han is currently staying, and the agreed meeting time is 1: 00 PM. Lu Han throttles into his bathroom, showers at lightning speed and throws on an outfit that he thinks is very French, and leaves, grabbing at his car keys and phone hastily before shutting the door.
The meeting goes along pretty well, despite the fact that he was a good half-hour late because Lord, Italian traffic is a whole new experience altogether. The investor, or in this case investors, was a very comely old couple well in their 60’s, looking for a good place to put their old money to. They seemed to have developed a liking for his face and the culture in which he has been raised into (You’re French, oh chérie, I am French too! J’adore... ) and, apparently, his relationship status.
“With a pretty face like yours?” the old lady remarks, patting at his cherubic cheeks for emphasis.
“None, Madame,” Lu Han replies, smiling around the woman’s fingers. He hands them bottles of the finest Lu wines, and sends them off, nodding and shouting back “OK” to the old lady’s offers of “I’ll set you up with a grandchild of mine someday!”
Turns out that his conversation with his investors lasted a good two hours over schedule, making him almost three hours late for Baekhyun’s party, just shy of some thirteen minutes or so once he’s parked his car at the back of the restaurant. He’s standing in front of the Baroque double doors of Baekhyun’s restaurant, juggling a bottle of well-aged, dry sherry in his hands. When he peeks inside via the glass panels of the windows, he realises he’s awfully underdressed for the occasion. Not that the looks the maitre d’ is shooting at him is enough proof. The disdain in her eyes when she gave him a once over clearly said he was horribly underdressed for the event.
When he is finally let in, his heart sinks from its position in his chest cavity because hell, he’s so out of place right now. She is correct (four for her) as far as he is concerned. Everyone around him is wearing formal dresses, neatly pressed suits, and polished leather shoes, and fuck, he must’ve missed the Most Important Memo of The Year that this is supposed to be a black tie event. Because here is Lu Han. Lu Han and his black-and-white striped long sleeved shirt, faded blue jeans, and black Chuck Taylors. He’s still wearing his beret on top of his head, and the neckerchief the kind old lady gave him is still wrapped loosely around his neck.
He deposits his cask of liquor on the buffet table, and makes to leave, avoiding the eyes of the people obviously eyeing him. But then he is stopped in his tracks by Baekhyun wearing an adorable, matching black suit, hair coiffed primly and properly on top of his head. His nose scrunches up as he takes in Lu Han’s outfit, but engulfs him in a tight hug nonetheless.
“Sweetheart, what are you wearing?” Baekhyun asks him as he pulls away, holding Lu Han at arms’ length. He’s staring at the neckerchief hanging around his neck, and Lu Han thinks Baekhyun must think it’s more of a noose rather than an innocent piece of rolled-up cloth. “Whatever happened to looking for potential boyfriends?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t really expect to be attending a formal party on New Years’ Eve. I should go. I still have these paperworks to finish and I’m pretty sure there’s a Man U marathon on Balls tonight so. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
“Oh no, sweetheart, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m sure it’s bad luck to spend New Years alone. And this is the perfect occasion to meet new people and socialise. Not to mention Oh Sehun is here. Don’t you want to get to know him more?”
Lu Han visibly blanches, the flush in his cheeks from sipping different kinds of liquor from earlier suddenly draining from his face. “You mean he’s here? Oh my God why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve worn something better than this." He gestures wildly at his body up and down. "I seriously need to go now.”
“Nope, not going to happen.” Baekhyun tugs at Lu Han’s arm, stopping him from walking out the door. “You will stay here, and you will have fun, and you will ring in the New Year with me. Now come,” Baekhyun herds him to the buffet table and shoves a skewered sausage marinated in barbecue sauce and chives into his right hand, a bottle of Deutsch beer in the other, “Party hard!”
Lu Han has got to hand it to Baekhyun. Other than his amazing ability of picking great-tasting liquor, and handsome men, he throws the best parties. Though thoroughly formal, they’re still the best. Lu Han is currently sitting down on a cloth-covered plastic chair, holding a red cup filled with some alcoholic (he hopes) beverage, balancing a plate of assorted nuts on his left knee as he nods his head to the sound of cello strings coming from the live orchestra Baekhyun had flown in from Austria.
As he chews away on a walnut, he sees Oh Sehun somewhere in the crowd. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with its two top buttons undone, a completely undone necktie hung around his neck, that damn leather jacket with matching black skinnies, and black Sperry’s. His silver blond hair glistens under the fairy lights lining the walls and the pillars, and Oh God is he handsome.
“I know right,” a voice pipes up. Lu Han bewilderedly looks turns to his side only to see a man about his age, all puffy cheeks and looking awfully like the steamed buns his mother used to make during every Chinese New Year. Lu Han didn’t know he was talking aloud, though.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh Sehun?” Steamed Buns points at Sehun with his cake-and-frosting loaded plastic fork. “He’s handsome, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Lu Han replies, averting his eyes back to Sehun’s frame and the way his thighs look so full in those godforsaken skinn- “I’m going to marry him someday.”
“Me too. Maybe we can share.” Steamed Buns laughs and takes a few legumes from Lu Han’s plate, and smiles toothily up at him. “I’m Xiumin.”
Lu Han sideeyes the hamsterish person next to him and mentally questions him in his head. What gave him the impression that he’d willingly share his future husband?
“I’m Lu Han.” and then Lu Han just hums, neither an answer nor a rejection. It was a conversation-ender, and he not-so-secretly hopes that this Xiumin person gets his hint. The following silence gives him enough leeway to stand up and slink away towards the other side of the buffet table, where the chocolate fountain is.
This is where he meets a nice, attractive young man with an equally attractive dimple that dips at his right cheek whenever he talks, chews, smiles, and etc. Lu Han takes a toothpick and spears a pineapple, then sticks it into the chocolate fountain. He feels Mr. Dimples move his way.
“Hi,” Mr. Dimples greets Lu Han, and Lu Han mentally prepares himself to flirt, releasing puffs of breaths, excusing it as him trying to cool the chocolate coating his pineapple.
“Hello. I’m Lu Han,” Lu Han greets back, giving Mr. Dimples a bright smile he knows can melt hearts.
“I’m Yixing,” he introduces, “I heard what you and my friend, Xiumin, were talking about, and I agree. Oh Sehun is attractive. Very much.”
Well that’s a nice damper to his short-lived flirting career. “I know. I’ll be marrying him someday.”
Lu Han doesn’t even know why he keeps on saying it to anybody that would listen, but he just does, and it’s like automatic word vomit now. The sort that you get when you see vegetables served in front of you, or when shit is served in front of you, or when you see your innards and your brains splattered on the ground after being crushed by a tree.
“Sure you will,” Yixing singsongs, “But I don’t think either of us will be Mr. Oh Sehun anytime soon. Lookie over there.” Yixing lifts up his pinkie finger from its gripped position around his red cup. Lu Han follows the direction Yixing is pointing at, and he’s absolutely crestfallen.
There is a tall, leggy girl next to Oh Sehun, wearing a glittering red dress that comes to a stop in the middle of her thighs, a faux fur white jacket thrown over her shoulders. She currently has a hand curled around Sehun’s bicep, and when she moves to face him, she puts a hand to Sehun’s neck and proceeds to ram her tongue down his throat. Lu Han thinks he’s going to throw up all the nuts he just consumed.
“Oh.”
“Indeed.”
Well damn, no one told him Oh Sehun is straight. There goes another fuck-important memo flying over his head, all folded into a straight airplane made to soar as straight as Sehun’s sexuality. Blame Lu Han for thinking everyone is gay until proven heterosexual. Lu Han shoves fruit after fruit into his mouth, downing cups of alcohol in hopes of finding remorse and answers in the remaining olive at the bottom of his martini glass.
This is sad. Maybe if a tree suddenly fell on top of his head, nothing would’ve made the difference. A tree-flattened Lu Han wouldn’t make Sehun straight.
But then again Oh Sehun is currently approaching him as of this moment and Oh my God Lu Han needs a manly drink right about now.
“Scotch, please,” Lu Han requests from the bartender. Sehun slides into the seat next to him, and calls out, “Make that two. Hello, Lu Han.”
“Hello, Oh Sehun.” Lu Han whips out his phone to fiddle with, locking and unlocking it, the time periodically flashing across the screen. 11:53 PM. He wants to ask Sehun who the sequined slut he’s with is, since when has he been in a relationship with Sequined Slut, where did he meet Sequined Slut, how long has he been fucking straight and playing with Lu Han’s perception of his sexual orientation. But his brain-to-mouth filter is still pretty intact, and the only question that comes out of his mouth is:
“How are you?”
“I’ve been stellar. How about you?” Sehun asks as the bartender slides him his glass. Lu Han places his phone on the counter screen side down, and wraps his fingers around his own glass of scotch.
“Never better, Oh Sehun,” Lu Han replies as he takes a swig. The scotch works its way down his throat and into his stomach fast, the warmth spreading all over his body, and he’s left buzzing.
Sehun hums against his own glass, eyes trained on Lu Han’s face from around the rim. Party music suddenly starts playing, and the familiar tune of Lu Han's favourite song suddenly starts filling the trattoria and making its way to him and Sehun. Lu Han starts becoming antsy, fingers tapping to the beat on his phone’s back cover. He’s bobbing his head up and down, mouthing the lyrics before taking another sip of the warming amber liquid.
“You know,” Sehun starts as he watches Lu Han sway to the song, “You’re quite attractive.”
Wait. This is clearly a flirt manoeuvre. What is a straight guy doing, pulling a flirt manoeuvre on an admitted homosexual. His ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton, the sounds suddenly all muffling out, and he doesn’t really know the lyrics to the second verse anymore, and all he can hear is the sound of his fast heartbeat.
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Lu Han shouts back, though his voice would’ve still been quite discernible even if his voice was of a normal volume. Before he can stop himself, he adds, “Did you know that I’ll be marr-”
“Hey handsome, do you want to dance?” Yixing’s voice cuts Lu Han’s impending demise, and he sort of wants to thank and slap the guy. Thank because wow, he saved him from verbal diarrhoea. Slap because wow, how dare he ask Sehun to dance when he knows perfectly well that Lu Han wants to affiliate with Sehun legally. Sehun looks flabbergasted while Yixing just looks expectant.
Lu Han swallows down the last gulp of his scotch and, even though they all know perfectly well that it was Sehun that was propositioned, he takes Yixing’s hand in his and stumbles away from Sehun, dragging Yixing away with him while slurring Baekhyun’s wise words: “Party hard!”
Yixing is a dancer, Lu Han finds out. He’s a professional choreographer and danseur, stationed somewhere in mainland Basilicata, and currently in Naples to heal his wounds (he just broke up with his boyfriend of three months, a man named Kim Jonghyun that ran off with a fashion designer that goes by the nickname Key) and to attend the party of his ex-boyfriend’s (Kris) boyfriend. To be honest, Yixing had sighed as they plopped down on the seats by the railings overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, most of the people invited here tonight were Baekhyun’s and Kris’ exes, all confined in one space. Lu Han starts wondering whose ex Sehun is. Maybe Kris’.
The countdown starts and, when it’s down to the last five seconds, Lu Han starts jumping up and down to every ticking second. Shouts of Happy New Year in different languages boom across the veranda, and the most beautiful fireworks Lu Han has ever seen in his unproductive life starts exploding across the New Year sky.
Yixing grabs Lu Han by the shoulders and kisses him smack on the mouth. When he pulls away to look dazedly at Yixing, he gets pulled and passed to different people’s arms, kissing and getting kissed by all sorts of strangers. Lu Han tries extra hard not to laugh while pressing his lips on people’s skin.
After a good ten minutes Lu Han finally staggers into the main function room and he is deposited by his last kisser on a plastic chair beside the buffet table (he realises that this was his former seat from earlier). He rests his woozy head on the edge of the table.
“Whoo, Happy New Year!” Lu Han hollers, waggling a finger round and round in the air. This is how Baekhyun sees him. Baekhyun is the epitome of dishevelled, his dandy hair now a mess on top of his head. His dress shirt’s buttons are completely mismatched, and wow he looks pretty sexed up. Kris didn’t waste a minute into the New Year.
“Sweetheart,” Baekhyun murmurs as he picks up Lu Han by the armpits, “You look gorge.”
“Everything looks gorge behind liquor-tinted glasses and after three bottles of Jack Daniel’s, love,” Lu Han replies, patting at Baekhyun's flushed cheeks. “I’ve rung in the New Year. Can I leave now?”
“But I haven’t even seen you dance with Sehun yet! I know you have a thing for him.”
“What, pfsh,” Lu Han splutters, “I do not have a thing for Oh Sehun.”
“Yes, you do, Mr. Denial-pants.” Baekhyun waggles a finger in front of Lu Han’s face, his feline eyes disappearing into kohl lines as he smiles diabolically at Lu Han. “The first time you formally met him you said you wanted to marry him. I specifically ordered Kris to invite him here tonight just for you!”
“Did you invite the long-legged, walking disco bimbo along as well?” Lu Han deadpans as he snatches his coat away from the waiter’s grip. He starts putting it on, pushing his arms through the sleeves.
“The bimbo invited herself.”
Lu Han stops from trying to push his limb through a sleeve, freezing in his spot. Baekhyun is looking at him smugly, liquor-tinted glasses sparkling under the fairy lights. He winks at Lu Han and slinks away, wrapping his arm around the waist of a passing god (Kris).
“I’m still here, Lu Han,” Sehun’s baritone voice says, the vibrations oscillating into his ear and tickling his eardrums. “It’s rude to not look at the person talking to you, you know.”
“I wasn’t even talking to you?” Lu Han replies, pushing his arm back into his jacket sleeve and damn, why won’t it budge. Sehun turns Lu Han around so they’re face to face, and Sehun takes Lu Han’s coat from him. For a moment Lu Han is jacket-less as Sehun pushes his arm through Lu Han’s jacket sleeve, turns it inside out. When it’s finally the correct side out and Lu Han’s face is beyond crimson (but not obvious in this room’s lighting, thank the Lord), he hands the coat back to the owner.
“Good as new,” Sehun announces, and Lu Han manages to finally pull on his coat. As Lu Han rights his lapels, Lu Han asks, “Ok, how much of my and Baekhyun’s conversation did you hear?”
“Enough to know that you want to marry me,” Sehun replies cheekily, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his teeth nearly exposed, “So, when do you plan to propose? Or should I be the one doing the proposing?”
And now maybe is a good time to be crushed by a falling tree. Maybe the sight of his insides exploded everywhere on the floor would make Sehun forget anything that passed between him and Baekhyun, and maybe the fact that Lu Han wants to be Sehun’s husband, or, by some Godly chance, forget Lu Han’s existence altogether.
“I have to go,” Lu Han concludes, evading everything. He makes to leave only to be stopped. Why do people always have to stop him!
“Before we forget,” Sehun begins. He leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Lu Han’s mouth, their lips almost, infinitesimally, meeting. “Happy New Year, Lu Han. What, no kiss for your future husband?”
Lu Han is beyond embarrassed, to say the least. But he looks around the room and, when he’s finally sure that Sequined Slut is nowhere to be seen, he leans up to kiss Sehun’s cheek.
“Happy New Year, Oh Sehun.”
So maybe Lu Han is a late bird. But the worm he’s targeting, let’s just say is a right worm. Not early, not late. Just right.
Happy New Year indeed.
☯
“You’re late.”
“Ok, I know,” Lu Han admits, peeling off his sweater and draping it over his office chair. Lu Han looks up to see his client’s face, and repeats, “I know. I’m sorry. I just got back from a family affair in France, and the traffic was awful, and I just found out that the inn I am-was-currently staying in does not accept long time renting. So I am jetlagged, and travel-tired, and homeless. I am very sorry I am late.”
Lu Han had just returned to Italy after spending a good month and a half back in France, reporting everything to his father, all of the stocks and the sales and the statuses of the grapes and the workers. It was a gruelling month and a half, being scrutinised in and out by his father about the company, and being babied by his mother that claims he doesn’t call home enough (he really doesn’t).
He actually feels good to be back in Italy, far away from his suffocating parents. But when he arrives back at the inn he stays at he finds his bags lined up by the receptionist’s desk. He finds out that the maximum stay at the inn he is-was-living in is only three months and, apparently, he just maxed out.
“I really don’t care,” his long time client, Kim Jongin, replies. “All I care about right now is that my alcohol stash is depleted and I need someone to replenish it.”
“Ok, Jongin, stop being an asshole.”
“Ok. I’m sorry, Lu Han, I wish I could help. But I live way in Basilicata and I know how much you need to stay somewhere close to your work. I also can’t ask you to move in with me when you very well know I’m the most unorganised person in the planet. Quoting you, my house is a pigsty.”
“I know.”
“So about my alcohol stash...”
“I don’t really understand how a danseur, who is under a very strict diet, will need a monthly supply of three cases of Hennessy, and five casks of assorted wines.”
“And you don’t really need to know the answer. Now, can you throw in...”
Lu Han finishes his work for the day in peace, and spends the rest of his 24 hours scouting for a new apartment. When he comes up with zero results, he checks himself in a hotel, and spends the night wallowing in self-pity while drowning in a tub of Haagen-Dazs.
He wakes up to a phone call from Baekhyun. He closes his eyes tightly shut when his phone’s backlight burns through his retinas, and when he presses the answer button, he instantly regrets it.
“Wake up sunshine!” Baekhyun half-shouts, half-sings.
“Shut up,” Lu Han whines, throwing the white quilt over his head, “It’s too early for your perkiness.”
“It’s currently 11: 53 AM, you jackass. And you have a scheduled lunch with me today, or did you forget?”
“Shit.” Lu Han struggles to untangle himself from the sheets and jump off of the bed. This seems awfully like déjà vu, he thinks as he shoves his toothbrush into his mouth and starts brushing at top speed. He sets his phone on speaker, and starts stripping.
“I don’t know if this is accidental or this is just a habitual thing.”
“I’m sorry, ok. It’s just that I’m pooped. I just got back from France and I’m homeless, currently staying in a cheap hotel with faulty plumbing-shit, so cold-and not a single apartment in the vicinity is free for renting. So please tell me why I would rather sleep myself to waste than to stay awake and endure life’s wrath.”
There is silence in the other line for a good moment, and Lu Han takes this as a chance to rinse off the suds all over his body and the shampoo on his head with the arctic cold water as fast as he can. “Idea! You can always stay in Kris’ apartment.”
“You want me to move in with your boyfriend?” Lu Han jokes, his teeth chattering. He wraps a towel over his body and pats himself dry.
“For your information,” Baekhyun sniffs, “Kris just moved out and moved in with me. So please, quit it. I know my boyfriend’s a god.”
“But not my god.”
“Yes, you have Oh Sehun for that.”
“Oh my God.”
“Why?”
“He totally knows I want to marry him, did you know that? Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to see his face again.” Lu Han opens his closet, and takes an oversized white sweater and black pants. He’s pulling up his zipper when he adds, “But I still want to marry him, Oh God.”
“It’s Oh Sehun, but I get what you mean. Sweetheart, it’s fine to want to marry a person. I want to marry Kris. See? It’s perfectly healthy and you’re perfectly single so go for it!”
“Ok, there are so many wrong things with what you just said. For one, Kris is your boyfriend. Second, I’m single, but who says Oh Sehun is single. Remember Sequined Slut?” So maybe Lu Han has to stop calling her that. He ruffles his hair in front of the vanity mirror, and grabs his keys. “And third and Most Important Of All, he’s heterosexual. I cannot marry a man who likes vaginas instead of dicks. That is against my moral code. What if he cheats on me because he wants The Real Thing? I can never live that down.”
“Sweetheart, chillax. Answer to number one, fine Kris is my boyfriend, but even if he is my boyfriend, I can always not want to marry him. Answer to number two, as far as I know Sehun is single. Has been for a good while now. And yes, I remember Sequined Slut, who is named Jung Soojung by the way. She messed up a good part of my guest list, the nerve. Answer to number three, drumroll please.”
Lu Han drums his fingers on his Honda Civic’s steering wheel, and waits for Baekhyun’s voice to sound again. The stoplight turns green, and Lu Han shifts to drive.
“Sehun is perfectly gay.”
“Wow, shocker there. Please enlighten me, Obi Wan.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, I am helping you see the light here. Kris has been best friends with Sehun for as long as they both can remember. They both come from old families, very rich. Being the same age they practically grew up together, much like us. Attended the same preparatory school, entered the same boarding school, passed and studied in Harvard University. I can hear your mind judging from here, Lu Han. Yes, Kris is smart. Kris introduced Sehun to me when he was still with his boyfriend-his name was Jongdae, I think-and before he disappeared from the face of this Earth. So ha to your assumption that Sehun is not gay.”
To say that Lu Han wants to jump around in glee is a big understatement. He wants to fucking jump around in fucking glee, shout in jubilation, and maybe hug a tree in a euphoric rush of happiness. He nearly swerves away from the main road. He steps hard on the brakes, his body launching itself to the front. He clutches at the steering wheel, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. But he has never felt so happy in his entire life.
“Ok, fine. I accept. I will make it my life's mission to make Oh Sehun my future husband.”
☯
“I can see myself living here.”
Lu Han inspects the living room of Kris’ former apartment, and nods to himself in agreement. It’s a really spacious flat, occupying a whole floor and having two bedrooms and one large bathroom. It’s already fully furnished, the kitchen fit for a chef like Baekhyun. The floors are carpeted, and so soft like how Lu Han likes them, and there are large floor-to-ceiling windows in the master bedroom. The view outside is of the Tyrrhenian Sea, so very near the docks. If he opens the windows and steps out the balcony, he can catch whiffs of the briny sea air, the crisp coolness of the breeze.
He gets a four-poster, king-sized bed, and the room is immaculately white it’s almost blinding. There’s working central heating system and, when he puts a hand under the running water, there is proper plumbing. Lu Han sort of wants to cry at his sheer luck.
“So this whole building only has three floors, which means three flats. The two, the one above and below this one, belongs to the owner. This one is yours. You can move the furniture whatever way you want to, and there’s enough room for you to work and pass time by.”
“Wow. How much does a month cost?”
“Not much. It’s actually a good thing you’re homeless right now. The owner needed someone to occupy this fast. He doesn’t really ask for much, just a quiet individual to stay and maybe maintain the place, like what I do, and when I told Baekhyun, he immediately thought of you.”
“I don’t know, Kris,” Lu Han says, facing the fireplace, hands on his hips as he tries to imagine a good work of art he could hang above it. “Maybe I’m not so quiet. I can hold wild orgies here on Friday nights, for all you know.”
“I am learning so much about your choice of words, Lu Han,” Sehun remarks from behind Lu Han.
Here Lu Han goes again. Wishing for a tree to fall on him again. He closes his eyes, and breathes through his nostrils. “Is Oh Sehun behind me?”
“Um, yeah,” Kris replies.
“Is he the owner?”
“Yes, Lu Han, and what did I say about not looking at the person you’re talking to,” Sehun replies, his voice laced with mirth.
Lu Han turns a bit to face Kris, glaring up at him. He knew this was all too good to be true. “You didn’t tell me Oh Sehun owns this place.”
“Because Baekhyun said you will say no. Come on, Lu Han, take it. You know you want to.”
Lu Han musters up enough strength to face Sehun, and look him in the eye. “Fine. I’ll take it. Only because I'm desperate to have a warm bath.”
“Perfect,” Sehun exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Think of it this way: don’t you think it’s more convenient to live near your future husband?”
“About that, I was joking, I’m sorry.”
“Sure. But it seems my assistant thinks your joke was pretty serious. He told me some Frenchie named Lu Han said he’d be marrying me someday.”
“X-Xiumin’s your assistant?” Lu Han chokes out, “He never mentioned he worked for you. He even told me that he wants to marry you, too, and that maybe we can share. I honest-”
“I know you were joking, Lu Han. Relax.”
“Um, ok.” Lu Han pretty much wants to faceplant on the nearest possible surface. Time to change the subject. “So how much is the rent?”
“When do you plan on moving in?” Apparently, Sehun likes changing subjects too.
“Hey, man, I think I have to go, Baekhyun’s waiting for me at home,” Kris interrupts, hands deep in his pockets. “I’ll help you move in tomorrow, Lu Han. Check out of that hellhole hotel you’re currently staying in, nobody goes there anymore. Sehun-ah, take good care of Lu Han here, ok?”
“Yeah, sure, man,” Sehun replies, giving Kris a bro-fist-one-arm-bro-hug. When there’s only the two of them in the room Sehun turns to Lu Han. “Here are the keys to this floor. And here are the keys to the front door and the back door downstairs. You want me to see you out?”
“Sure, Oh Sehun.” They lapse into an almost comfortable silence as Lu Han bolts the doors of his soon-to-be new flat closed. When Lu Han is in front of his car, Sehun stops him.
Sehun gives him a perfectly platonic hug, and softly pushes him away. “See you tomorrow, Lu Han. Stay safe. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to my future husband.” Sehun winks at him before heading back inside, leaving Lu Han standing out in the cold, mouth hanging open.
Here Lu Han goes again. Wanting to unwish his wish of wanting a tree to fall on him again.
i ii