002-2: To bear witness to your heart (Chanyeol x Kyungsoo)
To bear witness to your heart
PG-13, Chanyeol x Kyungsoo, 8009 words
for aideshou challenge #5, prompts 1+2
please be sure you have read part one prior to starting part two.
Kyungsoo is aware of the fact that Chanyeol relieves himself late in the night, likely when he assumes Kyungsoo has already fallen asleep. Most of the time Kyungsoo tries to ignore it, but there is one time in which he lets his fingers slip beneath his pajamas and seizes the moment for himself.
It only happens once because Chanyeol catches him. But instead of asking Kyungsoo to pretend their awkward moment never happened, Chanyeol climbs into Kyungsoo’s bed, and Kyungsoo is very appreciative of the fact that Chanyeol can’t see his reddened and embarrassed face in the dark.
“What’re you-?” begins Kyungsoo, and it doesn’t even surprise him anymore that Chanyeol once more cuts him off.
“Let me,” Chanyeol whispers darkly into his ear. Kyungsoo is too focused on just what Chanyeol’s voice does to him to notice the fingers that replace his own, and when he turns to Chanyeol with panicked, wide eyes, Chanyeol quickly hushes him and repeats himself.
“Touch mine,” says Chanyeol, so Kyungsoo does, and it’s over within minutes. Kyungsoo feels helpless when he buries his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder to bite back the lewd sounds he’s making, but helpless has never felt so good. Chanyeol comes shortly after, and for a while neither speaks of what has just happened.
“Jongdae hyung says it’s better when it’s someone else’s hand,” whispers Chanyeol. “So, was it?”
Kyungsoo’s too embarrassed to give a response, so he gives a slight nod, and somehow Chanyeol catches it in the dark. Satisfied, Chanyeol climbs out of Kyungsoo’s bed and quickly returns with a pair of boxers.
“When you do… that…” Kyungsoo muses aloud, though it comes across as a question directed at Chanyeol; “who do you think of?”
It’s probably a very personal question, but Chanyeol does give him an answer.
“My special person, I guess,” answers Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo assumes he’s probably referring to some girl he’s met while out on the town. The response only causes Kyungsoo to redden further, because what embarrasses him most, aside from having been jerked and cleaned off by his best friend, is that it was thoughts of Chanyeol that sent him over the edge.
Perhaps it’s normal, because Chanyeol’s hand is directly responsible for the mess he’s now wiping clean. Yet something about it feels off, and even after Chanyeol returns to his own bed and falls asleep from exhaustion, Kyungsoo can’t help but to wonder if ‘my special person’ is also the appropriate answer for himself.
But Chanyeol isn’t a girl, Kyungsoo reminds himself. So, even though he’s still not sure why a special someone has to be female, he accepts it as enough of a reason to let it go for now and to catch some sleep.
Kyungsoo is sixteen years old when a seventeen-year-old Chanyeol draws the tenth symbol on his doorpost, and the only feat that amazes him more than having carried an impulsive tradition for ten consecutive years is that Chanyeol has managed to draw ten distinct symbols in such close proximity of each other. The symbols Kyungsoo has drawn for Chanyeol, on the other hand, resemble more of a line and not the cluster that is a result of Kyungsoo’s lack of noticeable growth, and each year he tries his best to hide his resentment for the fact that he simply hasn’t grown (as much as he’d have liked).
“Maybe we should think of something else,” Chanyeol suggests after he finishes squeezing in a symbol between the others he’s already drawn. “You’re not growing much, you know.”
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo remarks dryly. “Whereas you’re, what, eight centimeters taller than me, now? I’ll end up being too short to draw symbols for you.”
“Grab a chair,” teases Chanyeol, and he only rubs salt to the wound by ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair and patting his (shorter) head. “Hmm, but no. Let’s just ditch the height thing and draw wherever, okay? Otherwise I’ll have to start drawing on top of the other ones.”
“Fine.” Kyungsoo pauses, and another thought comes to mind. “You know, we’re not going to be here for much longer…”
“And?”
“We won’t be able to take these with us when we graduate.”
“Oh… right.” Chanyeol puffs his cheeks, and Kyungsoo can’t help but to stare. It’s a habit Kyungsoo’s noticed over the years, after having spent so much time by Chanyeol’s side, how Chanyeol pouts whenever he’s seriously thinking about something. “Then we’ll take a photo before we leave. And if we ever cross paths in the future, we can recreate it, or something.”
“Right…” Kyungsoo hasn’t given the future too much thought though, or at least as far as Chanyeol is concerned. It’s strange, because the thought of attending university without Chanyeol displeases him, especially after having lived and gone to school with him for the majority of his life. It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, even though graduation is fast approaching.
It goes without saying that Chanyeol’s become someone Kyungsoo can’t picture himself without. Chanyeol is a special person, but whether Chanyeol is Chanyeol’s definition of special person, Kyungsoo still doesn’t know.
Innocence is compromised for a third time, and is finally lost, when Kyungsoo and Chanyeol enroll for the same Biology class. They learn about reproduction, and Kyungsoo comes to a strange realization that there are no girls at their school, even though he’s subconsciously known this all along. But more surprising than this oddity is that the development of a child in a woman’s womb spans nine months, whereas…
“We’re only two months apart,” Kyungsoo mumbles to Chanyeol one evening, after the lights have been turned off and both declare themselves pooped from too much studying. “So… we’re not really brothers, are we?”
Chanyeol has the option of lying, because it’s still plausible to suggest they could be half- or stepbrothers. But seventeen-year-old Chanyeol accepts that Kyungsoo’s wide eyes never really could see everything, even after ten years, so at last he opts for the truth.
“No, we’re not.” But anything more than this isn’t Chanyeol’s place to say, so he takes Kyungsoo to see Mr. Cho; Chanyeol doesn’t accompany Kyungsoo inside due to confidentiality issues, even though Kyungsoo makes the request twice. As for Kyungsoo…
“It’s a lot to take in, I guess,” Kyungsoo mumbles to Mr. Cho. “All this time, I thought they really were my brothers.”
“Labels do not define cherished memories,” Mr. Cho says carefully. He pauses for a moment, as if allowing the words to echo in Kyungsoo’s ears. “The heart measures others not by their appearance but by their significance. Having family to come home to is also important, I know. But I hope you do not regard them as less significant figures in your life simply because they’re not your blood relatives.”
“I know…” Kyungsoo thinks of Chanyeol. He supposes family can sometimes be an obligation, important persons whom you cannot pick and choose from, even though he’s never really known his; that Chanyeol had befriended him without being obligated to, knowing that they weren’t actually related, makes their friendship all the more special to Kyungsoo. From this perspective, Kyungsoo thinks he can manage.
“May I ask another question?” continues Kyungsoo. “Would you happen to know anything about my parents?”
Somehow, Kyungsoo almost expects the answer he receives.
“Hmm, If I remember correctly… ah. Since you asked… your mother passed shortly after giving birth to you, I'm afraid. Your father tried raising you alone, but eventually it got the best of him. He entrusted you to our care when you were young, I think when you were about four… I have no idea where he is now, I’m sorry.”
“Oh…” Kyungsoo is torn, despite his expectation. Curiosity has gotten the better of him. Even if he has no living recollection of his parents, this news weighs down heavily upon his heart. His father doesn't want him, and he will most definitely never get the chance to meet his mother.
And she died… she died because of…
“If I ever see my dad again… I’ll apologize to him.”
“That’s hardly something you can be sorry for, Kyungsoo.”
“I know, but…” but Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to end the statement. So, he doesn’t.
They talk for only a little longer, something about a boarding school for orphaned and abandoned boys and something about being excused from classes for a few days to think things over. Having been wrapped up in Mr. Cho’s words, Kyungsoo forgets that Chanyeol had accompanied him to the office, and he fails to notice Chanyeol still waiting for him. So, Chanyeol asserts his presence by slipping an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist, and after brief acknowledgment the two silently return to their room.
Though neither boy is tired, they sleep together on the same bed, and Kyungsoo takes some comfort in Chanyeol’s arms. He still remembers the incident with Sehun, because that too had ended with him resting securely within Chanyeol’s embrace, and suddenly everything becomes clear: Sehun really wasn’t his brother, nor was anyone else here.
Kyungsoo experiences a fleeting rage, because that time Chanyeol had assured him they really were brothers. But the moment passes, and Kyungsoo supposes Chanyeol had probably assumed it wasn’t his place to say, though Kyungsoo still kicks himself mentally for having been so naive all this time.
“Brothers, huh,” Kyungsoo says quietly, and Chanyeol only holds him tighter.
“I’m sorry for lying,” he mumbles into Kyungsoo’s ear, so that Kyungsoo and only Kyungsoo hears his words, even though they’re alone. “I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell you…”
“It’s fine.”
There’s a pause, in which Chanyeol’s breathing is the only sound Kyungsoo hears, aside from the beating of his heart. Or perhaps it’s Chanyeol’s? Kyungsoo isn’t so sure.
Chanyeol then begins to tell him about how he lost his parents, and Kyungsoo isn’t sure why Chanyeol chooses to confide in him. Perhaps it’s because Chanyeol wants to console him, or perhaps it’s because Chanyeol trusts him-but Kyungsoo soon learn that while he has no memories of his parents, Chanyeol has many memories of his parents… including the memory in which he’d been told he’d never be able to see them again.
“I was so mad they weren’t taking me with them on their vacation, so they told me they’d take me downtown when they returned. Those were their last words to me. One morning I woke up to a social worker talking to my nanny, and next thing I knew I was being told to start packing my things. The bus my parents took got ambushed… it still hurts to think about.”
“I-I’m sor-”
“Don’t be,” Chanyeol whispers. “I just… didn’t want you to go through that too, though I guess you found out anyway. I suppose it couldn't be helped. And after losing all my family so unexpectedly, when I heard you called everyone your brother… I never had a brother, y'know, and if playing along meant having some sort of family… but I’m really sorry for lying all these years, Kyungsoo.”
“It’s… it’s okay. You were just watching out for me.” Kyungsoo remembers Mr. Cho’s words, ‘the heart measures others not by their appearance but by their significance,’ and he supposes the same applies here with Chanyeol, even though for a long while the centerpiece of their friendship had been measuring each other’s heights every year.
“Still am,” reminds Chanyeol, and there’s a hint of finality to his voice. “So don’t forget it.”
It comes as a shock for Kyungsoo, when one day he opens his eyes to a more responsible and less mischievous Chanyeol. The change is subtle, so subtle that Kyungsoo barely notices over the years, to the point where no longer having to discourage Chanyeol and chase him around the building does feel like a sudden change. But it’s more than just maturity, and though they’re both still young, Chanyeol has grown into somewhat of a giant, and his voice has developed a deeper and huskier sound.
Chanyeol is no longer a boy-nor is Kyungsoo, though the changes are less noticeable, or so Kyungsoo thinks anyway. Kyungsoo isn’t sure, but he thinks he may just have missed the moment when Chanyeol had grown up.
There’s something strange about waking up to an empty room and not having to wake up Chanyeol for class, but Kyungsoo doesn’t realize this peculiarity until he overhears a rumor making rounds in hushed whisper.
“…that Chanyeol’s got this really rich distant relative who’s offered to take custody of him.”
“You think Chanyeol’s going to go through with it? I heard he’s been absent from class all morning because…”
Kyungsoo doesn’t listen to any more of it, because he can’t. He’s certain that this news will only result in Chanyeol moving away to live with some rich stranger, and Kyungsoo just can’t accept that, no matter how hard he tries to come to terms with what he’s hearing. On the one hand, Kyungsoo thinks Chanyeol is old enough and doesn’t need anyone taking care of him; on the other hand, Kyungsoo tries but can’t imagine what it’s like to be wanted by family, and he supposes being able to live with relatives must result in some form of happiness for Chanyeol.
And then Kyungsoo thinks about his own father, who’s still alive somewhere and simply didn’t want him anymore, and Kyungsoo’s frustration swells. So he skips the rest of his classes for the day and locks himself up in his room, though Chanyeol’s absence is detrimental and only worsens the situation.
Kyungsoo has a piano recital that evening, but Kyungsoo is too preoccupied with his thoughts to care. His fingers don’t dance along white and black keys, as they should, but rather trace symbols carved into the wood of a doorpost. Each symbol triggers a memory, because Kyungsoo hasn’t forgotten despite the years, and in the silence of the room he closes his eyes and relives time spent with Park Chanyeol.
Ten distinguishable moments in time, Kyungsoo has confirmed he truly is alive.
But with Chanyeol gone…?
Kyungsoo knows such a time would have come anyway, because university is fast approaching them. But he’d had time and still has time to prepare for that moment, should he and Chanyeol be accepted into different universities, whereas now Kyungsoo no longer knows how many days he has left with Chanyeol. He knows reality; he knows life will move on in Chanyeol’s absence. He just… can’t accept it, doesn’t accept it, not yet.
The recital goes poorly on Kyungsoo’s part. Somewhere between nerves, lack of practice and Chanyeol not being in attendance, Kyungsoo reaches a breaking point, and Kyungsoo storms out of the performance hall before the recital’s completion.
Kyungsoo doesn’t know whom to blame. He can’t blame Chanyeol, even though Kyungsoo had made his song choice for his recital with consideration to Chanyeol. He can’t blame his peers, his teachers, or even the school…
His father. Who else but his father? Kyungsoo quickly latches upon this thought; after all, had his father not abandoned him, Kyungsoo would not have a reason to even consider any of his current life problems, right?
So Kyungsoo impulsively wanders the city, alone, at night, in search of his missing father. In the back of his mind he knows it’s ridiculous, because he’s got absolutely no leads. The likelihood of his father living in the same city as the orphanage where he dumped him is slim, and Kyungsoo knows this, even though he still entertains the idea for several hours.
Only after he’s cooled off most of his steam does Kyungsoo return to his room, and he’s met with the first and last person he expects and wants to see.
“The hell, Kyungsoo.”
Kyungsoo freezes at the door. Chanyeol is sitting on Kyungsoo’s bed, and his face is a mix of resent and worry. If Kyungsoo fails to pick up on Chanyeol’s facial expressions, the anger in Chanyeol’s voice certainly tips him off.
Kyungsoo attempts to defend himself, but Chanyeol predictably cuts him off.
“Where have you been, anyway? Do you know how worried sick everyone’s been? When I found out you walked out on your own recital-wait, hold that thought, I need to tell Joonmyun hyung you’re back.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t dare speak as Chanyeol rushes out the door. Kyungsoo treads lightly because Kyungsoo has seldom heard Chanyeol curse before, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand that Chanyeol is seriously frustrated with Kyungsoo’s actions of the evening.
Chanyeol continues the very moment he returns and shuts the door.
“Kyungsoo. What happened? Your recitals are always amazing, what-”
“Where were you today?” interjects Kyungsoo, quietly, though Chanyeol hears and effectively ceases his previous questions.
“I was… out,” mumbles Chanyeol. Then, in a louder voice, he asks, “Is that what upset you?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head, but Chanyeol pays him no heed.
“Listen, I’m really sorry I couldn’t see your recital today. But we’re growing up, Kyungsoo. There’ll come a time when I can’t be attached to your hip anymore.”
“Does that time have to be now, though?” asks Kyungsoo, and he hates how pathetic his words sound. But Kyungsoo has no family left. Mr. Cho is the closest person he has to a father. And Chanyeol… Chanyeol is…
Is what?
“Even siblings move on and lead separate lives,” says Chanyeol. He sounds… sad, almost. But Kyungsoo doesn’t pick up on it.
“We’re not brothers anymore, remember?”
“We might as well be.”
“No. You’re more than that. You’re… special.” And Kyungsoo means what he says, even if he’d taken a little too long trying to justify it in his own mind. He supposes it isn’t their teacher’s definition of special, because Chanyeol still isn’t a girl. Rather, Chanyeol is most definitely Chanyeol’s definition of special, because Chanyeol is someone Kyungsoo doesn’t want to be without.
“Kyungsoo, listen-”
“No, you listen! I-I don’t want to give you up, okay? You’re important to me. You wanna know why I was so upset today? It’s because everyone was saying you were going to be adopted by some guy who suddenly decided he wanted you. And I know, okay? I know. We won’t live in this orphanage together forever. We probably won’t even be here next year. But a guy like me can dream, right? It might not be forever, but it’s still more time. With you.”
Chanyeol doesn’t respond immediately. Kyungsoo feels exposed, and he doesn’t dare meet Chanyeol in the eye. It’s one matter to reach self-understanding, but vocalizing feelings is another trial in itself. Chanyeol bears witness to Kyungsoo’s heart, and somehow that both relieves and terrifies Kyungsoo.
When Chanyeol does speak (it feels like forever to Kyungsoo, but in truth only fifteen or so seconds pass), Chanyeol doesn’t remark on Kyungsoo’s feelings.
“So you heard about that, huh?”
“What, the rumor?” Kyungsoo nods slightly. “Yeah, I did. Is… is it true?”
“Yeah.”
A pause, in which Kyungsoo’s heart plummets,
prematurely.
“But I’m not going through with it.”
Kyungsoo’s face twists with confusion, a sentiment for which he opens his mouth in an attempt to express, though the words never leave him.
“I spent all today with a social worker discussing the case. To be honest, I still don’t understand all the legal stuff behind it. Long story short, I was told I was old enough and didn’t have to go through with it if I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. I’m starting university soon anyway, so it’ll be too much moving.”
“I see….” Kyungsoo tries his best to not sound too relieved. “So you’re… not leaving?”
Chanyeol shakes his head-all the confirmation Kyungsoo needs-and Kyungsoo lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Listen,” Chanyeol says quietly, “there’s something I want to tell you. Do you remember when I first moved in with you?”-Kyungsoo does remember-“Well, before I met you, I was told a lot of things. Mr. Cho told me you didn’t know about your parents or why you were here. He told me how you treated everyone as your brother-I guess he knew it was your way of coping to an unfamiliar environment?
“But he also told me that you were a bit quiet, that you were always sad without knowing why, as if trying to reach out to someone who wasn’t there. So before I met you, Mr. Cho asked me to be your friend. But don’t get me wrong!-I think we would’ve been friends even if no one had asked me to.”
“Good,” mutters Kyungsoo with a nervous laugh. “For a second I thought you were forfeiting our friendship, or something.”
“Never,” says Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo isn’t sure just how much weight there is to that one word. “What I’m trying to say is… I was asked to be your friend, and I hoped I succeeded. But in many ways, you were the one being a friend for me. I remember my very first visit with Mr. Cho, how he told me that I was coping much more easily than other kids my age had. And truthfully, I really was hurting, it was all in the back of my mind. But it was easier because you were around.
“I fooled around a lot. I guess it was my way of coping. And while you didn’t discourage me to the point of forbidding me to do as I pleased, you still watched over me. You took care of me, I guess?-and sometimes you even let me take care of you. You let me be myself, without judging me or telling me to change who I was. Not to mention, we’ve been through so much, I think I know you better than I know myself.
“I know, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’m not good with organizing my thoughts. But well… Mr. Cho told me you were trying to reach out to someone, so I offered a hand. But in the end, you’re the one who saved me from what I could’ve become, had I let myself mope around in despair all this time. You… complete me, I guess? You make me better.
“So you’re special to me too, Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol pauses for a moment, while Kyungsoo is too absorbed in these last words to comment. “I guess I could’ve made this a whole lot shorter if I’d just said that, huh?”
“I-It’s fine.” Kyungsoo nods nervously. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with a jittery feeling which swells from the pits of his stomach, and he’s caught by surprise because no teacher had ever told him what emotion results from two people calling each other special. But Kyungsoo trusts his instincts more than his teachers’ teachings, especially since Chanyeol still isn’t a girl (nor does Kyungsoo want him to be a girl), so Kyungsoo goes again by instinct and concludes this feeling must be a good thing.
“But what do two special people do with each other?” is a question that Kyungsoo doesn’t ask until several days later, after their intimate moment has already come and gone.
“Everything we’ve been doing,” is the answer Chanyeol gives him. After all, Chanyeol reasons, labels do not define memories, but rather it is memories that define labels.
Christmas comes around much sooner than Kyungsoo expects, though he doesn’t quite look forward to the holidays this time around.
“Don’t look so down,” says Chanyeol with his trademark grin. “Even if today is our last Christmas here, it doesn’t mean we’ll never spend Christmas together again.” But while it’s nearly impossible for Kyungsoo to not smile when around a cheerful Chanyeol, his mood doesn’t pick up in the way Chanyeol would’ve liked.
This year they start with the exchanging of gifts: Kyungsoo gets Chanyeol a classy watch (“…because I won’t be around anymore to wake you up for all your classes.”), while Chanyeol gets Kyungsoo another pair of socks (“…because I noticed the ones I got you last time have holes in them, so here’re some new ones!”). Kyungsoo isn’t particularly thrilled with his gift because he feels like socks aren’t meaningful enough of a gift for one last Christmas spent with a special person (even though he understands socks do have a symbolic significance in their relationship), though he doesn’t mention his reasons when he makes his complaints.
“Oh, quit your whining and draw me a symbol already,” says Chanyeol dismissively, and Kyungsoo does as he’s told. He draws a heart and explains the symbolism to Chanyeol, though Chanyeol already knows most of what Kyungsoo has to say.
“You’re special to me,” Kyungsoo says timidly. “You’re special, and I like you.”
Chanyeol beams and an “I know” is all that escapes his lips before he takes his turn. Kyungsoo isn’t sure how he feels when Chanyeol tiptoes and carves his symbol at the very top of the doorpost, and he isn’t sure if it’s a mockery of just how much he’s grown over the years or if he’s trying to throw off the future inhabitants of their room.
“What… what is it?” asks Kyungsoo, because from his height he can’t clearly make out what the drawing is supposed to represent.
“It’s called mistletoe,” Chanyeol replies, and he goes on to explain (rather poorly) the English tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. Actually, his entire explanation is “My second Christmas gift to you is a tradition. In England, people kiss under the mistletoe,” and that’s how Kyungsoo finds himself backed up against the wall and with Chanyeol’s lips pressed gently against his. It’s a quick and innocent kiss, even though innocence was lost some time ago, and it leaves Kyungsoo breathless and out of words.
“I love you too.” says Chanyeol, even though Kyungsoo hadn’t quite used that wording. Kyungsoo can’t say he approves of Chanyeol’s cheekiness, but Kyungsoo does suppose a first kiss and a new tradition are much more meaningful gifts than a mere pair of socks. So, in Kyungsoo’s book, Chanyeol is forgiven, and all is well.
(“But socks?” whines Kyungsoo as he poses with eleven years’ worth of symbols carved into wood. “Really?”
“Don’t complain. I gave you a tradition, too!”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes with feigned annoyance. “Oh, so what, we’re going to kiss under the mistletoe for the next eleven years?”
“Who knows?” asks Chanyeol, an innocent smile tugging at his lips as he readies the camera. “Maybe even forever?”
“Forever? …there’s no such thing as forever.”
Chanyeol only smiles.
“Who knows? There might be.”)
Story Started: 30 September 2012
Draft Completed: 11 October 2012
Story Published: 13 October 2012
Writing Comm | Tumblr
My first attempt at EXO fic! Somehow this ended up being an orphanage AU?
This story was also written for aideshou’s challenge #5, prompts 1+2.
PG-13, Chanyeol x Kyungsoo, 8009 words
for aideshou challenge #5, prompts 1+2
please be sure you have read part one prior to starting part two.
Kyungsoo is aware of the fact that Chanyeol relieves himself late in the night, likely when he assumes Kyungsoo has already fallen asleep. Most of the time Kyungsoo tries to ignore it, but there is one time in which he lets his fingers slip beneath his pajamas and seizes the moment for himself.
It only happens once because Chanyeol catches him. But instead of asking Kyungsoo to pretend their awkward moment never happened, Chanyeol climbs into Kyungsoo’s bed, and Kyungsoo is very appreciative of the fact that Chanyeol can’t see his reddened and embarrassed face in the dark.
“What’re you-?” begins Kyungsoo, and it doesn’t even surprise him anymore that Chanyeol once more cuts him off.
“Let me,” Chanyeol whispers darkly into his ear. Kyungsoo is too focused on just what Chanyeol’s voice does to him to notice the fingers that replace his own, and when he turns to Chanyeol with panicked, wide eyes, Chanyeol quickly hushes him and repeats himself.
“Touch mine,” says Chanyeol, so Kyungsoo does, and it’s over within minutes. Kyungsoo feels helpless when he buries his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder to bite back the lewd sounds he’s making, but helpless has never felt so good. Chanyeol comes shortly after, and for a while neither speaks of what has just happened.
“Jongdae hyung says it’s better when it’s someone else’s hand,” whispers Chanyeol. “So, was it?”
Kyungsoo’s too embarrassed to give a response, so he gives a slight nod, and somehow Chanyeol catches it in the dark. Satisfied, Chanyeol climbs out of Kyungsoo’s bed and quickly returns with a pair of boxers.
“When you do… that…” Kyungsoo muses aloud, though it comes across as a question directed at Chanyeol; “who do you think of?”
It’s probably a very personal question, but Chanyeol does give him an answer.
“My special person, I guess,” answers Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo assumes he’s probably referring to some girl he’s met while out on the town. The response only causes Kyungsoo to redden further, because what embarrasses him most, aside from having been jerked and cleaned off by his best friend, is that it was thoughts of Chanyeol that sent him over the edge.
Perhaps it’s normal, because Chanyeol’s hand is directly responsible for the mess he’s now wiping clean. Yet something about it feels off, and even after Chanyeol returns to his own bed and falls asleep from exhaustion, Kyungsoo can’t help but to wonder if ‘my special person’ is also the appropriate answer for himself.
But Chanyeol isn’t a girl, Kyungsoo reminds himself. So, even though he’s still not sure why a special someone has to be female, he accepts it as enough of a reason to let it go for now and to catch some sleep.
Kyungsoo is sixteen years old when a seventeen-year-old Chanyeol draws the tenth symbol on his doorpost, and the only feat that amazes him more than having carried an impulsive tradition for ten consecutive years is that Chanyeol has managed to draw ten distinct symbols in such close proximity of each other. The symbols Kyungsoo has drawn for Chanyeol, on the other hand, resemble more of a line and not the cluster that is a result of Kyungsoo’s lack of noticeable growth, and each year he tries his best to hide his resentment for the fact that he simply hasn’t grown (as much as he’d have liked).
“Maybe we should think of something else,” Chanyeol suggests after he finishes squeezing in a symbol between the others he’s already drawn. “You’re not growing much, you know.”
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo remarks dryly. “Whereas you’re, what, eight centimeters taller than me, now? I’ll end up being too short to draw symbols for you.”
“Grab a chair,” teases Chanyeol, and he only rubs salt to the wound by ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair and patting his (shorter) head. “Hmm, but no. Let’s just ditch the height thing and draw wherever, okay? Otherwise I’ll have to start drawing on top of the other ones.”
“Fine.” Kyungsoo pauses, and another thought comes to mind. “You know, we’re not going to be here for much longer…”
“And?”
“We won’t be able to take these with us when we graduate.”
“Oh… right.” Chanyeol puffs his cheeks, and Kyungsoo can’t help but to stare. It’s a habit Kyungsoo’s noticed over the years, after having spent so much time by Chanyeol’s side, how Chanyeol pouts whenever he’s seriously thinking about something. “Then we’ll take a photo before we leave. And if we ever cross paths in the future, we can recreate it, or something.”
“Right…” Kyungsoo hasn’t given the future too much thought though, or at least as far as Chanyeol is concerned. It’s strange, because the thought of attending university without Chanyeol displeases him, especially after having lived and gone to school with him for the majority of his life. It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, even though graduation is fast approaching.
It goes without saying that Chanyeol’s become someone Kyungsoo can’t picture himself without. Chanyeol is a special person, but whether Chanyeol is Chanyeol’s definition of special person, Kyungsoo still doesn’t know.
Innocence is compromised for a third time, and is finally lost, when Kyungsoo and Chanyeol enroll for the same Biology class. They learn about reproduction, and Kyungsoo comes to a strange realization that there are no girls at their school, even though he’s subconsciously known this all along. But more surprising than this oddity is that the development of a child in a woman’s womb spans nine months, whereas…
“We’re only two months apart,” Kyungsoo mumbles to Chanyeol one evening, after the lights have been turned off and both declare themselves pooped from too much studying. “So… we’re not really brothers, are we?”
Chanyeol has the option of lying, because it’s still plausible to suggest they could be half- or stepbrothers. But seventeen-year-old Chanyeol accepts that Kyungsoo’s wide eyes never really could see everything, even after ten years, so at last he opts for the truth.
“No, we’re not.” But anything more than this isn’t Chanyeol’s place to say, so he takes Kyungsoo to see Mr. Cho; Chanyeol doesn’t accompany Kyungsoo inside due to confidentiality issues, even though Kyungsoo makes the request twice. As for Kyungsoo…
“It’s a lot to take in, I guess,” Kyungsoo mumbles to Mr. Cho. “All this time, I thought they really were my brothers.”
“Labels do not define cherished memories,” Mr. Cho says carefully. He pauses for a moment, as if allowing the words to echo in Kyungsoo’s ears. “The heart measures others not by their appearance but by their significance. Having family to come home to is also important, I know. But I hope you do not regard them as less significant figures in your life simply because they’re not your blood relatives.”
“I know…” Kyungsoo thinks of Chanyeol. He supposes family can sometimes be an obligation, important persons whom you cannot pick and choose from, even though he’s never really known his; that Chanyeol had befriended him without being obligated to, knowing that they weren’t actually related, makes their friendship all the more special to Kyungsoo. From this perspective, Kyungsoo thinks he can manage.
“May I ask another question?” continues Kyungsoo. “Would you happen to know anything about my parents?”
Somehow, Kyungsoo almost expects the answer he receives.
“Hmm, If I remember correctly… ah. Since you asked… your mother passed shortly after giving birth to you, I'm afraid. Your father tried raising you alone, but eventually it got the best of him. He entrusted you to our care when you were young, I think when you were about four… I have no idea where he is now, I’m sorry.”
“Oh…” Kyungsoo is torn, despite his expectation. Curiosity has gotten the better of him. Even if he has no living recollection of his parents, this news weighs down heavily upon his heart. His father doesn't want him, and he will most definitely never get the chance to meet his mother.
And she died… she died because of…
“If I ever see my dad again… I’ll apologize to him.”
“That’s hardly something you can be sorry for, Kyungsoo.”
“I know, but…” but Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to end the statement. So, he doesn’t.
They talk for only a little longer, something about a boarding school for orphaned and abandoned boys and something about being excused from classes for a few days to think things over. Having been wrapped up in Mr. Cho’s words, Kyungsoo forgets that Chanyeol had accompanied him to the office, and he fails to notice Chanyeol still waiting for him. So, Chanyeol asserts his presence by slipping an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist, and after brief acknowledgment the two silently return to their room.
Though neither boy is tired, they sleep together on the same bed, and Kyungsoo takes some comfort in Chanyeol’s arms. He still remembers the incident with Sehun, because that too had ended with him resting securely within Chanyeol’s embrace, and suddenly everything becomes clear: Sehun really wasn’t his brother, nor was anyone else here.
Kyungsoo experiences a fleeting rage, because that time Chanyeol had assured him they really were brothers. But the moment passes, and Kyungsoo supposes Chanyeol had probably assumed it wasn’t his place to say, though Kyungsoo still kicks himself mentally for having been so naive all this time.
“Brothers, huh,” Kyungsoo says quietly, and Chanyeol only holds him tighter.
“I’m sorry for lying,” he mumbles into Kyungsoo’s ear, so that Kyungsoo and only Kyungsoo hears his words, even though they’re alone. “I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell you…”
“It’s fine.”
There’s a pause, in which Chanyeol’s breathing is the only sound Kyungsoo hears, aside from the beating of his heart. Or perhaps it’s Chanyeol’s? Kyungsoo isn’t so sure.
Chanyeol then begins to tell him about how he lost his parents, and Kyungsoo isn’t sure why Chanyeol chooses to confide in him. Perhaps it’s because Chanyeol wants to console him, or perhaps it’s because Chanyeol trusts him-but Kyungsoo soon learn that while he has no memories of his parents, Chanyeol has many memories of his parents… including the memory in which he’d been told he’d never be able to see them again.
“I was so mad they weren’t taking me with them on their vacation, so they told me they’d take me downtown when they returned. Those were their last words to me. One morning I woke up to a social worker talking to my nanny, and next thing I knew I was being told to start packing my things. The bus my parents took got ambushed… it still hurts to think about.”
“I-I’m sor-”
“Don’t be,” Chanyeol whispers. “I just… didn’t want you to go through that too, though I guess you found out anyway. I suppose it couldn't be helped. And after losing all my family so unexpectedly, when I heard you called everyone your brother… I never had a brother, y'know, and if playing along meant having some sort of family… but I’m really sorry for lying all these years, Kyungsoo.”
“It’s… it’s okay. You were just watching out for me.” Kyungsoo remembers Mr. Cho’s words, ‘the heart measures others not by their appearance but by their significance,’ and he supposes the same applies here with Chanyeol, even though for a long while the centerpiece of their friendship had been measuring each other’s heights every year.
“Still am,” reminds Chanyeol, and there’s a hint of finality to his voice. “So don’t forget it.”
It comes as a shock for Kyungsoo, when one day he opens his eyes to a more responsible and less mischievous Chanyeol. The change is subtle, so subtle that Kyungsoo barely notices over the years, to the point where no longer having to discourage Chanyeol and chase him around the building does feel like a sudden change. But it’s more than just maturity, and though they’re both still young, Chanyeol has grown into somewhat of a giant, and his voice has developed a deeper and huskier sound.
Chanyeol is no longer a boy-nor is Kyungsoo, though the changes are less noticeable, or so Kyungsoo thinks anyway. Kyungsoo isn’t sure, but he thinks he may just have missed the moment when Chanyeol had grown up.
There’s something strange about waking up to an empty room and not having to wake up Chanyeol for class, but Kyungsoo doesn’t realize this peculiarity until he overhears a rumor making rounds in hushed whisper.
“…that Chanyeol’s got this really rich distant relative who’s offered to take custody of him.”
“You think Chanyeol’s going to go through with it? I heard he’s been absent from class all morning because…”
Kyungsoo doesn’t listen to any more of it, because he can’t. He’s certain that this news will only result in Chanyeol moving away to live with some rich stranger, and Kyungsoo just can’t accept that, no matter how hard he tries to come to terms with what he’s hearing. On the one hand, Kyungsoo thinks Chanyeol is old enough and doesn’t need anyone taking care of him; on the other hand, Kyungsoo tries but can’t imagine what it’s like to be wanted by family, and he supposes being able to live with relatives must result in some form of happiness for Chanyeol.
And then Kyungsoo thinks about his own father, who’s still alive somewhere and simply didn’t want him anymore, and Kyungsoo’s frustration swells. So he skips the rest of his classes for the day and locks himself up in his room, though Chanyeol’s absence is detrimental and only worsens the situation.
Kyungsoo has a piano recital that evening, but Kyungsoo is too preoccupied with his thoughts to care. His fingers don’t dance along white and black keys, as they should, but rather trace symbols carved into the wood of a doorpost. Each symbol triggers a memory, because Kyungsoo hasn’t forgotten despite the years, and in the silence of the room he closes his eyes and relives time spent with Park Chanyeol.
Ten distinguishable moments in time, Kyungsoo has confirmed he truly is alive.
But with Chanyeol gone…?
Kyungsoo knows such a time would have come anyway, because university is fast approaching them. But he’d had time and still has time to prepare for that moment, should he and Chanyeol be accepted into different universities, whereas now Kyungsoo no longer knows how many days he has left with Chanyeol. He knows reality; he knows life will move on in Chanyeol’s absence. He just… can’t accept it, doesn’t accept it, not yet.
The recital goes poorly on Kyungsoo’s part. Somewhere between nerves, lack of practice and Chanyeol not being in attendance, Kyungsoo reaches a breaking point, and Kyungsoo storms out of the performance hall before the recital’s completion.
Kyungsoo doesn’t know whom to blame. He can’t blame Chanyeol, even though Kyungsoo had made his song choice for his recital with consideration to Chanyeol. He can’t blame his peers, his teachers, or even the school…
His father. Who else but his father? Kyungsoo quickly latches upon this thought; after all, had his father not abandoned him, Kyungsoo would not have a reason to even consider any of his current life problems, right?
So Kyungsoo impulsively wanders the city, alone, at night, in search of his missing father. In the back of his mind he knows it’s ridiculous, because he’s got absolutely no leads. The likelihood of his father living in the same city as the orphanage where he dumped him is slim, and Kyungsoo knows this, even though he still entertains the idea for several hours.
Only after he’s cooled off most of his steam does Kyungsoo return to his room, and he’s met with the first and last person he expects and wants to see.
“The hell, Kyungsoo.”
Kyungsoo freezes at the door. Chanyeol is sitting on Kyungsoo’s bed, and his face is a mix of resent and worry. If Kyungsoo fails to pick up on Chanyeol’s facial expressions, the anger in Chanyeol’s voice certainly tips him off.
Kyungsoo attempts to defend himself, but Chanyeol predictably cuts him off.
“Where have you been, anyway? Do you know how worried sick everyone’s been? When I found out you walked out on your own recital-wait, hold that thought, I need to tell Joonmyun hyung you’re back.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t dare speak as Chanyeol rushes out the door. Kyungsoo treads lightly because Kyungsoo has seldom heard Chanyeol curse before, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand that Chanyeol is seriously frustrated with Kyungsoo’s actions of the evening.
Chanyeol continues the very moment he returns and shuts the door.
“Kyungsoo. What happened? Your recitals are always amazing, what-”
“Where were you today?” interjects Kyungsoo, quietly, though Chanyeol hears and effectively ceases his previous questions.
“I was… out,” mumbles Chanyeol. Then, in a louder voice, he asks, “Is that what upset you?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head, but Chanyeol pays him no heed.
“Listen, I’m really sorry I couldn’t see your recital today. But we’re growing up, Kyungsoo. There’ll come a time when I can’t be attached to your hip anymore.”
“Does that time have to be now, though?” asks Kyungsoo, and he hates how pathetic his words sound. But Kyungsoo has no family left. Mr. Cho is the closest person he has to a father. And Chanyeol… Chanyeol is…
Is what?
“Even siblings move on and lead separate lives,” says Chanyeol. He sounds… sad, almost. But Kyungsoo doesn’t pick up on it.
“We’re not brothers anymore, remember?”
“We might as well be.”
“No. You’re more than that. You’re… special.” And Kyungsoo means what he says, even if he’d taken a little too long trying to justify it in his own mind. He supposes it isn’t their teacher’s definition of special, because Chanyeol still isn’t a girl. Rather, Chanyeol is most definitely Chanyeol’s definition of special, because Chanyeol is someone Kyungsoo doesn’t want to be without.
“Kyungsoo, listen-”
“No, you listen! I-I don’t want to give you up, okay? You’re important to me. You wanna know why I was so upset today? It’s because everyone was saying you were going to be adopted by some guy who suddenly decided he wanted you. And I know, okay? I know. We won’t live in this orphanage together forever. We probably won’t even be here next year. But a guy like me can dream, right? It might not be forever, but it’s still more time. With you.”
Chanyeol doesn’t respond immediately. Kyungsoo feels exposed, and he doesn’t dare meet Chanyeol in the eye. It’s one matter to reach self-understanding, but vocalizing feelings is another trial in itself. Chanyeol bears witness to Kyungsoo’s heart, and somehow that both relieves and terrifies Kyungsoo.
When Chanyeol does speak (it feels like forever to Kyungsoo, but in truth only fifteen or so seconds pass), Chanyeol doesn’t remark on Kyungsoo’s feelings.
“So you heard about that, huh?”
“What, the rumor?” Kyungsoo nods slightly. “Yeah, I did. Is… is it true?”
“Yeah.”
A pause, in which Kyungsoo’s heart plummets,
prematurely.
“But I’m not going through with it.”
Kyungsoo’s face twists with confusion, a sentiment for which he opens his mouth in an attempt to express, though the words never leave him.
“I spent all today with a social worker discussing the case. To be honest, I still don’t understand all the legal stuff behind it. Long story short, I was told I was old enough and didn’t have to go through with it if I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. I’m starting university soon anyway, so it’ll be too much moving.”
“I see….” Kyungsoo tries his best to not sound too relieved. “So you’re… not leaving?”
Chanyeol shakes his head-all the confirmation Kyungsoo needs-and Kyungsoo lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Listen,” Chanyeol says quietly, “there’s something I want to tell you. Do you remember when I first moved in with you?”-Kyungsoo does remember-“Well, before I met you, I was told a lot of things. Mr. Cho told me you didn’t know about your parents or why you were here. He told me how you treated everyone as your brother-I guess he knew it was your way of coping to an unfamiliar environment?
“But he also told me that you were a bit quiet, that you were always sad without knowing why, as if trying to reach out to someone who wasn’t there. So before I met you, Mr. Cho asked me to be your friend. But don’t get me wrong!-I think we would’ve been friends even if no one had asked me to.”
“Good,” mutters Kyungsoo with a nervous laugh. “For a second I thought you were forfeiting our friendship, or something.”
“Never,” says Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo isn’t sure just how much weight there is to that one word. “What I’m trying to say is… I was asked to be your friend, and I hoped I succeeded. But in many ways, you were the one being a friend for me. I remember my very first visit with Mr. Cho, how he told me that I was coping much more easily than other kids my age had. And truthfully, I really was hurting, it was all in the back of my mind. But it was easier because you were around.
“I fooled around a lot. I guess it was my way of coping. And while you didn’t discourage me to the point of forbidding me to do as I pleased, you still watched over me. You took care of me, I guess?-and sometimes you even let me take care of you. You let me be myself, without judging me or telling me to change who I was. Not to mention, we’ve been through so much, I think I know you better than I know myself.
“I know, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’m not good with organizing my thoughts. But well… Mr. Cho told me you were trying to reach out to someone, so I offered a hand. But in the end, you’re the one who saved me from what I could’ve become, had I let myself mope around in despair all this time. You… complete me, I guess? You make me better.
“So you’re special to me too, Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol pauses for a moment, while Kyungsoo is too absorbed in these last words to comment. “I guess I could’ve made this a whole lot shorter if I’d just said that, huh?”
“I-It’s fine.” Kyungsoo nods nervously. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with a jittery feeling which swells from the pits of his stomach, and he’s caught by surprise because no teacher had ever told him what emotion results from two people calling each other special. But Kyungsoo trusts his instincts more than his teachers’ teachings, especially since Chanyeol still isn’t a girl (nor does Kyungsoo want him to be a girl), so Kyungsoo goes again by instinct and concludes this feeling must be a good thing.
“But what do two special people do with each other?” is a question that Kyungsoo doesn’t ask until several days later, after their intimate moment has already come and gone.
“Everything we’ve been doing,” is the answer Chanyeol gives him. After all, Chanyeol reasons, labels do not define memories, but rather it is memories that define labels.
Christmas comes around much sooner than Kyungsoo expects, though he doesn’t quite look forward to the holidays this time around.
“Don’t look so down,” says Chanyeol with his trademark grin. “Even if today is our last Christmas here, it doesn’t mean we’ll never spend Christmas together again.” But while it’s nearly impossible for Kyungsoo to not smile when around a cheerful Chanyeol, his mood doesn’t pick up in the way Chanyeol would’ve liked.
This year they start with the exchanging of gifts: Kyungsoo gets Chanyeol a classy watch (“…because I won’t be around anymore to wake you up for all your classes.”), while Chanyeol gets Kyungsoo another pair of socks (“…because I noticed the ones I got you last time have holes in them, so here’re some new ones!”). Kyungsoo isn’t particularly thrilled with his gift because he feels like socks aren’t meaningful enough of a gift for one last Christmas spent with a special person (even though he understands socks do have a symbolic significance in their relationship), though he doesn’t mention his reasons when he makes his complaints.
“Oh, quit your whining and draw me a symbol already,” says Chanyeol dismissively, and Kyungsoo does as he’s told. He draws a heart and explains the symbolism to Chanyeol, though Chanyeol already knows most of what Kyungsoo has to say.
“You’re special to me,” Kyungsoo says timidly. “You’re special, and I like you.”
Chanyeol beams and an “I know” is all that escapes his lips before he takes his turn. Kyungsoo isn’t sure how he feels when Chanyeol tiptoes and carves his symbol at the very top of the doorpost, and he isn’t sure if it’s a mockery of just how much he’s grown over the years or if he’s trying to throw off the future inhabitants of their room.
“What… what is it?” asks Kyungsoo, because from his height he can’t clearly make out what the drawing is supposed to represent.
“It’s called mistletoe,” Chanyeol replies, and he goes on to explain (rather poorly) the English tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. Actually, his entire explanation is “My second Christmas gift to you is a tradition. In England, people kiss under the mistletoe,” and that’s how Kyungsoo finds himself backed up against the wall and with Chanyeol’s lips pressed gently against his. It’s a quick and innocent kiss, even though innocence was lost some time ago, and it leaves Kyungsoo breathless and out of words.
“I love you too.” says Chanyeol, even though Kyungsoo hadn’t quite used that wording. Kyungsoo can’t say he approves of Chanyeol’s cheekiness, but Kyungsoo does suppose a first kiss and a new tradition are much more meaningful gifts than a mere pair of socks. So, in Kyungsoo’s book, Chanyeol is forgiven, and all is well.
(“But socks?” whines Kyungsoo as he poses with eleven years’ worth of symbols carved into wood. “Really?”
“Don’t complain. I gave you a tradition, too!”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes with feigned annoyance. “Oh, so what, we’re going to kiss under the mistletoe for the next eleven years?”
“Who knows?” asks Chanyeol, an innocent smile tugging at his lips as he readies the camera. “Maybe even forever?”
“Forever? …there’s no such thing as forever.”
Chanyeol only smiles.
“Who knows? There might be.”)
Story Started: 30 September 2012
Draft Completed: 11 October 2012
Story Published: 13 October 2012
Writing Comm | Tumblr
My first attempt at EXO fic! Somehow this ended up being an orphanage AU?
This story was also written for aideshou’s challenge #5, prompts 1+2.