Did You Call For Pest Control?
Title: Did You Call For Pest Control?
Pairing: Kris/Lay
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,771
Warnings: General absurdity and attempts at crack
Summary: The three times Kris calls for help to exterminate the wasps in his apartment.
It's 6am in the morning and Kris wakes up to the sound of distant buzzing. He tries to sleep it off, grumpily covering his ears with a drool-stained pillow. But it is of little use, as the buzzing gets increasingly louder, as though whatever's causing the whizzing is coming towards him. Three minutes have passed and the humming is still constantly there and now Kris is freaking out because what if it's Chucky with a chainsaw outside?!
Theoretically, it is impossible for that to happen because: 1. It's 6am in the morning and scary things only happen at night 2. Kris remembered to lock his door yesterday night. 3. He hadn’t brought home any disfigured, creepy-ass doll from shady pushcart sellers lately. Despite his poor attempt at self-assurance, he still feels an overwhelming sense of fear at the unknown source of noise.
Retrieving his balls and guts, he stands up, pulls out a tennis racket from under his bed, and slowly edges towards the door. The buzzing is getting more frantic and unnerving, like it’s darkly welcoming Kris to his imminent doom.
Kris takes two deep breaths, praying to God that if Chucky is out there he would be able to fight him off, and he slowly pushes the door open. He cautiously glances outside through the tiny door gap and once he decides the coast is clear, he springs out of the bedroom with a loud "Ha!" and maintains a kungfu stance.
But there is nothing in his corridor except a lone string of dust swaying by the family portrait he nailed to the wall. No blood stains on his plain cream wallpaper. No shadows popping up from corner to corner.
He warily steps forward, eyes darting around and tightly clutching onto his tennis racket. As he moves closer towards the main area, the grating noise becomes shriller and his heart pumps loudly in his chest. There is still nothing in his living room but when he turns to his kitchen- HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT.
A colony of black creatures busily swarm his kitchen, having the time of their lives making a particular hole in Kris’ kitchen ceiling their nest.
Chucky would have been so much better was the last thing Kris thought about before he falls to the floor and blacks out.
When he regains consciousness minutes later, there is a wasp the size of a giant eraser hovering above his face. He lets out a muted yelp and scrambles back so fast he knocks his head against the back of the couch.
Pest control, he decides, he’s going to call the pest control.
Digging up the thick Yellow Pages he had thrown somewhere in the back of his closet, he sweeps dust off the front cover and immediately starts searching. He finds the page with all pests exterminating services and calls the first generic company printed: 1004 Pest Control Centre
The line rings twice before it’s picked up.
“What?” The receiver says, which could be roughly translated to ‘go throw yourself off a cliff’.
“1004 Pest Control?” Kris hesitantly asks, wondering if he dialled the wrong number.
“What do you want?”
Kris feels slightly intimidated by the impatient voice over the line and considers hanging up. But then he hears the buzzing from his kitchen and figures that nothing could be more terrifying than killer-pseudo-bees entering his ears in his sleep.
“Wasps,” he wails, “There are wasps in my apartment.”
The guy over the phone half-heartedly grunts, asking for his address and telling him he’ll “be there whenever”. It doesn’t sound very reassuring but Kris will take what he gets.
“Whenever” means a teenage boy with neon pink hair standing outside his doorstep one and a half hour later, looking like he had pot-laden brownies prior. Or that he is 300% done with life. Or he hates the general human population. Maybe all of the above.
He gives a resigned sigh when he enters with a toolbox in hand and asks, “Where is it?”
Kris quietly points to the kitchen and the boy drags his feet over to the same direction, Kris following behind.
“Whoa,” the pink-headed boy says, the most emotive thing he has done thus far. “This is sick, bro.”
The wasps are still flying around his kitchen, obviously, and Kris sincerely wishes they would be gone soon. He really wants to finish the milk in his fridge - it is expiring tomorrow. The apathetic teenage boy systematically retrieves a can of insecticide from the sea-blue toolbox and aims it horizontally above him.
Kris eyes it apprehensively, “Are you sure you’re supposed to do that?”
The boy shrugs and presses his index finger down. A sharp spray of gas shoots out of the can and spreads as it drifts towards the cluster of wasps.
The chemical doesn’t kill them.
Instead, they look angrier than they already do, madly circling around the small confines of Kris’ kitchen, looking like a tornado of killer insects. He worriedly looks at Pink Hair, in which he stares at the scene before him and blandly comments, “That didn’t work.”
Kris blatantly glares at him.
Pink Hair shrugs again and proceeds to pack his spray can back into his toolbox.
“Wait, where are you going?!”
“My job is done,” he says, heading for the front door. “The bill will be mailed to you.”
Kris screams, “But the wasps are still here!”
The door slams close and he hears a shout of ’I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR COLLEGE FEES, OKAY?’
It’s back to the Yellow Pages and Kris finds a small advertisement tucked at the bottom corner of the page:
Hardcore Pest Exterminators
We help get rid of the pests in your life. Clean, efficient, without a trace.
Sounds good enough. Kris dials the number.
“Hello. Hardcore Pest Exterminators, Baekhyun speaking.”
Kris lets out a sigh of relief. At least this guy sounds friendly. “Yeah hi, I need pest control in my apartment.”
“Alright, can you give me a location and the name of the target?”
“What?” Kris blanks out at the strange phrasing, but recovers four seconds later and gives his address anyway. “The target… uhm, wasps?”
“Wasps?”
There is stagnant pause before comprehension kicks in and Baekhyun adds a knowing “ohhhh” and mumbles something about “lame and unoriginal code names”.
“And is there any particular method of extermination you wish for us to employ? Throat-slitting, asphyxiation, poisoning?”
A stray wasp suddenly evades Kris’ breathing space and he anxiously hauls an old Oxford dictionary up and swats the flying insect against the bedroom wall. He misses the last part of the sentence in all his panic and mutters a “whatever’s fine, just come here quick” while making sure the dead insect stays dead.
“Okay,” Baekhyun brightly chirps over the receiver, “We will be there in a moment! We only accept payment in cash.”
It doesn’t take more than 15 minutes for the doorbell to ring and Kris mentally praises the efficiency of this company. He doesn’t, however, expect to be greeted by two young men by the door, with one shorter than the other. The taller one is around Kris’ height, has a dopey smile and a hideous floppy orange haircut to match. The shorter one has dyed blonde hair, and they’re both wearing baseball jackets, jeans and snapbacks.
But that’s not what Kris is looking at.
Kris is staring at the metal rod the blonde man is menacingly holding in his hand. The shorter man smiles and asks, “Wasps?”
“Yeah, it’s in my-“
Kris never manages to finish his sentence because said man is swinging his rod down at him and Kris instinctively ducks and clumsily backs away from the door.
“We can talk this out!” Kris yells, holding his hands out. He’s sweating from his forehead to his palms, and he’s taking in hard pants from the excessive shock.
“Hello Wasps,” the shorter man says, and Kris distractedly remembers the same voice talking to him over the phone earlier on. He confidently paces towards him. “We’re here to exterminate you.”
“What the hell?” Kris cries as he stumbles backwards, hand gripping onto the edge of his dining table. A throwing knife slices through the air and thankfully, slides pass him and impales itself on the plaster wall beside his head. Kris belatedly realises a small section of his hair went with the throwing knife.
Before anything else, a body slams into him and knocks him to the floor. There are sounds of objects hitting the floor but he doesn’t register anything as his head painful collides with the parquet flooring and he groans at the shooting pain. When his eyes regain their focus, he sees the taller man above him, giving a bright smile before his hands forcefully constrict around Kris’ neck. Kris chokes and uselessly flails around, vision of the man grinning in triumph above him slowly fading to black.
That’s until Kris’ incessant movements accidentally knees him in the crotch and the attacker lets out a loud howl and roll over to his side, covering the front of his dark denim.
Baekhyun winces in pain for his partner and looks at Kris disapprovingly with slow shakes of his head. “That was a low move, Wasps.”
“Jesus!”
Kris climbs up from the floor and points to himself. “My name is not called Wasps! I am Kris, and I called you,” he jabs his index finger at the man’s chest, “Baekhyun, to exterminate wasps from my apartment.”
A wasp chooses this moment to wander in the living room towards the two and Baekhyun let out a scream so shrill, Kris had to cover his ears and the wasp had abruptly stopped and flown in the opposite direction.
“I’m Chanyeol, by the way,” Chanyeol irrelevantly introduces from the floor, slowly clambering upright.
Baekhyun regains his cheery composure and explains, “Oh no, you’ve gotten it wrong. We’re not really a pest control company. It’s just a cover-up.”
A cover-up for what, Kris wants to ask, but before he has a chance to voice it out, Chanyeol pops up beside him and grins, “We annihilate people for money.”
“You…” Kris takes a couple of deep breaths and stiffly drops down on his couch before his knees give way.
“Yup!” Chanyeol opens up his discarded backpack to reveal a variety of guns, and a few bottles of hazardous looking vials.
“Any chance you guys annihilate wasps too?” Kris asks, eyes tiredly drifting to his kitchen that has been buzzing with activity for the past three hours.
Baekhyun looks absolutely appalled by the suggestion and raises a hand to his chest. “Are you kidding me?” He glances at the cloud of black mess in the distance, “Those things are dangerous!”
Kris blankly stares at him, side-eyes the metal rod glinting in his grip and back at him again.
“Well, we better get going,” Chanyeol announces, zipping his bag up and hauling it over his shoulder. He apologetically points to the displaced dining table and fallen cups. “And sorry about the mess.”
“We won’t charge you,” Baekhyun helpfully supplies, making his way out. “Good luck with the wasps.”
Kris may have curled on the couch and cried a little.
Third time is the charm, Kris convinces himself as he flips to the same section, arbitrarily picks a number and calls it. The guy over the phone sounds sane enough, and does not seem like he is 300% done with life.
“You don’t exterminate humans right?” Kris cautiously asks, not wanting a re-enactment of today’s eventful morning. Better safe than sorry.
“What?”
“Like,” Kris explains, “You don’t mean pests as in humans, right?”
“No, we don’t,” The guy over the phone chuckles, “You’re interesting.”
“Thanks?” Was he flirting with him?
“I’ll be there shortly, in the meantime, don’t touch the wasps. They’re delicate creatures.”
I’m a delicate creature, Kris thinks to himself as hangs up.
30 minutes go by before Kris’ doorbell rings and a guy carrying nothing but a flute waits outside his door. Kris peeks at the musical instrument and black leather jacket and politely says, “I think you got the wrong house.”
The man cutely frowns and scratches the back of his head. “You called for pest control?”
“Yes…?” Now it’s Kris who is confused, scratching the itch on his calf through his pyjamas pants while the guy smiles, revealing an adorable dimple and crescent eyes.
“Then I’m at the right place.”
He lightly skips into the apartment and easily finds the kitchen with an inappropriate amount of glee.
Kris doesn’t even question why the guy is carrying nothing but a silver flute but blindly trails after him and secretly inhales whiffs of his musky cologne. The exterminator stops at the entrance of his kitchen, watching the wasps glide around with much excitement before he lifts his flute up and gently positions the mouthpiece in front of his lips.
“What are you-”
The light brown haired man doesn’t reply him and begins to play a melodious tune that sounds strangely like a Chinese folksong. And Kris quickly gets over his question, too entranced by the deepening of dimples and the way the man’s lips purse rhythmically.
From the chaotic swarm they once were, the wasps’ buzzing become more lethargic, as they slowly descend to the kitchen titles, forming uniform rows of tens in less than a minute.
This is almost strange to say, but it looks like they are sitting there waiting for the cute guy’s instructions. Kris snaps out from his creepy staring to gape at the wasps on the floor. “What…” he stutters in complete bewilderment, “What are you?”
“It’s Yixing,” he smiles sweetly, swinging the flute in his hand. “I control pests. But I prefer the term ‘insect-friends’ in all honesty.”
“Uhm…”
Flute-playing-cute-guy, now known as Yixing, bends down to tenderly pet one of the wasps and cradle it in his arms. Kris doesn’t know if it’s strangely endearing or downright fucking weird.
“So what do you want me to do?” He asks, gingerly putting the creature down and gesturing to the rest of the unmoving wasps.
“Uhm… to get out my house?”
“That’s rude,” Yixing comments non-committedly and shrugs, “But okay.”
He begins playing an unfamiliar tune, but nonetheless pleasing to the ears, and visually appealing to Kris’ eyes. As if on cue, the wasps rise from the floor, and file out of the kitchen’s window with what can be described as a “calm and orderly fashion”.
A wasp gets lost in the process and Yixing saunters over, palms it and releases the insect out of the window. Sticking his head out of the opening, he happily waves his hands and yells, “Goodbye friends!”
Kris wants to tear at the emotional separation unfolding before him. He also wants to punch himself for finding the departure wasps emotionally stimulating.
Yixing turns around and grins at Kris, satisfied by his own work. Kris coughs and awkwardly croaks, “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome,” Yixing heads for the direction of the exit and Kris panics, because no! He can’t just leave like that! “Just here to help.”
Kris needs to do something before Yixing walks out and never comes back. Panicked, he blurts out the first word that comes to his mind, which so unfortunately happens to be-
“Bees!”
Why the fuck did he do that. Kris mentally lectures himself and belatedly realises that Yixing is shooting him strange looks.
“Honey bees,” he continues, attempting to cover himself up as he subtly advances towards the other man. “What do you think about the manipulation and overworking of honey bees to produce unrealistic quantities of honey?”
He’s fucked, Kris sighs as Yixing furrow his brows and silently stare at him. A moment of heavy and awkward silence pass and Yixing suddenly exclaims, “Oh my god, you’re the first person to ever bring it up!”
“What?”
“I have so much to say about this!” he dramatically flails his arms around. “I’m so glad you brought this up.”
“Great?” While Kris feels glad that Yixing is so enthusiastic, but he also feels very flustered that Yixing is so enthusiastic about this. Kris doesn’t know how to feel about this. He feels very confused with life.
But now is not the time to question his existence and so Kris slowly suggests, “Maybe we should talk about this over coffee?”
Yixing gazes at him knowingly and smiles, “Yes. Yes, we should.”
A/N: I don't know what I'm doing.
Pairing: Kris/Lay
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,771
Warnings: General absurdity and attempts at crack
Summary: The three times Kris calls for help to exterminate the wasps in his apartment.
It's 6am in the morning and Kris wakes up to the sound of distant buzzing. He tries to sleep it off, grumpily covering his ears with a drool-stained pillow. But it is of little use, as the buzzing gets increasingly louder, as though whatever's causing the whizzing is coming towards him. Three minutes have passed and the humming is still constantly there and now Kris is freaking out because what if it's Chucky with a chainsaw outside?!
Theoretically, it is impossible for that to happen because: 1. It's 6am in the morning and scary things only happen at night 2. Kris remembered to lock his door yesterday night. 3. He hadn’t brought home any disfigured, creepy-ass doll from shady pushcart sellers lately. Despite his poor attempt at self-assurance, he still feels an overwhelming sense of fear at the unknown source of noise.
Retrieving his balls and guts, he stands up, pulls out a tennis racket from under his bed, and slowly edges towards the door. The buzzing is getting more frantic and unnerving, like it’s darkly welcoming Kris to his imminent doom.
Kris takes two deep breaths, praying to God that if Chucky is out there he would be able to fight him off, and he slowly pushes the door open. He cautiously glances outside through the tiny door gap and once he decides the coast is clear, he springs out of the bedroom with a loud "Ha!" and maintains a kungfu stance.
But there is nothing in his corridor except a lone string of dust swaying by the family portrait he nailed to the wall. No blood stains on his plain cream wallpaper. No shadows popping up from corner to corner.
He warily steps forward, eyes darting around and tightly clutching onto his tennis racket. As he moves closer towards the main area, the grating noise becomes shriller and his heart pumps loudly in his chest. There is still nothing in his living room but when he turns to his kitchen- HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT.
A colony of black creatures busily swarm his kitchen, having the time of their lives making a particular hole in Kris’ kitchen ceiling their nest.
Chucky would have been so much better was the last thing Kris thought about before he falls to the floor and blacks out.
When he regains consciousness minutes later, there is a wasp the size of a giant eraser hovering above his face. He lets out a muted yelp and scrambles back so fast he knocks his head against the back of the couch.
Pest control, he decides, he’s going to call the pest control.
Digging up the thick Yellow Pages he had thrown somewhere in the back of his closet, he sweeps dust off the front cover and immediately starts searching. He finds the page with all pests exterminating services and calls the first generic company printed: 1004 Pest Control Centre
The line rings twice before it’s picked up.
“What?” The receiver says, which could be roughly translated to ‘go throw yourself off a cliff’.
“1004 Pest Control?” Kris hesitantly asks, wondering if he dialled the wrong number.
“What do you want?”
Kris feels slightly intimidated by the impatient voice over the line and considers hanging up. But then he hears the buzzing from his kitchen and figures that nothing could be more terrifying than killer-pseudo-bees entering his ears in his sleep.
“Wasps,” he wails, “There are wasps in my apartment.”
The guy over the phone half-heartedly grunts, asking for his address and telling him he’ll “be there whenever”. It doesn’t sound very reassuring but Kris will take what he gets.
“Whenever” means a teenage boy with neon pink hair standing outside his doorstep one and a half hour later, looking like he had pot-laden brownies prior. Or that he is 300% done with life. Or he hates the general human population. Maybe all of the above.
He gives a resigned sigh when he enters with a toolbox in hand and asks, “Where is it?”
Kris quietly points to the kitchen and the boy drags his feet over to the same direction, Kris following behind.
“Whoa,” the pink-headed boy says, the most emotive thing he has done thus far. “This is sick, bro.”
The wasps are still flying around his kitchen, obviously, and Kris sincerely wishes they would be gone soon. He really wants to finish the milk in his fridge - it is expiring tomorrow. The apathetic teenage boy systematically retrieves a can of insecticide from the sea-blue toolbox and aims it horizontally above him.
Kris eyes it apprehensively, “Are you sure you’re supposed to do that?”
The boy shrugs and presses his index finger down. A sharp spray of gas shoots out of the can and spreads as it drifts towards the cluster of wasps.
The chemical doesn’t kill them.
Instead, they look angrier than they already do, madly circling around the small confines of Kris’ kitchen, looking like a tornado of killer insects. He worriedly looks at Pink Hair, in which he stares at the scene before him and blandly comments, “That didn’t work.”
Kris blatantly glares at him.
Pink Hair shrugs again and proceeds to pack his spray can back into his toolbox.
“Wait, where are you going?!”
“My job is done,” he says, heading for the front door. “The bill will be mailed to you.”
Kris screams, “But the wasps are still here!”
The door slams close and he hears a shout of ’I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR COLLEGE FEES, OKAY?’
It’s back to the Yellow Pages and Kris finds a small advertisement tucked at the bottom corner of the page:
Hardcore Pest Exterminators
We help get rid of the pests in your life. Clean, efficient, without a trace.
Sounds good enough. Kris dials the number.
“Hello. Hardcore Pest Exterminators, Baekhyun speaking.”
Kris lets out a sigh of relief. At least this guy sounds friendly. “Yeah hi, I need pest control in my apartment.”
“Alright, can you give me a location and the name of the target?”
“What?” Kris blanks out at the strange phrasing, but recovers four seconds later and gives his address anyway. “The target… uhm, wasps?”
“Wasps?”
There is stagnant pause before comprehension kicks in and Baekhyun adds a knowing “ohhhh” and mumbles something about “lame and unoriginal code names”.
“And is there any particular method of extermination you wish for us to employ? Throat-slitting, asphyxiation, poisoning?”
A stray wasp suddenly evades Kris’ breathing space and he anxiously hauls an old Oxford dictionary up and swats the flying insect against the bedroom wall. He misses the last part of the sentence in all his panic and mutters a “whatever’s fine, just come here quick” while making sure the dead insect stays dead.
“Okay,” Baekhyun brightly chirps over the receiver, “We will be there in a moment! We only accept payment in cash.”
It doesn’t take more than 15 minutes for the doorbell to ring and Kris mentally praises the efficiency of this company. He doesn’t, however, expect to be greeted by two young men by the door, with one shorter than the other. The taller one is around Kris’ height, has a dopey smile and a hideous floppy orange haircut to match. The shorter one has dyed blonde hair, and they’re both wearing baseball jackets, jeans and snapbacks.
But that’s not what Kris is looking at.
Kris is staring at the metal rod the blonde man is menacingly holding in his hand. The shorter man smiles and asks, “Wasps?”
“Yeah, it’s in my-“
Kris never manages to finish his sentence because said man is swinging his rod down at him and Kris instinctively ducks and clumsily backs away from the door.
“We can talk this out!” Kris yells, holding his hands out. He’s sweating from his forehead to his palms, and he’s taking in hard pants from the excessive shock.
“Hello Wasps,” the shorter man says, and Kris distractedly remembers the same voice talking to him over the phone earlier on. He confidently paces towards him. “We’re here to exterminate you.”
“What the hell?” Kris cries as he stumbles backwards, hand gripping onto the edge of his dining table. A throwing knife slices through the air and thankfully, slides pass him and impales itself on the plaster wall beside his head. Kris belatedly realises a small section of his hair went with the throwing knife.
Before anything else, a body slams into him and knocks him to the floor. There are sounds of objects hitting the floor but he doesn’t register anything as his head painful collides with the parquet flooring and he groans at the shooting pain. When his eyes regain their focus, he sees the taller man above him, giving a bright smile before his hands forcefully constrict around Kris’ neck. Kris chokes and uselessly flails around, vision of the man grinning in triumph above him slowly fading to black.
That’s until Kris’ incessant movements accidentally knees him in the crotch and the attacker lets out a loud howl and roll over to his side, covering the front of his dark denim.
Baekhyun winces in pain for his partner and looks at Kris disapprovingly with slow shakes of his head. “That was a low move, Wasps.”
“Jesus!”
Kris climbs up from the floor and points to himself. “My name is not called Wasps! I am Kris, and I called you,” he jabs his index finger at the man’s chest, “Baekhyun, to exterminate wasps from my apartment.”
A wasp chooses this moment to wander in the living room towards the two and Baekhyun let out a scream so shrill, Kris had to cover his ears and the wasp had abruptly stopped and flown in the opposite direction.
“I’m Chanyeol, by the way,” Chanyeol irrelevantly introduces from the floor, slowly clambering upright.
Baekhyun regains his cheery composure and explains, “Oh no, you’ve gotten it wrong. We’re not really a pest control company. It’s just a cover-up.”
A cover-up for what, Kris wants to ask, but before he has a chance to voice it out, Chanyeol pops up beside him and grins, “We annihilate people for money.”
“You…” Kris takes a couple of deep breaths and stiffly drops down on his couch before his knees give way.
“Yup!” Chanyeol opens up his discarded backpack to reveal a variety of guns, and a few bottles of hazardous looking vials.
“Any chance you guys annihilate wasps too?” Kris asks, eyes tiredly drifting to his kitchen that has been buzzing with activity for the past three hours.
Baekhyun looks absolutely appalled by the suggestion and raises a hand to his chest. “Are you kidding me?” He glances at the cloud of black mess in the distance, “Those things are dangerous!”
Kris blankly stares at him, side-eyes the metal rod glinting in his grip and back at him again.
“Well, we better get going,” Chanyeol announces, zipping his bag up and hauling it over his shoulder. He apologetically points to the displaced dining table and fallen cups. “And sorry about the mess.”
“We won’t charge you,” Baekhyun helpfully supplies, making his way out. “Good luck with the wasps.”
Kris may have curled on the couch and cried a little.
Third time is the charm, Kris convinces himself as he flips to the same section, arbitrarily picks a number and calls it. The guy over the phone sounds sane enough, and does not seem like he is 300% done with life.
“You don’t exterminate humans right?” Kris cautiously asks, not wanting a re-enactment of today’s eventful morning. Better safe than sorry.
“What?”
“Like,” Kris explains, “You don’t mean pests as in humans, right?”
“No, we don’t,” The guy over the phone chuckles, “You’re interesting.”
“Thanks?” Was he flirting with him?
“I’ll be there shortly, in the meantime, don’t touch the wasps. They’re delicate creatures.”
I’m a delicate creature, Kris thinks to himself as hangs up.
30 minutes go by before Kris’ doorbell rings and a guy carrying nothing but a flute waits outside his door. Kris peeks at the musical instrument and black leather jacket and politely says, “I think you got the wrong house.”
The man cutely frowns and scratches the back of his head. “You called for pest control?”
“Yes…?” Now it’s Kris who is confused, scratching the itch on his calf through his pyjamas pants while the guy smiles, revealing an adorable dimple and crescent eyes.
“Then I’m at the right place.”
He lightly skips into the apartment and easily finds the kitchen with an inappropriate amount of glee.
Kris doesn’t even question why the guy is carrying nothing but a silver flute but blindly trails after him and secretly inhales whiffs of his musky cologne. The exterminator stops at the entrance of his kitchen, watching the wasps glide around with much excitement before he lifts his flute up and gently positions the mouthpiece in front of his lips.
“What are you-”
The light brown haired man doesn’t reply him and begins to play a melodious tune that sounds strangely like a Chinese folksong. And Kris quickly gets over his question, too entranced by the deepening of dimples and the way the man’s lips purse rhythmically.
From the chaotic swarm they once were, the wasps’ buzzing become more lethargic, as they slowly descend to the kitchen titles, forming uniform rows of tens in less than a minute.
This is almost strange to say, but it looks like they are sitting there waiting for the cute guy’s instructions. Kris snaps out from his creepy staring to gape at the wasps on the floor. “What…” he stutters in complete bewilderment, “What are you?”
“It’s Yixing,” he smiles sweetly, swinging the flute in his hand. “I control pests. But I prefer the term ‘insect-friends’ in all honesty.”
“Uhm…”
Flute-playing-cute-guy, now known as Yixing, bends down to tenderly pet one of the wasps and cradle it in his arms. Kris doesn’t know if it’s strangely endearing or downright fucking weird.
“So what do you want me to do?” He asks, gingerly putting the creature down and gesturing to the rest of the unmoving wasps.
“Uhm… to get out my house?”
“That’s rude,” Yixing comments non-committedly and shrugs, “But okay.”
He begins playing an unfamiliar tune, but nonetheless pleasing to the ears, and visually appealing to Kris’ eyes. As if on cue, the wasps rise from the floor, and file out of the kitchen’s window with what can be described as a “calm and orderly fashion”.
A wasp gets lost in the process and Yixing saunters over, palms it and releases the insect out of the window. Sticking his head out of the opening, he happily waves his hands and yells, “Goodbye friends!”
Kris wants to tear at the emotional separation unfolding before him. He also wants to punch himself for finding the departure wasps emotionally stimulating.
Yixing turns around and grins at Kris, satisfied by his own work. Kris coughs and awkwardly croaks, “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome,” Yixing heads for the direction of the exit and Kris panics, because no! He can’t just leave like that! “Just here to help.”
Kris needs to do something before Yixing walks out and never comes back. Panicked, he blurts out the first word that comes to his mind, which so unfortunately happens to be-
“Bees!”
Why the fuck did he do that. Kris mentally lectures himself and belatedly realises that Yixing is shooting him strange looks.
“Honey bees,” he continues, attempting to cover himself up as he subtly advances towards the other man. “What do you think about the manipulation and overworking of honey bees to produce unrealistic quantities of honey?”
He’s fucked, Kris sighs as Yixing furrow his brows and silently stare at him. A moment of heavy and awkward silence pass and Yixing suddenly exclaims, “Oh my god, you’re the first person to ever bring it up!”
“What?”
“I have so much to say about this!” he dramatically flails his arms around. “I’m so glad you brought this up.”
“Great?” While Kris feels glad that Yixing is so enthusiastic, but he also feels very flustered that Yixing is so enthusiastic about this. Kris doesn’t know how to feel about this. He feels very confused with life.
But now is not the time to question his existence and so Kris slowly suggests, “Maybe we should talk about this over coffee?”
Yixing gazes at him knowingly and smiles, “Yes. Yes, we should.”
A/N: I don't know what I'm doing.