[EXO] Eventually (1/1)
Title: Eventually
Fandom: EXO, Victoria
Author: chiharu
Characters/pairing: Kris/Lu Han
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~11k
Summary: After a public accident, national sweetheart Lu Han is forced to deal with professional interventionist Kris Wu. AU.
trigger warning for depression
Lu Han’s hospital stay only lasts three days, by which point the pile of get-well gifts and flowers warrants Minseok making three trips to transport them out of the building. Lu Han is chatting with his nurse and flexing his ankle when Minseok finally comes to pick him up.
“Did they want to run more tests?” Minseok asks as they take the private elevator to the lobby, where fans will no doubt be waiting with cameras and more gifts.
Lu Han plays with his hospital bracelet, running a finger along the frayed edges. Yesterday, he spent an hour playing with the toddler in the next ward, letting her draw sunflowers and bees on his bracelet while Lu Han waited for his endless round of x-rays.
“No,” Lu Han says when the elevator chimes, signaling their arrival. He smiles sheepishly at Minseok. “She wanted an autograph.”
Minseok and the security team manage to part a path through the sea of admirers, but that doesn’t stop Lu Han from losing his baseball cap in the tug of war from the lobby to the car. Minseok slides into the seat next to Lu Han’s, his trusty tablet out before their driver even pulls out of the hospital parking lot. “I’ve canceled all of your appearances for the next few days. Your commercial shoot is getting pushed to next week, and you’ll no longer be appearing at the Young Phoenix’s 13th Festival.”
Lu Han makes a face while patting his jeans. As always, it takes him a minute to remember that most of his electronics are sitting in a landfill somewhere, along with the towed remains of his BMW. “I can’t miss that festival,” he says. “I was discovered at that festival. I’m the poster boy for it.”
Minseok is quiet for a moment. This temporary inaction causes the screen of his tablet to go into power saving mode. It’s not until Minseok turns his tablet over completely- a sure sign that he’s about to say something monumental or simply exasperating-that he replies. “Not everyone can walk out of an accident like that without a scratch, Lu Han. You miraculously surviving one crash doesn’t make you unbreakable.”
I know, Lu Han wants to say. Minseok’s expression suggests that he already knows, so Lu Han remains silent, watching infrastructures fly by outside of his window. Beijing is windy and dry in the spring, with sandstorms attacking Lu Han’s hair at the most inopportune of times. He wonders if anyone went by his condo to close the windows and water his cactus, but it doesn’t matter. Lu Han was in the hospital for three days, but the world has continued to revolve without him, coating his windowsill with a fine layer of dust. There are still dirty dishes in the sink, a Jin Yong novel he’s been absently scanning lying on the kitchen counter, and an opened bag of wangwang xiao mantou he’s been nibbling through sitting on the table.
Also present is someone he’s never seen before, rising from his seat on Lu Han’s sofa to greet them.
“This is Kris,” Minseok says evenly. “He’s going to look after you.”
Kris doesn’t look like a bodyguard. His chin is too sharp and his features are too impressionable, like the actors Lu Han always gets coerced into taking photos with at award ceremonies. Lu Han looks at Minseok, who nods back at their visitor.
“I’m a life coach and professional interventionist,” Kris supplies.
“Is this a joke?” Lu Han wants to know. When Minseok doesn’t reply, Lu Han frowns and takes in Kris again. Kris gives off the impression that he knows a lot-almost too much. It reminds Lu Han of the nurse who had tested his blood for alcohol content. Even worse than the x-rays had been Minseok’s silence when Lu Han’s blood work came back to be absolutely normal.
Lu Han hadn’t deigned Minseok’s concern with an explanation at the hospital, but standing here now, he feels the need to say something. “I wasn’t drunk,” he says, "but I didn’t crash that car on purpose.”
I didn’t try to kill myself.
Kris is in the car when Minseok picks Lu Han up a week later. He’s impeccably dressed, watching silently as Lu Han fumbles with the seat belt while Minseok briefs them from the passenger seat. There is something unsettling about Kris. Lu Han is used to being observed and analyzed behind his back, but it’s a counterfeit sort of exchange that he can turn a blind eye to. Kris, on the other hand, is too tall and too handsome to ignore.
“I know what to say,” Lu Han cuts in when Minseok starts citing the amount of fan gifts he has received since the accident, the number of wreaths delivered to their company, and the influx of messages on his weibo. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”
Lu Han grins when Minseok sighs, asking if Lu Han has eaten. He accepts a cereal bar from Minseok after admitting to rolling out of bed ten minutes prior. Lu Han rips through the wrapper before remembering Minseok’s tendency to pick the blandest flavors. He breaks the bar in half and offers it to Kris, who hesitates.
“You don’t have to eat it,” Lu Han sighs. “I may have poisoned it deftly to kill myself. Better not risk it.”
“This isn’t a joke, Lu Han,” Kris says.
Lu Han wants to tell Kris that he sounds like a broken record, but after the awkward confrontation days ago, Lu Han knows he’s out of tricks. It’s impossible to accept Kris-not when he’s entering Lu Han’s life with the mindset that something is wrong with him. Lu Han knows there are battles he cannot win, words he cannot say, and songs he cannot sing. Minseok, who had unfortunately taken Lu Han’s exasperation as acceptance, had assigned Kris to glorified babysitting duty for the next few months.
“Are you really going to follow me everywhere?” Lu Han asks, chewing idly through cardboard tasting fiber.
“I can’t help you unless I get to know you,” Kris recites unconvincingly.
Lu Han leans forward, grabbing the back of Minseok’s seat. “Where did you find this guy and how much are you paying him to babysit me?”
Minseok pushes Lu Han’s head back. “Just behave. Please.”
Lu Han makes a face at Kris, who doesn’t respond. “He’s just being mean,” Lu Han mouths to their driver. “I always behave.”
Lu Han’s interview goes well. He spends five minutes thanking fans for their support and apologizes for causing them concern. When the interviewer asks if Lu Han has considered becoming the spokesperson for the national safe driving campaign on top of his day gig, Lu Han just laughs.
“Maybe after my next album,” Lu Han says.
“And when is that coming out?”
Lu Han smiles faintly at her. “It’s a secret.”
Later, en route to his commercial shoot, Lu Han asks Minseok if his BMW has been recovered.
“No,” Minseok replies, looking guilty. “I don’t think it’s salvageable.” He doesn’t say that the rescue squad had completely cut through a door to pull an unconscious Lu Han out, but Lu Han already knows. At least, he thinks, the press hasn’t published photos of him in the ambulance.
Next to Lu Han, Kris seems to be taking notes on his ipad.
“Instead of observing me, why don’t you ask me whatever you want to know?” Lu Han says, feeling inadequate without a replacement phone. Kris, with his perfect hair, seems like a good target.
Kris raises an eyebrow. “What do you want me to know?” Coming from him, even simple questions sound political. The strange way Kris pronounces his vowels and his constant mix up of participles make his words seem insincere and ill rehearsed.
Lu Han hums, leaning one elbow against the car door. “My favorite season is autumn, I have three ipods, I speak Korean pretty fluently, my alarm clock is currently set to a song by J.J.Lin, and I’m trying to get through Diablo3 on nightmare mode.”
“I already know those things,” Kris replies, looking at Lu Han.
Lu Han frowns at the knowledge that Kris has been researching him. “Perhaps you should take the Lu Han trivia quiz in Elle Girl. Fans with high scores are entered in a lottery for a VIP pass to my autograph signing!”
“Lu Han,” Minseok warns.
Lu Han gives him a peace sign and plugs his earphones in, signaling the beginning of another silent ride. Kris doesn’t shift next to him, busy typing into his ipad again. Lu Han wonders what Kris could possibly gauge from these facts-snippets of information that belong more to his fans than to himself. They peel off him like a second skin, discarded as soon as the facts leave his mouth.
Kris is still around by the time Lu Han finishes shooting for a popular orange juice brand. Lu Han pats his chaotically curled hair, rubbing his thumb at the make up caked on his neck. None of it comes off. Kris watches all of this while Minseok crosses things off their schedule. The sky outside is impossibly dark when Lu Han finds his ipod on the backseat, completely out of battery.
“You forgot to turn it off,” Kris explains, sitting again in the seat next to him.
Lu Han blinks. “Why didn’t you do it if you noticed?”
“Did you want me to turn it off for you?” Kris asks slowly, gazing at him intently. “The key to understanding each other is to communicate what you want.”
Lu Han stares incredulously at him until Minseok waves his own ipod absently from the passenger seat. “Right now, I kind of want to kick you,” Lu Han mumbles while unraveling Minseok’s earphones. He thinks about curling irons and impossibly thin co-stars on the ride back, Minseok’s playlist of indie Korean pop sufficiently distracting until the driver pulls into his parking garage.
Lu Han gives them a wave before climbing out and heading towards the garage elevator. At home, he tries to shower off the aches in his body that have been persisting since his accident. Phantom pain, really, for the impact he never felt. Lu Han curls his fingers into the surface of his mirror, streaks of clarity disappearing quickly in the humidity. He fishes out his toner and tries to wipe away any hint of imbalance in his skin, frowning at the residual foundation picked up by the cotton pad.
His hair is the picture of effortlessness the next morning, but that doesn’t stop his make up artist from moving it aside as she applies the perfect shade of bronzer to his forehead. In the corner, Kris and Minseok are talking while holding matching cups of coffee. When Lu Han waddles over, Minseok hands him tea instead.
“Your glycemic index will go through the roof otherwise,” Minseok says, excusing himself to answer a call. Thankfully, the tea is a generic blend of green tea and acai berries, spreading warmth through Lu Han’s fingers as he looks around the unheated studio.
“What is your favorite thing about photoshoots?” Kris asks.
Lu Han already knows the answer to this. “The versatility and the comfort of knowing I can be whoever I want, if only for a few hours.”
“You can already be whoever you want,” Kris says.
“I am whoever you want me to be.” Lu Han smiles, hair falling into his left eye and tickling his nose.
Kris considers this, and Lu Han notices the pause Kris inserts before every sentence, like he’s re-phrasing lines in his head. “That’s not the same thing,” Kris says at last.
Minseok returns before Lu Han can reply, and Lu Han is whisked away by the photographer to discuss concepts. After years in the industry, Lu Han knows the right degree to turn his head, the right amount of emotion to convey to the camera, and the right balance of vulnerability and dominance to portray. He’s lost track of the number of identities he has adopted, stacks of magazines and photoshoots he hasn’t bothered to revisit now collecting dust in his storage room.
It’s not until Lu Han changes back into his hoodie that Minseok mentions Sehun. “He’s in town again and asked to get dinner with you. I told him yes.”
Lu Han links arms with Minseok, getting a whiff of Minseok’s shampoo as they walk out of the building. “You always know what I want.”
“I can only try, Lu Han.”
To Lu Han’s distaste, Kris also tags along to the noodle house. Kris listens as Sehun apologizes for not catching an earlier flight back, fresh out of another tour with his dance company. Kris doesn’t argue when Lu Han introduces him as his new publicist and watches silently as Sehun stacks souvenirs for Lu Han on the table. Kris contributes very little to the conversation, looking out of place in his dress shirt and nice pants as Lu Han and Sehun devour their regular orders of zhajiangmian.
When Kris goes to the bathroom, presumably to fix his hair, Lu Han convinces Sehun to sneak out of the restaurant with him. He leaves a wad of cash on the table before hurrying Sehun out. They weave through the streets, getting bubble tea from their favorite stand while recalling old memories.
Kris is at Lu Han’s condo when he returns, perched on the kitchen counter as he scrolls through baidu. “Did you enjoy your date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Lu Han says.
Kris points to the fan photos already surfacing on the internet. “That’s not what your baidu bar thinks.”
The circular irony is what strikes Lu Han the most: Kris acknowledging a blatant invasion of Lu Han’s privacy while simultaneously invading Lu Han’s personal space as well. Lu Han peers over Kris’s shoulder, catching a photo of himself looking directly into the camera. “And what do you think of it?”
“What do you think, Lu Han?”
“I think you should stop breaking into my home,” Lu Han replies, snatching the spare key off the counter and pocketing it. He gives Kris a wry smile. “Someone should reevaluate their trespassing tendencies. You can’t save me from myself if you’re in jail.”
Kris smiles indulgently. “Are you going to report me?”
“I already reported sighting a criminally tall person. Save yourself before the police arrive.” Lu Han turns Kris’s ipad over and gestures towards the door.
Jongdae comes to visit two days before they’re both scheduled to perform at the CCTV music festival. Lu Han attempts to clean his condo while ignoring Kris’s existence, but that doesn’t stop him from hurriedly stuffing a rag under the sink when Jongdae rings the doorbell. Jongdae is none the wiser, happily inhaling the quail eggs and left over congee Lu Han feeds him while sneaking curious glances at Kris.
“He’s my new publicist,” Lu Han explains in Korean.
Jongdae blinks. “Oh, is he good?”
Lu Han looks at Kris, who is reading a book. “He’s really annoying.”
“I understood that,” Kris says, his tone neither accusatory nor amused. He doesn’t move when Lu Han and Jongdae burst into laughter. Nor does he interrupt again as Jongdae explains his new single in great detail and talks about the MBC co-host who spent all broadcast flirting with him.
Later, after Jongdae’s manager picks him up, Lu Han turns to Kris. “I didn’t know you spoke Korean.”
Kris closes his book. “You never asked.” Kris’s matter-of-factness irks Lu Han, but what bothers him the most is the surety Kris emits and his lack of embarrassment at being the first to stand up in greeting and the last to sit.
Lu Han pauses. “If I ask, will you answer truthfully?”
Kris is silent for a moment before replying, “Yes.”
“Do you think you can fix me?” The words are out before he considers the weight of his question.
“For me to fix you, I’d have to identify something that’s broken first.”
“Isn’t that your job? To analyze my flaws?”
Kris puts his book down, looking pensive. “In this learning process, we assume from the start that as long as you’re breathing, there is more right with you than there is wrong, no matter how ill or hopeless you may feel.”
Lu Han does not feel hopeless. His job is to sell a desire, a fantasy crafted around who he is and who he could be. It is not a game. It is a way of life. Yixing once said that if Lu Han pretended to be someone long enough, he would soon turn into that person. Lu Han has always wished that he could be someone else.
Lu Han turns it into a game, countering Kris’s questions with rhetorical ones of his own. He’s engaging Kris is an unending discussion of karma when Minseok calls them into the conference room, where justice is dealt in probing questions about Lu Han’ musical direction and the status of his next album. He’s no longer interested in Kris when they leave the company building, occupied with playing a game of fruit ninja on his new phone while Minseok tries to pry information out of him.
“The songs are coming along,” Lu Han says when he accidentally slices a bomb.
“Lu Han,” Minseok begins to say, but stops when Lu Han sets his phone down.
“You told me that as long as I continue singing, you’d keep supporting me.”
Minseok is quiet, perhaps shocked by the sudden revival of an old memory. Lu Han feels like a time traveler, transported to an era that he has long since stopped revisiting-back when the only departure from normalcy had been the impromptu karaoke sessions Lu Han instated in the middle of essays and grammar homework, the three of them huddled over one table as they checked the bus schedule off campus. No matter how long it took to coerce Minseok into skipping his business group meetings, Lu Han always made up for lost time with Yixing. Lu Han wishes that they grew more alike instead of growing to resent each other.
The fansigning in Chaoyang is chaotic and disorganized, with girls squeezing into the tiny enclosed area while security tries to hold them back in some semblance of order. When someone trips and falls out of line near the meet and greet table, Kris is the one who steadies her and helps her back in line. Minseok shoots Kris a grateful smile, occupied with keeping the next round of girls in check. Lu Han laughs and waves at Kris, causing a dozen cameras to zone in on Kris.
“Lu Han ge,” one of his braver fans asks while sliding her CD towards him. “Who is that handsome gege over there?”
Lu Han scribbles something down and smiles at her. “That’s my new publicist. Please be nice to him.” Lu Han is pretty sure she’s the one who made those baidu bars for his previous manager and the temporary driver who rescued Lu Han from a mob in Shanghai. That doesn’t stop him from showing Kris the new bar affiliated with Lu Han’s bar later, laughing when Kris makes a disdained face.
“Why did you encourage her?” Kris asks, pressing nonexistent creases out of his shirt.
“Because I could,” Lu Han replies instinctively. The recklessness in him grows the longer he spends with Kris, the desire to say things metallic on his tongue. Kris, for all of his strangeness and intrusiveness, feels trustworthy. They hold a staring contest until Minseok reminds Lu Han of his early flight to Shandong next morning.
“The company photographer canceled at the last minute,” Minseok adds, handing an envelope to Kris. “You can take her spot if you want.”
Kris accepts the ticket silently.
Lu Han’s driver doesn’t pick Kris up the next day, but they do find Kris at gate 34A, looking uncharacteristically disheveled as he digs through his bag. When Kris drops his passport, Lu Han picks it up and examines the cover. “Canada, huh?” He pauses when Kris snatches it back. “All this time you were a foreigner.”
“I’m a Canadian citizen,” Kris corrects him. “But I was born in China, and here I am speaking the national language of China with you.”
Lu Han hums as they begin boarding. “All this time you’ve been keeping lies from me. Maybe I should be researching you instead. Minseok, are you sure we can trust him?”
“He signed nondisclosure forms in both Chinese and English,” Minseok replies, completely missing the joke and nudging Lu Han into the gate. They’re led into first class, where Lu Han shares a row with Kris while Minseok takes the seat across the aisle. Lu Han knows there is a line he cannot cross. Learning more about Kris would only give him the right to probe more into Lu Han as well.
“I like flying,” Lu Han tells Kris after the plane takes off. He’s not sure what instigated this discussion, but when Kris gives him an interested look, Lu Han continues. “In North America, you can travel through time zones. I once flew from California to New York. It was literally a race against time.” What happened to the Lu Han that disappeared in those lost hours? Sometimes Lu Han wonders if he left behind a piece of himself on a different continent.
“I like flying too,” Kris replies unexpectedly. “It’s nice to entertain the idea of going far away, even while traveling short distances.” His legs are casually folded in while Lu Han’s are stretched out lazily in front of him.
Lu Han is unsure if he’s projecting his own feelings, or if Kris can read him.
“I traveled a lot as a child,” Kris explains when Lu Han doesn’t reply.
Lu Han looks out of his window, watching the land below take on odd shapes in its topography. “I didn’t. All I wanted was to get out of Beijing.” He had gotten his wish-performing in Malaysia, selca-ing next to the esplanade in Singapore, and trading stories with hosts in Taipei. The irony is that the return flights always take him back to Beijing. Any form is escape is simply temporary. Even planes cannot stay in the air forever.
In Shandong, fans hand him gifts at the airport. Lu Han accepts them until his arms are completely full. Minseok, wheeling their luggage in a cart, gives him a hopeless shrug until Kris goes to retrieve the abandoned Abercrombie bags from a frantically waving girl.
“Do you know what she told me back there?” Kris asks, climbing into the van and gracefully ignoring the screeching outside.
“That you’re handsome?” Lu Han suggests, setting the gifts by his feet as Minseok goes around the van, closing the door and squeezing into the passenger seat.
“No. She asked me to please take care of you.”
Lu Han doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“You’re really loved,” Kris adds.
“You’re embarrassing,” Lu Han tells him, turning away.
Song Qian’s co-host is a local rising star, leggy and impossibly quiet. Lu Han pegs him as a total rookie when he stumbles onto Tao memorizing his MC cards backstage. Lu Han had wondered who those extra banners outside were for.
“Tao’s debut album came out last month,” Song Qian explains on stage to a cheering crowd. Song Qian, too, has gotten thinner since the award ceremony in Changsha, but it would probably be taken as a compliment if Lu Han said so on camera. The crowd roars again when Song Qian addresses him.
“Of course I’ve heard about the Wu Shu Prince,” Lu Han laughs, remembering the memo Minseok had tucked under Lu Han’s arm on the plane. He complies when Song Qian suggests that Tao teaches him a few moves, “Ohh”-ing and “Aah”-ing when Tao demonstrates a kick up.
“Are you sure you can do it?” Tao asks when Lu Han tries to mimic the move. His disbelief only makes Lu Han laugh more.
“My manager told me not to lie down in foreign places,” Lu Han replies, giving the camera a thumbs up before kicking his legs in an arc. He lands somewhat successfully to general applause. Off camera, Minseok is laughing while Kris looks amused.
In the next segment, the directors surprise an unsuspecting fan by bringing her on stage to hug Lu Han. She looks completely overwhelmed, hiding behind Song Qian until Song Qian suggests that she hugs Tao too. “Two birds with one stone, right? You only live once.”
When Tao pulls the fan into a half-hearted hug, Lu Han pouts. He walks off stage as the cameraman follows. “You guys set me up! Oi, Huang Zitao. I’m going to steal one of your fans too.” The audience screeches when Lu Han stops in front of a smaller segment of girls holding leopard print banners. He’s tugged back on stage by a laughing Song Qian. The recording ends with Lu Han singing an upbeat track to alarmingly coordinated fanchants.
After the crew starts moving about, Lu Han corners Tao and asks him to dinner.
Tao looks like he wants to flee, but Song Qian is already waving at them. At the restaurant, Tao stays quiet while Lu Han and Minseok order, speaking up only when Kris asks him to pass the service napkin. When Kris admits to have practiced Wu Shu before, Tao starts a hushed conversation with him while Lu Han tries to steal all the mantou from Minseok’s plate. Lu Han notices the way Kris and Tao press their heads together in alarming symmetry, the scent of Kris’s pretentious cologne lingering even from a distance.
Lu Han chats with Song Qian about her radio show, asking when she plans to invite him on. When she replies with “when your next album comes out,” Lu Han promises to dedicate a song to her on it.
“Jie,” Tao cuts in, his voice soft. “I will write one for you too.”
“Please don’t, either of you,” Song Qian laughs. She turns to Lu Han, grinning. “What about that ballad you were composing for Zhang Liyin? I’m sure someone, somewhere, is still waiting for that.”
Lu Han squeezes himself between Kris and Tao, effectively ending the conversation when Kris offers Lu Han his seat. They spend the rest of dinner discussing Tao’s newfound stardom, Lu Han giving him advice on handling overzealous fans. They trade numbers. Lu Han takes a selca of them and uploads it on weibo before the waiters even clear their table.
“Take care of yourself,” Song Qian says before climbing into her taxi.
Lu Han gives her a happy nod, waving until he spots his own ride. “What did you and Huang Zitao talk about?” He asks Kris on the ride to their hotel.
Kris looks at him. “He wanted to know if you’re always this friendly.”
Lu Han hasn’t always injected himself into inside jokes and situations. Being disarming is a carefully crafted art, one that won Lu Han the title of “National Sweetheart” from countless magazines. It works to his advantage to look naive. The trick to being perceptive is to not act like it. As a child, Lu Han always knew when to come home to an empty house and when to leave. As an adult, the masquerade only gets more complicated.
Lu Han takes the entire third week of April off and orders his management team to take a break. He buys Minseok roundtrip tickets to Korea and gives his driver a bonus. Lu Han tells his company that he’s visiting family in Haidian and disappears before they can interrogate him.
What Lu Han really does is stay at home and watch Taiwanese dramas. He reads through his manga collection and washes his bed sheets three times. Lu Han makes sure to flip over every clock in his condo while traveling to and from the laundry room, dreading each passing day as it approaches the 20th. That’s how Kris finds Lu Han on his birthday, sitting by himself with a cake. His collection of overlarge Beijing Olympic mascots occupy the other seats as Lu Han looks up.
“This is the second time you’ve broken in,” Lu Han says, taking a bite of his custom ordered cake. “What do you need?”
Kris looks around before moving towards Lu Han. “I meant to pick up the book I left here.” He frowns, setting the extra key down. Lu Han really should have moved it, but he hadn’t expected Kris to keep checking the original hiding spot. “You’re supposed to be in Haidian.”
No matter how Lu Han looks at it, there’s no way to explain his adverse precautions against disappointment. It seems almost comical for him to be without friends and family while fans celebrate his birthday elsewhere. “I clearly did not go,” Lu Han says, rolling a strawberry idly around his plate. “Do you want cake?”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Kris asks quietly.
Lu Han doesn’t know what Kris is referring too-that Lu Han never planned to go in the first place, that he’s incapable of lighting candles without dripping wax all over the table, or that being lonely is easier when it feels like a choice.
“Why did you send Minseok away, Lu Han?” Kris presses.
Being a year older should give Lu Han a free pass at honesty. But, like everything, the urge to tell the truth dies in his throat. Lu Han can’t let Minseok know how he pathetic he is. Minseok is his only friend.
Kris’s expression is painfully understanding. “What about your other friends? Oh Sehun? Song Qian or-”
“I’ll cut you some cake,” Lu Han decides.
He’s already sliding a large piece onto a plate when Kris says, “I can’t be your friend, Lu Han.”
Lu Han temporarily forgets how to breathe.
“I mean-” Kris looks conflicted. “I can be your friend, if that’s what you want, but I can’t be your only friend.”
Lu Han knows what Kris means. He has been waiting for this, almost as if Kris’s acknowledgement will be a validation. Kris always seems to know exactly what Lu Han has chosen to omit. This awareness is both reassuring and disconcerting. But Kris’s comment had spelled it out clearly. The jig is up, and they both know it.
What Kris really say is, “I’m not here to pick you apart, but I am here to help you. Whenever you’re ready to ask for help.”
Lu Han doesn’t reply, but Kris seems to understand his silence regardless.
What Lu Han fears is not what Minseok could possibly say, but how Minseok would look at him from now on. Minseok, true to his personality, does not get angry. He simply looks tired.
“I’m sorry for lying,” Lu Han says, feeling the need to compensate for something.
“Oh,” Minseok looks at him. “I’m not angry at you. Why would you think that? I wish you would tell me when you’re unhappy.”
Lu Han is only unhappy ten percent of the time. At other times, he feels beyond normal. But it’s the ten percent that is the most exhausting, taking on forms in the shadows that dance across his room at night until he is infested with overwhelming defeat. He looks away from Minseok, but Kris catches his eye instead.
Minseok seems to be gathering his own courage. “I’m doing such a bad job at managing you, Lu Han. Every day, I understand you less and less. I feel like I’m not good enough for you.”
Lu Han wants to take everything back. These days, Minseok is the only thing keeping him honest. “That’s not true. You’re the only person who hasn’t given up on me.”
“Oh, Lu Han,” Minseok says. “No one has given up on you. Just because you can’t talk to -” He stops. “You still have me, Lu Han.”
It used to be easier to pick himself up and dust off his failures. “I know,” he tells Minseok, his arms falling to the side when Minseok hugs him. Lu Han stares at his shoes because if he meets Minseok’s eye, then he really will die of self pity.
“Here,” Kris says, handing him a box wrapped in brown paper. “Happy belated birthday.”
Lu Han tears open the packaging to find a leather-bound journal. Lu Han is not ready to keep a diary; it’s too fast and too dangerous. Kris seems to sense his anxiety as he takes a seat opposite Lu Han.
“List a hundred things you’ve always wanted to do,” Kris tells him. “Things that have been on your mind, things you’ve been putting off, or things that always seemed impossible. We’ll review it together and check off every item.”
Lu Han fills it with simple tasks at first: rewashing his sheets, sending belated Thank You cards, and watering his cactus. He checks off a dozen items or so, a sense of accomplishment coupling with this productivity. Kris doesn’t comment on the significance of the tasks when he reviews them. He simply nods until he comes across an unchecked page.
Lu Han is preparing for an interview when Kris takes a seat in the empty chair next to him. He has, no doubt, been skimming through Lu Han’s lists again. “What do you plan to do after you finish reading that novel?” He hands the journal over when Lu Han makes a grabbing motion at it.
After the interview, when the crew has wrapped up and Minseok is making small talk with the project director, Lu Han returns the journal. He watches as Kris reads the new items. “Rent a bike, see the pandas at the zoo, dress up in the forbidden city, go boating at the summer palace- these are all touristy things.”
“I’ve never been a tourist in Beijing before,” Lu Han tells him honestly.
Kris gives him a long and measuring look, but Lu Han doesn’t falter. He knows for a fact that Kris came into this agreement with the promise of non-judgment. It’s the only thing Lu Han can count on these days. “Okay,” Kris says, a small smile on his face. “We can do all of that.”
Minseok doesn’t question their plans. He accommodates Lu Han’s schedule to the best of his abilities, rearranging appearances and clearing Lu Han’s evenings. Sometimes, Minseok’s kindness is what cripples Lu Han the most.
Lu Han doesn’t ask, but Kris follows him anyway as they wander through the masses at night, crossing smaller items off the list. Lu Han orders the weirdest tasting dessert at Starbucks, watches a foreign movie without subtitles at the theater, and buys a dozen bottle openers in the shape of a lianpu. They watch the flag lowering ceremony at Tiananmen Square as tourists swarm around them.
In the mornings, they go to the park and watch people practice taichi, the morning radio blasting through the square as Lu Han listens to elderly chatter. Later, they sit on a sloped patch of grass while eating the youtiao Lu Han picked up from a street cart.
“I came here once, in elementary school,” Lu Han says when a field trip group meanders past them, dressed in identical uniforms and donning red handkerchiefs. “I was angry with my father, so I skipped school and came here.” He had thought someone would come find him, but the day had ended with Lu Han walking home by himself.
“Was your father worried?” Kris asks.
Lu Han laughs. “No, he was really angry.”
Kris puts one hand on Lu Han’s shoulder. If Kris notices the flinch, he makes no mention of it. “People can be angry and sad at the same time, Lu Han. Emotions are not mutually exclusive.”
Lu Han doesn’t know if this is true. Feelings may be fleeting, but sadness always wins. It is always there when he wakes up, beckoning him. When he feels deeply about it, it almost becomes a comfort. He wants to inhale it, nurture it, cultivate it, and make it his.
“Life isn’t about winning or losing,” Kris explains when Lu Han doesn’t respond. “It’s about balance. You need to think about feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right in an atmosphere of growth. Like Minseok, I will also support you as long as you try.”
Baby steps, Lu Han thinks.
Minseok takes one look at the journal and calls upper management. He ignores Lu Han’s protest of it’s not really a pressing goal, traveling to and from meetings at the company. “Lu Han,” he says seriously. “If you want to perform at the National Indoor Stadium, then it’s my job to make that dream happen.”
“You did put it on your list,” Kris points out when Lu Han’s company begins planning a setlist, securing the venue, and arranging for a live band. Lu Han doesn’t have time to argue before he’s interviewing potential production managers and stage managers with Minseok.
“That was supposed to be one of the harder tasks,” Lu Han explains after the conference room empties. He can hear management discussing details outside, the excitement lingering in the room.
Kris smiles in a weird but genuine way. “There is no easy or difficult task, Lu Han. There are only things you can and cannot do. The secret is that you can do anything, just not everything. Minseok is only trying to make your wishes come true.”
Lu Han knows it’s true. He’s always had help-from his first manager to his vocal coach to the recruitment agent who saw potential in a language major from a liberal arts university. The support is overwhelming. It overflows.
“I heard about your solo concert!” Song Qian calls a few days later, when she’s in town for an interview. “Congratulations. I’m getting a VIP pass, right?”
Lu Han laughs. “You can even come on stage if you want.” He thinks about June approaching and adds, “Say, can I interest you in some sightseeing?”
Song Qian meets him at the Eastern Gate of the Summer Palace. Her shoes are thankfully flat as they walk through Longevity Hall and examine the sculpture of Kylin. She ignores his comment of what will your Korean boyfriend say as they selca near a group of European tourists. Later, they sit in the courtyard of the Garden of Virtue, listening to unfamiliar languages. “Sometimes it’s nice to be a nobody,” she says when he offers her a bottle of water.
Lu Han often wonders how things would be if he was still irrelevant. He carries himself with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, thinks he is important. The thought is comforting, even if it’s untrue. He tells Song Qian this much as they walk around Kunming Lake.
Song Qian stops walking and grabs onto his arm. “Don’t think that, Lu Han. Everyone likes you. They like you a lot.”
“Thank you,” he tells her seriously, to which she laughs. There’s a kind quality to her voice that draws Lu Han to her. He still remembers their first encounter- how he accidentally walked into a cameraman in nervousness and the way she beckoned him over with a half-laugh half-giggle. The Lu Han that Song Qian first met is still someone he’s trying to remember.
They part ways when her manager calls, Song Qian giving him a quick punch on the arm before dashing off. He watches her leave under a darkening sky. Lu Han can only cling to the knowledge that someone likes him. Soon, Lu Han too will start to like himself again.
Lu Han holds a round of promotional interviews in May, driven by a new level of productivity as he flies through old composition notebooks. He pulls his keyboard out of the storage room and spends an hour rampaging through his place for the AC adaptor. When Minseok finds him sprawled across the floor of the living room, craning over the rug to scribble down notes, he drags Lu Han to the music modules at the recording studio.
Kris is waiting outside when Lu Han emerges hours later, bangs plastered to his forehead. “I heard you’re composing again. Congratulations.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” Lu Han says. They travel for a few blocks into a less commercial area, Lu Han noting the setting sun as they stop over a sky bridge. The traffic below offers a white noise effect. He hands the composition notebook over, eyeing the way Kris opens the first page with his large hands. “I found these half finished songs in there. Look at the date on the third one.”
Kris nods. “You’ve been trying to finish it for two years.”
“I had the exposition all worked out,” Lu Han explains, wringing his hands on the railing and staring at the chipping paint. “The first theme contains a rising arpeggio and long leaps down. The second theme is more melodic, and the closing is transitional. It’s the development that frustrated me the most, but I got it down today.”
Kris gestures for him to continue, eyes scanning through the notes.
“It consists of upward leaps, but something draws the melody back and holds it down.” Lu Han knows why he never finished this song. It was supposed to be a duet, composed in empty classrooms as the sun set outside of the courtyard. Lu Han thinks about the music composition class that brought them all together and the days he spent doodling clefs into the margin of every notebook.
He takes a deep breath, turning to Kris. “This is a song I was writing with Zhang Yixing.”
Something in Kris’s eyes says he already knows. Nowadays, Kris knows everything about Lu Han to a frightening degree. It’s so unfair when Lu Han knows essentially nothing about Kris.
“Yixing was the person who understood me the most,” Lu Han continues, turning back to the traffic as a mob of bicyclists cut off a red sedan. “We did everything together. We lived together and breathed together. I thought we both wanted the same things, but maybe I never knew him at all.”
“Where is he now?”
Lu Han frowns. What’s important isn’t where Yixing went but who he left behind. “Three years ago, I entered a karaoke competition at the Young Phoenix festival and was discovered by an agent. Minseok offered to be my manager immediately, even though he had to graduate first and train under upper management. I thought Yixing would want to help me too. I wanted us to keep writing songs together and keep learning together.”
What unsettled Lu Han hadn’t been Yixing’s refusal, but the dichotomy between his expectations and reality. Lu Han lets go of the breath he’s been holding. “I guess he just wanted to get away from me. He went to America just to do so.”
Lu Han has been running around all this time without his right arm, collecting friends from the strangest of places and injecting himself into moments of happiness. Every moment, every smile is fleeting. Nothing Lu Han loves ever lasts.
“He didn’t leave the country because of you, Lu Han,” Kris says, voice impossibly kind as he pulls Lu Han closer. “He probably had his own aspirations and goals to pursue.”
Lu Han turns and breathes into Kris’s shoulder. The scent of Kris is strong through the fabric of his cardigan.
Lu Han knows Kris is right, but he still wants something to hold onto.
Minseok complains when Lu Han kidnaps him from a meeting with the sound crew. “The stage manager will handle it,” he says while shoving Minseok into the car. Lu Han grins as he slides into the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I gave Song Yang the day off.” When Minseok doesn’t look convinced, Lu Han adds, “I’m not going to crash into anything, I promise.” They listen to Wang Leehom on the congested freeway, Lu Han dodging all of Minseok’s questions while blabbing about food.
Minseok falls silent when they pull into the familiar, paved streets leading to the university. The tulips on campus are in full bloom when Minseok steps out. Students meander in and out of the gate, lost in a world Lu Han no longer knows or understands.
“Do you miss it?” Minseok asks as they walk around campus, catching sight of buildings and fields engraved in their memory. Lu Han thinks about the mornings they spent studying in the café nearby, their matching navy blue notebooks, and Minseok’s favorite soy milk.
Lu Han meets Minseok’s eye. “I miss who we used to be.”
“I don’t think people can change completely, Lu Han.” Minseok grabs Lu Han’s hands. “We’re not made to be unhappy. You’re not made to be unhappy. I don’t think you realize how many people you inspire just by being yourself. I’ve always, always admired you.”
To be seen fully by someone used to be Lu Han’s greatest fear, anxiety rising in his chest at the prospect of being deemed not sick enough or unhappy enough. Now the concept of being transparent and still being loved seems like the greatest gift ever given to Lu Han.
“If one day you feel like you can no longer recognize me,” Lu Han says when the urge to cry passes, “Please quit managing me and go back to being my friend.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’ve always been your friend,” Minseok replies good-naturedly.
They stay like that until a soccer ball rolls over from the adjacent field. It’s a sign, Lu Han thinks, as he picks it up. The boy who comes to retrieve it stares at him when Lu Han asks to join the game. Lu Han and Minseok are beyond rusty, but that doesn’t stop the game from culminating to an unexpected high when students gather around the field at the sight of national idol Lu Han at his alma mater.
“We beat him!” The other team cheers after scoring the winning goal. “We beat Lu Han!”
“Shut up!” The boy who passed a ball to Minseok shouts. “That doesn’t make you famous!”
Lu Han laughs so hard that Minseok has to drag him up from the grass to take photos with the spectators. They talk to a sea of admirers until Minseok is reminded of the time.
“You seem happier nowadays,” Minseok says in the car. “I’m glad Kris is helpful.”
Kris is more than just helpful, but Lu Han knows one revelation is enough for the day.
Lu Han is five items away from hitting one hundred when he presses the journal into Kris’s chest one afternoon. Billboard advertisements of his first solo concert went up in the major shopping districts yesterday, and Lu Han feels the anxiety building in his chest. Time is running out.
Kris looks at the newest items and smiles. “Okay. We can do that.”
They take the subway to Wangfujing and attempt to eat through every food cart in sight, Lu Han sticking a tanhulu into his jianbing and chewing through it. He laughs when Kris makes a face of disgust, but stops when Kris points to another baozi stand.
They go into the largest bookstore in the area and peruse the comic section. “I’ve never told anyone this,” Lu Han says, eyes cascading down the shelves. “My parents put me through college under the impression that I wanted to be a professional interpreter. If I hadn’t been discovered that day, I would probably be translating manga now.” He grins sheepishly at Kris. “Can you imagine me sitting behind a desk all day, editing scanlations and driving my editor mad by replacing panels with photos of cats?”
Kris smirks indulgently. “Somehow, I can see it.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know, Lu Han. I just wanted to be good at something. Isn’t that what we all wish for?”
“You seem like you would be good at a lot of things,” Lu Han suggests.
“I am good at a lot of things,” Kris admits, laughing when Lu Han scoffs. “But I want to help other people be good at what they love too. Maybe I just want to help them be good.”
I can be good, Lu Han thinks.
Later, Lu Han sneaks into the CD section and makes Kris take a photo of him standing next to his own promotional concert poster, shooing Kris out before anyone recognizes them.
“I used to hate coming here in fear of running into my mother,” Lu Han says as they stand by a shop selling counterfeit jewelry. “Then I realized that it wouldn’t matter. She would walk past me on the street without recognizing me.”
Kris watches people move around them. “After my father left, I kept thinking that I saw his face in random places like the bookstore, the subway station, or outside of his favorite restaurant. At this point, even if I do see him again, I would pass it off as a trick of the eye.”
Lu Han catches Kris’s gaze and doesn’t look away. “Did he ever come back?”
“No,” Kris says. “I thought he would at least visit during major events in my life, but he never came back. Not during birthdays, not at graduation, and not when I decided to pursue a graduate degree in China.”
Where would Lu Han be if Kris was still in Canada with his perfectly responsible father? Lu Han doesn’t know. All he knows is that Kris is here now. Because of that, Lu Han is here too.
Their second round of food binging doesn’t go down as easily. Lu Han flushes the taste of grilled scorpions down with a bottle of tsingtao beer, refusing Kris’s offer of running to a convenience store for water. “Only in China can you purchase a bottle of beer cheaper than water,” he explains, pressed against Kris as the crowd moves in hordes. “What is it like in Canada?”
“It was different,” Kris replies cryptically as they move south. “Not necessarily better, just different.”
In Chaoyang, Lu Han pulls Kris into a club and orders shots, downing Kris’s share when Kris refuses to drink. “I’m not always this irresponsible,” Lu Han says before disappearing onto the dance floor. He loses Kris in the crowd of people, drowning in the insufferable bass as women in scantily clad dresses move around him. The high lasts until Kris pulls him away from the crowd, his gaze hot on Lu Han’s skin.
“I don’t think this is good for your image,” Kris murmurs into Lu Han’s ear.
Lu Han leans in closer when someone knocks into his back. “You promised,” he points out, setting his hands on Kris’s sides to steady himself.
“Shh,” Kris replies, laughing. He can tell that Lu Han has already achieved his goal. Kris is too tall, his hips too square as he pushes Lu Han towards the exit. Kris is a force of nature encompassing everything Lu Han knows now and pushing Lu Han towards where he wants to be. He repeats the thought in his head like a mantra during the taxi ride back, stepping clumsily out and letting Kris help him into the building.
He lets Kris guide him up the elevator and into his condo, Kris maneuvering Lu Han through his living room. Kris disappears after pushing Lu Han down on his bed, returning with a glass of water and the journal. In the darkness of the room, Lu Han reaches for Kris, and Kris reciprocates.
Lu Han is too tired for explanations. The moonlight paints a crescent shape through his casement window. It’s enough light for Lu Han to open the journal and cross off:
96. Eat through all the food carts on a street
97. Take an embarrassing photo at a public place
98. Go clubbing and leave after 1 song
99. Get to know Kris
“Do you think I accomplished number 99?” Lu Han asks, tugging at Kris’s arm until Kris sits down. They are close enough for Kris to feel the hurried beat of Lu Han’s heart. Lu Han is tense with uncertainty, the irresolution eating at his nerves. Kris does not lean into him, but he doesn’t pull away either.
“What do you think?” Kris asks, a hint of something else in his voice. He’s close enough for Lu Han to smell the wind in his hair and the approaching summer on his skin. Even in the darkness, Kris is the picture of acceptance-so much that the unfairness is painful. Kris sighs when Lu Han’s fingers dance on his wrist, bringing his hands to cup Lu Han’s cheeks.
“I think,” Lu Han breathes out. “I think that I’m hopelessly attracted to you, but it’s too dangerous. It’s unfair because I think, maybe, that you want me too.”
“I do,” Kris says, looking lost for once. Lu Han is unsure if he detects an insurmountable level of sadness in Kris’s voice, or if he’s once again projecting. “But I can’t be the only thing for you to cling onto.”
Lu Han fears that this is true. He doesn’t know where he is or where his dreams end and where the world begins. Attachment is the great fabricator of illusions, and Kris is simply an ideal for Lu Han to hold onto. There exists an infinite chasm that only Lu Han can cross and endure. Kris can lead Lu Han there, but he cannot jump.
Lu Han closes his eyes and tries to breath in the scent of Kris. “If you’re a foil to me,” Lu Han says, his voice barely a whisper. “Then what are you like without me? Who are you when I’m not around?”
Kris’s fingers are ghostly on Lu Han’s skin. He presses his forehead against Lu Han’s. “What about you, Lu Han? Who are you without Zhang Yixing? Where do you go when you’re trying to hide?”
Lu Han already knows the answer. He is an expert at sadness, immersing himself in it and drowning. Lu Han is a prism through which sadness can be divided into its infinite spectrum. Some days Lu Han feels the need to tear out his own tenderness. Some days he simply feels like he doesn’t exist.
Even so, Lu Han cannot give up. Resignation is what kills people. It makes them feel weightless behind the wheel of their car, driving into a daunting cloud of loneliness and uncertainty.
Lu Han would do anything to be grounded again.
Lu Han’s first solo concert sells out in a day. A small portion of the tickets are reserved for company executives, friends, family, and radio shows holding raffles. The day Lu Han gives away his last ticket, he checks number 100 off the list.
There are so many things I want to tell you in person says the note that Lu Han attaches with the plane tickets. He only hopes that somehow, somewhere, Yixing misses him too.
The sound engineer and lighting crew are completely on point the night of the concert. There are certain moments that he remembers the most: the reverberating echo of the drums during his more upbeat tracks, the unending applause when Lu Han talks about exploring Beijing, the appreciative scream when Lu Han drags Minseok on stage, and Lu Han’s first sight of a sea of amber glowsticks during his opening number.
Lu Han also sings two new songs for the audience. The moment before he steps on stage for the second song, Lu Han catches sight of Kris backstage, his silhouette outlined in silver in the hazy realm between darkness and light. It’s the impermanence of it that frightens Lu Han-the possibility that Kris could disappear if Lu Han takes one more step.
Lu Han knows Kris cannot stay forever, yet Lu Han is anticipating the day he no longer needs Kris. And even though hope sounds like such a violation of all that he has endured, Lu Han knows he will eventually find his way home without him.
In the aftermath of the concert, Lu Han realizes that he was right about one thing. The windstorms brought Kris and took him away just as easily.
“It’s not because he didn’t care about you,” Minseok explains. “His contract was up. Also, I think he needed you to stand without him.”
One flower does not make the summer come faster. Similarly, one day or brief period of happiness does not make a person entirely happy. When all is said and done, Lu Han still listens to the windstorm outside and remembers when everything sounded hollow. Lu Han doesn’t know how to reach Kris or how to catch up with him, but Lu Han is trying his best to communicate that he can be well without him. Start by doing what is necessary, he thinks. Then do what is possible. Then Lu Han will contemplate the impossible.
Someday, they’ll run into each other again, Lu Han knows it. Maybe Lu Han will be older or smarter or just plain better. If that happens, that’s when Lu Han will deserve Kris.
It is spring again before Lu Han seriously entertains the thought. He braves eight flights of stairs after finding the elevator under maintenance and slowly makes the way to his door after greeting his new neighbors. The couple’s seven year old daughter is a piano prodigy, gracing the entire floor with recitals at odd hours of the day as Lu Han wakes to the gentle melodies of Debussy in the mornings while tea steeps in his coffee maker.
Lu Han contemplates getting piano lessons again as he pushes his door open. A four day interview round in Shanghai is enough to make him miss the newly wax floors and his sandalwood air freshener. He moves his carry-on suitcase into the hall, flicking the lights on in time for someone to pop confetti all over his head.
“What,” Lu Han says dumbly, pulling streamers off his nose as Sehun beams at him.
“Happy Birthday, Hyung!”
“Happy Birthday!” Song Qian and Minseok cheer, stepping out from behind the furniture while Liyin laughs at him. Lu Han’s make up artist is there as well, along with his new publicist, and a few friends he had caught up with at an impromptu college reunion last month.
Lu Han stares between Minseok and his driver. He shakes bangs out of his eyes and remembers how they parted ways in the garage not ten minutes ago. Song Qian is giggling while Sehun looks incredibly proud of himself. “How-”
“I hope you enjoyed the exercise,” Jongdae says, holding up a familiar maintenance sign. He laughs when Lu Han doesn’t reply, coming over to set a party hat over Lu Han’s unwashed hair. “Say something!”
“My birthday is in two days,” Lu Han replies, glancing at the calendar covered under layers of haphazardly draped tissue paper. He stares from the spiral hangings on the ceiling to the banner that bares Jongdae’s signature artwork.
“We can celebrate your existence any day of the year,” Song Qian explains, wearing party streamers in her hair. She looks particularly gleeful before adding, “Although we’ll probably be spending your birthday together regardless.”
Lu Han remembers the 14th annual Young Phoenix’s festival. It explains why three of its poster children are here in his living room, but that doesn’t dampen Lu Han’s mood the slightest.
“You tricked me!” Lu Han says to Minseok, splitting into a smile when Minseok grins guiltily. They had spent the last 3 hours on a plane, Minseok drilling Lu Han about everything but his upcoming birthday. “And you let Jongdae in here unsupervised, oh god.”
He’s cut off when Sehun reemerges with a birthday cake. Lu Han buries his face in his hands when everyone begins to sing, Sehun laughing so loudly that he accidentally blows out three candles.
“Quick, make a wish before they’re all out!” Jongdae insists.
“Wish that Kim Jongdae’s head deflates this year,” Sehun counters.
Lu Han laughs, blowing out the candles to scattered applause. He thinks about everything that has happened in the last year: the completion of his first concert tour, the release of his second album, visiting Europe, being able to attend his driver’s wedding, a weekend with his parents that wasn’t spent in complete misery, and the resolution he has reached with Yixing. His last birthday seems like another lifetime ago.
They devour the cake while Jongdae appears from the kitchen with a selection of dubious drinks. Lu Han refuses the concoctions until Song Qian sticks a cube of cheese in his mouth and tells him to man up. A few minutes later, Liyin asks about the song he’s allegedly spent two years writing for her.
“It’ll be on my next album, I promise!” Lu Han grins when Liyin tsks knowingly at him.
When he thanks her for coming, she calls him silly and thanks him for letting her eat his cake.
His publicist gives them a small lecture about hiding spare keys but then proceeds to take photos of all the guests. Lu Han laughs and tells her to take it easy on his birthday, gracefully ignoring the way his ex-classmate is admiring Liyin in a corner.
“It’s not your birthday yet,” Minseok reminds him, doing him the great favor of ending all the business talk. “What did you wish for?”
“That you would take more vacations,” Lu Han says, chuckling when Minseok gives him a light shove. He gets distracted when Sehun and Jongdae drag him off to rate who has superior gift wrapping skills.
Later, after the guests leave and Lu Han finishes going through the presents, he puts down the Manchester United poster from his make up artist and picks up Minseok’s nondescript envelope.
Inside is a local news clipping about the opening of a mental wellness clinic. Also attached is a photo of the staff facing away from the camera and greeting reporters at the opening reception. The caption under the photograph cites Wu Yifan as the owner and director, but Lu Han can recognize the width of those shoulders anywhere.
Lu Han finds the building easily. The receptionist is busy answering phone calls when he walks in, so Lu Han wanders around the waiting area, examining plaques and certificates. His eyes fall on a particularly recent diploma. He hasn’t planned beyond this, hasn’t considered what to say or how to even broach the subject of his appearance.
“I don’t think being sighted here is good for your image,” a familiar voice says as someone appears next to him.
Lu Han smiles to himself. “I have an excellent new publicist. She can save me from anything.”
Kris hums. “That sounds like a hard task.”
“There are no hard or easy tasks,” Lu Han explains, turning to Kris. “Only things you can or cannot do. The secret is that you can do anything you want, just not everything.”
Kris smiles at him. His hair is darker now, falling just above his eyes as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “That’s very wise of you.”
Lu Han grins. “I should say the same thing, Doctor Wu.”
“That sounds odd coming from you,” Kris admits, ducking a little when Lu Han looks at him. Lu Han thinks he looks different now-more humble, but also more confident. Lu Han knows it was very fortunate for them to have met when they did. Kris was the closest thing to a doctor at the time, but Lu Han never would have accepted help from one.
“Say,” Kris adds. “Do you know what you want now?”
Lu Han considers this.
He met Kris at a very chaotic time in his life. Even though he is still in the process of shedding his second skin, Lu Han wants to fall in love with Kris again.
This time, with more certainty.
fin
postscripts:
[1] I think the hardest part is admitting that you need help, because things get easier after that. Not easy, just easier. People are not built to be unhappy, I promise. In revisiting this fic, I would've written more about Lu Han's recovery process in that one year gap: the medication, the therapy, etc.
[2] I left the resolution with Yixing intentionally vague. You can decide whether Lu Han and Yixing gets a happy or realistic ending to their friendship.
[3] Thank you thank you thank you to my lovely meta parametre, who saves me from typo induced public disgrace again and again. Also ♥ to Big Bird Unnie for helping me workshop the fic while I clawed at my face over Kris's characterization. Also! ♥♥♥ to Writer Crush-chan for her lovely feedback
[4] I originally wanted to write Lu Han as an unreliable narrator, but things kind of just spiraled down after that. The original story wasn't meant to be this long or sad :(! I was also concerned about contributing to the healing cock syndrome, which caused me to agonize over the ending for days. Hopefully, everything worked out. Ty for reading!! The title is named after Eventually by Clara C.
♥ Want to talk EXO? Meta? EXO Meta?? Talk to me on twitter!
Love it? Hate it? Please leave some feedback, even if it may be a little late. You can also join the community, since I'll be locking up NC17 fics.
Fandom: EXO, Victoria
Author: chiharu
Characters/pairing: Kris/Lu Han
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~11k
Summary: After a public accident, national sweetheart Lu Han is forced to deal with professional interventionist Kris Wu. AU.
trigger warning for depression
Lu Han’s hospital stay only lasts three days, by which point the pile of get-well gifts and flowers warrants Minseok making three trips to transport them out of the building. Lu Han is chatting with his nurse and flexing his ankle when Minseok finally comes to pick him up.
“Did they want to run more tests?” Minseok asks as they take the private elevator to the lobby, where fans will no doubt be waiting with cameras and more gifts.
Lu Han plays with his hospital bracelet, running a finger along the frayed edges. Yesterday, he spent an hour playing with the toddler in the next ward, letting her draw sunflowers and bees on his bracelet while Lu Han waited for his endless round of x-rays.
“No,” Lu Han says when the elevator chimes, signaling their arrival. He smiles sheepishly at Minseok. “She wanted an autograph.”
Minseok and the security team manage to part a path through the sea of admirers, but that doesn’t stop Lu Han from losing his baseball cap in the tug of war from the lobby to the car. Minseok slides into the seat next to Lu Han’s, his trusty tablet out before their driver even pulls out of the hospital parking lot. “I’ve canceled all of your appearances for the next few days. Your commercial shoot is getting pushed to next week, and you’ll no longer be appearing at the Young Phoenix’s 13th Festival.”
Lu Han makes a face while patting his jeans. As always, it takes him a minute to remember that most of his electronics are sitting in a landfill somewhere, along with the towed remains of his BMW. “I can’t miss that festival,” he says. “I was discovered at that festival. I’m the poster boy for it.”
Minseok is quiet for a moment. This temporary inaction causes the screen of his tablet to go into power saving mode. It’s not until Minseok turns his tablet over completely- a sure sign that he’s about to say something monumental or simply exasperating-that he replies. “Not everyone can walk out of an accident like that without a scratch, Lu Han. You miraculously surviving one crash doesn’t make you unbreakable.”
I know, Lu Han wants to say. Minseok’s expression suggests that he already knows, so Lu Han remains silent, watching infrastructures fly by outside of his window. Beijing is windy and dry in the spring, with sandstorms attacking Lu Han’s hair at the most inopportune of times. He wonders if anyone went by his condo to close the windows and water his cactus, but it doesn’t matter. Lu Han was in the hospital for three days, but the world has continued to revolve without him, coating his windowsill with a fine layer of dust. There are still dirty dishes in the sink, a Jin Yong novel he’s been absently scanning lying on the kitchen counter, and an opened bag of wangwang xiao mantou he’s been nibbling through sitting on the table.
Also present is someone he’s never seen before, rising from his seat on Lu Han’s sofa to greet them.
“This is Kris,” Minseok says evenly. “He’s going to look after you.”
Kris doesn’t look like a bodyguard. His chin is too sharp and his features are too impressionable, like the actors Lu Han always gets coerced into taking photos with at award ceremonies. Lu Han looks at Minseok, who nods back at their visitor.
“I’m a life coach and professional interventionist,” Kris supplies.
“Is this a joke?” Lu Han wants to know. When Minseok doesn’t reply, Lu Han frowns and takes in Kris again. Kris gives off the impression that he knows a lot-almost too much. It reminds Lu Han of the nurse who had tested his blood for alcohol content. Even worse than the x-rays had been Minseok’s silence when Lu Han’s blood work came back to be absolutely normal.
Lu Han hadn’t deigned Minseok’s concern with an explanation at the hospital, but standing here now, he feels the need to say something. “I wasn’t drunk,” he says, "but I didn’t crash that car on purpose.”
I didn’t try to kill myself.
Kris is in the car when Minseok picks Lu Han up a week later. He’s impeccably dressed, watching silently as Lu Han fumbles with the seat belt while Minseok briefs them from the passenger seat. There is something unsettling about Kris. Lu Han is used to being observed and analyzed behind his back, but it’s a counterfeit sort of exchange that he can turn a blind eye to. Kris, on the other hand, is too tall and too handsome to ignore.
“I know what to say,” Lu Han cuts in when Minseok starts citing the amount of fan gifts he has received since the accident, the number of wreaths delivered to their company, and the influx of messages on his weibo. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”
Lu Han grins when Minseok sighs, asking if Lu Han has eaten. He accepts a cereal bar from Minseok after admitting to rolling out of bed ten minutes prior. Lu Han rips through the wrapper before remembering Minseok’s tendency to pick the blandest flavors. He breaks the bar in half and offers it to Kris, who hesitates.
“You don’t have to eat it,” Lu Han sighs. “I may have poisoned it deftly to kill myself. Better not risk it.”
“This isn’t a joke, Lu Han,” Kris says.
Lu Han wants to tell Kris that he sounds like a broken record, but after the awkward confrontation days ago, Lu Han knows he’s out of tricks. It’s impossible to accept Kris-not when he’s entering Lu Han’s life with the mindset that something is wrong with him. Lu Han knows there are battles he cannot win, words he cannot say, and songs he cannot sing. Minseok, who had unfortunately taken Lu Han’s exasperation as acceptance, had assigned Kris to glorified babysitting duty for the next few months.
“Are you really going to follow me everywhere?” Lu Han asks, chewing idly through cardboard tasting fiber.
“I can’t help you unless I get to know you,” Kris recites unconvincingly.
Lu Han leans forward, grabbing the back of Minseok’s seat. “Where did you find this guy and how much are you paying him to babysit me?”
Minseok pushes Lu Han’s head back. “Just behave. Please.”
Lu Han makes a face at Kris, who doesn’t respond. “He’s just being mean,” Lu Han mouths to their driver. “I always behave.”
Lu Han’s interview goes well. He spends five minutes thanking fans for their support and apologizes for causing them concern. When the interviewer asks if Lu Han has considered becoming the spokesperson for the national safe driving campaign on top of his day gig, Lu Han just laughs.
“Maybe after my next album,” Lu Han says.
“And when is that coming out?”
Lu Han smiles faintly at her. “It’s a secret.”
Later, en route to his commercial shoot, Lu Han asks Minseok if his BMW has been recovered.
“No,” Minseok replies, looking guilty. “I don’t think it’s salvageable.” He doesn’t say that the rescue squad had completely cut through a door to pull an unconscious Lu Han out, but Lu Han already knows. At least, he thinks, the press hasn’t published photos of him in the ambulance.
Next to Lu Han, Kris seems to be taking notes on his ipad.
“Instead of observing me, why don’t you ask me whatever you want to know?” Lu Han says, feeling inadequate without a replacement phone. Kris, with his perfect hair, seems like a good target.
Kris raises an eyebrow. “What do you want me to know?” Coming from him, even simple questions sound political. The strange way Kris pronounces his vowels and his constant mix up of participles make his words seem insincere and ill rehearsed.
Lu Han hums, leaning one elbow against the car door. “My favorite season is autumn, I have three ipods, I speak Korean pretty fluently, my alarm clock is currently set to a song by J.J.Lin, and I’m trying to get through Diablo3 on nightmare mode.”
“I already know those things,” Kris replies, looking at Lu Han.
Lu Han frowns at the knowledge that Kris has been researching him. “Perhaps you should take the Lu Han trivia quiz in Elle Girl. Fans with high scores are entered in a lottery for a VIP pass to my autograph signing!”
“Lu Han,” Minseok warns.
Lu Han gives him a peace sign and plugs his earphones in, signaling the beginning of another silent ride. Kris doesn’t shift next to him, busy typing into his ipad again. Lu Han wonders what Kris could possibly gauge from these facts-snippets of information that belong more to his fans than to himself. They peel off him like a second skin, discarded as soon as the facts leave his mouth.
Kris is still around by the time Lu Han finishes shooting for a popular orange juice brand. Lu Han pats his chaotically curled hair, rubbing his thumb at the make up caked on his neck. None of it comes off. Kris watches all of this while Minseok crosses things off their schedule. The sky outside is impossibly dark when Lu Han finds his ipod on the backseat, completely out of battery.
“You forgot to turn it off,” Kris explains, sitting again in the seat next to him.
Lu Han blinks. “Why didn’t you do it if you noticed?”
“Did you want me to turn it off for you?” Kris asks slowly, gazing at him intently. “The key to understanding each other is to communicate what you want.”
Lu Han stares incredulously at him until Minseok waves his own ipod absently from the passenger seat. “Right now, I kind of want to kick you,” Lu Han mumbles while unraveling Minseok’s earphones. He thinks about curling irons and impossibly thin co-stars on the ride back, Minseok’s playlist of indie Korean pop sufficiently distracting until the driver pulls into his parking garage.
Lu Han gives them a wave before climbing out and heading towards the garage elevator. At home, he tries to shower off the aches in his body that have been persisting since his accident. Phantom pain, really, for the impact he never felt. Lu Han curls his fingers into the surface of his mirror, streaks of clarity disappearing quickly in the humidity. He fishes out his toner and tries to wipe away any hint of imbalance in his skin, frowning at the residual foundation picked up by the cotton pad.
His hair is the picture of effortlessness the next morning, but that doesn’t stop his make up artist from moving it aside as she applies the perfect shade of bronzer to his forehead. In the corner, Kris and Minseok are talking while holding matching cups of coffee. When Lu Han waddles over, Minseok hands him tea instead.
“Your glycemic index will go through the roof otherwise,” Minseok says, excusing himself to answer a call. Thankfully, the tea is a generic blend of green tea and acai berries, spreading warmth through Lu Han’s fingers as he looks around the unheated studio.
“What is your favorite thing about photoshoots?” Kris asks.
Lu Han already knows the answer to this. “The versatility and the comfort of knowing I can be whoever I want, if only for a few hours.”
“You can already be whoever you want,” Kris says.
“I am whoever you want me to be.” Lu Han smiles, hair falling into his left eye and tickling his nose.
Kris considers this, and Lu Han notices the pause Kris inserts before every sentence, like he’s re-phrasing lines in his head. “That’s not the same thing,” Kris says at last.
Minseok returns before Lu Han can reply, and Lu Han is whisked away by the photographer to discuss concepts. After years in the industry, Lu Han knows the right degree to turn his head, the right amount of emotion to convey to the camera, and the right balance of vulnerability and dominance to portray. He’s lost track of the number of identities he has adopted, stacks of magazines and photoshoots he hasn’t bothered to revisit now collecting dust in his storage room.
It’s not until Lu Han changes back into his hoodie that Minseok mentions Sehun. “He’s in town again and asked to get dinner with you. I told him yes.”
Lu Han links arms with Minseok, getting a whiff of Minseok’s shampoo as they walk out of the building. “You always know what I want.”
“I can only try, Lu Han.”
To Lu Han’s distaste, Kris also tags along to the noodle house. Kris listens as Sehun apologizes for not catching an earlier flight back, fresh out of another tour with his dance company. Kris doesn’t argue when Lu Han introduces him as his new publicist and watches silently as Sehun stacks souvenirs for Lu Han on the table. Kris contributes very little to the conversation, looking out of place in his dress shirt and nice pants as Lu Han and Sehun devour their regular orders of zhajiangmian.
When Kris goes to the bathroom, presumably to fix his hair, Lu Han convinces Sehun to sneak out of the restaurant with him. He leaves a wad of cash on the table before hurrying Sehun out. They weave through the streets, getting bubble tea from their favorite stand while recalling old memories.
Kris is at Lu Han’s condo when he returns, perched on the kitchen counter as he scrolls through baidu. “Did you enjoy your date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Lu Han says.
Kris points to the fan photos already surfacing on the internet. “That’s not what your baidu bar thinks.”
The circular irony is what strikes Lu Han the most: Kris acknowledging a blatant invasion of Lu Han’s privacy while simultaneously invading Lu Han’s personal space as well. Lu Han peers over Kris’s shoulder, catching a photo of himself looking directly into the camera. “And what do you think of it?”
“What do you think, Lu Han?”
“I think you should stop breaking into my home,” Lu Han replies, snatching the spare key off the counter and pocketing it. He gives Kris a wry smile. “Someone should reevaluate their trespassing tendencies. You can’t save me from myself if you’re in jail.”
Kris smiles indulgently. “Are you going to report me?”
“I already reported sighting a criminally tall person. Save yourself before the police arrive.” Lu Han turns Kris’s ipad over and gestures towards the door.
Jongdae comes to visit two days before they’re both scheduled to perform at the CCTV music festival. Lu Han attempts to clean his condo while ignoring Kris’s existence, but that doesn’t stop him from hurriedly stuffing a rag under the sink when Jongdae rings the doorbell. Jongdae is none the wiser, happily inhaling the quail eggs and left over congee Lu Han feeds him while sneaking curious glances at Kris.
“He’s my new publicist,” Lu Han explains in Korean.
Jongdae blinks. “Oh, is he good?”
Lu Han looks at Kris, who is reading a book. “He’s really annoying.”
“I understood that,” Kris says, his tone neither accusatory nor amused. He doesn’t move when Lu Han and Jongdae burst into laughter. Nor does he interrupt again as Jongdae explains his new single in great detail and talks about the MBC co-host who spent all broadcast flirting with him.
Later, after Jongdae’s manager picks him up, Lu Han turns to Kris. “I didn’t know you spoke Korean.”
Kris closes his book. “You never asked.” Kris’s matter-of-factness irks Lu Han, but what bothers him the most is the surety Kris emits and his lack of embarrassment at being the first to stand up in greeting and the last to sit.
Lu Han pauses. “If I ask, will you answer truthfully?”
Kris is silent for a moment before replying, “Yes.”
“Do you think you can fix me?” The words are out before he considers the weight of his question.
“For me to fix you, I’d have to identify something that’s broken first.”
“Isn’t that your job? To analyze my flaws?”
Kris puts his book down, looking pensive. “In this learning process, we assume from the start that as long as you’re breathing, there is more right with you than there is wrong, no matter how ill or hopeless you may feel.”
Lu Han does not feel hopeless. His job is to sell a desire, a fantasy crafted around who he is and who he could be. It is not a game. It is a way of life. Yixing once said that if Lu Han pretended to be someone long enough, he would soon turn into that person. Lu Han has always wished that he could be someone else.
Lu Han turns it into a game, countering Kris’s questions with rhetorical ones of his own. He’s engaging Kris is an unending discussion of karma when Minseok calls them into the conference room, where justice is dealt in probing questions about Lu Han’ musical direction and the status of his next album. He’s no longer interested in Kris when they leave the company building, occupied with playing a game of fruit ninja on his new phone while Minseok tries to pry information out of him.
“The songs are coming along,” Lu Han says when he accidentally slices a bomb.
“Lu Han,” Minseok begins to say, but stops when Lu Han sets his phone down.
“You told me that as long as I continue singing, you’d keep supporting me.”
Minseok is quiet, perhaps shocked by the sudden revival of an old memory. Lu Han feels like a time traveler, transported to an era that he has long since stopped revisiting-back when the only departure from normalcy had been the impromptu karaoke sessions Lu Han instated in the middle of essays and grammar homework, the three of them huddled over one table as they checked the bus schedule off campus. No matter how long it took to coerce Minseok into skipping his business group meetings, Lu Han always made up for lost time with Yixing. Lu Han wishes that they grew more alike instead of growing to resent each other.
The fansigning in Chaoyang is chaotic and disorganized, with girls squeezing into the tiny enclosed area while security tries to hold them back in some semblance of order. When someone trips and falls out of line near the meet and greet table, Kris is the one who steadies her and helps her back in line. Minseok shoots Kris a grateful smile, occupied with keeping the next round of girls in check. Lu Han laughs and waves at Kris, causing a dozen cameras to zone in on Kris.
“Lu Han ge,” one of his braver fans asks while sliding her CD towards him. “Who is that handsome gege over there?”
Lu Han scribbles something down and smiles at her. “That’s my new publicist. Please be nice to him.” Lu Han is pretty sure she’s the one who made those baidu bars for his previous manager and the temporary driver who rescued Lu Han from a mob in Shanghai. That doesn’t stop him from showing Kris the new bar affiliated with Lu Han’s bar later, laughing when Kris makes a disdained face.
“Why did you encourage her?” Kris asks, pressing nonexistent creases out of his shirt.
“Because I could,” Lu Han replies instinctively. The recklessness in him grows the longer he spends with Kris, the desire to say things metallic on his tongue. Kris, for all of his strangeness and intrusiveness, feels trustworthy. They hold a staring contest until Minseok reminds Lu Han of his early flight to Shandong next morning.
“The company photographer canceled at the last minute,” Minseok adds, handing an envelope to Kris. “You can take her spot if you want.”
Kris accepts the ticket silently.
Lu Han’s driver doesn’t pick Kris up the next day, but they do find Kris at gate 34A, looking uncharacteristically disheveled as he digs through his bag. When Kris drops his passport, Lu Han picks it up and examines the cover. “Canada, huh?” He pauses when Kris snatches it back. “All this time you were a foreigner.”
“I’m a Canadian citizen,” Kris corrects him. “But I was born in China, and here I am speaking the national language of China with you.”
Lu Han hums as they begin boarding. “All this time you’ve been keeping lies from me. Maybe I should be researching you instead. Minseok, are you sure we can trust him?”
“He signed nondisclosure forms in both Chinese and English,” Minseok replies, completely missing the joke and nudging Lu Han into the gate. They’re led into first class, where Lu Han shares a row with Kris while Minseok takes the seat across the aisle. Lu Han knows there is a line he cannot cross. Learning more about Kris would only give him the right to probe more into Lu Han as well.
“I like flying,” Lu Han tells Kris after the plane takes off. He’s not sure what instigated this discussion, but when Kris gives him an interested look, Lu Han continues. “In North America, you can travel through time zones. I once flew from California to New York. It was literally a race against time.” What happened to the Lu Han that disappeared in those lost hours? Sometimes Lu Han wonders if he left behind a piece of himself on a different continent.
“I like flying too,” Kris replies unexpectedly. “It’s nice to entertain the idea of going far away, even while traveling short distances.” His legs are casually folded in while Lu Han’s are stretched out lazily in front of him.
Lu Han is unsure if he’s projecting his own feelings, or if Kris can read him.
“I traveled a lot as a child,” Kris explains when Lu Han doesn’t reply.
Lu Han looks out of his window, watching the land below take on odd shapes in its topography. “I didn’t. All I wanted was to get out of Beijing.” He had gotten his wish-performing in Malaysia, selca-ing next to the esplanade in Singapore, and trading stories with hosts in Taipei. The irony is that the return flights always take him back to Beijing. Any form is escape is simply temporary. Even planes cannot stay in the air forever.
In Shandong, fans hand him gifts at the airport. Lu Han accepts them until his arms are completely full. Minseok, wheeling their luggage in a cart, gives him a hopeless shrug until Kris goes to retrieve the abandoned Abercrombie bags from a frantically waving girl.
“Do you know what she told me back there?” Kris asks, climbing into the van and gracefully ignoring the screeching outside.
“That you’re handsome?” Lu Han suggests, setting the gifts by his feet as Minseok goes around the van, closing the door and squeezing into the passenger seat.
“No. She asked me to please take care of you.”
Lu Han doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“You’re really loved,” Kris adds.
“You’re embarrassing,” Lu Han tells him, turning away.
Song Qian’s co-host is a local rising star, leggy and impossibly quiet. Lu Han pegs him as a total rookie when he stumbles onto Tao memorizing his MC cards backstage. Lu Han had wondered who those extra banners outside were for.
“Tao’s debut album came out last month,” Song Qian explains on stage to a cheering crowd. Song Qian, too, has gotten thinner since the award ceremony in Changsha, but it would probably be taken as a compliment if Lu Han said so on camera. The crowd roars again when Song Qian addresses him.
“Of course I’ve heard about the Wu Shu Prince,” Lu Han laughs, remembering the memo Minseok had tucked under Lu Han’s arm on the plane. He complies when Song Qian suggests that Tao teaches him a few moves, “Ohh”-ing and “Aah”-ing when Tao demonstrates a kick up.
“Are you sure you can do it?” Tao asks when Lu Han tries to mimic the move. His disbelief only makes Lu Han laugh more.
“My manager told me not to lie down in foreign places,” Lu Han replies, giving the camera a thumbs up before kicking his legs in an arc. He lands somewhat successfully to general applause. Off camera, Minseok is laughing while Kris looks amused.
In the next segment, the directors surprise an unsuspecting fan by bringing her on stage to hug Lu Han. She looks completely overwhelmed, hiding behind Song Qian until Song Qian suggests that she hugs Tao too. “Two birds with one stone, right? You only live once.”
When Tao pulls the fan into a half-hearted hug, Lu Han pouts. He walks off stage as the cameraman follows. “You guys set me up! Oi, Huang Zitao. I’m going to steal one of your fans too.” The audience screeches when Lu Han stops in front of a smaller segment of girls holding leopard print banners. He’s tugged back on stage by a laughing Song Qian. The recording ends with Lu Han singing an upbeat track to alarmingly coordinated fanchants.
After the crew starts moving about, Lu Han corners Tao and asks him to dinner.
Tao looks like he wants to flee, but Song Qian is already waving at them. At the restaurant, Tao stays quiet while Lu Han and Minseok order, speaking up only when Kris asks him to pass the service napkin. When Kris admits to have practiced Wu Shu before, Tao starts a hushed conversation with him while Lu Han tries to steal all the mantou from Minseok’s plate. Lu Han notices the way Kris and Tao press their heads together in alarming symmetry, the scent of Kris’s pretentious cologne lingering even from a distance.
Lu Han chats with Song Qian about her radio show, asking when she plans to invite him on. When she replies with “when your next album comes out,” Lu Han promises to dedicate a song to her on it.
“Jie,” Tao cuts in, his voice soft. “I will write one for you too.”
“Please don’t, either of you,” Song Qian laughs. She turns to Lu Han, grinning. “What about that ballad you were composing for Zhang Liyin? I’m sure someone, somewhere, is still waiting for that.”
Lu Han squeezes himself between Kris and Tao, effectively ending the conversation when Kris offers Lu Han his seat. They spend the rest of dinner discussing Tao’s newfound stardom, Lu Han giving him advice on handling overzealous fans. They trade numbers. Lu Han takes a selca of them and uploads it on weibo before the waiters even clear their table.
“Take care of yourself,” Song Qian says before climbing into her taxi.
Lu Han gives her a happy nod, waving until he spots his own ride. “What did you and Huang Zitao talk about?” He asks Kris on the ride to their hotel.
Kris looks at him. “He wanted to know if you’re always this friendly.”
Lu Han hasn’t always injected himself into inside jokes and situations. Being disarming is a carefully crafted art, one that won Lu Han the title of “National Sweetheart” from countless magazines. It works to his advantage to look naive. The trick to being perceptive is to not act like it. As a child, Lu Han always knew when to come home to an empty house and when to leave. As an adult, the masquerade only gets more complicated.
Lu Han takes the entire third week of April off and orders his management team to take a break. He buys Minseok roundtrip tickets to Korea and gives his driver a bonus. Lu Han tells his company that he’s visiting family in Haidian and disappears before they can interrogate him.
What Lu Han really does is stay at home and watch Taiwanese dramas. He reads through his manga collection and washes his bed sheets three times. Lu Han makes sure to flip over every clock in his condo while traveling to and from the laundry room, dreading each passing day as it approaches the 20th. That’s how Kris finds Lu Han on his birthday, sitting by himself with a cake. His collection of overlarge Beijing Olympic mascots occupy the other seats as Lu Han looks up.
“This is the second time you’ve broken in,” Lu Han says, taking a bite of his custom ordered cake. “What do you need?”
Kris looks around before moving towards Lu Han. “I meant to pick up the book I left here.” He frowns, setting the extra key down. Lu Han really should have moved it, but he hadn’t expected Kris to keep checking the original hiding spot. “You’re supposed to be in Haidian.”
No matter how Lu Han looks at it, there’s no way to explain his adverse precautions against disappointment. It seems almost comical for him to be without friends and family while fans celebrate his birthday elsewhere. “I clearly did not go,” Lu Han says, rolling a strawberry idly around his plate. “Do you want cake?”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Kris asks quietly.
Lu Han doesn’t know what Kris is referring too-that Lu Han never planned to go in the first place, that he’s incapable of lighting candles without dripping wax all over the table, or that being lonely is easier when it feels like a choice.
“Why did you send Minseok away, Lu Han?” Kris presses.
Being a year older should give Lu Han a free pass at honesty. But, like everything, the urge to tell the truth dies in his throat. Lu Han can’t let Minseok know how he pathetic he is. Minseok is his only friend.
Kris’s expression is painfully understanding. “What about your other friends? Oh Sehun? Song Qian or-”
“I’ll cut you some cake,” Lu Han decides.
He’s already sliding a large piece onto a plate when Kris says, “I can’t be your friend, Lu Han.”
Lu Han temporarily forgets how to breathe.
“I mean-” Kris looks conflicted. “I can be your friend, if that’s what you want, but I can’t be your only friend.”
Lu Han knows what Kris means. He has been waiting for this, almost as if Kris’s acknowledgement will be a validation. Kris always seems to know exactly what Lu Han has chosen to omit. This awareness is both reassuring and disconcerting. But Kris’s comment had spelled it out clearly. The jig is up, and they both know it.
What Kris really say is, “I’m not here to pick you apart, but I am here to help you. Whenever you’re ready to ask for help.”
Lu Han doesn’t reply, but Kris seems to understand his silence regardless.
What Lu Han fears is not what Minseok could possibly say, but how Minseok would look at him from now on. Minseok, true to his personality, does not get angry. He simply looks tired.
“I’m sorry for lying,” Lu Han says, feeling the need to compensate for something.
“Oh,” Minseok looks at him. “I’m not angry at you. Why would you think that? I wish you would tell me when you’re unhappy.”
Lu Han is only unhappy ten percent of the time. At other times, he feels beyond normal. But it’s the ten percent that is the most exhausting, taking on forms in the shadows that dance across his room at night until he is infested with overwhelming defeat. He looks away from Minseok, but Kris catches his eye instead.
Minseok seems to be gathering his own courage. “I’m doing such a bad job at managing you, Lu Han. Every day, I understand you less and less. I feel like I’m not good enough for you.”
Lu Han wants to take everything back. These days, Minseok is the only thing keeping him honest. “That’s not true. You’re the only person who hasn’t given up on me.”
“Oh, Lu Han,” Minseok says. “No one has given up on you. Just because you can’t talk to -” He stops. “You still have me, Lu Han.”
It used to be easier to pick himself up and dust off his failures. “I know,” he tells Minseok, his arms falling to the side when Minseok hugs him. Lu Han stares at his shoes because if he meets Minseok’s eye, then he really will die of self pity.
“Here,” Kris says, handing him a box wrapped in brown paper. “Happy belated birthday.”
Lu Han tears open the packaging to find a leather-bound journal. Lu Han is not ready to keep a diary; it’s too fast and too dangerous. Kris seems to sense his anxiety as he takes a seat opposite Lu Han.
“List a hundred things you’ve always wanted to do,” Kris tells him. “Things that have been on your mind, things you’ve been putting off, or things that always seemed impossible. We’ll review it together and check off every item.”
Lu Han fills it with simple tasks at first: rewashing his sheets, sending belated Thank You cards, and watering his cactus. He checks off a dozen items or so, a sense of accomplishment coupling with this productivity. Kris doesn’t comment on the significance of the tasks when he reviews them. He simply nods until he comes across an unchecked page.
Lu Han is preparing for an interview when Kris takes a seat in the empty chair next to him. He has, no doubt, been skimming through Lu Han’s lists again. “What do you plan to do after you finish reading that novel?” He hands the journal over when Lu Han makes a grabbing motion at it.
After the interview, when the crew has wrapped up and Minseok is making small talk with the project director, Lu Han returns the journal. He watches as Kris reads the new items. “Rent a bike, see the pandas at the zoo, dress up in the forbidden city, go boating at the summer palace- these are all touristy things.”
“I’ve never been a tourist in Beijing before,” Lu Han tells him honestly.
Kris gives him a long and measuring look, but Lu Han doesn’t falter. He knows for a fact that Kris came into this agreement with the promise of non-judgment. It’s the only thing Lu Han can count on these days. “Okay,” Kris says, a small smile on his face. “We can do all of that.”
Minseok doesn’t question their plans. He accommodates Lu Han’s schedule to the best of his abilities, rearranging appearances and clearing Lu Han’s evenings. Sometimes, Minseok’s kindness is what cripples Lu Han the most.
Lu Han doesn’t ask, but Kris follows him anyway as they wander through the masses at night, crossing smaller items off the list. Lu Han orders the weirdest tasting dessert at Starbucks, watches a foreign movie without subtitles at the theater, and buys a dozen bottle openers in the shape of a lianpu. They watch the flag lowering ceremony at Tiananmen Square as tourists swarm around them.
In the mornings, they go to the park and watch people practice taichi, the morning radio blasting through the square as Lu Han listens to elderly chatter. Later, they sit on a sloped patch of grass while eating the youtiao Lu Han picked up from a street cart.
“I came here once, in elementary school,” Lu Han says when a field trip group meanders past them, dressed in identical uniforms and donning red handkerchiefs. “I was angry with my father, so I skipped school and came here.” He had thought someone would come find him, but the day had ended with Lu Han walking home by himself.
“Was your father worried?” Kris asks.
Lu Han laughs. “No, he was really angry.”
Kris puts one hand on Lu Han’s shoulder. If Kris notices the flinch, he makes no mention of it. “People can be angry and sad at the same time, Lu Han. Emotions are not mutually exclusive.”
Lu Han doesn’t know if this is true. Feelings may be fleeting, but sadness always wins. It is always there when he wakes up, beckoning him. When he feels deeply about it, it almost becomes a comfort. He wants to inhale it, nurture it, cultivate it, and make it his.
“Life isn’t about winning or losing,” Kris explains when Lu Han doesn’t respond. “It’s about balance. You need to think about feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right in an atmosphere of growth. Like Minseok, I will also support you as long as you try.”
Baby steps, Lu Han thinks.
Minseok takes one look at the journal and calls upper management. He ignores Lu Han’s protest of it’s not really a pressing goal, traveling to and from meetings at the company. “Lu Han,” he says seriously. “If you want to perform at the National Indoor Stadium, then it’s my job to make that dream happen.”
“You did put it on your list,” Kris points out when Lu Han’s company begins planning a setlist, securing the venue, and arranging for a live band. Lu Han doesn’t have time to argue before he’s interviewing potential production managers and stage managers with Minseok.
“That was supposed to be one of the harder tasks,” Lu Han explains after the conference room empties. He can hear management discussing details outside, the excitement lingering in the room.
Kris smiles in a weird but genuine way. “There is no easy or difficult task, Lu Han. There are only things you can and cannot do. The secret is that you can do anything, just not everything. Minseok is only trying to make your wishes come true.”
Lu Han knows it’s true. He’s always had help-from his first manager to his vocal coach to the recruitment agent who saw potential in a language major from a liberal arts university. The support is overwhelming. It overflows.
“I heard about your solo concert!” Song Qian calls a few days later, when she’s in town for an interview. “Congratulations. I’m getting a VIP pass, right?”
Lu Han laughs. “You can even come on stage if you want.” He thinks about June approaching and adds, “Say, can I interest you in some sightseeing?”
Song Qian meets him at the Eastern Gate of the Summer Palace. Her shoes are thankfully flat as they walk through Longevity Hall and examine the sculpture of Kylin. She ignores his comment of what will your Korean boyfriend say as they selca near a group of European tourists. Later, they sit in the courtyard of the Garden of Virtue, listening to unfamiliar languages. “Sometimes it’s nice to be a nobody,” she says when he offers her a bottle of water.
Lu Han often wonders how things would be if he was still irrelevant. He carries himself with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, thinks he is important. The thought is comforting, even if it’s untrue. He tells Song Qian this much as they walk around Kunming Lake.
Song Qian stops walking and grabs onto his arm. “Don’t think that, Lu Han. Everyone likes you. They like you a lot.”
“Thank you,” he tells her seriously, to which she laughs. There’s a kind quality to her voice that draws Lu Han to her. He still remembers their first encounter- how he accidentally walked into a cameraman in nervousness and the way she beckoned him over with a half-laugh half-giggle. The Lu Han that Song Qian first met is still someone he’s trying to remember.
They part ways when her manager calls, Song Qian giving him a quick punch on the arm before dashing off. He watches her leave under a darkening sky. Lu Han can only cling to the knowledge that someone likes him. Soon, Lu Han too will start to like himself again.
Lu Han holds a round of promotional interviews in May, driven by a new level of productivity as he flies through old composition notebooks. He pulls his keyboard out of the storage room and spends an hour rampaging through his place for the AC adaptor. When Minseok finds him sprawled across the floor of the living room, craning over the rug to scribble down notes, he drags Lu Han to the music modules at the recording studio.
Kris is waiting outside when Lu Han emerges hours later, bangs plastered to his forehead. “I heard you’re composing again. Congratulations.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” Lu Han says. They travel for a few blocks into a less commercial area, Lu Han noting the setting sun as they stop over a sky bridge. The traffic below offers a white noise effect. He hands the composition notebook over, eyeing the way Kris opens the first page with his large hands. “I found these half finished songs in there. Look at the date on the third one.”
Kris nods. “You’ve been trying to finish it for two years.”
“I had the exposition all worked out,” Lu Han explains, wringing his hands on the railing and staring at the chipping paint. “The first theme contains a rising arpeggio and long leaps down. The second theme is more melodic, and the closing is transitional. It’s the development that frustrated me the most, but I got it down today.”
Kris gestures for him to continue, eyes scanning through the notes.
“It consists of upward leaps, but something draws the melody back and holds it down.” Lu Han knows why he never finished this song. It was supposed to be a duet, composed in empty classrooms as the sun set outside of the courtyard. Lu Han thinks about the music composition class that brought them all together and the days he spent doodling clefs into the margin of every notebook.
He takes a deep breath, turning to Kris. “This is a song I was writing with Zhang Yixing.”
Something in Kris’s eyes says he already knows. Nowadays, Kris knows everything about Lu Han to a frightening degree. It’s so unfair when Lu Han knows essentially nothing about Kris.
“Yixing was the person who understood me the most,” Lu Han continues, turning back to the traffic as a mob of bicyclists cut off a red sedan. “We did everything together. We lived together and breathed together. I thought we both wanted the same things, but maybe I never knew him at all.”
“Where is he now?”
Lu Han frowns. What’s important isn’t where Yixing went but who he left behind. “Three years ago, I entered a karaoke competition at the Young Phoenix festival and was discovered by an agent. Minseok offered to be my manager immediately, even though he had to graduate first and train under upper management. I thought Yixing would want to help me too. I wanted us to keep writing songs together and keep learning together.”
What unsettled Lu Han hadn’t been Yixing’s refusal, but the dichotomy between his expectations and reality. Lu Han lets go of the breath he’s been holding. “I guess he just wanted to get away from me. He went to America just to do so.”
Lu Han has been running around all this time without his right arm, collecting friends from the strangest of places and injecting himself into moments of happiness. Every moment, every smile is fleeting. Nothing Lu Han loves ever lasts.
“He didn’t leave the country because of you, Lu Han,” Kris says, voice impossibly kind as he pulls Lu Han closer. “He probably had his own aspirations and goals to pursue.”
Lu Han turns and breathes into Kris’s shoulder. The scent of Kris is strong through the fabric of his cardigan.
Lu Han knows Kris is right, but he still wants something to hold onto.
Minseok complains when Lu Han kidnaps him from a meeting with the sound crew. “The stage manager will handle it,” he says while shoving Minseok into the car. Lu Han grins as he slides into the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I gave Song Yang the day off.” When Minseok doesn’t look convinced, Lu Han adds, “I’m not going to crash into anything, I promise.” They listen to Wang Leehom on the congested freeway, Lu Han dodging all of Minseok’s questions while blabbing about food.
Minseok falls silent when they pull into the familiar, paved streets leading to the university. The tulips on campus are in full bloom when Minseok steps out. Students meander in and out of the gate, lost in a world Lu Han no longer knows or understands.
“Do you miss it?” Minseok asks as they walk around campus, catching sight of buildings and fields engraved in their memory. Lu Han thinks about the mornings they spent studying in the café nearby, their matching navy blue notebooks, and Minseok’s favorite soy milk.
Lu Han meets Minseok’s eye. “I miss who we used to be.”
“I don’t think people can change completely, Lu Han.” Minseok grabs Lu Han’s hands. “We’re not made to be unhappy. You’re not made to be unhappy. I don’t think you realize how many people you inspire just by being yourself. I’ve always, always admired you.”
To be seen fully by someone used to be Lu Han’s greatest fear, anxiety rising in his chest at the prospect of being deemed not sick enough or unhappy enough. Now the concept of being transparent and still being loved seems like the greatest gift ever given to Lu Han.
“If one day you feel like you can no longer recognize me,” Lu Han says when the urge to cry passes, “Please quit managing me and go back to being my friend.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’ve always been your friend,” Minseok replies good-naturedly.
They stay like that until a soccer ball rolls over from the adjacent field. It’s a sign, Lu Han thinks, as he picks it up. The boy who comes to retrieve it stares at him when Lu Han asks to join the game. Lu Han and Minseok are beyond rusty, but that doesn’t stop the game from culminating to an unexpected high when students gather around the field at the sight of national idol Lu Han at his alma mater.
“We beat him!” The other team cheers after scoring the winning goal. “We beat Lu Han!”
“Shut up!” The boy who passed a ball to Minseok shouts. “That doesn’t make you famous!”
Lu Han laughs so hard that Minseok has to drag him up from the grass to take photos with the spectators. They talk to a sea of admirers until Minseok is reminded of the time.
“You seem happier nowadays,” Minseok says in the car. “I’m glad Kris is helpful.”
Kris is more than just helpful, but Lu Han knows one revelation is enough for the day.
Lu Han is five items away from hitting one hundred when he presses the journal into Kris’s chest one afternoon. Billboard advertisements of his first solo concert went up in the major shopping districts yesterday, and Lu Han feels the anxiety building in his chest. Time is running out.
Kris looks at the newest items and smiles. “Okay. We can do that.”
They take the subway to Wangfujing and attempt to eat through every food cart in sight, Lu Han sticking a tanhulu into his jianbing and chewing through it. He laughs when Kris makes a face of disgust, but stops when Kris points to another baozi stand.
They go into the largest bookstore in the area and peruse the comic section. “I’ve never told anyone this,” Lu Han says, eyes cascading down the shelves. “My parents put me through college under the impression that I wanted to be a professional interpreter. If I hadn’t been discovered that day, I would probably be translating manga now.” He grins sheepishly at Kris. “Can you imagine me sitting behind a desk all day, editing scanlations and driving my editor mad by replacing panels with photos of cats?”
Kris smirks indulgently. “Somehow, I can see it.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know, Lu Han. I just wanted to be good at something. Isn’t that what we all wish for?”
“You seem like you would be good at a lot of things,” Lu Han suggests.
“I am good at a lot of things,” Kris admits, laughing when Lu Han scoffs. “But I want to help other people be good at what they love too. Maybe I just want to help them be good.”
I can be good, Lu Han thinks.
Later, Lu Han sneaks into the CD section and makes Kris take a photo of him standing next to his own promotional concert poster, shooing Kris out before anyone recognizes them.
“I used to hate coming here in fear of running into my mother,” Lu Han says as they stand by a shop selling counterfeit jewelry. “Then I realized that it wouldn’t matter. She would walk past me on the street without recognizing me.”
Kris watches people move around them. “After my father left, I kept thinking that I saw his face in random places like the bookstore, the subway station, or outside of his favorite restaurant. At this point, even if I do see him again, I would pass it off as a trick of the eye.”
Lu Han catches Kris’s gaze and doesn’t look away. “Did he ever come back?”
“No,” Kris says. “I thought he would at least visit during major events in my life, but he never came back. Not during birthdays, not at graduation, and not when I decided to pursue a graduate degree in China.”
Where would Lu Han be if Kris was still in Canada with his perfectly responsible father? Lu Han doesn’t know. All he knows is that Kris is here now. Because of that, Lu Han is here too.
Their second round of food binging doesn’t go down as easily. Lu Han flushes the taste of grilled scorpions down with a bottle of tsingtao beer, refusing Kris’s offer of running to a convenience store for water. “Only in China can you purchase a bottle of beer cheaper than water,” he explains, pressed against Kris as the crowd moves in hordes. “What is it like in Canada?”
“It was different,” Kris replies cryptically as they move south. “Not necessarily better, just different.”
In Chaoyang, Lu Han pulls Kris into a club and orders shots, downing Kris’s share when Kris refuses to drink. “I’m not always this irresponsible,” Lu Han says before disappearing onto the dance floor. He loses Kris in the crowd of people, drowning in the insufferable bass as women in scantily clad dresses move around him. The high lasts until Kris pulls him away from the crowd, his gaze hot on Lu Han’s skin.
“I don’t think this is good for your image,” Kris murmurs into Lu Han’s ear.
Lu Han leans in closer when someone knocks into his back. “You promised,” he points out, setting his hands on Kris’s sides to steady himself.
“Shh,” Kris replies, laughing. He can tell that Lu Han has already achieved his goal. Kris is too tall, his hips too square as he pushes Lu Han towards the exit. Kris is a force of nature encompassing everything Lu Han knows now and pushing Lu Han towards where he wants to be. He repeats the thought in his head like a mantra during the taxi ride back, stepping clumsily out and letting Kris help him into the building.
He lets Kris guide him up the elevator and into his condo, Kris maneuvering Lu Han through his living room. Kris disappears after pushing Lu Han down on his bed, returning with a glass of water and the journal. In the darkness of the room, Lu Han reaches for Kris, and Kris reciprocates.
Lu Han is too tired for explanations. The moonlight paints a crescent shape through his casement window. It’s enough light for Lu Han to open the journal and cross off:
96. Eat through all the food carts on a street
97. Take an embarrassing photo at a public place
98. Go clubbing and leave after 1 song
99. Get to know Kris
“Do you think I accomplished number 99?” Lu Han asks, tugging at Kris’s arm until Kris sits down. They are close enough for Kris to feel the hurried beat of Lu Han’s heart. Lu Han is tense with uncertainty, the irresolution eating at his nerves. Kris does not lean into him, but he doesn’t pull away either.
“What do you think?” Kris asks, a hint of something else in his voice. He’s close enough for Lu Han to smell the wind in his hair and the approaching summer on his skin. Even in the darkness, Kris is the picture of acceptance-so much that the unfairness is painful. Kris sighs when Lu Han’s fingers dance on his wrist, bringing his hands to cup Lu Han’s cheeks.
“I think,” Lu Han breathes out. “I think that I’m hopelessly attracted to you, but it’s too dangerous. It’s unfair because I think, maybe, that you want me too.”
“I do,” Kris says, looking lost for once. Lu Han is unsure if he detects an insurmountable level of sadness in Kris’s voice, or if he’s once again projecting. “But I can’t be the only thing for you to cling onto.”
Lu Han fears that this is true. He doesn’t know where he is or where his dreams end and where the world begins. Attachment is the great fabricator of illusions, and Kris is simply an ideal for Lu Han to hold onto. There exists an infinite chasm that only Lu Han can cross and endure. Kris can lead Lu Han there, but he cannot jump.
Lu Han closes his eyes and tries to breath in the scent of Kris. “If you’re a foil to me,” Lu Han says, his voice barely a whisper. “Then what are you like without me? Who are you when I’m not around?”
Kris’s fingers are ghostly on Lu Han’s skin. He presses his forehead against Lu Han’s. “What about you, Lu Han? Who are you without Zhang Yixing? Where do you go when you’re trying to hide?”
Lu Han already knows the answer. He is an expert at sadness, immersing himself in it and drowning. Lu Han is a prism through which sadness can be divided into its infinite spectrum. Some days Lu Han feels the need to tear out his own tenderness. Some days he simply feels like he doesn’t exist.
Even so, Lu Han cannot give up. Resignation is what kills people. It makes them feel weightless behind the wheel of their car, driving into a daunting cloud of loneliness and uncertainty.
Lu Han would do anything to be grounded again.
Lu Han’s first solo concert sells out in a day. A small portion of the tickets are reserved for company executives, friends, family, and radio shows holding raffles. The day Lu Han gives away his last ticket, he checks number 100 off the list.
There are so many things I want to tell you in person says the note that Lu Han attaches with the plane tickets. He only hopes that somehow, somewhere, Yixing misses him too.
The sound engineer and lighting crew are completely on point the night of the concert. There are certain moments that he remembers the most: the reverberating echo of the drums during his more upbeat tracks, the unending applause when Lu Han talks about exploring Beijing, the appreciative scream when Lu Han drags Minseok on stage, and Lu Han’s first sight of a sea of amber glowsticks during his opening number.
Lu Han also sings two new songs for the audience. The moment before he steps on stage for the second song, Lu Han catches sight of Kris backstage, his silhouette outlined in silver in the hazy realm between darkness and light. It’s the impermanence of it that frightens Lu Han-the possibility that Kris could disappear if Lu Han takes one more step.
Lu Han knows Kris cannot stay forever, yet Lu Han is anticipating the day he no longer needs Kris. And even though hope sounds like such a violation of all that he has endured, Lu Han knows he will eventually find his way home without him.
In the aftermath of the concert, Lu Han realizes that he was right about one thing. The windstorms brought Kris and took him away just as easily.
“It’s not because he didn’t care about you,” Minseok explains. “His contract was up. Also, I think he needed you to stand without him.”
One flower does not make the summer come faster. Similarly, one day or brief period of happiness does not make a person entirely happy. When all is said and done, Lu Han still listens to the windstorm outside and remembers when everything sounded hollow. Lu Han doesn’t know how to reach Kris or how to catch up with him, but Lu Han is trying his best to communicate that he can be well without him. Start by doing what is necessary, he thinks. Then do what is possible. Then Lu Han will contemplate the impossible.
Someday, they’ll run into each other again, Lu Han knows it. Maybe Lu Han will be older or smarter or just plain better. If that happens, that’s when Lu Han will deserve Kris.
It is spring again before Lu Han seriously entertains the thought. He braves eight flights of stairs after finding the elevator under maintenance and slowly makes the way to his door after greeting his new neighbors. The couple’s seven year old daughter is a piano prodigy, gracing the entire floor with recitals at odd hours of the day as Lu Han wakes to the gentle melodies of Debussy in the mornings while tea steeps in his coffee maker.
Lu Han contemplates getting piano lessons again as he pushes his door open. A four day interview round in Shanghai is enough to make him miss the newly wax floors and his sandalwood air freshener. He moves his carry-on suitcase into the hall, flicking the lights on in time for someone to pop confetti all over his head.
“What,” Lu Han says dumbly, pulling streamers off his nose as Sehun beams at him.
“Happy Birthday, Hyung!”
“Happy Birthday!” Song Qian and Minseok cheer, stepping out from behind the furniture while Liyin laughs at him. Lu Han’s make up artist is there as well, along with his new publicist, and a few friends he had caught up with at an impromptu college reunion last month.
Lu Han stares between Minseok and his driver. He shakes bangs out of his eyes and remembers how they parted ways in the garage not ten minutes ago. Song Qian is giggling while Sehun looks incredibly proud of himself. “How-”
“I hope you enjoyed the exercise,” Jongdae says, holding up a familiar maintenance sign. He laughs when Lu Han doesn’t reply, coming over to set a party hat over Lu Han’s unwashed hair. “Say something!”
“My birthday is in two days,” Lu Han replies, glancing at the calendar covered under layers of haphazardly draped tissue paper. He stares from the spiral hangings on the ceiling to the banner that bares Jongdae’s signature artwork.
“We can celebrate your existence any day of the year,” Song Qian explains, wearing party streamers in her hair. She looks particularly gleeful before adding, “Although we’ll probably be spending your birthday together regardless.”
Lu Han remembers the 14th annual Young Phoenix’s festival. It explains why three of its poster children are here in his living room, but that doesn’t dampen Lu Han’s mood the slightest.
“You tricked me!” Lu Han says to Minseok, splitting into a smile when Minseok grins guiltily. They had spent the last 3 hours on a plane, Minseok drilling Lu Han about everything but his upcoming birthday. “And you let Jongdae in here unsupervised, oh god.”
He’s cut off when Sehun reemerges with a birthday cake. Lu Han buries his face in his hands when everyone begins to sing, Sehun laughing so loudly that he accidentally blows out three candles.
“Quick, make a wish before they’re all out!” Jongdae insists.
“Wish that Kim Jongdae’s head deflates this year,” Sehun counters.
Lu Han laughs, blowing out the candles to scattered applause. He thinks about everything that has happened in the last year: the completion of his first concert tour, the release of his second album, visiting Europe, being able to attend his driver’s wedding, a weekend with his parents that wasn’t spent in complete misery, and the resolution he has reached with Yixing. His last birthday seems like another lifetime ago.
They devour the cake while Jongdae appears from the kitchen with a selection of dubious drinks. Lu Han refuses the concoctions until Song Qian sticks a cube of cheese in his mouth and tells him to man up. A few minutes later, Liyin asks about the song he’s allegedly spent two years writing for her.
“It’ll be on my next album, I promise!” Lu Han grins when Liyin tsks knowingly at him.
When he thanks her for coming, she calls him silly and thanks him for letting her eat his cake.
His publicist gives them a small lecture about hiding spare keys but then proceeds to take photos of all the guests. Lu Han laughs and tells her to take it easy on his birthday, gracefully ignoring the way his ex-classmate is admiring Liyin in a corner.
“It’s not your birthday yet,” Minseok reminds him, doing him the great favor of ending all the business talk. “What did you wish for?”
“That you would take more vacations,” Lu Han says, chuckling when Minseok gives him a light shove. He gets distracted when Sehun and Jongdae drag him off to rate who has superior gift wrapping skills.
Later, after the guests leave and Lu Han finishes going through the presents, he puts down the Manchester United poster from his make up artist and picks up Minseok’s nondescript envelope.
Inside is a local news clipping about the opening of a mental wellness clinic. Also attached is a photo of the staff facing away from the camera and greeting reporters at the opening reception. The caption under the photograph cites Wu Yifan as the owner and director, but Lu Han can recognize the width of those shoulders anywhere.
Lu Han finds the building easily. The receptionist is busy answering phone calls when he walks in, so Lu Han wanders around the waiting area, examining plaques and certificates. His eyes fall on a particularly recent diploma. He hasn’t planned beyond this, hasn’t considered what to say or how to even broach the subject of his appearance.
“I don’t think being sighted here is good for your image,” a familiar voice says as someone appears next to him.
Lu Han smiles to himself. “I have an excellent new publicist. She can save me from anything.”
Kris hums. “That sounds like a hard task.”
“There are no hard or easy tasks,” Lu Han explains, turning to Kris. “Only things you can or cannot do. The secret is that you can do anything you want, just not everything.”
Kris smiles at him. His hair is darker now, falling just above his eyes as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “That’s very wise of you.”
Lu Han grins. “I should say the same thing, Doctor Wu.”
“That sounds odd coming from you,” Kris admits, ducking a little when Lu Han looks at him. Lu Han thinks he looks different now-more humble, but also more confident. Lu Han knows it was very fortunate for them to have met when they did. Kris was the closest thing to a doctor at the time, but Lu Han never would have accepted help from one.
“Say,” Kris adds. “Do you know what you want now?”
Lu Han considers this.
He met Kris at a very chaotic time in his life. Even though he is still in the process of shedding his second skin, Lu Han wants to fall in love with Kris again.
This time, with more certainty.
fin
postscripts:
[1] I think the hardest part is admitting that you need help, because things get easier after that. Not easy, just easier. People are not built to be unhappy, I promise. In revisiting this fic, I would've written more about Lu Han's recovery process in that one year gap: the medication, the therapy, etc.
[2] I left the resolution with Yixing intentionally vague. You can decide whether Lu Han and Yixing gets a happy or realistic ending to their friendship.
[3] Thank you thank you thank you to my lovely meta parametre, who saves me from typo induced public disgrace again and again. Also ♥ to Big Bird Unnie for helping me workshop the fic while I clawed at my face over Kris's characterization. Also! ♥♥♥ to Writer Crush-chan for her lovely feedback
[4] I originally wanted to write Lu Han as an unreliable narrator, but things kind of just spiraled down after that. The original story wasn't meant to be this long or sad :(! I was also concerned about contributing to the healing cock syndrome, which caused me to agonize over the ending for days. Hopefully, everything worked out. Ty for reading!! The title is named after Eventually by Clara C.
♥ Want to talk EXO? Meta? EXO Meta?? Talk to me on twitter!
Love it? Hate it? Please leave some feedback, even if it may be a little late. You can also join the community, since I'll be locking up NC17 fics.