[Fic] Worth
Title: Worth
Pairing: Jongdae/Yixing
Rating: R
Genre: AU, established relationship
Warnings: bullying, angst
Summary/Prompt: Jongdae is a highly respected academic, and Yixing, though successful and happy where he is in life, has no degree. It starts causing friction in Yixing and Jongdae's lives.
A/N: Thanks to liederkreis for a couple of the lines in here. <3
***
It wasn’t as though feeling unequal to one’s partner began all at once. At first, there was happiness and insecurity, but that was tempered with intrigue, and attraction, and flirting. It slid into fascination, where he listened to Jongdae talk about things that he couldn’t even fathom and thought it fascinating because Jongdae was so passionate about it. Physics? He knew nothing of that. And when his eyes went wide and he had no idea how to answer a question Jongdae posed, Jongdae laughed, the trilling laugh that had adoration in it, and Jongdae apologized for making him look how his students looked. And Jongdae kissed him, and sang with him, and slept against him, and never once looked at him in frustration or pity.
And Yixing did not know what it was to feel ashamed.
They had been a “them” for more months than he had fingers, the first time that Yixing began to fear. It was a department gathering, a dinner for all the professors and staff and their significant others, to bring everyone closer. Yixing had dressed carefully, fixing Jongdae’s tie before they went out the door. He’d been proud to stand beside Jongdae, proud to be taken along, to have a place there. He had been anxious, yes, hoping he did not embarrass either of them by spilling his drink or anything like that.
Jongdae had been fetching them drinks when Yixing was asked a very technical question, and Yixing had frowned.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
There were lifted brows.
“Not dating him for his brains then,” someone said. A stranger. Someone who did not know Yixing from any other person walking down the street.
But there were no further comments, Yixing composing his face as Jongdae handed him a drink and slipped an arm around his waist.
It was only hours later that it made him angry, unable to do anything about it or reply to it, nothing more than wringing out the cloth he’d used on his face with extra strength.
He preferred the anger to the doubt.
Jongdae had letters after his name, not one but three degrees. Yixing had none of either. Jongdae could have an intelligent sounding conversation about anything, and Yixing talked to his guitar. Jongdae made if not an amazing salary, then a solid and acceptable one, while Yixing sometimes ran tight most months just covering necessities. Jongdae was the image of a successful, filial son, and Yixing was happy, fulfilled, and content in his chosen work. Yixing thought that was all that mattered, since his own parents were pleased that he was happy. Jongdae’s only apparent shortcoming was that he was gay, and that his parents thought Yixing was a wastrel slacker who mooched off of their son. It was easier not to feel concern over the opinion of Jongdae’s parents, though, because Jongdae was so very vocal in opposition to them. So what if Yixing had no degree, because he didn’t need one to play music. So what if Yixing didn’t pay him rent, because they both fit into the space Jongdae had picked out to stay in alone. They’d finally stopped asking if Yixing was going back to school, or making snide hints that Yixing’s parents had somehow failed with him. Never directly, but always implied, like oh another of Jongdae’s little friends just got his Ph.D., his parents surely raised him well.
Yixing’s parents knew that if they needed him, he would be there, and that he loved them for themselves, and for the way that they loved him - and the way they loved Jongdae for making him happy.
“You light up around him, and he looks at you like you’re the moon,” his mother had told him, nearly tearing up with Yixing’s face in her hands.
He didn’t know about that, but it had been nice to smile about. Jongdae could defend him against his parents, but that small comment by one of Jongdae’s peers ran subtle through his mind. Not everyone was a horrible person, he knew that. But every colleague of Jongdae’s he met, he wondered. What if, behind the smile, they thought he wasn’t good enough, if they thought Jongdae deserved better. Someone brilliant and accomplished for Jongdae to debate with for hours.
And that happened, sometimes. One of Jongdae’s oldest friends, another professor at the university, had a standing invitation to dinner. Joonmyun Yixing trusted, something he could see in Joonmyun’s eyes, the way he smiled. He and Jongdae got into long discussions about their respective fields that sometimes turned into near arguments, with books pulled and websites consulted. Hours long, sometimes, with Joonmyun finally leaving nearly at midnight. Yixing usually stayed for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, before going to watch TV, or fiddle with a tune or lyrics, or call his parents. He got called in to mediate a few times, Jongdae pulling him into his lap and bawling dramatically that Joonmyun wouldn’t listen.
“Jongdae is right,” Yixing stage whispered to Joonmyun, making all three of them laugh.
And Joonmyun apologized for being a bore, and Yixing knew that there was no hidden barb in those words. It was true Yixing wasn’t terribly interested, even if part of that was because he couldn’t follow their conversation. When they did want his input, Joonmyun had a very straightforward manner of explaining that set off little sparks of understanding. Jongdae did as well, Yixing considered, though he had a tendency to go on tangents that left Yixing’s mind floundering and Jongdae apologizing and trying to backtrack.
But those little epiphanies were something he loved about Jongdae as well.
But others had neither the tact, nor the care that Joonmyun did.
They chose the longest words, the most complex phrases, weaving and darting like a child scribbling. It was a language not the first in his brain or on his tongue, and as Jongdae shot back a response to refute whatever argument, someone quietly laughed, “Why don’t we ask Yixing?”
Jongdae did not react, and if he had heard, its meaning had not sunk in. Yixing had to believe that.
Maybe Yixing could explain it.
I bet Yixing knows all about that.
Are you fixing Jongdae’s mistakes in his book, Yixing?
What do you talk about at home? The weather?
Jongdae is so nice, indulging your little daydreams.
Most whenever Jongdae wasn’t paying attention. When Jongdae was engaged, it was so much more subtle. His attention would inevitably wander, focusing on his drink or Jongdae’s jaw as he talked. And then, “What do you think, Yixing?”
Before he could do more than look, his mouth dropping open because he had no idea what they were talking about, someone else would seamlessly pick up the conversation, and all that was left were badly controlled smirks and shared eye rolls.
And then Jongdae tuning in at just the right moment.
“Since when did Yixing turn into your teaching assistant? If he's helping you write your exams, I hope you're paying him in more than hors d'oeuvres.”
Jongdae had thought they were teasing only, and he had leaned into Jongdae’s side, smiling because even if Jongdae had not known it, he had defended him.
But he was unaware the barbs were so obvious, until Joonmyun joined their group one Friday evening. The snickers as Yixing was invited to explain, even as Jongdae was arguing his point. Yixing looked up, half expecting Joonmyun to be joking along, only to find Joonmyun staring from face to smirking face with narrowed eyes. Joonmyun met his eyes, a question there, and Yixing shook his head slightly, letting his lips curve for only a moment. He was fine. He was. A bunch of highly educated teachers and educators thought he was an idiot. But just moments before, Jongdae had laced their fingers together and promised him that they wouldn’t stay too long.
***
Yixing put down the mug of tea, brewed strong, slightly sweet, just beyond Jongdae’s elbow. When he thought of it, when he didn’t get lost in his music or a book or the television, he liked to do that when he knew Jongdae was working. Too much tea or too much work made Jongdae’s head throb, so Yixing had saved him more than once. He let his fingers just lightly skim Jongdae’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him but to let him know he was there. If not, Jongdae might only notice the tea after it was cold and bitter. Jongdae looking up at him with a smile, rolling back his shoulders.
“Time to sleep?”
“Not yet,” Yixing told him. “I brought you tea.”
Jongdae’s sound of pleasure had Yixing grinning. “This’ll keep me going. I promised I’d have these papers back on Monday. Halfway through. Three days to go. I can do it, right?”
“I know you can. I’d offer to help, but we both know I wouldn’t be able to,” Yixing said. Even as the words left his mouth, they felt far more bitter than they ever had. He’d joked one time, picking up one of the papers and pretending he had any idea what it said and declaring it brilliant as Jongdae laughed into his stomach. When Jongdae had the time, he even invited Yixing to sit with him, showing him how he was marking a student down for a fallacy of logic. It was how he’d come to have such an appreciation for Jongdae as a teacher, and for Jongdae’s students.
“They’ll be you one day,” he’d teased, kissing Jongdae’s neck to show him he didn’t really believe it.
But Jongdae almost pouted up at him, before his face slid into an easy smile. “You’re helping. You’re reminding me I need to work fast so I can come spend time with you.”
Jongdae didn’t understand, and that was for the best. He stared the bookshelf that held the textbooks Jongdae taught out of, the books Jongdae had written. He’d tried to read them, get some understanding so he didn’t feel so lost in the middle of conversation.
When they had been teasing Jongdae about finishing his next book, they had asked who would be reading it over for him. It’s not as though Yixing will help him edit it, they had laughed. No, it wouldn’t be him. But Jongdae could have someone who could help him do that. And he would, a professional editor. But that didn’t keep Yixing from thinking.
***
It stung, their little dinner parties. He’d looked to Jongdae, a thought in his head bubbling up, and Jongdae looked at him mid-sentence.
“I finally figured out the melody progression,” Yixing breathed, something that had been eluding him for over a week. And Jongdae’s eyes lit up, squeezing his arm.
“Do you need to write it down?”
Yixing shook his head, grinning. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I could forget it if I tried.”
Sometimes when it clicked, it clicked.
“What instrument do you use to write your songs on?” one of Jongdae’s colleagues asked.
“I have a small keyboard, and a guitar. The keyboard is nice since I can plug in headphones and not disturb anyone.”
“Sometimes he has a thought in the middle of the night,” Jongdae explained. “It saves us both.”
One of the men smiled. “I hear playing an instrument can help with brain function.” Music was so much more than that. It was- “Maybe there’s only so much it can do.”
All of Yixing’s positive feelings shuttered at a cutting look, a titter. He’d been shown his place, yet again.
“I’m getting a drink,” Yixing told Jongdae, and stayed for a while staring into his water cup and wondering why they seemed to dislike him so intensely. He would never be a physicist or build a rocket. He would never understand advanced mathematics. He did not need those things for music, or to move with it.
“Are you tired?” Jongdae whispered into his shoulder. “We should go.”
He was grateful. Regretful. Jongdae might have liked to stay longer, converse more. In their room, Jongdae wooed him into bed, was no less fervent in his declaration of love.
“I don’t know why you put up with me since I drag you to those things,” Jongdae said, yawning.
Yixing’s eyes burned when he thought of the question Jongdae’s colleagues would have asked instead - why Jongdae put up with him.
***
It felt as though he were constantly in retreat. It had been a new one that day, two weeks later. “Must be nice to have someone live-in who can cook.” “It must be nice to have you there.” “Some kind of service.” Service. As though he were a servant, and not one half of a relationship. The man speaking had focused on Yixing a moment too long to have his meaning unclear, and Jongdae’s back had been to him. All Yixing could do was avert his gaze, lowering his brows and cutting off Joonmyun, who’d looked poised to speak.
Yixing excused himself. Retreating. Always retreating, because there was nothing he could think to say, shame following anger following wondering. Holding his tongue because it was not his place to speak to Jongdae’s colleagues like that.
Yixing looked up at the hand on his shoulder, smiling when he saw it was Joonmyun.
“I held my tongue because you looked as though you wanted me to,” Joonmyun said, sitting beside him. But his face was grim, leaning close. “Are they always like that?”
“I don’t have enough letters after my name,” Yixing said. And that felt disingenuous. “I think they think I am not bright enough for Jongdae, that he should have someone more befitting his station.”
The last words were bitter in his mouth. Maybe the others had never known what it was like to want, to weigh the want of food against shelter, against walking even if their shoes would not hold up against it. Maybe they didn’t know what it meant to yearn to want information and have no way to reach for it. Yixing had not needed a university to put tunes into his head, but there had been a time when he’d wanted it. He’d wanted music schools, grand pianos, sweeping staircases, like something out of a fairy tale. To touch every instrument, learn the sound of them. He could have written symphonies. He still could, but he’d learned on his own. No famous teachers. No brilliant classmates. Just a guitar he’d lost ten pounds of himself to purchase, and a keyboard that had been a gift from Jongdae. To Yixing at that moment, and even then, it had been worth more than gold, worth all the music schools in the world combined. He had cried, shaking with it, Jongdae murmuring into his hair and holding him. It had nearly been too much, but he had not been able to deny the joy on Jongdae’s face. That had been a gift itself.
He wondered if Jongdae’s colleagues would have mocked him for it.
“The question is what you think,” Joonmyun said. “And what Jongdae thinks. Has he not asked them to stop saying anything?”
“He doesn’t know,” Yixing said, and he could see he’d startled Joonmyun. “They’re always careful to speak when he’s not paying attention, or not there. They’re his colleagues, and he shouldn’t have to defend me to them. What they say isn’t important anyway, like you said. It’s our relationship.”
“He’d want to know!” Joonmyun said softly. “And he’d be angry with them if he knew they were harassing you or making you feel unwelcome. He doesn’t bring you so you can be hurt.”
Yixing nodded, eyes on his cup. “I know. Maybe one day I’ll find something to say to make it stop. Please don’t tell him. If it gets worse, I will.”
Joonmyun put his hand over Yixing’s. “He doesn’t agree with them. I know you both better than anyone here, and he wouldn’t be with you if he thought that. He wouldn’t deserve you if he did. Tell me you don’t believe he’d be better off with someone else?”
“Sometimes?” The laugh was brittle. “I think everyone wonders that at times. But he doesn’t make me feel small when he talks about his work. You don’t either. I know he loves me. And I know not everyone is kind.”
“In disrespecting you, they’re disrespecting Jongdae, too. Just remember that. If they are catty to you, they could be undermining Jongdae at his work.”
Yixing could see what Joonmyun meant. That Jongdae could be facing hardships at work if he could not see people were against him.
“I’ll think about it,” Yixing promised. “Thank you.”
“If you need me to speak to him, I will. Or if you need someone to talk to about it that isn’t Jongdae. But I don’t know if I can hold my tongue around them much longer if they say something like that to you again.”
Yixing squeezed Joonmyun’s hand, and felt a hint of peace.
***
Jongdae moaned, his mouth centered on Yixing’s collarbones, and Yixing gasped for him, pulling at Jongdae’s shoulder, meeting his kiss-warmed mouth. Their bed was a bubble that pushed out fear, Jongdae’s need of him, Jongdae’s smiles against his mouth. Jongdae whispered compliments in words and touch, Jongdae’s smile spreading as Yixing hummed for him. The passage of Jongdae’s name through his lips was a plea, and adoration. He kissed Jongdae’s face, the dark circles under his eyes from late nights, and the stress of his job. To add to that was unthinkable.
All the worry slipped away, until he turned his head, sweaty still and relaxed, and listened to Jongdae breathe beside him. Jongdae had already succumbed to sleep, hand curled in Yixing’s. Attraction was not something that Yixing had ever had to scrounge for with Jongdae. Want had never been far from them. He’d never been good at hiding it, and Jongdae had let out the most amazing laugh when Yixing had gasped as they were kissing, only weeks after they had met. Not a gasp of surprise, no. Kisses against his flushed cheeks had not made them cool faster, nor had Jongdae’s next kiss been merely sweet.
In the dark and quiet, he had nothing to distract himself from wondering. What Jongdae had seen in him, if Jongdae wished he could speak to Yixing as an equal in his field. They’d made compromises as housemates, and still surprised each other with dates. They cooked for each other, sent vaguely dirty texts, scrubbed each other’s backs, napped in front of the TV. Before all the questions, Yixing had thought their relationship had been the most solid, most wonderful thing he had ever found.
Jongdae showed him he was loved, told him every day before he left for work, before he slept, and times in between. When he closed his eyes in the dark and felt the sharp attack of Jongdae’s colleagues in the center of his chest, he wrapped Jongdae’s love around him like a shield. But love was not always forever, it changed, and stretched, and at times no longer fit.
He fell asleep some nights more easily than others, the sound of Jongdae’s alarm startling him out of sleep. Jongdae quieted it, on snooze, and turned to whine and curl around Yixing as though that would save him. That five minute morning snuggle, Jongdae’s arms and morning breath and sleepy smiles, was more important to him than he could say. And Jongdae pressed a kiss, either to his forehead or his cheek or his lips, before finally climbing out of bed to dress and make his way
But that one thing he feared losing, that one thing he used it to protect himself, it was not lost.
And to save it, he began to think that retreat was his only option. If he was not there, they could not taunt him. If he was not there, they could more easily try to turn Jongdae against him. Or perhaps it would be out of sight, out of mind. He was less than nothing to them. Let them forget that he mattered, to any of them. Perhaps being away from the cruel remarks would remind him of his courage, and show him of a way to tell Jongdae of it, no matter what.
***
“Where’s Yixing?” Joonmyun asked, bumping elbows with Jongdae by way of greeting. They had teaching staff of two departments in a room at a restaurant, everyone in little groups while they waited for the food to arrive. The smell was far more tantalizing than the conversation.
“He begged off tonight,” Jongdae said. “He’s come out almost every time, except when it was sick, so I don’t blame him. It must be incredibly dull standing around listening to people talk about all this dry stuff.”
“I’m sure he wants to support you,” Joonmyun said. “Even though the people you bring him to aren’t such great company.”
Jongdae chuckled. His colleagues were focused. Most of them were married, had families. Their weekly or bi-monthly staff bonding dinners were ways for them to de-stress, complain about their students, and about whoever got published from a rival college who didn’t know two bits about anything. Having Yixing there had been a way of showing him off, always having someone to talk to who would make him smile rather than give him a headache. Sometimes the debates that got started could drag on for an hour or more, professional and personal beliefs on the line. Yixing watched some of those like they were a ping pong match, unfamiliar lingo flying around his head. He’d send amazed looks at Jongdae, fading in and out of the conversation. Sometimes Jongdae could almost see him thinking about what he wanted to do with his guitar, if only he had it in his hands, an absent smile on his face. Not looking and finding Yixing beside him was odd, but having Joonmyun there at least offered a friendly face. The people he worked with had a high enough opinion of themselves that it made getting to know them difficult, even with the “quality time” the dinners were supposed to nurture.
“It’s a new class for me this semester,” Jongdae said, in response to the others commiserating over - and looking forward with sadistic glee to - midterms. “So I still need to write up the test.”
“Maybe Yixing can help you.”
There was a small roll of laughter, and Jongdae had barely opened his mouth before he was interrupted.
“Maybe if you stopped acting like assholes in first grade, you’d know exactly what Yixing can do,” Joonmyun bit out.
Jongdae’s jaw fell, turning to stare, and Joonmyun did not look in the least bit embarrassed. In fact, he drew all of Jongdae’s concern for the way his brows drew down, jaw thrust out as though he were tempted to bite anyone that stopped him from taking Jongdae’s arm and walking him away from the silent group of people.
“What was that about?” Jongdae asked.
Joonmyun’s laugh was utterly devoid of the humor Jongdae was accustomed to. The Joonmyun in front of him was full of righteous anger. Joonmyun was perhaps not overly mild mannered, but Joonmyun in the dozen years they’d known each other had never been aggressive. And Jongdae thought of the laughter from his colleagues. A snap overreaction, absolutely not. Joonmyun was not known for those.
“Why would they wonder if Yixing would be able to help you with something that took you almost nine years of college to be able to teach?” Joonmyun demanded. “They’re calling him stupid, implying he’s worth nothing. Worth less than nothing. Yixing isn’t here tonight, but they’ve done it right to his face. Do you think he’s not good enough for you?”
Jongdae stood taller at that, narrowing his own eyes at Joonmyun. “No! Why would they think that? Why would they say that to him?”
“Because neither of you are telling their entitled little faces that you won't stand for it. You've missed things they’ve said, things where Yixing looked like he'd been slapped because they basically called him stupid and beneath you right in front of you.”
It felt as though his brain had stopped. Yixing’s withdrawal. Yixing’s apologies for wandering away from conversations. Yixing asking not to go with him. Some of it, he’d attributed to Yixing’s eccentricities, an understandable lack of interest. A sadness in Yixing’s smile when he wouldn’t quite meet Jongdae’s eyes when they were among Jongdae’s colleagues.
Jongdae sputtered. “But he's not stupid. I don’t care if he can’t quote a physics book, but he’s never truly been taught. He’s so smart and talented in a thousand other ways.”
“It seems like you and I are the only ones who know you think that. Or maybe they know, they just don’t care because they think you’re slumming with a free spirit with a pretty face. And maybe you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve an equal,” Joonmyun needled.
Jongdae felt his whole face go hot, sickness kneeing him in the stomach. “My parents think things like that. They’ve told me things like that, some in front of Yixing.”
“And you think your parents have the corner on ignorance? They’re laughing at how silly and shallow and stupid they think Yixing is. Making fun of him under your nose, and trying to shrink him with their petty fake superiority. I’m tired of them using Yixing as the butt of what they think is a very funny joke,” Joonmyun said. “I couldn’t say anything when he was here, because I knew it would embarrass him, but I couldn’t stay quiet any more.”
“He never said anything. All this time? How long have you known?”
“Two meetings ago, was the first time I suspected. I don’t know how long it was going on before that.” Joonmyun’s voice was softer, his expression relaxing, as though his anger had been at Jongdae’s blindness, and now that he was beginning to see it was leaving him. “This stuff hurts, Jongdae, and it’s sharp, but it can be subtle too. One day it makes you angry, and you laugh it off, and the next you’re wondering if it’s true, if the person you love might think that way.”
“I would never-“
Joonmyun gripped Jongdae’s arm. “He could leave you, Jongdae. I think they make him wonder if he should. You'll wake up one morning and he'll be gone, and it won't be because of your feelings for each other. And that's just stupid."
“He didn’t defend himself?” Jongdae asked, and the knowledge that Yixing had not, of what Yixing had thought, had his hands going tight.
Joonmyun shook his head. “Did he against your parents?”
“No. He told me he didn’t want to disrespect them. But we had long talks about why I thought my parents’ feelings were bullshit, and I asked them in front of him to stop.”
“And this is your work. There had to have been reasons why he didn’t feel it was his place to speak up.”
“Or he started to believe their lies,” Jongdae said, voice soft.
“Make sure he doesn’t any more,” Joonmyun said, socking Jongdae gently in the chest.
Jongdae made his excuses, running over everything Joonmyun had told him. To have Yixing belittled by Jongdae’s own coworkers, in a place Jongdae had brought Yixing that he had felt was, if not overly friendly, then at least safe. Yixing hadn’t said a word. He’d cooked, he’d written music, they’d made love, and cuddled, and went on day trips.
And then he considered how Yixing had withdrawn at the gatherings, the way he’d clung to Jongdae’s hand. He’d thought it was boredom. He wished it had been something that simple, that easy to fix. He wondered if Yixing had been desperate after to make sure that Jongdae didn’t think Yixing was beneath him, too. He had to have believed in Jongdae somehow. He’d left Yixing with a kiss, and Yixing had told him he loved him. That hadn’t changed.
But he had no more answers than that.
***
Yixing still felt guilty for begging off when he heard Jongdae’s key in the door, and his eyes went to the clock on the wall. Early. And yet even so, Jongdae seemed tired, quiet. Serious. He waited until Jongdae got his shoes off, reaching for a greeting hug. Jongdae did not turn him back, but he was stiff against Yixing, even while holding him tight.
“You’re back early. How did it go?” Yixing asked, nuzzling Jongdae’s neck and hoping to understand what Jongdae was thinking, what mood he was in. It could not have simply been Jongdae being tired. And he wondered, knowing something had caused Jongdae’s mood. And there was only one thing he could think of.
“I didn’t eat,” Jongdae said, and his hands gripped the back of Yixing’s shirt. “I found out that they have been saying terrible things to you.”
Jongdae met his eyes, and they were nearly flat, tension in the corners of them as he would not let Yixing free. In that knowledge, that Jongdae knew, Yixing did not know what to feel - relief, or guilt, or shame.
“Jongdae.”
“I feel so stupid. I should've seen more of what was going on. Joonmyun snapped, delivered a put-down, and told me it’d been happening for a while. He dragged me out, and told me I could’ve shut their poison down. I could've put them in their place, but you could have too. Why didn't you, Yixing?”
Yixing’s whole body seized, and Jongdae looked alarmed.
“Did I make you feel like you couldn’t protect yourself? Was I making you feel like you weren’t good enough, too? I take you with me to those things because I love having you with me, not so some snobbish asses can talk that way to you.”
To hear Jongdae describe them that way nearly made him smile, but he was caught. He knew the reason for his silence, because he had been unable to understand how to look at Jongdae, a man he adored, and to tell Jongdae that he wondered if they were right, wondered if he was truly good enough for Jongdae.
“Sometimes all they would do was imply that I wasn’t smart enough for you, or accomplished enough,” Yixing said, trying to explain. “It’s a harder thing to dismiss than an all-out lie. If they had said I wasn’t female enough for you, that’s a blatant untruth. But I can’t follow your conversations, and their questions catch me when I’m drifting, and I will never make the money you do. I’ll never write a book, or-“
“Yixing…”
The words tumbled from him, polished from being worn too long, turned over and over until he could not escape them.
“Your parents don’t think I’m good enough for you either, so it’s not the first time I’ve heard it. Even if I know- Even if I hope, it becomes almost true. And saying it out loud…”
“It would make me think it was true, too?”
Yixing looked away from him, and the sound of Jongdae’s pained inhale was almost worse than seeing his face.
“It could have been only a matter of time before you started to agree with them,” Yixing said, obsessively straightening Jongdae’s collar just to have something to do with his hands. “Could have, Jongdae. I’m not accusing you. I know you’d have done what you could have if you’d known they were teasing.”
“Bullying,” Jongdae blurted. “Not teasing. No. They were bullying you. Under my fucking nose. Bullying a man I love so much that hearing that he could leave me because of- It scared me to death. Joonmyun could’ve run me over with his car, and it would’ve been less painful.”
“I love you, too,” Yixing said. “And I didn’t tell him I was going to leave you.”
“But that you’d thought of it! I know why you don’t think you can stand up to my parents, but I think it’s better now? I’m happy, and they know that. But those assholes aren’t my bosses. They can’t get me fired. You’re equal to them in every way. In- In many ways more. I can’t even- The fact that they’d do this.”
For a moment, Jongdae looked lost. Even if they were in their apartment, touching each other, he was searching Yixing’s face for an answer Yixing did not know how to give.
“They’re not bosses,” Yixing said, and wondered how he would have dealt with that. “But they’re your colleagues, and friends. People you have to deal with.”
“Not my friends. No. Tell me how many friends you’d have left if they started treating me like shit?”
Yixing breathed, eyes on Jongdae’s. “Not many.”
“Exactly. I asked you once what you saw when you looked at my books, and you said something that was important to me. What do you see now?”
The answer, though the truth, made him sad “Something I don't know enough about.”
“Poisonous fucking assholes,” Jongdae spat, as though they were right in front of him to tear into pieces. “I love that you care about my books, but I don’t need you to write them for me."
“Jongdae. Jongdae,” Yixing said, putting a hand on Jongdae’s face and waiting until their eyes had met. “They’re not here with us. It’s only you and me.”
Jongdae took a step, their faces close.
“I was angry for a little while. I sat outside trying to think about it. Why you would take that kind of abuse when it risked driving a wedge between us. As though taking it meant that you didn’t care enough about our relationship,” Jongdae said, and held up his hand, taking the one Yixing held him with. “And I realized it was stupid to be angry, because you were protecting me. You didn’t put us on the line, you put yourself on the line to shield me.”
“I thought I could deal with it. I thought…” Yixing smoothed down the back of Jongdae’s hair. “I should’ve told you. Each time, it was just one more, maybe I was thinking too hard. I don’t know. But silencing them won’t stop them from thinking it.”
“It’ll keep them from saying it to your face, or to mine. Fat lot of good my degree did me there, if I didn’t realize what they were doing. I don’t think the way they do.”
“I know.”
He knew. He’d always known.
“And there are a lot of people that don’t approve of us for other reasons,” Jongdae said, all but squishing Yixing’s cheeks. “And you know what? Fuck them. Fuck them for being snobs and not bothering to find out what an amazing, talented, loving person you are. Fuck them for not seeing that two guys can love each other just as much as anyone else.”
“Jongdae.”
“You are so much more important to me than they will ever be. You might not edit my books for accuracy, but you could for grammar. You make me smile. And you give me blow jobs.” Jongdae smiled, and they both chuckled weakly. “And you make this place a place I want to come back to, a home full of music and hugs. I wouldn’t trade this for a hundred guys with Ph.D.’s.”
And before he could get ahold of himself, Jongdae was speaking again.
“I made sure when I took that job that I wouldn’t have to hide our relationship. I don’t want to hide you. I’m so proud of you. So lucky-“
He didn’t even realize he was crying until a sob choked him, and Jongdae gathered him close. He realized something he had never been able to see in all of his moments of worry and sickness. Had Jongdae been ashamed of him, he could have made excuses to leave Yixing at home. Had Jongdae wanted to exploit his ignorance, he could have put Yixing so very low, caused so much laughter at Yixing’s expense. The times when Jongdae had saved him, when he had not even realized he had, laughing at why Yixing was being asked. Not laughing at Yixing. Praising him. Praising his music, how talented he was, how kind he was.
“I love you,” Jongdae said into his hair.
“I love you, too,” Yixing whispered. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry more,” Jongdae said.
Yixing smiled, clutching Jongdae harder. “I’m sorry most.”
“I’m sorry infinity.” And Jongdae breathed a moment. “You and I are always on the same side. You know that, right?”
And Yixing kissed him, soft and slow. He knew. And his heart squeezed tight because of it.
***
Jongdae whispered to him, lovely things. Jongdae did not want a clone of himself, only Yixing. Jongdae did not find him dimwitted, but brilliant and fascinating, and gorgeous. He wavered between melting with smiles, and embarrassment, nuzzling against Jongdae’s face. They talked until they were hoarse, and he’d hurt, soothing tears of anger - at himself - from Jongdae’s face. If there was regret, it was that his silence had caused Jongdae that pain. But gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach, the feeling as though he could not catch his breath, had left. Fears Jongdae had redirected. They passed those fears back and forth and made new shapes of them.
“I didn’t have to deal with it myself,” Yixing said, fingertips circling at Jongdae’s nape. “But even if you didn’t know it, you made me feel safe.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad Joonmyun was able to talk to you, too.”
“I’ll make Joonmyun any food he wants,” Yixing promised.
“And me?”
Yixing nuzzled his face into Jongdae’s shoulder. “You can have whatever you want, any time. Food or otherwise.”
Jongdae hummed. “I’d understand if you never wanted to go eat with any of them again. It doesn’t make me happy to think of either. But it seems like we should do something. Say something.”
It was something he’d begun to wonder as well. Perhaps there was something he could say, something that made them not see him as a target.
“I think I want to try saying something,” Yixing said, considering. “I want to keep supporting you as much as I can. And I’ve enjoyed myself, going with you. But I think I need to, or they’ll keep at it when you’re not around.”
Jongdae smiled, the expression a bit grim, a bit predatory. “Can I watch?”
***
Yixing dressed the same way he had always dressed, and he stood beside Jongdae in the same way he always had as greeting were made, drinks distributed. And yet he had a secret, one that made it hard to keep from smiling because of it. It was security, and he saw it in every one of Jongdae’s smiles, and even in the flirting flutter of his eyelashes.
Instead of fearing it, he actually wanted someone to make a comment. They’d discussed it, whether Joonmyun’s harsh words would be enough, and the knowledge that surely Jongdae had been made wise to their actions. But Jongdae had not thought so. If they thought Yixing was still weak to it, if it had become a habit, then someone in their arrogance would out themselves again.
And Jongdae was right.
“What do you think Yixing?”
Yixing breathed in, words he had rehearsed over in his head coming easily to his lips. He would not shout, or yell, or glare, but he would show them who he was. He would remind them who he was. There would be no laughter at his expense.
“I’m sorry, I know we’ve met, but my name is Yixing, and I’m his partner, not your colleague. I think you meant to ask Jongdae.”
No one gasped or shifted dramatically, but there were some traded looks.
“I guess I do work here, don’t I?” Jongdae smiled at him, hand petting down Yixing’s neck before sliding around his waist. “Now what was your question again?”
It was a challenge, from them both. And Yixing had never felt stronger. It didn’t ease all of the sickness in his stomach, the apprehension of someone saying something, of having to think of another comeback. Jongdae had given him the armor to protect himself, while promising to shield him if he needed.
There was no shame in admitting he didn’t know the answers to their questions. The shame came because they thought they were better than him because of it. They would not chase him out. They would not drive him and Jongdae apart.
If anything, they’d pushed them closer.
And he didn’t care if it got him strange looks - he smiled.
***
The book was brightly colored, not a book for children but an illustrated beginner’s introduction to Jongdae’s subjects. Math formulas, that he was never going to want to understand. Physics, he thought at least there were interesting concepts within it. He’d bought the book in two languages, intending to cross reference. If he could understand it in his own tongue, and learn vocabulary in Korean, there was a chance some of it might stick with him. He did not fear that Jongdae would find him lacking if he still could not grasp some of it, and knew that Jongdae would appreciate his trying. Just as they’d worked to understand how to live together, he wanted to work to understand an important facet of Jongdae’s life. And he knew what Jongdae would think when he saw them, that Yixing had taken to heart the criticisms, that he was trying to make himself into something that Jongdae didn’t require him to be. He knew, even as Jongdae stared at him.
“I want to,” Yixing said, shimmying into Jongdae’s lap. “It’s something I was thinking about for a long time, because I would catch words and not understand. But I started with your books out of loyalty, and they’re…too advanced for me. I’d like to know a little. I want to try. Because you love it. I know a good teacher.”
Jongdae laughed, oh, he laughed, sliding his arms around Yixing’s neck.
“Oh, do you? I guess I could I do that. But maybe we should trade, if you’d teach me to play a song on the guitar?”
His breath caught, eyes darting between Jongdae’s and the sincerity there. “Rea- Yes! Yes.”
“But the only one I might ever play for is you,” Jongdae warned.
He pressed his nose along Jongdae’s, in the place where being together was the best and strongest place he could imagine, and knew he could live with that.
***
Pairing: Jongdae/Yixing
Rating: R
Genre: AU, established relationship
Warnings: bullying, angst
Summary/Prompt: Jongdae is a highly respected academic, and Yixing, though successful and happy where he is in life, has no degree. It starts causing friction in Yixing and Jongdae's lives.
A/N: Thanks to liederkreis for a couple of the lines in here. <3
***
It wasn’t as though feeling unequal to one’s partner began all at once. At first, there was happiness and insecurity, but that was tempered with intrigue, and attraction, and flirting. It slid into fascination, where he listened to Jongdae talk about things that he couldn’t even fathom and thought it fascinating because Jongdae was so passionate about it. Physics? He knew nothing of that. And when his eyes went wide and he had no idea how to answer a question Jongdae posed, Jongdae laughed, the trilling laugh that had adoration in it, and Jongdae apologized for making him look how his students looked. And Jongdae kissed him, and sang with him, and slept against him, and never once looked at him in frustration or pity.
And Yixing did not know what it was to feel ashamed.
They had been a “them” for more months than he had fingers, the first time that Yixing began to fear. It was a department gathering, a dinner for all the professors and staff and their significant others, to bring everyone closer. Yixing had dressed carefully, fixing Jongdae’s tie before they went out the door. He’d been proud to stand beside Jongdae, proud to be taken along, to have a place there. He had been anxious, yes, hoping he did not embarrass either of them by spilling his drink or anything like that.
Jongdae had been fetching them drinks when Yixing was asked a very technical question, and Yixing had frowned.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
There were lifted brows.
“Not dating him for his brains then,” someone said. A stranger. Someone who did not know Yixing from any other person walking down the street.
But there were no further comments, Yixing composing his face as Jongdae handed him a drink and slipped an arm around his waist.
It was only hours later that it made him angry, unable to do anything about it or reply to it, nothing more than wringing out the cloth he’d used on his face with extra strength.
He preferred the anger to the doubt.
Jongdae had letters after his name, not one but three degrees. Yixing had none of either. Jongdae could have an intelligent sounding conversation about anything, and Yixing talked to his guitar. Jongdae made if not an amazing salary, then a solid and acceptable one, while Yixing sometimes ran tight most months just covering necessities. Jongdae was the image of a successful, filial son, and Yixing was happy, fulfilled, and content in his chosen work. Yixing thought that was all that mattered, since his own parents were pleased that he was happy. Jongdae’s only apparent shortcoming was that he was gay, and that his parents thought Yixing was a wastrel slacker who mooched off of their son. It was easier not to feel concern over the opinion of Jongdae’s parents, though, because Jongdae was so very vocal in opposition to them. So what if Yixing had no degree, because he didn’t need one to play music. So what if Yixing didn’t pay him rent, because they both fit into the space Jongdae had picked out to stay in alone. They’d finally stopped asking if Yixing was going back to school, or making snide hints that Yixing’s parents had somehow failed with him. Never directly, but always implied, like oh another of Jongdae’s little friends just got his Ph.D., his parents surely raised him well.
Yixing’s parents knew that if they needed him, he would be there, and that he loved them for themselves, and for the way that they loved him - and the way they loved Jongdae for making him happy.
“You light up around him, and he looks at you like you’re the moon,” his mother had told him, nearly tearing up with Yixing’s face in her hands.
He didn’t know about that, but it had been nice to smile about. Jongdae could defend him against his parents, but that small comment by one of Jongdae’s peers ran subtle through his mind. Not everyone was a horrible person, he knew that. But every colleague of Jongdae’s he met, he wondered. What if, behind the smile, they thought he wasn’t good enough, if they thought Jongdae deserved better. Someone brilliant and accomplished for Jongdae to debate with for hours.
And that happened, sometimes. One of Jongdae’s oldest friends, another professor at the university, had a standing invitation to dinner. Joonmyun Yixing trusted, something he could see in Joonmyun’s eyes, the way he smiled. He and Jongdae got into long discussions about their respective fields that sometimes turned into near arguments, with books pulled and websites consulted. Hours long, sometimes, with Joonmyun finally leaving nearly at midnight. Yixing usually stayed for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, before going to watch TV, or fiddle with a tune or lyrics, or call his parents. He got called in to mediate a few times, Jongdae pulling him into his lap and bawling dramatically that Joonmyun wouldn’t listen.
“Jongdae is right,” Yixing stage whispered to Joonmyun, making all three of them laugh.
And Joonmyun apologized for being a bore, and Yixing knew that there was no hidden barb in those words. It was true Yixing wasn’t terribly interested, even if part of that was because he couldn’t follow their conversation. When they did want his input, Joonmyun had a very straightforward manner of explaining that set off little sparks of understanding. Jongdae did as well, Yixing considered, though he had a tendency to go on tangents that left Yixing’s mind floundering and Jongdae apologizing and trying to backtrack.
But those little epiphanies were something he loved about Jongdae as well.
But others had neither the tact, nor the care that Joonmyun did.
They chose the longest words, the most complex phrases, weaving and darting like a child scribbling. It was a language not the first in his brain or on his tongue, and as Jongdae shot back a response to refute whatever argument, someone quietly laughed, “Why don’t we ask Yixing?”
Jongdae did not react, and if he had heard, its meaning had not sunk in. Yixing had to believe that.
Maybe Yixing could explain it.
I bet Yixing knows all about that.
Are you fixing Jongdae’s mistakes in his book, Yixing?
What do you talk about at home? The weather?
Jongdae is so nice, indulging your little daydreams.
Most whenever Jongdae wasn’t paying attention. When Jongdae was engaged, it was so much more subtle. His attention would inevitably wander, focusing on his drink or Jongdae’s jaw as he talked. And then, “What do you think, Yixing?”
Before he could do more than look, his mouth dropping open because he had no idea what they were talking about, someone else would seamlessly pick up the conversation, and all that was left were badly controlled smirks and shared eye rolls.
And then Jongdae tuning in at just the right moment.
“Since when did Yixing turn into your teaching assistant? If he's helping you write your exams, I hope you're paying him in more than hors d'oeuvres.”
Jongdae had thought they were teasing only, and he had leaned into Jongdae’s side, smiling because even if Jongdae had not known it, he had defended him.
But he was unaware the barbs were so obvious, until Joonmyun joined their group one Friday evening. The snickers as Yixing was invited to explain, even as Jongdae was arguing his point. Yixing looked up, half expecting Joonmyun to be joking along, only to find Joonmyun staring from face to smirking face with narrowed eyes. Joonmyun met his eyes, a question there, and Yixing shook his head slightly, letting his lips curve for only a moment. He was fine. He was. A bunch of highly educated teachers and educators thought he was an idiot. But just moments before, Jongdae had laced their fingers together and promised him that they wouldn’t stay too long.
***
Yixing put down the mug of tea, brewed strong, slightly sweet, just beyond Jongdae’s elbow. When he thought of it, when he didn’t get lost in his music or a book or the television, he liked to do that when he knew Jongdae was working. Too much tea or too much work made Jongdae’s head throb, so Yixing had saved him more than once. He let his fingers just lightly skim Jongdae’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him but to let him know he was there. If not, Jongdae might only notice the tea after it was cold and bitter. Jongdae looking up at him with a smile, rolling back his shoulders.
“Time to sleep?”
“Not yet,” Yixing told him. “I brought you tea.”
Jongdae’s sound of pleasure had Yixing grinning. “This’ll keep me going. I promised I’d have these papers back on Monday. Halfway through. Three days to go. I can do it, right?”
“I know you can. I’d offer to help, but we both know I wouldn’t be able to,” Yixing said. Even as the words left his mouth, they felt far more bitter than they ever had. He’d joked one time, picking up one of the papers and pretending he had any idea what it said and declaring it brilliant as Jongdae laughed into his stomach. When Jongdae had the time, he even invited Yixing to sit with him, showing him how he was marking a student down for a fallacy of logic. It was how he’d come to have such an appreciation for Jongdae as a teacher, and for Jongdae’s students.
“They’ll be you one day,” he’d teased, kissing Jongdae’s neck to show him he didn’t really believe it.
But Jongdae almost pouted up at him, before his face slid into an easy smile. “You’re helping. You’re reminding me I need to work fast so I can come spend time with you.”
Jongdae didn’t understand, and that was for the best. He stared the bookshelf that held the textbooks Jongdae taught out of, the books Jongdae had written. He’d tried to read them, get some understanding so he didn’t feel so lost in the middle of conversation.
When they had been teasing Jongdae about finishing his next book, they had asked who would be reading it over for him. It’s not as though Yixing will help him edit it, they had laughed. No, it wouldn’t be him. But Jongdae could have someone who could help him do that. And he would, a professional editor. But that didn’t keep Yixing from thinking.
***
It stung, their little dinner parties. He’d looked to Jongdae, a thought in his head bubbling up, and Jongdae looked at him mid-sentence.
“I finally figured out the melody progression,” Yixing breathed, something that had been eluding him for over a week. And Jongdae’s eyes lit up, squeezing his arm.
“Do you need to write it down?”
Yixing shook his head, grinning. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I could forget it if I tried.”
Sometimes when it clicked, it clicked.
“What instrument do you use to write your songs on?” one of Jongdae’s colleagues asked.
“I have a small keyboard, and a guitar. The keyboard is nice since I can plug in headphones and not disturb anyone.”
“Sometimes he has a thought in the middle of the night,” Jongdae explained. “It saves us both.”
One of the men smiled. “I hear playing an instrument can help with brain function.” Music was so much more than that. It was- “Maybe there’s only so much it can do.”
All of Yixing’s positive feelings shuttered at a cutting look, a titter. He’d been shown his place, yet again.
“I’m getting a drink,” Yixing told Jongdae, and stayed for a while staring into his water cup and wondering why they seemed to dislike him so intensely. He would never be a physicist or build a rocket. He would never understand advanced mathematics. He did not need those things for music, or to move with it.
“Are you tired?” Jongdae whispered into his shoulder. “We should go.”
He was grateful. Regretful. Jongdae might have liked to stay longer, converse more. In their room, Jongdae wooed him into bed, was no less fervent in his declaration of love.
“I don’t know why you put up with me since I drag you to those things,” Jongdae said, yawning.
Yixing’s eyes burned when he thought of the question Jongdae’s colleagues would have asked instead - why Jongdae put up with him.
***
It felt as though he were constantly in retreat. It had been a new one that day, two weeks later. “Must be nice to have someone live-in who can cook.” “It must be nice to have you there.” “Some kind of service.” Service. As though he were a servant, and not one half of a relationship. The man speaking had focused on Yixing a moment too long to have his meaning unclear, and Jongdae’s back had been to him. All Yixing could do was avert his gaze, lowering his brows and cutting off Joonmyun, who’d looked poised to speak.
Yixing excused himself. Retreating. Always retreating, because there was nothing he could think to say, shame following anger following wondering. Holding his tongue because it was not his place to speak to Jongdae’s colleagues like that.
Yixing looked up at the hand on his shoulder, smiling when he saw it was Joonmyun.
“I held my tongue because you looked as though you wanted me to,” Joonmyun said, sitting beside him. But his face was grim, leaning close. “Are they always like that?”
“I don’t have enough letters after my name,” Yixing said. And that felt disingenuous. “I think they think I am not bright enough for Jongdae, that he should have someone more befitting his station.”
The last words were bitter in his mouth. Maybe the others had never known what it was like to want, to weigh the want of food against shelter, against walking even if their shoes would not hold up against it. Maybe they didn’t know what it meant to yearn to want information and have no way to reach for it. Yixing had not needed a university to put tunes into his head, but there had been a time when he’d wanted it. He’d wanted music schools, grand pianos, sweeping staircases, like something out of a fairy tale. To touch every instrument, learn the sound of them. He could have written symphonies. He still could, but he’d learned on his own. No famous teachers. No brilliant classmates. Just a guitar he’d lost ten pounds of himself to purchase, and a keyboard that had been a gift from Jongdae. To Yixing at that moment, and even then, it had been worth more than gold, worth all the music schools in the world combined. He had cried, shaking with it, Jongdae murmuring into his hair and holding him. It had nearly been too much, but he had not been able to deny the joy on Jongdae’s face. That had been a gift itself.
He wondered if Jongdae’s colleagues would have mocked him for it.
“The question is what you think,” Joonmyun said. “And what Jongdae thinks. Has he not asked them to stop saying anything?”
“He doesn’t know,” Yixing said, and he could see he’d startled Joonmyun. “They’re always careful to speak when he’s not paying attention, or not there. They’re his colleagues, and he shouldn’t have to defend me to them. What they say isn’t important anyway, like you said. It’s our relationship.”
“He’d want to know!” Joonmyun said softly. “And he’d be angry with them if he knew they were harassing you or making you feel unwelcome. He doesn’t bring you so you can be hurt.”
Yixing nodded, eyes on his cup. “I know. Maybe one day I’ll find something to say to make it stop. Please don’t tell him. If it gets worse, I will.”
Joonmyun put his hand over Yixing’s. “He doesn’t agree with them. I know you both better than anyone here, and he wouldn’t be with you if he thought that. He wouldn’t deserve you if he did. Tell me you don’t believe he’d be better off with someone else?”
“Sometimes?” The laugh was brittle. “I think everyone wonders that at times. But he doesn’t make me feel small when he talks about his work. You don’t either. I know he loves me. And I know not everyone is kind.”
“In disrespecting you, they’re disrespecting Jongdae, too. Just remember that. If they are catty to you, they could be undermining Jongdae at his work.”
Yixing could see what Joonmyun meant. That Jongdae could be facing hardships at work if he could not see people were against him.
“I’ll think about it,” Yixing promised. “Thank you.”
“If you need me to speak to him, I will. Or if you need someone to talk to about it that isn’t Jongdae. But I don’t know if I can hold my tongue around them much longer if they say something like that to you again.”
Yixing squeezed Joonmyun’s hand, and felt a hint of peace.
***
Jongdae moaned, his mouth centered on Yixing’s collarbones, and Yixing gasped for him, pulling at Jongdae’s shoulder, meeting his kiss-warmed mouth. Their bed was a bubble that pushed out fear, Jongdae’s need of him, Jongdae’s smiles against his mouth. Jongdae whispered compliments in words and touch, Jongdae’s smile spreading as Yixing hummed for him. The passage of Jongdae’s name through his lips was a plea, and adoration. He kissed Jongdae’s face, the dark circles under his eyes from late nights, and the stress of his job. To add to that was unthinkable.
All the worry slipped away, until he turned his head, sweaty still and relaxed, and listened to Jongdae breathe beside him. Jongdae had already succumbed to sleep, hand curled in Yixing’s. Attraction was not something that Yixing had ever had to scrounge for with Jongdae. Want had never been far from them. He’d never been good at hiding it, and Jongdae had let out the most amazing laugh when Yixing had gasped as they were kissing, only weeks after they had met. Not a gasp of surprise, no. Kisses against his flushed cheeks had not made them cool faster, nor had Jongdae’s next kiss been merely sweet.
In the dark and quiet, he had nothing to distract himself from wondering. What Jongdae had seen in him, if Jongdae wished he could speak to Yixing as an equal in his field. They’d made compromises as housemates, and still surprised each other with dates. They cooked for each other, sent vaguely dirty texts, scrubbed each other’s backs, napped in front of the TV. Before all the questions, Yixing had thought their relationship had been the most solid, most wonderful thing he had ever found.
Jongdae showed him he was loved, told him every day before he left for work, before he slept, and times in between. When he closed his eyes in the dark and felt the sharp attack of Jongdae’s colleagues in the center of his chest, he wrapped Jongdae’s love around him like a shield. But love was not always forever, it changed, and stretched, and at times no longer fit.
He fell asleep some nights more easily than others, the sound of Jongdae’s alarm startling him out of sleep. Jongdae quieted it, on snooze, and turned to whine and curl around Yixing as though that would save him. That five minute morning snuggle, Jongdae’s arms and morning breath and sleepy smiles, was more important to him than he could say. And Jongdae pressed a kiss, either to his forehead or his cheek or his lips, before finally climbing out of bed to dress and make his way
But that one thing he feared losing, that one thing he used it to protect himself, it was not lost.
And to save it, he began to think that retreat was his only option. If he was not there, they could not taunt him. If he was not there, they could more easily try to turn Jongdae against him. Or perhaps it would be out of sight, out of mind. He was less than nothing to them. Let them forget that he mattered, to any of them. Perhaps being away from the cruel remarks would remind him of his courage, and show him of a way to tell Jongdae of it, no matter what.
***
“Where’s Yixing?” Joonmyun asked, bumping elbows with Jongdae by way of greeting. They had teaching staff of two departments in a room at a restaurant, everyone in little groups while they waited for the food to arrive. The smell was far more tantalizing than the conversation.
“He begged off tonight,” Jongdae said. “He’s come out almost every time, except when it was sick, so I don’t blame him. It must be incredibly dull standing around listening to people talk about all this dry stuff.”
“I’m sure he wants to support you,” Joonmyun said. “Even though the people you bring him to aren’t such great company.”
Jongdae chuckled. His colleagues were focused. Most of them were married, had families. Their weekly or bi-monthly staff bonding dinners were ways for them to de-stress, complain about their students, and about whoever got published from a rival college who didn’t know two bits about anything. Having Yixing there had been a way of showing him off, always having someone to talk to who would make him smile rather than give him a headache. Sometimes the debates that got started could drag on for an hour or more, professional and personal beliefs on the line. Yixing watched some of those like they were a ping pong match, unfamiliar lingo flying around his head. He’d send amazed looks at Jongdae, fading in and out of the conversation. Sometimes Jongdae could almost see him thinking about what he wanted to do with his guitar, if only he had it in his hands, an absent smile on his face. Not looking and finding Yixing beside him was odd, but having Joonmyun there at least offered a friendly face. The people he worked with had a high enough opinion of themselves that it made getting to know them difficult, even with the “quality time” the dinners were supposed to nurture.
“It’s a new class for me this semester,” Jongdae said, in response to the others commiserating over - and looking forward with sadistic glee to - midterms. “So I still need to write up the test.”
“Maybe Yixing can help you.”
There was a small roll of laughter, and Jongdae had barely opened his mouth before he was interrupted.
“Maybe if you stopped acting like assholes in first grade, you’d know exactly what Yixing can do,” Joonmyun bit out.
Jongdae’s jaw fell, turning to stare, and Joonmyun did not look in the least bit embarrassed. In fact, he drew all of Jongdae’s concern for the way his brows drew down, jaw thrust out as though he were tempted to bite anyone that stopped him from taking Jongdae’s arm and walking him away from the silent group of people.
“What was that about?” Jongdae asked.
Joonmyun’s laugh was utterly devoid of the humor Jongdae was accustomed to. The Joonmyun in front of him was full of righteous anger. Joonmyun was perhaps not overly mild mannered, but Joonmyun in the dozen years they’d known each other had never been aggressive. And Jongdae thought of the laughter from his colleagues. A snap overreaction, absolutely not. Joonmyun was not known for those.
“Why would they wonder if Yixing would be able to help you with something that took you almost nine years of college to be able to teach?” Joonmyun demanded. “They’re calling him stupid, implying he’s worth nothing. Worth less than nothing. Yixing isn’t here tonight, but they’ve done it right to his face. Do you think he’s not good enough for you?”
Jongdae stood taller at that, narrowing his own eyes at Joonmyun. “No! Why would they think that? Why would they say that to him?”
“Because neither of you are telling their entitled little faces that you won't stand for it. You've missed things they’ve said, things where Yixing looked like he'd been slapped because they basically called him stupid and beneath you right in front of you.”
It felt as though his brain had stopped. Yixing’s withdrawal. Yixing’s apologies for wandering away from conversations. Yixing asking not to go with him. Some of it, he’d attributed to Yixing’s eccentricities, an understandable lack of interest. A sadness in Yixing’s smile when he wouldn’t quite meet Jongdae’s eyes when they were among Jongdae’s colleagues.
Jongdae sputtered. “But he's not stupid. I don’t care if he can’t quote a physics book, but he’s never truly been taught. He’s so smart and talented in a thousand other ways.”
“It seems like you and I are the only ones who know you think that. Or maybe they know, they just don’t care because they think you’re slumming with a free spirit with a pretty face. And maybe you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve an equal,” Joonmyun needled.
Jongdae felt his whole face go hot, sickness kneeing him in the stomach. “My parents think things like that. They’ve told me things like that, some in front of Yixing.”
“And you think your parents have the corner on ignorance? They’re laughing at how silly and shallow and stupid they think Yixing is. Making fun of him under your nose, and trying to shrink him with their petty fake superiority. I’m tired of them using Yixing as the butt of what they think is a very funny joke,” Joonmyun said. “I couldn’t say anything when he was here, because I knew it would embarrass him, but I couldn’t stay quiet any more.”
“He never said anything. All this time? How long have you known?”
“Two meetings ago, was the first time I suspected. I don’t know how long it was going on before that.” Joonmyun’s voice was softer, his expression relaxing, as though his anger had been at Jongdae’s blindness, and now that he was beginning to see it was leaving him. “This stuff hurts, Jongdae, and it’s sharp, but it can be subtle too. One day it makes you angry, and you laugh it off, and the next you’re wondering if it’s true, if the person you love might think that way.”
“I would never-“
Joonmyun gripped Jongdae’s arm. “He could leave you, Jongdae. I think they make him wonder if he should. You'll wake up one morning and he'll be gone, and it won't be because of your feelings for each other. And that's just stupid."
“He didn’t defend himself?” Jongdae asked, and the knowledge that Yixing had not, of what Yixing had thought, had his hands going tight.
Joonmyun shook his head. “Did he against your parents?”
“No. He told me he didn’t want to disrespect them. But we had long talks about why I thought my parents’ feelings were bullshit, and I asked them in front of him to stop.”
“And this is your work. There had to have been reasons why he didn’t feel it was his place to speak up.”
“Or he started to believe their lies,” Jongdae said, voice soft.
“Make sure he doesn’t any more,” Joonmyun said, socking Jongdae gently in the chest.
Jongdae made his excuses, running over everything Joonmyun had told him. To have Yixing belittled by Jongdae’s own coworkers, in a place Jongdae had brought Yixing that he had felt was, if not overly friendly, then at least safe. Yixing hadn’t said a word. He’d cooked, he’d written music, they’d made love, and cuddled, and went on day trips.
And then he considered how Yixing had withdrawn at the gatherings, the way he’d clung to Jongdae’s hand. He’d thought it was boredom. He wished it had been something that simple, that easy to fix. He wondered if Yixing had been desperate after to make sure that Jongdae didn’t think Yixing was beneath him, too. He had to have believed in Jongdae somehow. He’d left Yixing with a kiss, and Yixing had told him he loved him. That hadn’t changed.
But he had no more answers than that.
***
Yixing still felt guilty for begging off when he heard Jongdae’s key in the door, and his eyes went to the clock on the wall. Early. And yet even so, Jongdae seemed tired, quiet. Serious. He waited until Jongdae got his shoes off, reaching for a greeting hug. Jongdae did not turn him back, but he was stiff against Yixing, even while holding him tight.
“You’re back early. How did it go?” Yixing asked, nuzzling Jongdae’s neck and hoping to understand what Jongdae was thinking, what mood he was in. It could not have simply been Jongdae being tired. And he wondered, knowing something had caused Jongdae’s mood. And there was only one thing he could think of.
“I didn’t eat,” Jongdae said, and his hands gripped the back of Yixing’s shirt. “I found out that they have been saying terrible things to you.”
Jongdae met his eyes, and they were nearly flat, tension in the corners of them as he would not let Yixing free. In that knowledge, that Jongdae knew, Yixing did not know what to feel - relief, or guilt, or shame.
“Jongdae.”
“I feel so stupid. I should've seen more of what was going on. Joonmyun snapped, delivered a put-down, and told me it’d been happening for a while. He dragged me out, and told me I could’ve shut their poison down. I could've put them in their place, but you could have too. Why didn't you, Yixing?”
Yixing’s whole body seized, and Jongdae looked alarmed.
“Did I make you feel like you couldn’t protect yourself? Was I making you feel like you weren’t good enough, too? I take you with me to those things because I love having you with me, not so some snobbish asses can talk that way to you.”
To hear Jongdae describe them that way nearly made him smile, but he was caught. He knew the reason for his silence, because he had been unable to understand how to look at Jongdae, a man he adored, and to tell Jongdae that he wondered if they were right, wondered if he was truly good enough for Jongdae.
“Sometimes all they would do was imply that I wasn’t smart enough for you, or accomplished enough,” Yixing said, trying to explain. “It’s a harder thing to dismiss than an all-out lie. If they had said I wasn’t female enough for you, that’s a blatant untruth. But I can’t follow your conversations, and their questions catch me when I’m drifting, and I will never make the money you do. I’ll never write a book, or-“
“Yixing…”
The words tumbled from him, polished from being worn too long, turned over and over until he could not escape them.
“Your parents don’t think I’m good enough for you either, so it’s not the first time I’ve heard it. Even if I know- Even if I hope, it becomes almost true. And saying it out loud…”
“It would make me think it was true, too?”
Yixing looked away from him, and the sound of Jongdae’s pained inhale was almost worse than seeing his face.
“It could have been only a matter of time before you started to agree with them,” Yixing said, obsessively straightening Jongdae’s collar just to have something to do with his hands. “Could have, Jongdae. I’m not accusing you. I know you’d have done what you could have if you’d known they were teasing.”
“Bullying,” Jongdae blurted. “Not teasing. No. They were bullying you. Under my fucking nose. Bullying a man I love so much that hearing that he could leave me because of- It scared me to death. Joonmyun could’ve run me over with his car, and it would’ve been less painful.”
“I love you, too,” Yixing said. “And I didn’t tell him I was going to leave you.”
“But that you’d thought of it! I know why you don’t think you can stand up to my parents, but I think it’s better now? I’m happy, and they know that. But those assholes aren’t my bosses. They can’t get me fired. You’re equal to them in every way. In- In many ways more. I can’t even- The fact that they’d do this.”
For a moment, Jongdae looked lost. Even if they were in their apartment, touching each other, he was searching Yixing’s face for an answer Yixing did not know how to give.
“They’re not bosses,” Yixing said, and wondered how he would have dealt with that. “But they’re your colleagues, and friends. People you have to deal with.”
“Not my friends. No. Tell me how many friends you’d have left if they started treating me like shit?”
Yixing breathed, eyes on Jongdae’s. “Not many.”
“Exactly. I asked you once what you saw when you looked at my books, and you said something that was important to me. What do you see now?”
The answer, though the truth, made him sad “Something I don't know enough about.”
“Poisonous fucking assholes,” Jongdae spat, as though they were right in front of him to tear into pieces. “I love that you care about my books, but I don’t need you to write them for me."
“Jongdae. Jongdae,” Yixing said, putting a hand on Jongdae’s face and waiting until their eyes had met. “They’re not here with us. It’s only you and me.”
Jongdae took a step, their faces close.
“I was angry for a little while. I sat outside trying to think about it. Why you would take that kind of abuse when it risked driving a wedge between us. As though taking it meant that you didn’t care enough about our relationship,” Jongdae said, and held up his hand, taking the one Yixing held him with. “And I realized it was stupid to be angry, because you were protecting me. You didn’t put us on the line, you put yourself on the line to shield me.”
“I thought I could deal with it. I thought…” Yixing smoothed down the back of Jongdae’s hair. “I should’ve told you. Each time, it was just one more, maybe I was thinking too hard. I don’t know. But silencing them won’t stop them from thinking it.”
“It’ll keep them from saying it to your face, or to mine. Fat lot of good my degree did me there, if I didn’t realize what they were doing. I don’t think the way they do.”
“I know.”
He knew. He’d always known.
“And there are a lot of people that don’t approve of us for other reasons,” Jongdae said, all but squishing Yixing’s cheeks. “And you know what? Fuck them. Fuck them for being snobs and not bothering to find out what an amazing, talented, loving person you are. Fuck them for not seeing that two guys can love each other just as much as anyone else.”
“Jongdae.”
“You are so much more important to me than they will ever be. You might not edit my books for accuracy, but you could for grammar. You make me smile. And you give me blow jobs.” Jongdae smiled, and they both chuckled weakly. “And you make this place a place I want to come back to, a home full of music and hugs. I wouldn’t trade this for a hundred guys with Ph.D.’s.”
And before he could get ahold of himself, Jongdae was speaking again.
“I made sure when I took that job that I wouldn’t have to hide our relationship. I don’t want to hide you. I’m so proud of you. So lucky-“
He didn’t even realize he was crying until a sob choked him, and Jongdae gathered him close. He realized something he had never been able to see in all of his moments of worry and sickness. Had Jongdae been ashamed of him, he could have made excuses to leave Yixing at home. Had Jongdae wanted to exploit his ignorance, he could have put Yixing so very low, caused so much laughter at Yixing’s expense. The times when Jongdae had saved him, when he had not even realized he had, laughing at why Yixing was being asked. Not laughing at Yixing. Praising him. Praising his music, how talented he was, how kind he was.
“I love you,” Jongdae said into his hair.
“I love you, too,” Yixing whispered. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry more,” Jongdae said.
Yixing smiled, clutching Jongdae harder. “I’m sorry most.”
“I’m sorry infinity.” And Jongdae breathed a moment. “You and I are always on the same side. You know that, right?”
And Yixing kissed him, soft and slow. He knew. And his heart squeezed tight because of it.
***
Jongdae whispered to him, lovely things. Jongdae did not want a clone of himself, only Yixing. Jongdae did not find him dimwitted, but brilliant and fascinating, and gorgeous. He wavered between melting with smiles, and embarrassment, nuzzling against Jongdae’s face. They talked until they were hoarse, and he’d hurt, soothing tears of anger - at himself - from Jongdae’s face. If there was regret, it was that his silence had caused Jongdae that pain. But gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach, the feeling as though he could not catch his breath, had left. Fears Jongdae had redirected. They passed those fears back and forth and made new shapes of them.
“I didn’t have to deal with it myself,” Yixing said, fingertips circling at Jongdae’s nape. “But even if you didn’t know it, you made me feel safe.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad Joonmyun was able to talk to you, too.”
“I’ll make Joonmyun any food he wants,” Yixing promised.
“And me?”
Yixing nuzzled his face into Jongdae’s shoulder. “You can have whatever you want, any time. Food or otherwise.”
Jongdae hummed. “I’d understand if you never wanted to go eat with any of them again. It doesn’t make me happy to think of either. But it seems like we should do something. Say something.”
It was something he’d begun to wonder as well. Perhaps there was something he could say, something that made them not see him as a target.
“I think I want to try saying something,” Yixing said, considering. “I want to keep supporting you as much as I can. And I’ve enjoyed myself, going with you. But I think I need to, or they’ll keep at it when you’re not around.”
Jongdae smiled, the expression a bit grim, a bit predatory. “Can I watch?”
***
Yixing dressed the same way he had always dressed, and he stood beside Jongdae in the same way he always had as greeting were made, drinks distributed. And yet he had a secret, one that made it hard to keep from smiling because of it. It was security, and he saw it in every one of Jongdae’s smiles, and even in the flirting flutter of his eyelashes.
Instead of fearing it, he actually wanted someone to make a comment. They’d discussed it, whether Joonmyun’s harsh words would be enough, and the knowledge that surely Jongdae had been made wise to their actions. But Jongdae had not thought so. If they thought Yixing was still weak to it, if it had become a habit, then someone in their arrogance would out themselves again.
And Jongdae was right.
“What do you think Yixing?”
Yixing breathed in, words he had rehearsed over in his head coming easily to his lips. He would not shout, or yell, or glare, but he would show them who he was. He would remind them who he was. There would be no laughter at his expense.
“I’m sorry, I know we’ve met, but my name is Yixing, and I’m his partner, not your colleague. I think you meant to ask Jongdae.”
No one gasped or shifted dramatically, but there were some traded looks.
“I guess I do work here, don’t I?” Jongdae smiled at him, hand petting down Yixing’s neck before sliding around his waist. “Now what was your question again?”
It was a challenge, from them both. And Yixing had never felt stronger. It didn’t ease all of the sickness in his stomach, the apprehension of someone saying something, of having to think of another comeback. Jongdae had given him the armor to protect himself, while promising to shield him if he needed.
There was no shame in admitting he didn’t know the answers to their questions. The shame came because they thought they were better than him because of it. They would not chase him out. They would not drive him and Jongdae apart.
If anything, they’d pushed them closer.
And he didn’t care if it got him strange looks - he smiled.
***
The book was brightly colored, not a book for children but an illustrated beginner’s introduction to Jongdae’s subjects. Math formulas, that he was never going to want to understand. Physics, he thought at least there were interesting concepts within it. He’d bought the book in two languages, intending to cross reference. If he could understand it in his own tongue, and learn vocabulary in Korean, there was a chance some of it might stick with him. He did not fear that Jongdae would find him lacking if he still could not grasp some of it, and knew that Jongdae would appreciate his trying. Just as they’d worked to understand how to live together, he wanted to work to understand an important facet of Jongdae’s life. And he knew what Jongdae would think when he saw them, that Yixing had taken to heart the criticisms, that he was trying to make himself into something that Jongdae didn’t require him to be. He knew, even as Jongdae stared at him.
“I want to,” Yixing said, shimmying into Jongdae’s lap. “It’s something I was thinking about for a long time, because I would catch words and not understand. But I started with your books out of loyalty, and they’re…too advanced for me. I’d like to know a little. I want to try. Because you love it. I know a good teacher.”
Jongdae laughed, oh, he laughed, sliding his arms around Yixing’s neck.
“Oh, do you? I guess I could I do that. But maybe we should trade, if you’d teach me to play a song on the guitar?”
His breath caught, eyes darting between Jongdae’s and the sincerity there. “Rea- Yes! Yes.”
“But the only one I might ever play for is you,” Jongdae warned.
He pressed his nose along Jongdae’s, in the place where being together was the best and strongest place he could imagine, and knew he could live with that.
***