(Taoris) 'this' (part 1)
Title: 'this'
Rating: Pg/Pg-13 (for some swearing)
Word count: 3987
Summary: Zitao works at Gucci and Wufan buys him way too many bags.
(disclaimer: i'm sorry if i use 'ge' completely wrong asjfbakjfb i wrote this at like 2:00 in the morning so it's probably so stupid and incoherent and lj won't let me make it one post so now it has to be 2 parts jalfajbf)
"I like this," Zitao says.
It's common sense, really, Wufan thinks, that either of them should like 'this,' as Zitao puts it. They've always had a habit of doing 'this,' ever since they first met each other, which Wufan is pretty sure happened at Zitao’s job, but it's not like it really matters that much anyway. 'This' has been something he looks forward to the most each evening, especially after a long hard day of work when all he wants to do is lay around and look at Zitao's flawless face and not think about that stupid girl he tutors who can't even pronounce simple words like "hello".
"Yes," Wufan says, "I like this, too."
Cuddling is what it should be called, and Wufan's not sure why neither of them has ever openly called it that. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Wufan likes Zitao and he's pretty sure Zitao likes him too, except in a totally platonic, non-gay way, despite the fact that Zitao works at Gucci and wears too much cologne and talks in that manner normally associated with only the most homosexual individuals (the ones that use ohmygod like it's the subject, verb, adverb, and adjective of every sentence).
"Had a rough day?" Zitao asks playfully, smiling as Wufan raises an eyebrow and continues to look into those all-too-perfect eyes of his. "I can tell. You never agree with me unless you've had a bad day."
"Careful," Wufan warns, "If you keep talking, I might disagree with you." Zitao laughs. It's another one of the things on Wufan's mental list of reasons why Zitao is perfect - but that list is probably far too long for its own good, so Wufan tries not to think about it too often.
“What happened this time?” Zitao asks. “The same kid still causing problems?”
“Yeah,” Wufan sighs. “I even had to call Yixing in because I couldn’t get her to say “hello, my name is” without bursting into hysteric giggles.” Zitao giggles himself, smiling humorously when Wufan gives him a look.
“It’s not her fault, you know,” the younger boy says, “I mean, you’re the one who looks like a god. If I were in her place, I’d probably be the same way.” Wufan frowns, which he knows is probably intensified by the fact that he always looks angry (or so he’s been told), and Zitao laughs at him.
“Why do you always say that?” Wufan asks, reluctantly pulling himself away from Zitao to sit up and fold his arm, “That I look like a god?” You get my hopes up, he thinks, but keeps it to himself.
“It’s only the truth, gege,” Zitao pouts, and Wufan hates when the younger boy calls him that because it makes him want to wrap him tightly in his arms and never let go. Either that or punch him in the face. Depending on his mood. “And don’t try to deny it,” Zitao adds when Wufan continues to stare at him.
“I wasn’t-” Wufan starts, but he’s not exactly sure what he means to say, and Zitao is laughing again, and it’s becoming rather difficult to think, so he figures he should probably just shut his mouth.
“You’re too cute sometimes, ge,” Zitao smiles once more, and Wufan swallows because he also hates when Zitao compliments him like this since it makes him want to curl up in a ball and cry.
You don’t understand the things you do to me, Wufan thinks.
And maybe it’s a good thing.
“I’m sorry, ge, but I really don’t have time to help you with Jolin today,” Yixing apologetically tells Wufan, who can’t fight the impending bitch-face he knows he’s about to make. “I had a bit of free time yesterday, but remember, I have my own students to worry about, too.”
“But Yixing,” Wufan says, taking a deep breath, “You know I can’t handle her. If I have to sit through another day of her obnoxious giggling every single fucking time I ask her to repeat after me, you might find my body floating down the nearest river.”
“Now, now, ge,” Yixing laughs, “It can’t be that bad. She did pretty well with the introductions yesterday, as far as I could tell.”
“That’s because the moment you showed up, she straight-faced everything,” Wufan explains impatiently. “I swear, when it’s just the two of us, she’s never quiet, and the only Chinese she ever uses is dirty phrases she looks up on the internet.” Yixing snorts into the Starbucks frappuccino he’s drinking. “It’s not funny!” Wufan exclaims, exasperated.
“Sorry,” Yixing says, an amused smile on his lips, “It really is, though.” Wufan glares at him. “Oh, all right,” Yixing sighs in defeat. “Suffer through one more day with her and I’ll talk to management this evening to see if we can switch her with one of my students.” Wufan’s glare is immediately replaced by a gummy smile.
“Thanks,” he says, wrapping an arm around Yixing’s shoulder and briefly hugging him, “You’re my favorite~”
“We all know that’s a lie,” Yixing mutters, letting Wufan’s arm drop when he goes to throw his empty frappuccino away. “That place is already taken by a certain somebody who owns the entirety of Gucci’s stock of bags-”
“OK, I take it back,” Wufan groans.
“-And you’re the one who paid for all of them,” Yixing finishes with a smirk.
Wufan resists rolling his eyes. It’s all he can do to stop himself from saying every swear word he knows; in Mandarin, Korean, and English. He’s tried to calm himself down with the thought that he’s going to pick Zitao up from work after this, but it doesn’t help all that much, what with Jolin sitting there with her stupid deer-in-headlights face and her stupid chipmunk-on-helium giggles and all because he simply asked her to pronounce “how are you.”
“Jolin-ah,” Wufan says slowly, eye twitching as more loud, airy giggles escape the corners of Jolin’s mouth. “I’m trying to improve your Mandarin. Learning Chinese is probably a very good idea for you, even if English is widely spoken around China, so maybe you should put a little more effort into this, considering your mom is paying me to teach you.”
“But Mr. Wufan,” Jolin says in her annoying American English (curse her and her stupid, United States transfer student-ness), “I don’t like Chinese.”
“I understand that,” he says, smiling tersely, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m supposed to be teaching you Mandarin.”
“Can’t we do something else?” she whines, pouting and folding her arms and Wufan really just wants to shake her violently and yell at her in a mixture of all three of the languages he speaks. The next thing she says is quiet, but he gets the gist of it and it’s another one of those goddamn phrases she looked up online except she said one of the words wrong so technically it means something completely different from what she thinks, and Wufan almost laughs but manages to keep a straight face.
“Jolin-ah,” he says in Mandarin, “I’m gay.”
The look on her face tells him that she’d probably seen that phrase on the internet, as well. Good, he thinks. Maybe now she won’t mind so much when Yixing informs her that he’s going to be her new tutor.
“Gege, what do you think of this one?” Zitao asks, picking a bright red bag from a shelf and holding it up to his shoulder.
“Don’t you already have one just like it?” Wufan asks dully. He doesn’t understand how anyone can own as many bags as Zitao and still want more, especially when each one costs almost as much as Wufan makes in an entire year.
“Yeah,” Zitao says, making a face, “but I kind of like this one.” He opens his mouth to keep talking, but Wufan shakes his head.
“Oh, no you don’t. The last time the words ‘I kind of like this one’ were out of your mouth, I had to work three jobs for half a year to be able to keep paying rent at my apartment and still be able to buy groceries,” he says, eyes narrowed. Zitao’s mouth starts to open again, but Wufan continues “And don’t you dare think about using your aegyo on me. It won’t work.”
“You know it will,” Zitao says, grinning as he sets the bag down. “It always does.”
“I really hate you,” Wufan says. “Do you realize how much you ruin my life?”
“You know it’s only because I love you,” Zitao winks, his hands haphazardly following the buing buing motion that Wufan has come to despise due to his absolute inability to refuse whatever request has been made. Even now, he finds himself softening at the sight of the younger boy’s aegyo (even if it is haphazard), which isn’t good because he really, really needs to watch his budget this month.
“Just,” Wufan sighs, but he’s interrupted before he can get anything else out.
“Zitao-ya,” exclaims a sugary voice, and Wufan resists the urge to stab himself with that sharp-looking pair of stiletto heels on display across from him.
That’s Byun Baekhyun. Zitao's all-too-cute co-worker. The all-too-cute co-worker with the designer jeans and the million dollar smile that kind of makes Wufan want to push him off that goddamn designer rooftop every time he so much as looks at Zitao the wrong way. Which honestly happens a lot if Wufan’s counting - but he’s not.
“Zitao-ya,” Baekhyun says in an annoyingly clingy way, pouting as he drapes his arms around Zitao’s shoulders, and Wufan’s thinking of kittens and puppies and unicorns so that he doesn’t kick Baekhyun where it really hurts, “You abandoned me at the register all by myself. I thought you said we were gonna go home together.” Wufan sort of strangles a cat in his head at that line.
“Ohmygod,” Zitao frowns apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I forgot Wufan-ge was picking me up.” Wufan forces a smile when both boys turn their gazes upon him.
“Um, Wufan-hyung,” Baekhyun starts, giving him one of those stupid smiles, “I don’t have a ride. Do you think you might be able to...?” Wufan tries not to stare too obviously at that pair of stilettos, gauging how hard he would have to jab them into his neck to cause a fatal wound.
“Sure, why not?” he pretends his voice doesn’t sound half as strangled as he knows it does.
He also pretends he doesn’t see the way Baekhyun and Zitao practically sit on top of each other in the back of his car as he drives Baekhyun home.
“I’m too tired,” Wufan says simply, hesitating by his car door. Zitao pouts pitifully at him, but he’s determined not to waver, especially after twenty painful minutes of listening to the younger boys excitedly discuss Gucci’s new line of bags while straddling each others laps. In the back of his car. While ignoring his futile existence.
“But ge,” Zitao begins, and Wufan can just feel the aegyo coming, “you know I can’t sleep at night without cuddling for at least a few minutes.” He’s starting to raise his hands up, hesitating with them just below his chin, and Wufan is closing his eyes so he won’t see.
“Please, Zitao, I can’t-” Wufan takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I had a long day, and I just want to go home and sleep.”
“But,” Zitao childishly stomps a foot on the ground. “You always cuddle with me!”
Oh, Wufan thinks. Oh.
“Cuddle,” Wufan repeats.
“Yes, cuddle,” Zitao scoffs, “What else would we-” he stops abruptly, his mouth hanging open. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod, I mean-” his cheeks flush bright pink, a color that Wufan has never seen on him, and does that mean that maybe all along, the ‘this’ that now has been referred to as cuddling has been more than just the younger boy’s strange way of torturing Wufan for-
“Fine, just, Jesus Christ, forget I said anything,” Zitao mutters incoherently. Blush suits him very well, Wufan thinks. “I was going to invite you to Sehun’s graduation party, but now I don’t know if I even want you to come-”
“Sehun’s graduation party?” Wufan interrupts. Zitao glares cutely at him.
“Yeah, Sehun’s graduation party,” the younger boy says mockingly. “The kid just finished high school. He’s invited pretty much everyone he knows to Club Exo this weekend.”
“I still think it’s weird you call him kid when you’re really not that much older than he is.”
“Shut up.”
“Wait, you said it’s this weekend?” Wufan asks, something occurring to him.
“Yes, ohmygod, do I always have to repeat myself for you?” Zitao says, giving him a look. “And you better fucking come or you are so buying me that red Gucci bag.” Wufan chews his bottom lip nervously.
“Um, but I really can’t go,” he starts to say, but Zitao lets out a wail that kind of sounds like a dying animal, and Wufan has to wonder how his neighbors put up with him. “It’s not my fault! Yixing traded students with me so now I have to tutor on the weekends-”
“Ohmygod, do not mention that man’s name in my presence,” the younger boy says, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed menacingly at Wufan. “You cannot skip this party just because Yixing did this or that-”
“This about my job, not just Yixing,” the older boy sighs wearily. “Don’t be like this, he hasn’t done anything wrong-”
“No! You absolutely have to come!” Zitao whines. “I don’t care, just, you have to, I even promised Sehun you’d be there!”
“This is not fair,” Wufan says, his voice firm with resolution. “No, Zitao, I can’t go. I have work.”
“But-” Zitao sputters, looking all too crestfallen.
“No buts,” Wufan says.
“Fuck you,” the younger boy says through gritted teeth. “Fine. Fine!” He stalks away from Wufan in the direction of his apartment before pausing and turning back to shout, “I never want to cuddle with you again!”
Wufan wonders if he’s serious.
part 2
Rating: Pg/Pg-13 (for some swearing)
Word count: 3987
Summary: Zitao works at Gucci and Wufan buys him way too many bags.
(disclaimer: i'm sorry if i use 'ge' completely wrong asjfbakjfb i wrote this at like 2:00 in the morning so it's probably so stupid and incoherent and lj won't let me make it one post so now it has to be 2 parts jalfajbf)
"I like this," Zitao says.
It's common sense, really, Wufan thinks, that either of them should like 'this,' as Zitao puts it. They've always had a habit of doing 'this,' ever since they first met each other, which Wufan is pretty sure happened at Zitao’s job, but it's not like it really matters that much anyway. 'This' has been something he looks forward to the most each evening, especially after a long hard day of work when all he wants to do is lay around and look at Zitao's flawless face and not think about that stupid girl he tutors who can't even pronounce simple words like "hello".
"Yes," Wufan says, "I like this, too."
Cuddling is what it should be called, and Wufan's not sure why neither of them has ever openly called it that. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Wufan likes Zitao and he's pretty sure Zitao likes him too, except in a totally platonic, non-gay way, despite the fact that Zitao works at Gucci and wears too much cologne and talks in that manner normally associated with only the most homosexual individuals (the ones that use ohmygod like it's the subject, verb, adverb, and adjective of every sentence).
"Had a rough day?" Zitao asks playfully, smiling as Wufan raises an eyebrow and continues to look into those all-too-perfect eyes of his. "I can tell. You never agree with me unless you've had a bad day."
"Careful," Wufan warns, "If you keep talking, I might disagree with you." Zitao laughs. It's another one of the things on Wufan's mental list of reasons why Zitao is perfect - but that list is probably far too long for its own good, so Wufan tries not to think about it too often.
“What happened this time?” Zitao asks. “The same kid still causing problems?”
“Yeah,” Wufan sighs. “I even had to call Yixing in because I couldn’t get her to say “hello, my name is” without bursting into hysteric giggles.” Zitao giggles himself, smiling humorously when Wufan gives him a look.
“It’s not her fault, you know,” the younger boy says, “I mean, you’re the one who looks like a god. If I were in her place, I’d probably be the same way.” Wufan frowns, which he knows is probably intensified by the fact that he always looks angry (or so he’s been told), and Zitao laughs at him.
“Why do you always say that?” Wufan asks, reluctantly pulling himself away from Zitao to sit up and fold his arm, “That I look like a god?” You get my hopes up, he thinks, but keeps it to himself.
“It’s only the truth, gege,” Zitao pouts, and Wufan hates when the younger boy calls him that because it makes him want to wrap him tightly in his arms and never let go. Either that or punch him in the face. Depending on his mood. “And don’t try to deny it,” Zitao adds when Wufan continues to stare at him.
“I wasn’t-” Wufan starts, but he’s not exactly sure what he means to say, and Zitao is laughing again, and it’s becoming rather difficult to think, so he figures he should probably just shut his mouth.
“You’re too cute sometimes, ge,” Zitao smiles once more, and Wufan swallows because he also hates when Zitao compliments him like this since it makes him want to curl up in a ball and cry.
You don’t understand the things you do to me, Wufan thinks.
And maybe it’s a good thing.
“I’m sorry, ge, but I really don’t have time to help you with Jolin today,” Yixing apologetically tells Wufan, who can’t fight the impending bitch-face he knows he’s about to make. “I had a bit of free time yesterday, but remember, I have my own students to worry about, too.”
“But Yixing,” Wufan says, taking a deep breath, “You know I can’t handle her. If I have to sit through another day of her obnoxious giggling every single fucking time I ask her to repeat after me, you might find my body floating down the nearest river.”
“Now, now, ge,” Yixing laughs, “It can’t be that bad. She did pretty well with the introductions yesterday, as far as I could tell.”
“That’s because the moment you showed up, she straight-faced everything,” Wufan explains impatiently. “I swear, when it’s just the two of us, she’s never quiet, and the only Chinese she ever uses is dirty phrases she looks up on the internet.” Yixing snorts into the Starbucks frappuccino he’s drinking. “It’s not funny!” Wufan exclaims, exasperated.
“Sorry,” Yixing says, an amused smile on his lips, “It really is, though.” Wufan glares at him. “Oh, all right,” Yixing sighs in defeat. “Suffer through one more day with her and I’ll talk to management this evening to see if we can switch her with one of my students.” Wufan’s glare is immediately replaced by a gummy smile.
“Thanks,” he says, wrapping an arm around Yixing’s shoulder and briefly hugging him, “You’re my favorite~”
“We all know that’s a lie,” Yixing mutters, letting Wufan’s arm drop when he goes to throw his empty frappuccino away. “That place is already taken by a certain somebody who owns the entirety of Gucci’s stock of bags-”
“OK, I take it back,” Wufan groans.
“-And you’re the one who paid for all of them,” Yixing finishes with a smirk.
Wufan resists rolling his eyes. It’s all he can do to stop himself from saying every swear word he knows; in Mandarin, Korean, and English. He’s tried to calm himself down with the thought that he’s going to pick Zitao up from work after this, but it doesn’t help all that much, what with Jolin sitting there with her stupid deer-in-headlights face and her stupid chipmunk-on-helium giggles and all because he simply asked her to pronounce “how are you.”
“Jolin-ah,” Wufan says slowly, eye twitching as more loud, airy giggles escape the corners of Jolin’s mouth. “I’m trying to improve your Mandarin. Learning Chinese is probably a very good idea for you, even if English is widely spoken around China, so maybe you should put a little more effort into this, considering your mom is paying me to teach you.”
“But Mr. Wufan,” Jolin says in her annoying American English (curse her and her stupid, United States transfer student-ness), “I don’t like Chinese.”
“I understand that,” he says, smiling tersely, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m supposed to be teaching you Mandarin.”
“Can’t we do something else?” she whines, pouting and folding her arms and Wufan really just wants to shake her violently and yell at her in a mixture of all three of the languages he speaks. The next thing she says is quiet, but he gets the gist of it and it’s another one of those goddamn phrases she looked up online except she said one of the words wrong so technically it means something completely different from what she thinks, and Wufan almost laughs but manages to keep a straight face.
“Jolin-ah,” he says in Mandarin, “I’m gay.”
The look on her face tells him that she’d probably seen that phrase on the internet, as well. Good, he thinks. Maybe now she won’t mind so much when Yixing informs her that he’s going to be her new tutor.
“Gege, what do you think of this one?” Zitao asks, picking a bright red bag from a shelf and holding it up to his shoulder.
“Don’t you already have one just like it?” Wufan asks dully. He doesn’t understand how anyone can own as many bags as Zitao and still want more, especially when each one costs almost as much as Wufan makes in an entire year.
“Yeah,” Zitao says, making a face, “but I kind of like this one.” He opens his mouth to keep talking, but Wufan shakes his head.
“Oh, no you don’t. The last time the words ‘I kind of like this one’ were out of your mouth, I had to work three jobs for half a year to be able to keep paying rent at my apartment and still be able to buy groceries,” he says, eyes narrowed. Zitao’s mouth starts to open again, but Wufan continues “And don’t you dare think about using your aegyo on me. It won’t work.”
“You know it will,” Zitao says, grinning as he sets the bag down. “It always does.”
“I really hate you,” Wufan says. “Do you realize how much you ruin my life?”
“You know it’s only because I love you,” Zitao winks, his hands haphazardly following the buing buing motion that Wufan has come to despise due to his absolute inability to refuse whatever request has been made. Even now, he finds himself softening at the sight of the younger boy’s aegyo (even if it is haphazard), which isn’t good because he really, really needs to watch his budget this month.
“Just,” Wufan sighs, but he’s interrupted before he can get anything else out.
“Zitao-ya,” exclaims a sugary voice, and Wufan resists the urge to stab himself with that sharp-looking pair of stiletto heels on display across from him.
That’s Byun Baekhyun. Zitao's all-too-cute co-worker. The all-too-cute co-worker with the designer jeans and the million dollar smile that kind of makes Wufan want to push him off that goddamn designer rooftop every time he so much as looks at Zitao the wrong way. Which honestly happens a lot if Wufan’s counting - but he’s not.
“Zitao-ya,” Baekhyun says in an annoyingly clingy way, pouting as he drapes his arms around Zitao’s shoulders, and Wufan’s thinking of kittens and puppies and unicorns so that he doesn’t kick Baekhyun where it really hurts, “You abandoned me at the register all by myself. I thought you said we were gonna go home together.” Wufan sort of strangles a cat in his head at that line.
“Ohmygod,” Zitao frowns apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I forgot Wufan-ge was picking me up.” Wufan forces a smile when both boys turn their gazes upon him.
“Um, Wufan-hyung,” Baekhyun starts, giving him one of those stupid smiles, “I don’t have a ride. Do you think you might be able to...?” Wufan tries not to stare too obviously at that pair of stilettos, gauging how hard he would have to jab them into his neck to cause a fatal wound.
“Sure, why not?” he pretends his voice doesn’t sound half as strangled as he knows it does.
He also pretends he doesn’t see the way Baekhyun and Zitao practically sit on top of each other in the back of his car as he drives Baekhyun home.
“I’m too tired,” Wufan says simply, hesitating by his car door. Zitao pouts pitifully at him, but he’s determined not to waver, especially after twenty painful minutes of listening to the younger boys excitedly discuss Gucci’s new line of bags while straddling each others laps. In the back of his car. While ignoring his futile existence.
“But ge,” Zitao begins, and Wufan can just feel the aegyo coming, “you know I can’t sleep at night without cuddling for at least a few minutes.” He’s starting to raise his hands up, hesitating with them just below his chin, and Wufan is closing his eyes so he won’t see.
“Please, Zitao, I can’t-” Wufan takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I had a long day, and I just want to go home and sleep.”
“But,” Zitao childishly stomps a foot on the ground. “You always cuddle with me!”
Oh, Wufan thinks. Oh.
“Cuddle,” Wufan repeats.
“Yes, cuddle,” Zitao scoffs, “What else would we-” he stops abruptly, his mouth hanging open. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod, I mean-” his cheeks flush bright pink, a color that Wufan has never seen on him, and does that mean that maybe all along, the ‘this’ that now has been referred to as cuddling has been more than just the younger boy’s strange way of torturing Wufan for-
“Fine, just, Jesus Christ, forget I said anything,” Zitao mutters incoherently. Blush suits him very well, Wufan thinks. “I was going to invite you to Sehun’s graduation party, but now I don’t know if I even want you to come-”
“Sehun’s graduation party?” Wufan interrupts. Zitao glares cutely at him.
“Yeah, Sehun’s graduation party,” the younger boy says mockingly. “The kid just finished high school. He’s invited pretty much everyone he knows to Club Exo this weekend.”
“I still think it’s weird you call him kid when you’re really not that much older than he is.”
“Shut up.”
“Wait, you said it’s this weekend?” Wufan asks, something occurring to him.
“Yes, ohmygod, do I always have to repeat myself for you?” Zitao says, giving him a look. “And you better fucking come or you are so buying me that red Gucci bag.” Wufan chews his bottom lip nervously.
“Um, but I really can’t go,” he starts to say, but Zitao lets out a wail that kind of sounds like a dying animal, and Wufan has to wonder how his neighbors put up with him. “It’s not my fault! Yixing traded students with me so now I have to tutor on the weekends-”
“Ohmygod, do not mention that man’s name in my presence,” the younger boy says, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed menacingly at Wufan. “You cannot skip this party just because Yixing did this or that-”
“This about my job, not just Yixing,” the older boy sighs wearily. “Don’t be like this, he hasn’t done anything wrong-”
“No! You absolutely have to come!” Zitao whines. “I don’t care, just, you have to, I even promised Sehun you’d be there!”
“This is not fair,” Wufan says, his voice firm with resolution. “No, Zitao, I can’t go. I have work.”
“But-” Zitao sputters, looking all too crestfallen.
“No buts,” Wufan says.
“Fuck you,” the younger boy says through gritted teeth. “Fine. Fine!” He stalks away from Wufan in the direction of his apartment before pausing and turning back to shout, “I never want to cuddle with you again!”
Wufan wonders if he’s serious.
part 2