fic dump pt. ii [exo]
shall we [taoris, side!hunhan]
a/n: inspired by taoris dancing on that show
Kris has known Luhan before either of them could speak Korean-before either of them could speak at all-totaling up to nearly twenty years of (vaguely consensual) friendship, and while that twenty-year period has been filled with numerous events beginning with Luhan thinking something was a good idea and ending with Kris as the human sacrifice for proving that it was in fact a horrific idea, there has never before been an event that began with Luhan being this utterly obtuse.
“This,” Kris says, in an effort to try and stop the event before it reaches the part where Kris becomes the human sacrifice in proving that a horrific idea is a horrific idea, “is a horrific idea.”
Luhan taps his fingers against the table, pushing forward the last cookie on the napkin that sits between their respective coffees. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I know,” Kris says. “But it’s not.”
There’s no offense in Luhan’s expression, sipping gingerly at his coffee for a few moments before continuing to regard Kris with Luhan’s signature, unperturbed gaze. “I have this friend,” Luhan says, “who’s really pretty and Chinese and she’s a dance major at our school.”
“I’m not,” Kris says, “entering a dance competition just so I can get out of doing a project.”
“Okay,” Luhan shrugs. “Have fun singing at a nursery school for five hours with the rest of your class-make your professor proud.”
Kris stares.
Luhan raises his eyebrows-steals the last cookie anyway despite having pushed it towards Kris seconds ago.
“I should’ve stayed in Canada,” Kris mutters and covers his face with his hands. “I should have stayed in China.”
Luhan snorts, breaking the cookie in half and dipping one part into his coffee. “Why? The boys here are better.”
“Tell Sehun I said hi.”
“Will do.”
As Luhan promised, Chen Yalin is Chinese, a dance major, and pretty. The top of her head barely reaches Kris’s shoulder, and she’s a year above Kris-meaning she’ll graduate at the end of this year. He wears sweats, a t-shirt, and sneakers because he thinks that that’s probably a reasonable guess for what to wear for ballroom dance practice. Yalin is in the studio when he arrives at the room number and building that Luhan texted him just a few hours ago, and she’s in heels, with a leotard underneath a swishy skirt.
They bow to each other, introduce each other, and Yalin smiles up at him and says, “Kris? Your name from when you went to Canada, right?Luhan told me. What’s your real name, though?”
He blinks. “Kris,” he says tonelessly.
She blinks back, smile faltering. “Okay, then,” she says, and doesn’t sound convinced. She claps her hands together and gestures towards the television hanging from one of the walls. “Luhan said that you only needed to get fifth place or higher, and the competition isn’t a big one, so I thought it’d be okay to reuse the routine I did for an audition last year.”
“Okay,” Kris says because he doesn’t care.
“I brought my audition tape in so you can watch it and then we can start right away,” she says brightly and walks over to the television to insert the DVD.
Kris shrugs, folding his arms as the screen lights up and the music starts. “Okay,” he says again, because anything other than composing a nursery song and then performing it for children is a great idea.
He concludes, anyway, as he watches the tape, that the dance doesn’t really even seem that hard.
“You,” Luhan says, as he sits on Sehun’s lap, “are the worst dancer I have ever seen.”
Kris sips at his coffee.
“Or so,” Luhan continues, “Yalin-jie tells me.” He offers Kris the napkin laden with sugar cookies that Sehun had returned with after buying Luhan and Kris their coffees. Sehun, meanwhile, is trying to figure out how to drink his own coffee without spilling any on Luhan-and without having to tell Luhan to stop cutting off the circulation in the younger man’s thighs.
“No I’m not,” Kris defends himself half-heartedly, and declines the cookies.
Luhan squints. “You stepped on her feet so many times that she had to get her roommate to take her shoes off because she swelled too much-you also smacked her in the face with your arms like seven times. And now she can’t dance until the competition.”
“She gave you a really detailed account.”
“You’d give a detailed account too,” Luhan says, “if you were the one with purple feet the size of watermelons.”
“I told you this was a horrific idea,” Kris says, because clearly defending himself isn’t working-and when that happens, he’s found it best to return to attacking Luhan’s original plan of action.
Sehun nearly manages to get a sip in when Luhan throws his hands up in the air and half of the younger man’s coffee splashes to the floor. Sehun sighs.
“It’s a brilliant idea,” Luhan says indignantly, as Sehun looks mournfully down to the puddle of latte on the lightwood of the coffee shop. “You’re just a skyscraper who can’t move from side to side without sending everything within a meter radius flying.”
Kris feels offended.
Luhan purses his lips together for a moment thoughtfully, before slapping his hand down on the armrest of the couch he and Sehun are sitting on (the younger man blinks around in alarm at the sudden movement-surprised enough to momentarily forget about the spilt coffee). “Okay,” Luhan says, as Kris gives the cookies another glance and wonders if he should eat one after all, “so I know this other dancer who knows the same routine and he can help you until the competition-then Yalin-jie can take over from there.”
“Wait,” Kris says as Sehun desperately meets his gaze and discreetly points to the cookies. Kris picks the napkin up and reaches over the coffee table to pass it to the younger man. Luhan blinks, and turns around to watch Sehun grab the entire napkin-ful in order to compensate for the lost coffee. “He?”
“You’ll probably squish any other jie I find for you,” Luhan says dismissively as Sehun contentedly downs an entire cookie in one mouthful, “so maybe if you practice with someone your own size, I won’t have to meet you back here the next day to hear about how you nearly killed another dance partner.”
Kris snorts. “Like you have anything better to do.”
Luhan quirks an eyebrow and glances at Sehun significantly.
“What?” Sehun says, blinking as he makes to start on his third cookie.
“Nothing,” Luhan says in Korean and kisses off the sugar clinging to the younger man’s lips.
Kris takes another sip of coffee.
He, as Luhan promised, is Chinese, around Kris’s size, and a dance major. However, Luhan hadn’t promised (and hadn’t warned Kris), that he would also be attractive and just a freshman at the university. Kris shows up in the same t-shirt and sweatpants he wore for Yalin, while Huang Zitao wears sleek black material that clings to his entire body like a second skin-leotard-material, Kris supposes.
“Hi,” Kris says, and can’t deny how precisely dumb he sounds.
Zitao blinks and then his face suddenly breaks into a smile that painfully contrasts to Kris’s first impression of the dancer just seconds ago. “Hi,” he says. “Kris-ge, right?”
“Yeah-er-yeah,” Kris swallows, hands instinctively burying themselves in his pockets. “So-”
“Start now?” Zitao says with the brisk air of commencement. “It’s better if we just go without the music first.” He steps closer to Kris-close enough that Kris nearly takes a step back in response, but Zitao is already pulling Kris’s arm up into the air and Kris’s other arm onto the younger man’s waist. He tries not to spend too much time dwelling on how he feels wiry muscle beneath his palm, and how horribly aware he is of their proximity.
Because Zitao is far closer to Kris’s height than Yalin is, every time the younger man murmurs directions and counts the beast aloud, his breath puffs against Kris’s cheek-rather distractingly. They somehow get through an entire measure or so of counts before Zitao winces and Kris has to apologize as he quickly draws his foot back. Two more measures go by before Zitao actually cries out and Kris ends up bowing repeatedly as Zitao hops around on one foot.
As Kris watches Zitao hobble to the bench that’s pushed against the wall near the studio door (“Maybe we should take a break,” Zitao says hastily), he wishes he hadn’t fucked it up with Yalin because at least that way Kris only has to focus on not-stepping-on-feet where as with Zitao, Kris has to focus on not-stepping-on-feet along with not-getting-hard and not-looking-like-a-dumbass.
“I’m really, really sorry,” Kris says, sitting down next to Zitao.
“It’s okay,” the younger man says, glancing over and giving a tiny smile, before he bends down and starts massaging his foot. “I’m sturdier than Yalin-jie and Luhan-ge already warned me about you.”
“Warned you?” Kris buries his face in his hands, elbows on his thighs. “Bastard,” he mumbles.
Zitao laughs (and Kris tries to block out the sound because if that sound embeds itself into his mind, once the break is over, Kris is just going to end up breaking Zitao’s feet again). “No-it’s okay, really. Everyone can dance-it just takes different levels of practice.”
Kris stares.
Zitao blinks-offers another bright smile.
“I can’t dance,” Kris says bluntly because he doesn’t think Zitao understands the root of the problem. The younger man seems like one of those kindly souls who tries to believe the good in every human being-which would explain why he’s friends with Luhan (because you can’t be anything less than a kindly soul in order to put up with Luhan).
“Sure you can,” Zitao laughs again. “You just need to feel the music a bit more.”
Kris stares again. “A bit?” he echoes flatly.
Zitao regards Kris for a moment in silence, face impassive before amusement breaks out in his expression. “Luhan-ge was right,” Zitao says, “you’re just chock full of optimism.” The younger man grins at Kris and Kris suddenly feels the urge to throttle Luhan (except the last time Kris tried that, Sehun strongly protested against it-and Kris didn’t have the heart to turn the younger man into a pretzel).
“So,” Luhan says as Sehun’s head rests in Luhan’s lap, “Zitao says you guys are coming along.”
They are sprawled across the campus green because it’s too sunny of a day to be in the mood for shady cafes with piping coffee so Kris and Luhan opted for a change of scenery, and Sehun opted to try and take a nap with Luhan’s thighs as a pillow.
Kris finishes unwrapping a yellow Starburst and slips it into his mouth. “Define coming along,” he says.
Luhan takes the bag of candy away from Kris and makes to put it in his own lap, momentarily forgetting that Sehun’s head is in his lap and the prickly bottom of the bag ends up smacking onto the younger man’s face.
Sehun makes a gurgling sound, arm flapping at Luhan.
“Sorry, babe,” Luhan says-in Korean-and swings the bag away back onto the grass.
Sehun gives Kris an imploring look to which Kris decides to ignore because Sehun’s imploring looks tend to activate Kris’s seasonal allergies a few months early.
“Coming along,” Luhan says, switching back to Mandarin, as he grabs a packet of M&Ms from the bag and starts on opening it, “as in-he only has to use one ice pack on his feet now after you guys practice.”
Kris swallows the Starburst and launches forward to steal Luhan’s M&Ms except Luhan throws himself to the side to dodge and Sehun ends up flipped face first onto the grass. “Oh my God,” Luhan says in Korean, as Sehun doesn’t bother getting up. Luhan rolls Sehun over, face up, and pats at the younger man’s cheeks.
“I’m okay, hyung,” Sehun sighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazes up forlornly.
“Do you want an M&M?” Kris asks, holding out the bag that he managed to take while Luhan was busy turning Sehun over.
Luhan kicks Kris in the shoulder.
Two weeks into their practices and three weeks away from the competition, Kris is still under the impression that if Luhan had actually wanted to see Kris succeed, he would’ve simply gotten a sturdier girl to replace Yalin-or a boy less attractive than Zitao. Also, a boy who is less determined than Zitao is to prove to Kris that everyone can dance.
Although, lately, Zitao has seemed to resign himself to reality and has settled for being able to at least prove to Kris that they can actually get fifth or higher at this competition.
“I thought,” Zitao says suddenly, before they start practice one day, “that we should start doing something different from now.”
Kris stares and wonders if this is code for let’s team up and finally rebel against the evil clutches of Luhan and free Sehun while we are at it.
Zitao smiles and saunters playfully up to Kris. “We already went through the entire dance a couple of times,” he says, “and a few of those times were at nearly full speed. But it was always me leading you, and when you dance with Yalin-jie, you have to lead her.”
Oh, okay-so they’re still stuck in Luhan’s clutches.
“So,” Kris says slowly, raising his eyebrows.
crash [xiuchen]
a/n: was supposed to be a sidestory to the xiuchen otp in like money au
Jongdae knows that his charge has a plethora of harmless quirks that anyone other than someone who has just met his charge would think that those quirks are interchangeable with the qualities of a grade A asshole. This is really the only reason why Jongdae hasn’t already thrown his figurative hat at the floor and stomped out the partially figurative door. Jongdae is the only person, give or take, that knows Kris isn’t an asshole and it’s not the actor’s fault he has little to zero talent in acting but extreme to unbelievable talent in giving the people conversing with him a migraine in under ten seconds-under two sentences.
And since he’s a good human-a good man-Jongdae wouldn’t want to wish anyone on the same fate that’s befallen himself. He can take it, anyway, since he’s immune to the migraine thing-vaccinated the night he met Kris. (Jongdae likes Kris-in any case-because it’s not like Kris isn’t likeable. He is. He’s just-Kris. An acquired sort of taste.)
But however immune Jongdae might be, it doesn’t mean certain situations and occurrences don’t lend themselves exceptionally well to a flash of what-the-fuck every so often, and this is one of those situations and/or occurrences. Right here-and right now-as Jongdae feels himself yanked back by the arm as he’s walking through the hallway of the agency building, supposedly accompanying Kris to a conference on the fifteenth floor.
“What?” Jongdae says, after he regains footing and is sure that he isn’t about to flop forward or backward or sideways.
Kris puts a finger to his lips and then quickly sidesteps to one side of the open, office doorway-the office of one of the higher-ups. Jongdae debates whether this is a moment to roll his eyes or sigh or roll his eyes and sigh. Or sigh and roll his eyes. Or roll his eyes while si-
“Get back,” Kris hisses under his breath and uses one long leg to shove Jongdae to the other side of the doorway, cleanly hidden from view just as the actor is.
There are voices coming from the office clearly, and Jongdae can make out enough to hear and understand that it’s someone’s first day at the office-a producer? Recorder? Songwriter? A behind-the-scenes person, in any case, and someone quite well-known in the business in that case. There’s the sound of shuffling chairs and footsteps, and then Jongdae knows that introductions and pleasantries are done and the person is about to come out with the higher-up to be shown to wherever he’s to be shown to.
Kris coughs loudly and steps out and Jongdae resists the great urge to punch the actor in the face as he follows suit.
The higher-up (surprised, but pleasantly when Kris pulls out an excuse of dropping by and wanting to make any new worker at the company feel welcome) introduces Kim Minseok as a new producer for the company-a former trainee, former choreographer, used to be an independent producer producing songs for any and every company until he decided to return to his first company to work exclusively from now until whenever the little piece of paper he’s just signed expires.
“Maybe you can show him around-take him to his studio?” the higher-up asks hopefully, checking his watch and frowning. “Studio five just one floor up,” he clarifies, looking at Jongdae pointedly (because Kris will just eventually somehow lead them to the basement or the roof or anywhere that’s not studio five one floor up). “I actually have a meeting to run to so if that’s-”
“Fine with me,” Minseok says and smiles-a smile that shows off small, perfect white teeth and pink gums and takes up his entire face and pushes soft, pale cheeks up and makes crescents out of clear dark eyes and-
Kris exchanges glances with Jongdae. The actor’s eyebrows are slightly raised as his eyes silently gesture towards Minseok and suddenly everything falls a little bit more into place in Jongdae’s mind. It’s really nothing new, nothing unexpected, and Jongdae supposes that since Kris has been spending some downtime after just finishing his last film a few months ago that the actor’s going to be out and about and interested and Minseok just happens to pique the actor’s interest in all the right ways.
And normally, Jongdae would roll his eyes and snort and that would be that, and the manager would leave Kris to his own devices to find his way into getting the one-night stand or two-week fling that he wanted out of whichever lucky-or-unlucky person happened to catch the actor’s attention for the moment. Normally-that’s what happened. Right now, Jongdae isn’t feeling too normal.
Minseok just sort of piques Jongdae’s interest in all the right ways too, and the manager isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with that.
(Because in a Kris Wu versus Kim Jongdae situation, it’d be a little ridiculous to even actually have to verbalize who would take home the gold)
“You’re my age?” Kris blinks with wide eyes, glancing down at Minseok in surprise as they stand in the elevator. Kris has effectively cornered Minseok against one of the elevator walls, has effectively drawn Minseok into a conversation, while Jongdae has only gotten to introduce his name and age and position in relation to Kris’s career.
Minseok has his hands in his pockets, comfortably leaning against the wall (everything about him screams comfortable and relaxed-even the sort of attractive he is screams that, nothing like the intimidating attraction that Kris emanates). “Yeah,” Minseok laughs. “Sorry to disappoint-you probably wanted a new dongsaeng to get you water during lunch breaks, huh?”
For a moment Kris just blinks.
Jongdae ducks his head, determinedly staring at the floor of the elevator and directing his laughter inward-willing it to dissipate. (Funny-Minseok is funny)
“I’ve already got one, though?” Kris says back lightly-coolly-and teasingly nods his head over to Jongdae who rolls his eyes good-naturedly, before turning his gaze to Minseok to assure that Kris is only playing ar-
Minseok meets Jongdae’s eyes head on, the corners of the producer’s mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “Really?” Minseok directs, clearly to Kris’s joke, but the producer’s eyes are holding Jongdae’s gaze and Jongdae has the strange urge to laugh again (to grin until his face splits into perfect halves). The light dancing in Minseok’s eyes is telling Jongdae a joke completely without words-a perfectly silent punchline.
The elevator announces their arrival to the floor containing Minseok’s new studio at that second, saving Jongdae from any more bouts of restrained laughter, and he presses his arm against the elevator doorway as he lets Kris and the producer walk through first.
They leave Minseok at the door of studio five.
“Conference,” Kris says apologetically, shaking Minseok’s hand again. “But we could lunch sometime? Or dinner and drinks, if you want to get to know some other people in the company.”
Minseok grins. “That’d be great,” he says, and suddenly his eyes slide to Jongdae’s again for a brief moment (the manager hides his smile). “I’ll give you my number, Kris-shii, so just call me whenever you have time.” He pauses playfully, taking out his wallet and pulling out a business card. “You’re more likely to have less of it, right, actor Kris Wu?”
“Not as little as you’d think,” Kris shrugs, taking the card and looking over the words and numbers. “Thanks.”
The producer just smiles again. “No problem-it was nice meeting you-Kris-shii.” His eyes find Jongdae’s again. “Jongdae-shii.”
“You like him,” Jongdae stated once they were back in the elevator.
Kris shrugs, still holding Minseok’s business card between two fingers, arms crossed and the small piece of stiff paper in front of the actor’s face. “Who wouldn’t?”
“You’re interested,” Jongdae specifies, as the numbers on the elevator’s screen decrease towards the floor the conference rooms are located on.
“I’m interested,” Kris agrees noncommittally. He tucks the card away into his back pocket, and looks at Jongdae curiously. “Do you think I should get a new TV?”
Jongdae squints. “You don’t watch TV.”
Kris nods.
“You’ve already ordered it, haven’t you?”
“Widescreen,” the actor says dreamily, “thinner than me, up on my wall-it’s coming on Wednesday.”
The manager turns his eyes up to the ceiling of the elevator. “Right.”
Kris is an actor of this day and age, and embodies every stereotype there is to embody. He earns a ridiculous amount of money with ridiculously little talent and spends it at a ridiculous speed on ridiculous things that he really ridiculously doesn’t need. (He also loves his parents a ridiculous amount and has bought them a ridiculously large house with a ridiculous load of everything and anything an old couple could ever need or want)
As an actor of this day and age, Kris also has a ridiculous amount of flings that all last a ridiculously short time while simultaneously being ridiculously abundant in the sexual area of things. Whether co-workers or idols or staff, Jongdae has far since learned to regard Kris’s never-ending stream of not-so-significant-others with about the same amount of concern and attention as he regards Kris’s goldfish.
Kris doesn’t have a goldfish.
The problem this time is that clearly Kris wants to have a fling with Minseok (because Kris doesn’t have relationships). And Jongdae wants a relationship with Minseok. Maybe. Kind of. Sort of.
(Maybe and kind of and sort of is what Jongdae likes to tack onto the ends of thought processes in his mind so he sounds less creepy to himself and to others who might be sitting in his cerebral cortex-because he doesn’t want to sound like that semi-pathetic being of existence who falls head over heels and crashes into the cement for someone who he’s met for five minutes and spoken to zero minutes)
But he says nothing to Kris despite the fact that they’re far more than just manager and client, because there won’t be anything Kris can do about it anyway. Minseok, if he is, will probably be interested in Kris right back because what kind of person (either female or male and is) isn’t interested in Kris Wu?
Sure enough, two days later, Kris tells Jongdae not to drop him off at his apartment-to drop him off at a café instead. “Lunch with Kim Minseok,” the actor announces in a satisfied voice, leaning back with his fingers gliding over the screen of his phone. “Called him yesterday night-said he was leaving the studio when I did.”
“Wonder how much time he does have,” Jongdae mused-after all, he’d only ever been Kris’s manager. He’s never managed an idol-never worked in the music industry. He turns down the street towards the café Kris had said he’d meet the producer at-the café where Kris usually meets Junmyeon, Zitao, Yixing, and Chanyeol.
“Enough to have some fantastic sex, hopefully,” Kris says, drumming his long fingers against his thigh.
Jongdae pulls the car up to the curb and blinks at the actor. Kris blinks back.
“How’re you going to get home?” Jongdae asks, opening the car window and leaning out as Kris hops up onto the sidewalk and fixes his hair briefly (fixes his mask and sunglasses and hat, hiding his face from the public eye) in the side view mirror.
“I’m picking up my TV with Yixing and catching dinner with him,” Kris replies easily and pats Jongdae’s cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he says, voice muffled now because the mask is on. He waves lightly and turns for the café.
Jongdae drives away.
In reality, Jongdae just has a little crush on Minseok and Kris just has a little crush on Minseok. At this stage, it’s nothing that indicates a lead-up into anything serious other than Kris fulfilling another one-night stand, possibly a one-to-two week fling following that, and since Minseok seems intelligent and funny and charming, possibly he’ll be like Zitao and Yixing and Junmyeon and Chanyeol and Jongdae himself.
(fiercely under Kris’s protection and too terribly close to Kris’s heart
even though Jongdae personally thinks that he could protect Minseok just as well)
It’s another two days after Kris’s lunch with Minseok when Jongdae is standing in the elevator, on his way to go down, when it stops on the fourteenth floor-the floor with all the production equipment for the idol groups and solo artists. The doors open and Minseok steps in, eyes meeting Jongdae’s interestedly. “Hey,” Minseok says lightly, standing beside the manager.
“Which-?” Jongdae’s hand hovers over the buttons.
“Parking,” Minseok answers. “Heading home early-same as you.”
Jongdae blinks.
Minseok points to the manager’s bags-backpack slung over a shoulder and briefcase in his left hand.
“Oh.” Jongdae blinks again, meeting the producer’s eyes. Minseok grins.
They’re nearly halfway towards the lobby when Jongdae decides to most likely unwisely break the silence with, “How was your date with Kris?”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces internally-just slightly-because he probably shouldn’t have used that word, probably should have just called it lunch. Even Kris expressly and purposefully leaves out any words that entail commitment too soon and too quickly, but in terms of courting relationships, Kris is somewhat of an expert and Jongdae is somewhat of anything but an expert.
“Funny,” Minseok says, expression still as easy-going as it had been when he’d walked into the elevator. He meets Jongdae’s eyes and somehow the manager instantly knows that the wording hadn’t been taking as a slight in the least.
Jongdae feels his lips quirk. “Funny?” He supposes Kris is funny-can be funny, in his own Kris-Wu-sort-of-way.
“Oh, no,” the producer grins again, with a small shake of his head. “Not funny-funny. Like-”
“He wasn’t trying?”
“No,” Minseok says, amused, “but he was.”
Jongdae lets himself grin slightly at that. Unintentionally charming in a way that is constantly opposite to every way in which he believed himself to be charming-Kris Wu’s definition of sorts. Probably not the definition the actor would like to ever be defined by to his own ears, but Jongdae knows that that’s the reason that someone so seemingly detestable is so unbelievably loveable.
a/n: inspired by taoris dancing on that show
Kris has known Luhan before either of them could speak Korean-before either of them could speak at all-totaling up to nearly twenty years of (vaguely consensual) friendship, and while that twenty-year period has been filled with numerous events beginning with Luhan thinking something was a good idea and ending with Kris as the human sacrifice for proving that it was in fact a horrific idea, there has never before been an event that began with Luhan being this utterly obtuse.
“This,” Kris says, in an effort to try and stop the event before it reaches the part where Kris becomes the human sacrifice in proving that a horrific idea is a horrific idea, “is a horrific idea.”
Luhan taps his fingers against the table, pushing forward the last cookie on the napkin that sits between their respective coffees. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I know,” Kris says. “But it’s not.”
There’s no offense in Luhan’s expression, sipping gingerly at his coffee for a few moments before continuing to regard Kris with Luhan’s signature, unperturbed gaze. “I have this friend,” Luhan says, “who’s really pretty and Chinese and she’s a dance major at our school.”
“I’m not,” Kris says, “entering a dance competition just so I can get out of doing a project.”
“Okay,” Luhan shrugs. “Have fun singing at a nursery school for five hours with the rest of your class-make your professor proud.”
Kris stares.
Luhan raises his eyebrows-steals the last cookie anyway despite having pushed it towards Kris seconds ago.
“I should’ve stayed in Canada,” Kris mutters and covers his face with his hands. “I should have stayed in China.”
Luhan snorts, breaking the cookie in half and dipping one part into his coffee. “Why? The boys here are better.”
“Tell Sehun I said hi.”
“Will do.”
As Luhan promised, Chen Yalin is Chinese, a dance major, and pretty. The top of her head barely reaches Kris’s shoulder, and she’s a year above Kris-meaning she’ll graduate at the end of this year. He wears sweats, a t-shirt, and sneakers because he thinks that that’s probably a reasonable guess for what to wear for ballroom dance practice. Yalin is in the studio when he arrives at the room number and building that Luhan texted him just a few hours ago, and she’s in heels, with a leotard underneath a swishy skirt.
They bow to each other, introduce each other, and Yalin smiles up at him and says, “Kris? Your name from when you went to Canada, right?Luhan told me. What’s your real name, though?”
He blinks. “Kris,” he says tonelessly.
She blinks back, smile faltering. “Okay, then,” she says, and doesn’t sound convinced. She claps her hands together and gestures towards the television hanging from one of the walls. “Luhan said that you only needed to get fifth place or higher, and the competition isn’t a big one, so I thought it’d be okay to reuse the routine I did for an audition last year.”
“Okay,” Kris says because he doesn’t care.
“I brought my audition tape in so you can watch it and then we can start right away,” she says brightly and walks over to the television to insert the DVD.
Kris shrugs, folding his arms as the screen lights up and the music starts. “Okay,” he says again, because anything other than composing a nursery song and then performing it for children is a great idea.
He concludes, anyway, as he watches the tape, that the dance doesn’t really even seem that hard.
“You,” Luhan says, as he sits on Sehun’s lap, “are the worst dancer I have ever seen.”
Kris sips at his coffee.
“Or so,” Luhan continues, “Yalin-jie tells me.” He offers Kris the napkin laden with sugar cookies that Sehun had returned with after buying Luhan and Kris their coffees. Sehun, meanwhile, is trying to figure out how to drink his own coffee without spilling any on Luhan-and without having to tell Luhan to stop cutting off the circulation in the younger man’s thighs.
“No I’m not,” Kris defends himself half-heartedly, and declines the cookies.
Luhan squints. “You stepped on her feet so many times that she had to get her roommate to take her shoes off because she swelled too much-you also smacked her in the face with your arms like seven times. And now she can’t dance until the competition.”
“She gave you a really detailed account.”
“You’d give a detailed account too,” Luhan says, “if you were the one with purple feet the size of watermelons.”
“I told you this was a horrific idea,” Kris says, because clearly defending himself isn’t working-and when that happens, he’s found it best to return to attacking Luhan’s original plan of action.
Sehun nearly manages to get a sip in when Luhan throws his hands up in the air and half of the younger man’s coffee splashes to the floor. Sehun sighs.
“It’s a brilliant idea,” Luhan says indignantly, as Sehun looks mournfully down to the puddle of latte on the lightwood of the coffee shop. “You’re just a skyscraper who can’t move from side to side without sending everything within a meter radius flying.”
Kris feels offended.
Luhan purses his lips together for a moment thoughtfully, before slapping his hand down on the armrest of the couch he and Sehun are sitting on (the younger man blinks around in alarm at the sudden movement-surprised enough to momentarily forget about the spilt coffee). “Okay,” Luhan says, as Kris gives the cookies another glance and wonders if he should eat one after all, “so I know this other dancer who knows the same routine and he can help you until the competition-then Yalin-jie can take over from there.”
“Wait,” Kris says as Sehun desperately meets his gaze and discreetly points to the cookies. Kris picks the napkin up and reaches over the coffee table to pass it to the younger man. Luhan blinks, and turns around to watch Sehun grab the entire napkin-ful in order to compensate for the lost coffee. “He?”
“You’ll probably squish any other jie I find for you,” Luhan says dismissively as Sehun contentedly downs an entire cookie in one mouthful, “so maybe if you practice with someone your own size, I won’t have to meet you back here the next day to hear about how you nearly killed another dance partner.”
Kris snorts. “Like you have anything better to do.”
Luhan quirks an eyebrow and glances at Sehun significantly.
“What?” Sehun says, blinking as he makes to start on his third cookie.
“Nothing,” Luhan says in Korean and kisses off the sugar clinging to the younger man’s lips.
Kris takes another sip of coffee.
He, as Luhan promised, is Chinese, around Kris’s size, and a dance major. However, Luhan hadn’t promised (and hadn’t warned Kris), that he would also be attractive and just a freshman at the university. Kris shows up in the same t-shirt and sweatpants he wore for Yalin, while Huang Zitao wears sleek black material that clings to his entire body like a second skin-leotard-material, Kris supposes.
“Hi,” Kris says, and can’t deny how precisely dumb he sounds.
Zitao blinks and then his face suddenly breaks into a smile that painfully contrasts to Kris’s first impression of the dancer just seconds ago. “Hi,” he says. “Kris-ge, right?”
“Yeah-er-yeah,” Kris swallows, hands instinctively burying themselves in his pockets. “So-”
“Start now?” Zitao says with the brisk air of commencement. “It’s better if we just go without the music first.” He steps closer to Kris-close enough that Kris nearly takes a step back in response, but Zitao is already pulling Kris’s arm up into the air and Kris’s other arm onto the younger man’s waist. He tries not to spend too much time dwelling on how he feels wiry muscle beneath his palm, and how horribly aware he is of their proximity.
Because Zitao is far closer to Kris’s height than Yalin is, every time the younger man murmurs directions and counts the beast aloud, his breath puffs against Kris’s cheek-rather distractingly. They somehow get through an entire measure or so of counts before Zitao winces and Kris has to apologize as he quickly draws his foot back. Two more measures go by before Zitao actually cries out and Kris ends up bowing repeatedly as Zitao hops around on one foot.
As Kris watches Zitao hobble to the bench that’s pushed against the wall near the studio door (“Maybe we should take a break,” Zitao says hastily), he wishes he hadn’t fucked it up with Yalin because at least that way Kris only has to focus on not-stepping-on-feet where as with Zitao, Kris has to focus on not-stepping-on-feet along with not-getting-hard and not-looking-like-a-dumbass.
“I’m really, really sorry,” Kris says, sitting down next to Zitao.
“It’s okay,” the younger man says, glancing over and giving a tiny smile, before he bends down and starts massaging his foot. “I’m sturdier than Yalin-jie and Luhan-ge already warned me about you.”
“Warned you?” Kris buries his face in his hands, elbows on his thighs. “Bastard,” he mumbles.
Zitao laughs (and Kris tries to block out the sound because if that sound embeds itself into his mind, once the break is over, Kris is just going to end up breaking Zitao’s feet again). “No-it’s okay, really. Everyone can dance-it just takes different levels of practice.”
Kris stares.
Zitao blinks-offers another bright smile.
“I can’t dance,” Kris says bluntly because he doesn’t think Zitao understands the root of the problem. The younger man seems like one of those kindly souls who tries to believe the good in every human being-which would explain why he’s friends with Luhan (because you can’t be anything less than a kindly soul in order to put up with Luhan).
“Sure you can,” Zitao laughs again. “You just need to feel the music a bit more.”
Kris stares again. “A bit?” he echoes flatly.
Zitao regards Kris for a moment in silence, face impassive before amusement breaks out in his expression. “Luhan-ge was right,” Zitao says, “you’re just chock full of optimism.” The younger man grins at Kris and Kris suddenly feels the urge to throttle Luhan (except the last time Kris tried that, Sehun strongly protested against it-and Kris didn’t have the heart to turn the younger man into a pretzel).
“So,” Luhan says as Sehun’s head rests in Luhan’s lap, “Zitao says you guys are coming along.”
They are sprawled across the campus green because it’s too sunny of a day to be in the mood for shady cafes with piping coffee so Kris and Luhan opted for a change of scenery, and Sehun opted to try and take a nap with Luhan’s thighs as a pillow.
Kris finishes unwrapping a yellow Starburst and slips it into his mouth. “Define coming along,” he says.
Luhan takes the bag of candy away from Kris and makes to put it in his own lap, momentarily forgetting that Sehun’s head is in his lap and the prickly bottom of the bag ends up smacking onto the younger man’s face.
Sehun makes a gurgling sound, arm flapping at Luhan.
“Sorry, babe,” Luhan says-in Korean-and swings the bag away back onto the grass.
Sehun gives Kris an imploring look to which Kris decides to ignore because Sehun’s imploring looks tend to activate Kris’s seasonal allergies a few months early.
“Coming along,” Luhan says, switching back to Mandarin, as he grabs a packet of M&Ms from the bag and starts on opening it, “as in-he only has to use one ice pack on his feet now after you guys practice.”
Kris swallows the Starburst and launches forward to steal Luhan’s M&Ms except Luhan throws himself to the side to dodge and Sehun ends up flipped face first onto the grass. “Oh my God,” Luhan says in Korean, as Sehun doesn’t bother getting up. Luhan rolls Sehun over, face up, and pats at the younger man’s cheeks.
“I’m okay, hyung,” Sehun sighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazes up forlornly.
“Do you want an M&M?” Kris asks, holding out the bag that he managed to take while Luhan was busy turning Sehun over.
Luhan kicks Kris in the shoulder.
Two weeks into their practices and three weeks away from the competition, Kris is still under the impression that if Luhan had actually wanted to see Kris succeed, he would’ve simply gotten a sturdier girl to replace Yalin-or a boy less attractive than Zitao. Also, a boy who is less determined than Zitao is to prove to Kris that everyone can dance.
Although, lately, Zitao has seemed to resign himself to reality and has settled for being able to at least prove to Kris that they can actually get fifth or higher at this competition.
“I thought,” Zitao says suddenly, before they start practice one day, “that we should start doing something different from now.”
Kris stares and wonders if this is code for let’s team up and finally rebel against the evil clutches of Luhan and free Sehun while we are at it.
Zitao smiles and saunters playfully up to Kris. “We already went through the entire dance a couple of times,” he says, “and a few of those times were at nearly full speed. But it was always me leading you, and when you dance with Yalin-jie, you have to lead her.”
Oh, okay-so they’re still stuck in Luhan’s clutches.
“So,” Kris says slowly, raising his eyebrows.
crash [xiuchen]
a/n: was supposed to be a sidestory to the xiuchen otp in like money au
Jongdae knows that his charge has a plethora of harmless quirks that anyone other than someone who has just met his charge would think that those quirks are interchangeable with the qualities of a grade A asshole. This is really the only reason why Jongdae hasn’t already thrown his figurative hat at the floor and stomped out the partially figurative door. Jongdae is the only person, give or take, that knows Kris isn’t an asshole and it’s not the actor’s fault he has little to zero talent in acting but extreme to unbelievable talent in giving the people conversing with him a migraine in under ten seconds-under two sentences.
And since he’s a good human-a good man-Jongdae wouldn’t want to wish anyone on the same fate that’s befallen himself. He can take it, anyway, since he’s immune to the migraine thing-vaccinated the night he met Kris. (Jongdae likes Kris-in any case-because it’s not like Kris isn’t likeable. He is. He’s just-Kris. An acquired sort of taste.)
But however immune Jongdae might be, it doesn’t mean certain situations and occurrences don’t lend themselves exceptionally well to a flash of what-the-fuck every so often, and this is one of those situations and/or occurrences. Right here-and right now-as Jongdae feels himself yanked back by the arm as he’s walking through the hallway of the agency building, supposedly accompanying Kris to a conference on the fifteenth floor.
“What?” Jongdae says, after he regains footing and is sure that he isn’t about to flop forward or backward or sideways.
Kris puts a finger to his lips and then quickly sidesteps to one side of the open, office doorway-the office of one of the higher-ups. Jongdae debates whether this is a moment to roll his eyes or sigh or roll his eyes and sigh. Or sigh and roll his eyes. Or roll his eyes while si-
“Get back,” Kris hisses under his breath and uses one long leg to shove Jongdae to the other side of the doorway, cleanly hidden from view just as the actor is.
There are voices coming from the office clearly, and Jongdae can make out enough to hear and understand that it’s someone’s first day at the office-a producer? Recorder? Songwriter? A behind-the-scenes person, in any case, and someone quite well-known in the business in that case. There’s the sound of shuffling chairs and footsteps, and then Jongdae knows that introductions and pleasantries are done and the person is about to come out with the higher-up to be shown to wherever he’s to be shown to.
Kris coughs loudly and steps out and Jongdae resists the great urge to punch the actor in the face as he follows suit.
The higher-up (surprised, but pleasantly when Kris pulls out an excuse of dropping by and wanting to make any new worker at the company feel welcome) introduces Kim Minseok as a new producer for the company-a former trainee, former choreographer, used to be an independent producer producing songs for any and every company until he decided to return to his first company to work exclusively from now until whenever the little piece of paper he’s just signed expires.
“Maybe you can show him around-take him to his studio?” the higher-up asks hopefully, checking his watch and frowning. “Studio five just one floor up,” he clarifies, looking at Jongdae pointedly (because Kris will just eventually somehow lead them to the basement or the roof or anywhere that’s not studio five one floor up). “I actually have a meeting to run to so if that’s-”
“Fine with me,” Minseok says and smiles-a smile that shows off small, perfect white teeth and pink gums and takes up his entire face and pushes soft, pale cheeks up and makes crescents out of clear dark eyes and-
Kris exchanges glances with Jongdae. The actor’s eyebrows are slightly raised as his eyes silently gesture towards Minseok and suddenly everything falls a little bit more into place in Jongdae’s mind. It’s really nothing new, nothing unexpected, and Jongdae supposes that since Kris has been spending some downtime after just finishing his last film a few months ago that the actor’s going to be out and about and interested and Minseok just happens to pique the actor’s interest in all the right ways.
And normally, Jongdae would roll his eyes and snort and that would be that, and the manager would leave Kris to his own devices to find his way into getting the one-night stand or two-week fling that he wanted out of whichever lucky-or-unlucky person happened to catch the actor’s attention for the moment. Normally-that’s what happened. Right now, Jongdae isn’t feeling too normal.
Minseok just sort of piques Jongdae’s interest in all the right ways too, and the manager isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with that.
(Because in a Kris Wu versus Kim Jongdae situation, it’d be a little ridiculous to even actually have to verbalize who would take home the gold)
“You’re my age?” Kris blinks with wide eyes, glancing down at Minseok in surprise as they stand in the elevator. Kris has effectively cornered Minseok against one of the elevator walls, has effectively drawn Minseok into a conversation, while Jongdae has only gotten to introduce his name and age and position in relation to Kris’s career.
Minseok has his hands in his pockets, comfortably leaning against the wall (everything about him screams comfortable and relaxed-even the sort of attractive he is screams that, nothing like the intimidating attraction that Kris emanates). “Yeah,” Minseok laughs. “Sorry to disappoint-you probably wanted a new dongsaeng to get you water during lunch breaks, huh?”
For a moment Kris just blinks.
Jongdae ducks his head, determinedly staring at the floor of the elevator and directing his laughter inward-willing it to dissipate. (Funny-Minseok is funny)
“I’ve already got one, though?” Kris says back lightly-coolly-and teasingly nods his head over to Jongdae who rolls his eyes good-naturedly, before turning his gaze to Minseok to assure that Kris is only playing ar-
Minseok meets Jongdae’s eyes head on, the corners of the producer’s mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “Really?” Minseok directs, clearly to Kris’s joke, but the producer’s eyes are holding Jongdae’s gaze and Jongdae has the strange urge to laugh again (to grin until his face splits into perfect halves). The light dancing in Minseok’s eyes is telling Jongdae a joke completely without words-a perfectly silent punchline.
The elevator announces their arrival to the floor containing Minseok’s new studio at that second, saving Jongdae from any more bouts of restrained laughter, and he presses his arm against the elevator doorway as he lets Kris and the producer walk through first.
They leave Minseok at the door of studio five.
“Conference,” Kris says apologetically, shaking Minseok’s hand again. “But we could lunch sometime? Or dinner and drinks, if you want to get to know some other people in the company.”
Minseok grins. “That’d be great,” he says, and suddenly his eyes slide to Jongdae’s again for a brief moment (the manager hides his smile). “I’ll give you my number, Kris-shii, so just call me whenever you have time.” He pauses playfully, taking out his wallet and pulling out a business card. “You’re more likely to have less of it, right, actor Kris Wu?”
“Not as little as you’d think,” Kris shrugs, taking the card and looking over the words and numbers. “Thanks.”
The producer just smiles again. “No problem-it was nice meeting you-Kris-shii.” His eyes find Jongdae’s again. “Jongdae-shii.”
“You like him,” Jongdae stated once they were back in the elevator.
Kris shrugs, still holding Minseok’s business card between two fingers, arms crossed and the small piece of stiff paper in front of the actor’s face. “Who wouldn’t?”
“You’re interested,” Jongdae specifies, as the numbers on the elevator’s screen decrease towards the floor the conference rooms are located on.
“I’m interested,” Kris agrees noncommittally. He tucks the card away into his back pocket, and looks at Jongdae curiously. “Do you think I should get a new TV?”
Jongdae squints. “You don’t watch TV.”
Kris nods.
“You’ve already ordered it, haven’t you?”
“Widescreen,” the actor says dreamily, “thinner than me, up on my wall-it’s coming on Wednesday.”
The manager turns his eyes up to the ceiling of the elevator. “Right.”
Kris is an actor of this day and age, and embodies every stereotype there is to embody. He earns a ridiculous amount of money with ridiculously little talent and spends it at a ridiculous speed on ridiculous things that he really ridiculously doesn’t need. (He also loves his parents a ridiculous amount and has bought them a ridiculously large house with a ridiculous load of everything and anything an old couple could ever need or want)
As an actor of this day and age, Kris also has a ridiculous amount of flings that all last a ridiculously short time while simultaneously being ridiculously abundant in the sexual area of things. Whether co-workers or idols or staff, Jongdae has far since learned to regard Kris’s never-ending stream of not-so-significant-others with about the same amount of concern and attention as he regards Kris’s goldfish.
Kris doesn’t have a goldfish.
The problem this time is that clearly Kris wants to have a fling with Minseok (because Kris doesn’t have relationships). And Jongdae wants a relationship with Minseok. Maybe. Kind of. Sort of.
(Maybe and kind of and sort of is what Jongdae likes to tack onto the ends of thought processes in his mind so he sounds less creepy to himself and to others who might be sitting in his cerebral cortex-because he doesn’t want to sound like that semi-pathetic being of existence who falls head over heels and crashes into the cement for someone who he’s met for five minutes and spoken to zero minutes)
But he says nothing to Kris despite the fact that they’re far more than just manager and client, because there won’t be anything Kris can do about it anyway. Minseok, if he is, will probably be interested in Kris right back because what kind of person (either female or male and is) isn’t interested in Kris Wu?
Sure enough, two days later, Kris tells Jongdae not to drop him off at his apartment-to drop him off at a café instead. “Lunch with Kim Minseok,” the actor announces in a satisfied voice, leaning back with his fingers gliding over the screen of his phone. “Called him yesterday night-said he was leaving the studio when I did.”
“Wonder how much time he does have,” Jongdae mused-after all, he’d only ever been Kris’s manager. He’s never managed an idol-never worked in the music industry. He turns down the street towards the café Kris had said he’d meet the producer at-the café where Kris usually meets Junmyeon, Zitao, Yixing, and Chanyeol.
“Enough to have some fantastic sex, hopefully,” Kris says, drumming his long fingers against his thigh.
Jongdae pulls the car up to the curb and blinks at the actor. Kris blinks back.
“How’re you going to get home?” Jongdae asks, opening the car window and leaning out as Kris hops up onto the sidewalk and fixes his hair briefly (fixes his mask and sunglasses and hat, hiding his face from the public eye) in the side view mirror.
“I’m picking up my TV with Yixing and catching dinner with him,” Kris replies easily and pats Jongdae’s cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he says, voice muffled now because the mask is on. He waves lightly and turns for the café.
Jongdae drives away.
In reality, Jongdae just has a little crush on Minseok and Kris just has a little crush on Minseok. At this stage, it’s nothing that indicates a lead-up into anything serious other than Kris fulfilling another one-night stand, possibly a one-to-two week fling following that, and since Minseok seems intelligent and funny and charming, possibly he’ll be like Zitao and Yixing and Junmyeon and Chanyeol and Jongdae himself.
(fiercely under Kris’s protection and too terribly close to Kris’s heart
even though Jongdae personally thinks that he could protect Minseok just as well)
It’s another two days after Kris’s lunch with Minseok when Jongdae is standing in the elevator, on his way to go down, when it stops on the fourteenth floor-the floor with all the production equipment for the idol groups and solo artists. The doors open and Minseok steps in, eyes meeting Jongdae’s interestedly. “Hey,” Minseok says lightly, standing beside the manager.
“Which-?” Jongdae’s hand hovers over the buttons.
“Parking,” Minseok answers. “Heading home early-same as you.”
Jongdae blinks.
Minseok points to the manager’s bags-backpack slung over a shoulder and briefcase in his left hand.
“Oh.” Jongdae blinks again, meeting the producer’s eyes. Minseok grins.
They’re nearly halfway towards the lobby when Jongdae decides to most likely unwisely break the silence with, “How was your date with Kris?”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces internally-just slightly-because he probably shouldn’t have used that word, probably should have just called it lunch. Even Kris expressly and purposefully leaves out any words that entail commitment too soon and too quickly, but in terms of courting relationships, Kris is somewhat of an expert and Jongdae is somewhat of anything but an expert.
“Funny,” Minseok says, expression still as easy-going as it had been when he’d walked into the elevator. He meets Jongdae’s eyes and somehow the manager instantly knows that the wording hadn’t been taking as a slight in the least.
Jongdae feels his lips quirk. “Funny?” He supposes Kris is funny-can be funny, in his own Kris-Wu-sort-of-way.
“Oh, no,” the producer grins again, with a small shake of his head. “Not funny-funny. Like-”
“He wasn’t trying?”
“No,” Minseok says, amused, “but he was.”
Jongdae lets himself grin slightly at that. Unintentionally charming in a way that is constantly opposite to every way in which he believed himself to be charming-Kris Wu’s definition of sorts. Probably not the definition the actor would like to ever be defined by to his own ears, but Jongdae knows that that’s the reason that someone so seemingly detestable is so unbelievably loveable.