(no subject)
victory's within the mile
kris/baekhyun, pg-13, 4080ⓦ
Note: How to write about politics without actually writing about politics (or anything of consequence): Kris runs for president, and Baekhyun is his running mate.
“Please, student council elections are just a glorified popularity contest,” Baekhyun said, and then held up his fingers, counting off. “No competition, you don’t actually do anything as president, it looks great on college apps, and,” he smiled. “I’d be on your ticket. It’ll be easy.”
At the last one, Kris laughed, which Baekhyun knew was as good as a concession, but all he said was, “I’ll think about it.” They had walked all the way to the gymnasium now, where the rest of the basketball team was clustered next to the bus, in the suits that signalled an away game. Kris hefted his duffel bag a little more securely on his shoulder. “You should probably get back.”
“I’m good for a few more minutes,” Baekhyun said. In actual point of fact he had four: at 2:50 p.m. he’d leaned back in his chair, held up his hand, and asked to go to the bathroom. It gave Kris a five minute head start from when the basketball team had been let out at quarter to three for their game, and Baekhyun had stepped out of sixth period English just in time to catch Kris turning the corner.
He gestured for Kris to come closer and tucked his hall pass under his arm. When Kris leaned in, Baekhyun loosened his tie, tugging the tail down straight before cinching the knot again. “Knock ‘em dead, tiger,” he grinned, patting Kris’ chest on the flimsy pretext of smoothing down his tie.
Kris laughed again, tipping him a salute, and by the time class was over, Baekhyun had a new text: okay, it’s worth a shot, it said. In choir, he dropped into place on the risers and said, “Operation: Kris for President is a go,” reaching over his shoulder for a high five. At the slap of palms he curled his fingers up and Jongdae bumped his fist, other hand already busy texting Chanyeol behind his sheet music. Kyungsoo slid into place just as the bell rang, and flashed him a wide smile when Baekhyun answered his mouthed how’d it go? with a thumbs up.
“It’s all about strategy,” Jongdae said the next day, gesticulating with the french fry he’d stolen from Chanyeol’s lunch tray.
“You mean candy,” Kyungsoo said, droll. His assigned Lit reading was in front of him and he was only half-listening, eating almost absently as he read.
“Exactly,” Jongdae said, dipping the french fry into his pool of ketchup. “Between Kris and Baekhyun that’s the entire female population settled, including the cheerleaders, plus the basketball team, drama and choir, and all associated friends and fans. The swing voters, we glut. It’ll be an all-kill,” he concluded, with relish, and ate the fry with a snap of teeth.
“Posters, speech, candy,” Chanyeol read off, tearing the checklist out of the back of his gridded math notebook. “Anything else?”
“Success,” Baekhyun said, and Chanyeol wrote it down with satisfaction.
“Remind me how this was a good idea,” Kris said, several hours later. It was 2 a.m. on what was now officially Sunday, and the floor of Kris’ living room was still littered with candy and slips of thick card stock that said ☆ KRIS FOR PRESIDENT | BAEKHYUN FOR VP ☆ in various colours. There was paint on his nose, from making posters all afternoon; Baekhyun was trying to find the right moment to tell him. Or to sneak a picture.
“Slumber party with the captain of the basketball team,” Baekhyun said thoughtfully, holding up a finger with tape on it. “I think I’m the envy of every girl in school. And Chanyeol.” Kris reached over, unstuck it from his finger, and labelled another candy bar.
“Yeah, but what’s in it for me?” He could hear Kris smiling, and he busied himself with the tape dispenser, so that the next time Kris reached over, he waved a hand at him, tape fluttering from each finger like a grass skirt. Kris raised an eyebrow, nicking part of his skirt and ignoring Baekhyun’s scandalised look, and continued. “Seeing as I’m doing all the work here, I’m expecting some pretty heavy compensation.”
Baekhyun chose to respond to the safer half of that statement, lurching up out of his slouch. “Hey,” he said, all mock affront. “You’d be nowhere without me.” To prove his point, he pulled his hand away when Kris reached for another piece of tape. He dodged when Kris tried again, scrambling backwards, and Kris narrowed his eyes, which was the only warning he had before Kris tackled him.
He landed on his back, breath knocked out of him, and Kris leaned over him, hands coming down on either side of him. Very deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he unstuck a piece of tape from Baekhyun’s finger. His hand came back down, holding the tape between a forefinger and a thumb; his arms tensed briefly as if he was about to push up onto his feet, and then he leaned down the rest of the way and kissed Baekhyun.
When he pulled away, Baekhyun reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him back in. He was aware of the silence, suddenly, their soft breathing, as his fingers went slack on Kris’ shirt, relaxing into the spill of his body, the slide of their mouths. Kris’ body was warm, his fingers brushing Baekhyun’s stomach through his shirt as he slipped his tongue into Baekhyun’s mouth. The noise Baekhyun made was quiet, swallowed.
He was about to slide his hand into Kris’ hair when he heard the crinkle of tape. At the sound, Kris pulled away to look, and Baekhyun laughed, wiggling his taped fingers a little ruefully. “Call it a night?” he said. He dug an elbow underneath him to prop himself up, detaching the lines of tape onto the edge of the table.
Kris leaned over, sticking his piece of tape next to Baekhyun’s, and said, “Okay.” He kissed Baekhyun again, soft, and got up, pulling Baekhyun to his feet after him.
“I love your mom,” Baekhyun said, fervently. “I love you,” he added, as Kris’ mother walked out of the kitchen with more pancakes. She laughed indulgently, put the plate on the table, and left. Baekhyun rolled the sleeves of his shirt further up - Kris had lent him one of his old, too-small tees to sleep in, and it still ballooned a little comically in places - and forked another pancake onto his plate, drowning it in syrup.
“Easy, Romeo,” Kris laughed.
Baekhyun couldn’t tell if he was referring to his mother, the pancakes, or the syrup, so he ignored him, pointing with his fork instead. “I’m Mercutio, thanks very much. Unless you want to be Juliet.” He mimed long hair and threw Kris a coquettish look.
“Who am I, then?” Kris grinned. He had his chin propped up in one hand, eyebrows raised in interest.
“Benvolio,” Baekhyun said, waggling his eyebrows. “The other, lesser known, sordid tryst of Montagues and Capulets-” He burst into laughter, ducking as Kris balled up his napkin and threw it at him.
“I’ll give you sordid,” he growled, mouth twitching, and Baekhyun winked salaciously at him over the rim of his plate.
He had just gotten out of the shower, steam making his shirt cling, when Kris looked up from where he’d been comparing answers on their Econ homework and said, “Your phone’s been going off.”
He didn’t sound annoyed, so Baekhyun didn’t bother to apologise. “Thanks.” He grabbed his phone off the desk, still towelling his hair dry with one hand, and flashed Kris a startled smile when he caught him looking still. He dropped back onto the bed to scroll through the new texts. A few minutes later, he sat up. “We’ve got trouble.”
Kyungsoo (10:34a)
Jongin’s running for president.
Chanyeol (10:38a)
really? how do you know
Kyungsoo (10:40a)
He told me.
Baekhyun (10:41a)
how big a problem is it?
Chanyeol (10:43a)
he dances, chicks dig that shit
Kyungsoo (10:44a)
He won the talent show last year.
And he’s pretty good-looking.
Jongdae (10:48a)
Smear campaign!
“Plans to destroy Justin Timberlake,” Jongdae said, snapping his fingers at Kyungsoo. “Go.”
“I don’t know, I kind of like him,” Kyungsoo said. “Seeing as he’s, you know, my friend.”
“So you should know all his weaknesses,” Jongdae fired back, in a tone that clearly said, your point?
“Bad news,” Baekhyun said, amused. He tossed his backpack at the foot of the stairs and ducked through the arched entrance of the playground watchtower, crawling over Kyungsoo to sit next to Chanyeol, who still looked asleep. “Kris says we should play nice.”
Jongdae rolled his eyes even as he helped pull Baekhyun down. They were getting too old and too big for this place, the fit getting tighter every time. “Of course he would say that. That’s because Kris is a good person. With morals.” He sounded equally fond and scathing.
“Hey,” Chanyeol protested. His head came out of his hood, revealing a shock of sleep-mussed hair, crushed under a hat. “I’ve got morals.”
“Molars,” Baekhyun corrected. “You’ve got molars.”
“All the better to eat you with,” Chanyeol said, sweetly, and leered.
The posters went up several days later, after their list of slogans, most of them Chanyeol’s invention, was officially approved by administration. They’d fast-tracked it through the red tape together, Baekhyun flashing the secretary a winning smile and Chanyeol putting on his model student act. Kris and Baekhyun arrived an hour before school to put them up, Baekhyun stifling yawns in his hand as Kris reached over him to tape down the top corners of a poster that began, DOUBLE OR NOTHING. By the fourth poster, Baekhyun was shivering, his hoodie riding up every time he held up a poster or stretched up to tape down a corner. “Sorry,” Kris said, breath clouding into white in front of him. “Almost done.”
“It’s okay,” Baekhyun said. In spite of the cold, he was starting to doze off again when Kris’ arm wound around his waist. The sleepiness and the chill of the morning snap made his reflexes sluggish, and all he did was lean back into it, cocooned in warmth.
When he opened his eyes, all Kris said was, “Come on, three more.” He picked up the stack of posters, and Baekhyun put the roll of masking tape back around his wrist, where it nestled in the bunched-up fabric of his sleeve.
“I still think I got shafted with these,” Baekhyun remarked, when they had left behind HEAD AND SHOULDERS ABOVE THE REST: KRIS FOR PRESIDENT.
Kris grinned down at him. “Take it up with Chanyeol.”
“I did!” Baekhyun grimaced as Kris tucked SHORT & SWEET: BAEKHYUN FOR VP under his arm. “The other ones were even worse.” He’d firmly vetoed at least a dozen, but Chanyeol had an endless arsenal of height jokes, each of them worse than the last; they’d become size jokes by the time Baekhyun gave up, saying, you’re a useless best friend. Kris laughed. “Can’t we put this one up somewhere nobody can see?” he tried, frowning up at Kris and tugging at the corner of his poster.
“Nope,” Kris said, happily.
The campus was still deserted when they finished, staff only starting to trickle in. When they reached the car, Baekhyun slid into the backseat and dumped the tape. Leaning over the centre console, Kris cranked up the heat, so that the windows, already opaque with steam, clouded over. Baekhyun kicked off his shoes and pulled Kris back by his clothes, crawling into his lap. “We only have twenty minutes,” Kris reminded him, but his hand was already moving to Baekhyun’s hip.
“I know,” Baekhyun said, and leaned in.
There was a formula, of sorts, to popularity: a system of weights for each characteristic, implicitly understood by everyone in the school, down to the last tier. Kris was the captain of the basketball team, tall, and good-looking, the holy trinity of high school popularity. Baekhyun, by contrast, was the school darling: the lead role in every play since his sophomore year debut in Peter Pan, friendly with everyone, honour roll regular, and a look-twice kind of attractive.
People like Jongin were effortlessly popular. Cruising on his talent and his looks, he managed to stay well-liked despite uneventfully sleeping through every class and mostly keeping to himself and the Dance Club. His popularity peaked twice each year: around the annual talent show and the homecoming skit, after which the Dance Club would receive a slew of new members, mostly giggling girls who just wanted to watch Jongin practise. There was a good month before either of those events, but Club Day was coming up, and the Dance Club always put on a performance, of which Jongin would inevitably be the star.
Public Enemy Number Two arrived in the form of a mass text from Kyungsoo. It was a single photograph, of a poster that blared, in pristine, printed letters: KIM & KIM. There were approximately a million Kims in their year, between first and last names, but the glossy print gave it away - Junmyeon Kim. One of the names on the shortlist for salutatorian, far too many extracurriculars for anyone to remember - at the moment, Baekhyun could only remember his being on Model UN and the golf team, thankfully the two things the rest of the school barely even knew existed - and rich. It explained, he realised, why someone like Jongin would run for president: Jongin was the face, and Junmyeon pulled the strings, foot the bill, and played politician with his beauty pageant smile. It wasn’t entirely unlike what they were marketing.
“Only,” Jongdae said, when Baekhyun called him, still five minutes away from school. He sounded like he was chewing, and swallowed before he continued. “Kris is pretty capable in his own right. And Junmyeon’s smile is like, a Miss Teen USA at best. Their entire campaign is like, deep V-necks and Junmyeon’s credit card.” He could hear Jongdae rolling his eyes. “They’re gonna tank. Look, I gotta go, I’m supposed to to be supervising the freshmen in the workshop, they’ll probably saw off their own fingers without me-” His voice went indistinct, through another mouthful of food. “-get this chassis built by Friday.”
Kris arrived ten minutes afterward, and Baekhyun, across the courtyard, watched him out of the corner of his eye as he talked. Kris, looking over his friend’s shoulder, found Baekhyun, and when Baekhyun glanced in the direction of one of the KIM & KIM posters and back, Kris made a tiny, barely perceptible nod. “Don’t worry,” Kyungsoo said, following his gaze, and Baekhyun’s attention snapped back to Kyungsoo like a rubber band. “Your speeches are going to be brilliant. I know because I’m writing them.” His voice dropped a little. “And Junmyeon’s in AP Chem, I’ve graded his lab reports. His writing is just okay; I can do better.”
Baekhyun opened his mouth, closed it. “Is that,” he started.
Kyungsoo widened his eyes innocently. It made him look a bit owlish, as if his head were about to turn 180 degrees to spy, unblinkingly, on the people behind him. “What?”
“I’m glad you’re on my side,” he settled on, and Kyungsoo smiled.
“This is awful,” Jongdae moaned. “Can’t he break his leg?”
Kyungsoo, eyes riveted to the stage, said, “And become a martyr for it?”
“Wouldn’t that make him dead-”
Someone elbows Baekhyun on accident, who flinches and knocks into Chanyeol. “Well, thanks, now it’s premeditated-”
A wave of screams as Jongin drags a thumb across his mouth and smirks. “This is awful.”
Jongdae’s idea of a failsafe was Kris and Baekhyun tag-teaming the cheerleaders’ table before school, Jessica looking extremely unimpressed and uninterested as she blatantly texted, while next to her, Tiffany blew a large pink bubble with her gum. Baekhyun kept getting distracted by the bobble of the pink, feathery pom-pom of her pen as she wrote.
“So we just hand all of this out?” Taeyeon said, sounding almost sceptical. She tilted one of the paper bags to look inside. Her fingernails were painted apple green, with tiny white polka dots. “And ask people to vote for you?”
Baekhyun nodded, and Kris said, “Yeah,” a little lamely. Baekhyun couldn’t tell if Taeyeon had that effect on everyone, or just everyone he knew. Her hair was a tumble of honey blonde curls, and when she pushed them over her shoulder, he could smell her perfume - Daisy by Marc Jacobs, Chanyeol had informed him once, with a knowledgeable air, and when Baekhyun looked at him incredulously, he said loftily, connections, Baekhyun, connections.
“Okay,” she said, amicably, and Baekhyun tried not to die of relief as Kris chorused his thanks with unnecessary hand gestures. “We can eat some, too, right?” she said, immediately afterward, already rooting around in the bag, and Baekhyun laughed.
“It was, what’s the word?” Chanyeol said, and made an expansive gesture. “A blood bath.” His face looked flushed, all lit up as if he’d just sprinted a mile, and his voice radiated awe. “I hope Yearbook got pictures. I hope somebody got pictures.”
The way he heard it, all nine senior cheerleaders had stationed themselves in the quad, in their cheer uniforms, and within ten minutes, it was practically a riot: Seohyun kept having to interrupt her own earnest campaigning to pick up the megaphone and ask people to form a line, while next to her, Sunny kept pouting and asking people to absolutely promise before giving up her candy.
They’d also decorated the girls’ locker rooms with Tiffany’s pink heart-shaped post-its, most of them variations on “Vote for Kris” and “Vote for Baekhyun,” the handwriting on each of them distinctive. Chanyeol was currently in an Ebay bidding war for one of Taeyeon’s.
“Thanks again,” Baekhyun said, the next time he saw her. She saluted firmly in response, eyebrows knitted together and mouth flattened in mock seriousness, and then burst into a laugh that was halfway between a giggle and a snort. “No pressure, but you have to win now,” she informed him, and waved brightly as she left.
“As president, I will ensure that the voice of the student body is heard?” Kris recited, voice lilting into a question. Baekhyun nodded, without looking up from the script in his hand. “Is heard,” Kris repeated, more firmly, resuming his pacing. “And that the opinions and concerns of the students, conflicting or otherwise, are represented equally in decision-making processes…”
Sitting on Kris’ bed, Baekhyun hummed, tapping his knee with a finger, and said, “Are equally and uniformly represented.”
Kris let out a breath, walking forward and slumping onto the bed next to Baekhyun. “This is a lot harder than, ‘Vote for me and I’ll bring back Nacho Tuesday,’” he told the ceiling.
Baekhyun leaned over, ignoring Kris’ grunt when his elbows dug into Kris’ ribcage. “Well, all most people are going to hear is, ‘Vote for me because I’m really hot and authoritative,’ so…”
“Is that so,” Kris said, nudging Baekhyun’s elbow so that he slid further down.
“That’s all I hear when you talk,” Baekhyun grinned, and scrambled to cling to Kris when he moved to throw him off.
Jongdae was determined that they should wear suits on D-Day: black tie, white shirt, and under no condition, Chanyeol said, dutifully relaying the message, were they to take their jackets off, because it would supposedly defeat the purpose. Kris and Chanyeol were taking a break from their one-on-one, and Chanyeol was losing, a miserable 2 to Kris’ 5. Between that and the way Chanyeol was leaning back on the bleachers and panting, he reminded Baekhyun of a pathetically overheated mastiff. Baekhyun took pity on him, fanning him with his marked up Midsummer’s script.
He’d lost track of their game, the squeak of sneakers fading out of earshot as he became absorbed in memorising the blocking for Act II. He’d feigned interest in basketball for approximately two weeks, making Chanyeol sign up for tryouts and attending each trial, on the pretext of cheering for his best friend, whilst staring shamelessly at Kris from the bleachers. Chanyeol had accidentally made it onto the team, but by then, Baekhyun already had Kris’ number.
The strip restriction, as Chanyeol called it, turned out to be unnecessary: it was cold the next day, although thankfully without wind, because Baekhyun had let his sister attack his hair with Bumble & Bumble and her fingers for what felt like an age. She had let him do his eyeliner on his own: he’d done it enough times last year, when they’d done Dracula in the fall. When Kris picked him up, he took a long look at him and then said, abruptly, “Can you fix my tie?”
“It looks fine,” Baekhyun said, surprised.
“I think it’s crooked,” Kris insisted.
“It’s not,” Baekhyun said, leaning over to double-check. “I told you, it only gets mess-”
He was cut off by Kris’ mouth. “You look really good,” Kris said, when he pulled away, and Baekhyun had only managed a dazed “oh,” realisation dawning slowly in his mind, made kiss-stupid. He couldn’t believe that worked. “Seat belts on,” Kris said, sounding overly pleased with himself, and pulled out of park.
“You have the dumbest lines,” Baekhyun said, and looked out the window to hide the smile he couldn’t suppress.
“Go smile at people,” Jongdae hissed, turning Baekhyun around and pushing him away with both hands. Baekhyun’s head swivelled back to where Jongdae had stationed Kris at the end of the voting table, where he was all smiles and thanks as he handed people “I voted!” stickers, getting flustered whenever girls tossed their hair back and ask him to put it on their shirts for them. “Go!” Jongdae repeated. “Dazzle!”
“Okay, okay,” Baekhyun said, tearing his gaze away as Kris declined with an inane, “Maybe next time.” He spotted a face he remembered from his brief stint in track and field, halfway across the quad, and made a beeline for it. “Hey, Edison,” he called out, and smiled brightly when he turned to Baekhyun like a sunflower, face radiant. “Have you voted yet?”
He was edging toward a group of girls when Kyungsoo passed by him, herding all of his politically-apathetic friends to the voting booth with vocal promises to share his AP Physics study notes, and Baekhyun mouthed a fervent, I love you the most at him. Kyungsoo held up his left hand, pointing and looking supremely haughty: put a ring on it.
In fifth period, he glanced at Kris twice in two minutes before he thought, fuck it, and texted him.
Baekhyun (2:15p)
your face is going to get stuck like that
Kris made a ha ha, very funny face at him, but a moment later his eyebrows were knit up in vague consternation again.
Baekhyun (2:16p)
you know, it honestly isn’t a big deal if we win or lose
It clicked even before Kris responded, and when he did, Baekhyun made a noise he hastily turned into a cough, clearing his throat for good measure. The teacher continued talking blithely and Baekhyun propped an elbow on the table, feigning interest in the supply/demand graph on the board. He heard Kris laugh under his breath as he texted back surreptitiously.
Kris (2:17p)
It’s a big responsibility.
Baekhyun (2:17p)
sounds like a job for kris responsibility wu
When he looked at Kris again, he was smiling a bit, which was something. Baekhyun raised an eyebrow, mouthed: we good?
Kris’ response was interrupted by the crackle of the overhead speaker. Baekhyun’s head whipped around and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kris go wooden. Baekhyun bounced a knee as the principal’s voice dragged over the underclassmen’s election results.
The class exploded before she’d finished saying Baekhyun’s name, and he didn’t hear Kris’ at all over someone’s loud whoop and whistle, busy getting jostled by people who punched his shoulder in congratulations, but when he looked over, Kris shrugged at Baekhyun, smile wide.
“Mr. President,” Baekhyun greeted, backpack slung over one shoulder as he leaned on the passenger door of Kris’ car and grinned.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, as Kris reversed. “Since we have all this newfound power, we should use it for good.”
“Spare me,” Kris said, and drove.
Also posted a few drabbles recently.
kris/baekhyun, pg-13, 4080ⓦ
Note: How to write about politics without actually writing about politics (or anything of consequence): Kris runs for president, and Baekhyun is his running mate.
“Please, student council elections are just a glorified popularity contest,” Baekhyun said, and then held up his fingers, counting off. “No competition, you don’t actually do anything as president, it looks great on college apps, and,” he smiled. “I’d be on your ticket. It’ll be easy.”
At the last one, Kris laughed, which Baekhyun knew was as good as a concession, but all he said was, “I’ll think about it.” They had walked all the way to the gymnasium now, where the rest of the basketball team was clustered next to the bus, in the suits that signalled an away game. Kris hefted his duffel bag a little more securely on his shoulder. “You should probably get back.”
“I’m good for a few more minutes,” Baekhyun said. In actual point of fact he had four: at 2:50 p.m. he’d leaned back in his chair, held up his hand, and asked to go to the bathroom. It gave Kris a five minute head start from when the basketball team had been let out at quarter to three for their game, and Baekhyun had stepped out of sixth period English just in time to catch Kris turning the corner.
He gestured for Kris to come closer and tucked his hall pass under his arm. When Kris leaned in, Baekhyun loosened his tie, tugging the tail down straight before cinching the knot again. “Knock ‘em dead, tiger,” he grinned, patting Kris’ chest on the flimsy pretext of smoothing down his tie.
Kris laughed again, tipping him a salute, and by the time class was over, Baekhyun had a new text: okay, it’s worth a shot, it said. In choir, he dropped into place on the risers and said, “Operation: Kris for President is a go,” reaching over his shoulder for a high five. At the slap of palms he curled his fingers up and Jongdae bumped his fist, other hand already busy texting Chanyeol behind his sheet music. Kyungsoo slid into place just as the bell rang, and flashed him a wide smile when Baekhyun answered his mouthed how’d it go? with a thumbs up.
“It’s all about strategy,” Jongdae said the next day, gesticulating with the french fry he’d stolen from Chanyeol’s lunch tray.
“You mean candy,” Kyungsoo said, droll. His assigned Lit reading was in front of him and he was only half-listening, eating almost absently as he read.
“Exactly,” Jongdae said, dipping the french fry into his pool of ketchup. “Between Kris and Baekhyun that’s the entire female population settled, including the cheerleaders, plus the basketball team, drama and choir, and all associated friends and fans. The swing voters, we glut. It’ll be an all-kill,” he concluded, with relish, and ate the fry with a snap of teeth.
“Posters, speech, candy,” Chanyeol read off, tearing the checklist out of the back of his gridded math notebook. “Anything else?”
“Success,” Baekhyun said, and Chanyeol wrote it down with satisfaction.
“Remind me how this was a good idea,” Kris said, several hours later. It was 2 a.m. on what was now officially Sunday, and the floor of Kris’ living room was still littered with candy and slips of thick card stock that said ☆ KRIS FOR PRESIDENT | BAEKHYUN FOR VP ☆ in various colours. There was paint on his nose, from making posters all afternoon; Baekhyun was trying to find the right moment to tell him. Or to sneak a picture.
“Slumber party with the captain of the basketball team,” Baekhyun said thoughtfully, holding up a finger with tape on it. “I think I’m the envy of every girl in school. And Chanyeol.” Kris reached over, unstuck it from his finger, and labelled another candy bar.
“Yeah, but what’s in it for me?” He could hear Kris smiling, and he busied himself with the tape dispenser, so that the next time Kris reached over, he waved a hand at him, tape fluttering from each finger like a grass skirt. Kris raised an eyebrow, nicking part of his skirt and ignoring Baekhyun’s scandalised look, and continued. “Seeing as I’m doing all the work here, I’m expecting some pretty heavy compensation.”
Baekhyun chose to respond to the safer half of that statement, lurching up out of his slouch. “Hey,” he said, all mock affront. “You’d be nowhere without me.” To prove his point, he pulled his hand away when Kris reached for another piece of tape. He dodged when Kris tried again, scrambling backwards, and Kris narrowed his eyes, which was the only warning he had before Kris tackled him.
He landed on his back, breath knocked out of him, and Kris leaned over him, hands coming down on either side of him. Very deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he unstuck a piece of tape from Baekhyun’s finger. His hand came back down, holding the tape between a forefinger and a thumb; his arms tensed briefly as if he was about to push up onto his feet, and then he leaned down the rest of the way and kissed Baekhyun.
When he pulled away, Baekhyun reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him back in. He was aware of the silence, suddenly, their soft breathing, as his fingers went slack on Kris’ shirt, relaxing into the spill of his body, the slide of their mouths. Kris’ body was warm, his fingers brushing Baekhyun’s stomach through his shirt as he slipped his tongue into Baekhyun’s mouth. The noise Baekhyun made was quiet, swallowed.
He was about to slide his hand into Kris’ hair when he heard the crinkle of tape. At the sound, Kris pulled away to look, and Baekhyun laughed, wiggling his taped fingers a little ruefully. “Call it a night?” he said. He dug an elbow underneath him to prop himself up, detaching the lines of tape onto the edge of the table.
Kris leaned over, sticking his piece of tape next to Baekhyun’s, and said, “Okay.” He kissed Baekhyun again, soft, and got up, pulling Baekhyun to his feet after him.
“I love your mom,” Baekhyun said, fervently. “I love you,” he added, as Kris’ mother walked out of the kitchen with more pancakes. She laughed indulgently, put the plate on the table, and left. Baekhyun rolled the sleeves of his shirt further up - Kris had lent him one of his old, too-small tees to sleep in, and it still ballooned a little comically in places - and forked another pancake onto his plate, drowning it in syrup.
“Easy, Romeo,” Kris laughed.
Baekhyun couldn’t tell if he was referring to his mother, the pancakes, or the syrup, so he ignored him, pointing with his fork instead. “I’m Mercutio, thanks very much. Unless you want to be Juliet.” He mimed long hair and threw Kris a coquettish look.
“Who am I, then?” Kris grinned. He had his chin propped up in one hand, eyebrows raised in interest.
“Benvolio,” Baekhyun said, waggling his eyebrows. “The other, lesser known, sordid tryst of Montagues and Capulets-” He burst into laughter, ducking as Kris balled up his napkin and threw it at him.
“I’ll give you sordid,” he growled, mouth twitching, and Baekhyun winked salaciously at him over the rim of his plate.
He had just gotten out of the shower, steam making his shirt cling, when Kris looked up from where he’d been comparing answers on their Econ homework and said, “Your phone’s been going off.”
He didn’t sound annoyed, so Baekhyun didn’t bother to apologise. “Thanks.” He grabbed his phone off the desk, still towelling his hair dry with one hand, and flashed Kris a startled smile when he caught him looking still. He dropped back onto the bed to scroll through the new texts. A few minutes later, he sat up. “We’ve got trouble.”
Kyungsoo (10:34a)
Jongin’s running for president.
Chanyeol (10:38a)
really? how do you know
Kyungsoo (10:40a)
He told me.
Baekhyun (10:41a)
how big a problem is it?
Chanyeol (10:43a)
he dances, chicks dig that shit
Kyungsoo (10:44a)
He won the talent show last year.
And he’s pretty good-looking.
Jongdae (10:48a)
Smear campaign!
“Plans to destroy Justin Timberlake,” Jongdae said, snapping his fingers at Kyungsoo. “Go.”
“I don’t know, I kind of like him,” Kyungsoo said. “Seeing as he’s, you know, my friend.”
“So you should know all his weaknesses,” Jongdae fired back, in a tone that clearly said, your point?
“Bad news,” Baekhyun said, amused. He tossed his backpack at the foot of the stairs and ducked through the arched entrance of the playground watchtower, crawling over Kyungsoo to sit next to Chanyeol, who still looked asleep. “Kris says we should play nice.”
Jongdae rolled his eyes even as he helped pull Baekhyun down. They were getting too old and too big for this place, the fit getting tighter every time. “Of course he would say that. That’s because Kris is a good person. With morals.” He sounded equally fond and scathing.
“Hey,” Chanyeol protested. His head came out of his hood, revealing a shock of sleep-mussed hair, crushed under a hat. “I’ve got morals.”
“Molars,” Baekhyun corrected. “You’ve got molars.”
“All the better to eat you with,” Chanyeol said, sweetly, and leered.
The posters went up several days later, after their list of slogans, most of them Chanyeol’s invention, was officially approved by administration. They’d fast-tracked it through the red tape together, Baekhyun flashing the secretary a winning smile and Chanyeol putting on his model student act. Kris and Baekhyun arrived an hour before school to put them up, Baekhyun stifling yawns in his hand as Kris reached over him to tape down the top corners of a poster that began, DOUBLE OR NOTHING. By the fourth poster, Baekhyun was shivering, his hoodie riding up every time he held up a poster or stretched up to tape down a corner. “Sorry,” Kris said, breath clouding into white in front of him. “Almost done.”
“It’s okay,” Baekhyun said. In spite of the cold, he was starting to doze off again when Kris’ arm wound around his waist. The sleepiness and the chill of the morning snap made his reflexes sluggish, and all he did was lean back into it, cocooned in warmth.
When he opened his eyes, all Kris said was, “Come on, three more.” He picked up the stack of posters, and Baekhyun put the roll of masking tape back around his wrist, where it nestled in the bunched-up fabric of his sleeve.
“I still think I got shafted with these,” Baekhyun remarked, when they had left behind HEAD AND SHOULDERS ABOVE THE REST: KRIS FOR PRESIDENT.
Kris grinned down at him. “Take it up with Chanyeol.”
“I did!” Baekhyun grimaced as Kris tucked SHORT & SWEET: BAEKHYUN FOR VP under his arm. “The other ones were even worse.” He’d firmly vetoed at least a dozen, but Chanyeol had an endless arsenal of height jokes, each of them worse than the last; they’d become size jokes by the time Baekhyun gave up, saying, you’re a useless best friend. Kris laughed. “Can’t we put this one up somewhere nobody can see?” he tried, frowning up at Kris and tugging at the corner of his poster.
“Nope,” Kris said, happily.
The campus was still deserted when they finished, staff only starting to trickle in. When they reached the car, Baekhyun slid into the backseat and dumped the tape. Leaning over the centre console, Kris cranked up the heat, so that the windows, already opaque with steam, clouded over. Baekhyun kicked off his shoes and pulled Kris back by his clothes, crawling into his lap. “We only have twenty minutes,” Kris reminded him, but his hand was already moving to Baekhyun’s hip.
“I know,” Baekhyun said, and leaned in.
There was a formula, of sorts, to popularity: a system of weights for each characteristic, implicitly understood by everyone in the school, down to the last tier. Kris was the captain of the basketball team, tall, and good-looking, the holy trinity of high school popularity. Baekhyun, by contrast, was the school darling: the lead role in every play since his sophomore year debut in Peter Pan, friendly with everyone, honour roll regular, and a look-twice kind of attractive.
People like Jongin were effortlessly popular. Cruising on his talent and his looks, he managed to stay well-liked despite uneventfully sleeping through every class and mostly keeping to himself and the Dance Club. His popularity peaked twice each year: around the annual talent show and the homecoming skit, after which the Dance Club would receive a slew of new members, mostly giggling girls who just wanted to watch Jongin practise. There was a good month before either of those events, but Club Day was coming up, and the Dance Club always put on a performance, of which Jongin would inevitably be the star.
Public Enemy Number Two arrived in the form of a mass text from Kyungsoo. It was a single photograph, of a poster that blared, in pristine, printed letters: KIM & KIM. There were approximately a million Kims in their year, between first and last names, but the glossy print gave it away - Junmyeon Kim. One of the names on the shortlist for salutatorian, far too many extracurriculars for anyone to remember - at the moment, Baekhyun could only remember his being on Model UN and the golf team, thankfully the two things the rest of the school barely even knew existed - and rich. It explained, he realised, why someone like Jongin would run for president: Jongin was the face, and Junmyeon pulled the strings, foot the bill, and played politician with his beauty pageant smile. It wasn’t entirely unlike what they were marketing.
“Only,” Jongdae said, when Baekhyun called him, still five minutes away from school. He sounded like he was chewing, and swallowed before he continued. “Kris is pretty capable in his own right. And Junmyeon’s smile is like, a Miss Teen USA at best. Their entire campaign is like, deep V-necks and Junmyeon’s credit card.” He could hear Jongdae rolling his eyes. “They’re gonna tank. Look, I gotta go, I’m supposed to to be supervising the freshmen in the workshop, they’ll probably saw off their own fingers without me-” His voice went indistinct, through another mouthful of food. “-get this chassis built by Friday.”
Kris arrived ten minutes afterward, and Baekhyun, across the courtyard, watched him out of the corner of his eye as he talked. Kris, looking over his friend’s shoulder, found Baekhyun, and when Baekhyun glanced in the direction of one of the KIM & KIM posters and back, Kris made a tiny, barely perceptible nod. “Don’t worry,” Kyungsoo said, following his gaze, and Baekhyun’s attention snapped back to Kyungsoo like a rubber band. “Your speeches are going to be brilliant. I know because I’m writing them.” His voice dropped a little. “And Junmyeon’s in AP Chem, I’ve graded his lab reports. His writing is just okay; I can do better.”
Baekhyun opened his mouth, closed it. “Is that,” he started.
Kyungsoo widened his eyes innocently. It made him look a bit owlish, as if his head were about to turn 180 degrees to spy, unblinkingly, on the people behind him. “What?”
“I’m glad you’re on my side,” he settled on, and Kyungsoo smiled.
“This is awful,” Jongdae moaned. “Can’t he break his leg?”
Kyungsoo, eyes riveted to the stage, said, “And become a martyr for it?”
“Wouldn’t that make him dead-”
Someone elbows Baekhyun on accident, who flinches and knocks into Chanyeol. “Well, thanks, now it’s premeditated-”
A wave of screams as Jongin drags a thumb across his mouth and smirks. “This is awful.”
Jongdae’s idea of a failsafe was Kris and Baekhyun tag-teaming the cheerleaders’ table before school, Jessica looking extremely unimpressed and uninterested as she blatantly texted, while next to her, Tiffany blew a large pink bubble with her gum. Baekhyun kept getting distracted by the bobble of the pink, feathery pom-pom of her pen as she wrote.
“So we just hand all of this out?” Taeyeon said, sounding almost sceptical. She tilted one of the paper bags to look inside. Her fingernails were painted apple green, with tiny white polka dots. “And ask people to vote for you?”
Baekhyun nodded, and Kris said, “Yeah,” a little lamely. Baekhyun couldn’t tell if Taeyeon had that effect on everyone, or just everyone he knew. Her hair was a tumble of honey blonde curls, and when she pushed them over her shoulder, he could smell her perfume - Daisy by Marc Jacobs, Chanyeol had informed him once, with a knowledgeable air, and when Baekhyun looked at him incredulously, he said loftily, connections, Baekhyun, connections.
“Okay,” she said, amicably, and Baekhyun tried not to die of relief as Kris chorused his thanks with unnecessary hand gestures. “We can eat some, too, right?” she said, immediately afterward, already rooting around in the bag, and Baekhyun laughed.
“It was, what’s the word?” Chanyeol said, and made an expansive gesture. “A blood bath.” His face looked flushed, all lit up as if he’d just sprinted a mile, and his voice radiated awe. “I hope Yearbook got pictures. I hope somebody got pictures.”
The way he heard it, all nine senior cheerleaders had stationed themselves in the quad, in their cheer uniforms, and within ten minutes, it was practically a riot: Seohyun kept having to interrupt her own earnest campaigning to pick up the megaphone and ask people to form a line, while next to her, Sunny kept pouting and asking people to absolutely promise before giving up her candy.
They’d also decorated the girls’ locker rooms with Tiffany’s pink heart-shaped post-its, most of them variations on “Vote for Kris” and “Vote for Baekhyun,” the handwriting on each of them distinctive. Chanyeol was currently in an Ebay bidding war for one of Taeyeon’s.
“Thanks again,” Baekhyun said, the next time he saw her. She saluted firmly in response, eyebrows knitted together and mouth flattened in mock seriousness, and then burst into a laugh that was halfway between a giggle and a snort. “No pressure, but you have to win now,” she informed him, and waved brightly as she left.
“As president, I will ensure that the voice of the student body is heard?” Kris recited, voice lilting into a question. Baekhyun nodded, without looking up from the script in his hand. “Is heard,” Kris repeated, more firmly, resuming his pacing. “And that the opinions and concerns of the students, conflicting or otherwise, are represented equally in decision-making processes…”
Sitting on Kris’ bed, Baekhyun hummed, tapping his knee with a finger, and said, “Are equally and uniformly represented.”
Kris let out a breath, walking forward and slumping onto the bed next to Baekhyun. “This is a lot harder than, ‘Vote for me and I’ll bring back Nacho Tuesday,’” he told the ceiling.
Baekhyun leaned over, ignoring Kris’ grunt when his elbows dug into Kris’ ribcage. “Well, all most people are going to hear is, ‘Vote for me because I’m really hot and authoritative,’ so…”
“Is that so,” Kris said, nudging Baekhyun’s elbow so that he slid further down.
“That’s all I hear when you talk,” Baekhyun grinned, and scrambled to cling to Kris when he moved to throw him off.
Jongdae was determined that they should wear suits on D-Day: black tie, white shirt, and under no condition, Chanyeol said, dutifully relaying the message, were they to take their jackets off, because it would supposedly defeat the purpose. Kris and Chanyeol were taking a break from their one-on-one, and Chanyeol was losing, a miserable 2 to Kris’ 5. Between that and the way Chanyeol was leaning back on the bleachers and panting, he reminded Baekhyun of a pathetically overheated mastiff. Baekhyun took pity on him, fanning him with his marked up Midsummer’s script.
He’d lost track of their game, the squeak of sneakers fading out of earshot as he became absorbed in memorising the blocking for Act II. He’d feigned interest in basketball for approximately two weeks, making Chanyeol sign up for tryouts and attending each trial, on the pretext of cheering for his best friend, whilst staring shamelessly at Kris from the bleachers. Chanyeol had accidentally made it onto the team, but by then, Baekhyun already had Kris’ number.
The strip restriction, as Chanyeol called it, turned out to be unnecessary: it was cold the next day, although thankfully without wind, because Baekhyun had let his sister attack his hair with Bumble & Bumble and her fingers for what felt like an age. She had let him do his eyeliner on his own: he’d done it enough times last year, when they’d done Dracula in the fall. When Kris picked him up, he took a long look at him and then said, abruptly, “Can you fix my tie?”
“It looks fine,” Baekhyun said, surprised.
“I think it’s crooked,” Kris insisted.
“It’s not,” Baekhyun said, leaning over to double-check. “I told you, it only gets mess-”
He was cut off by Kris’ mouth. “You look really good,” Kris said, when he pulled away, and Baekhyun had only managed a dazed “oh,” realisation dawning slowly in his mind, made kiss-stupid. He couldn’t believe that worked. “Seat belts on,” Kris said, sounding overly pleased with himself, and pulled out of park.
“You have the dumbest lines,” Baekhyun said, and looked out the window to hide the smile he couldn’t suppress.
“Go smile at people,” Jongdae hissed, turning Baekhyun around and pushing him away with both hands. Baekhyun’s head swivelled back to where Jongdae had stationed Kris at the end of the voting table, where he was all smiles and thanks as he handed people “I voted!” stickers, getting flustered whenever girls tossed their hair back and ask him to put it on their shirts for them. “Go!” Jongdae repeated. “Dazzle!”
“Okay, okay,” Baekhyun said, tearing his gaze away as Kris declined with an inane, “Maybe next time.” He spotted a face he remembered from his brief stint in track and field, halfway across the quad, and made a beeline for it. “Hey, Edison,” he called out, and smiled brightly when he turned to Baekhyun like a sunflower, face radiant. “Have you voted yet?”
He was edging toward a group of girls when Kyungsoo passed by him, herding all of his politically-apathetic friends to the voting booth with vocal promises to share his AP Physics study notes, and Baekhyun mouthed a fervent, I love you the most at him. Kyungsoo held up his left hand, pointing and looking supremely haughty: put a ring on it.
In fifth period, he glanced at Kris twice in two minutes before he thought, fuck it, and texted him.
Baekhyun (2:15p)
your face is going to get stuck like that
Kris made a ha ha, very funny face at him, but a moment later his eyebrows were knit up in vague consternation again.
Baekhyun (2:16p)
you know, it honestly isn’t a big deal if we win or lose
It clicked even before Kris responded, and when he did, Baekhyun made a noise he hastily turned into a cough, clearing his throat for good measure. The teacher continued talking blithely and Baekhyun propped an elbow on the table, feigning interest in the supply/demand graph on the board. He heard Kris laugh under his breath as he texted back surreptitiously.
Kris (2:17p)
It’s a big responsibility.
Baekhyun (2:17p)
sounds like a job for kris responsibility wu
When he looked at Kris again, he was smiling a bit, which was something. Baekhyun raised an eyebrow, mouthed: we good?
Kris’ response was interrupted by the crackle of the overhead speaker. Baekhyun’s head whipped around and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kris go wooden. Baekhyun bounced a knee as the principal’s voice dragged over the underclassmen’s election results.
The class exploded before she’d finished saying Baekhyun’s name, and he didn’t hear Kris’ at all over someone’s loud whoop and whistle, busy getting jostled by people who punched his shoulder in congratulations, but when he looked over, Kris shrugged at Baekhyun, smile wide.
“Mr. President,” Baekhyun greeted, backpack slung over one shoulder as he leaned on the passenger door of Kris’ car and grinned.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, as Kris reversed. “Since we have all this newfound power, we should use it for good.”
“Spare me,” Kris said, and drove.
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