Hero (Tao / Yixing)
Title: Hero
Rating: PG
Pairing(s)/Focus: Tao / Yixing
Summary: If his partner’s teasing is the cloud in rookie policeman Huang Zitao’s life, then Zhang Yixing is definitely his silver lining.
Notes: For Nene ♥
It’s not as if Zitao comes to the city with his head in the clouds and stars in his eyes. Yes, he’s fresh from the academy, and maybe just a little bit lacking in experience, but he’s hardly an ignorant country hick. Huang Zitao is scrappy, street-smart. He knows what he’s getting himself into.
He’s done his homework, too, and has already mentally prepared himself for whatever hazing his first precinct feels fit to put him through. He may not have been first in his class academically, but he has an impressive martial arts background and the best practical scores his instructors had seen in years. Zitao’s been warned that this might make him a target for a bit more ‘friendly teasing’ than the average rookie, but he can handle that. He’s Huang Zitao; he can handle anything.
Unfortunately, for all that he lands himself smack dab in the middle of the kind of sleepy old suburb practically designed to shelter rookie officers in their formative years on the force, he also lands himself in the one precinct home to the country’s most understanding and empathetic captain (Kim Joonmyun, easily Zitao’s favorite person in the city) and the most irreverent, smart-mouthed detective on the force (Byun Baekhyun, bane of Zitao’s existence). It is not a good combination for Zitao’s mental or emotional well-being.
Baekhyun seems to delight in drawing attention to every one of Zitao’s miniscule imperfections, crowing with laughter every time Zitao misfiles an old report for him. If he stopped there, that would be one thing, but if there’s anything Zitao comes to learn about Byun Baekhyun in his first months at the precinct, it’s that Baekhyun never realizes when he’s going too far.
It doesn’t matter what Zitao’s duties for the day include, because Baekhyun always has a suggestion for a ‘better’ use of Zitao’s time. Zitao doesn’t even get the satisfaction of being the put-upon delivery boy because most days, while Baekhyun completes his rounds for the both of them, Zitao’s busy filing and re-filing old paperwork, organizing backlogs and, on one particularly miserable afternoon, answering the precinct phones in the lobby. Zitao’s never been one to let himself grow discouraged when facing an obstacle, but he’s starting to think that Byun Baekhyun is no ordinary obstacle.
The day he starts to trust Byun Baekhyun, Zitao’s told himself more than once, is the day hell freezes over. And yet, the moment Baekhyun takes a late night call and tells Zitao that it’s time he start pulling his weight around the department, Zitao falls for it. Hook, line, and sinker, he falls for every single inch.
He should have known, is all Zitao can think to himself as he does his very best not to glare too hard at the beaming, elderly woman in front of him. The way Byun Baekhyun had grinned before telling him he had a call to respond to should have been more than clue enough that he was being set up. That’s his problem, Zitao decides. He’s just too nice, too willing to believe the best in everyone around him.
“It’s so nice to see that uniform on a young man with something to him! I don’t know why they didn’t send you before, officer. It doesn’t make sense, to send a boy who looks like a strong wind might knock him over, when I call to ask for some protection from all the suspicious characters skulking about in the middle of the night, now does it? What did you say your name was again, dear?”
“Huang Zitao, ma’am,” Zitao bites out.
He can see the way Mrs. Kim files that information away, which is a lot more than he can say for those suspicious characters he’d been called out for in the first place. The quiet stillness of the street hasn’t been broken by so much as a stray cat since Zitao opened the door of his car.
“The area seems clear now,” he says, and he’s not exactly proud of how much of a struggle it is to keep his tone bland and polite. “I can give you a ride home if you’d like, so you don’t have to worry about running into any unsavory characters at this time of night.”
“Such a gentleman,” Mrs. Kim chuckles. She reaches one gloved hand out to pat at Zitao’s elbow, her smile at once condescending and indulgent. “I’m not so old I can’t make it half a block on my own. I’ve lived in this neighborhood my whole life, Officer Huang, and everyone knows I can take care of myself. No, no, I called you for my employer’s sake. He’s a bit of a - what would you call it? - an easy mark?”
“I’m sorry?”
Zitao never enjoys floundering, but the feeling is magnified several times over when Mrs. Kim throws her hands up as if to say, ‘What can you do?’
“He’s still upstairs auditing the register. Officer Byun usually doesn’t make it here in such good time. You’re more than welcome to head up now, though, dear; I’m sure Yixing won’t object to some company while he finishes up. And then you can just take him to the metro, yes?”
One of the first things Zitao learned at the academy was the importance of taking and keeping control of any situation. He has a sinking feeling, as he watches Mrs. Kim tuck her scarf into her coat and lock him into the tiny music store before toddling off into the darkness, that it’s a lesson he’s failed spectacularly tonight.
He waits another few seconds in silence, squinting out at the street as though Mrs. Kim might suddenly reappear to let him out of the store. When that fails, he tries not to think of just how hard everyone at the station is going to laugh when he finally makes it back. There’s no sense in being hard on himself when there’s a Byun Baekhyun in the precinct to do that for him.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to waste time looking for the stairs, since they’re directly across from the entrance. Zitao huffs at the cutesy little Employees Only sign on the gate at the foot. Yixing, Mrs. Kim had called her employer. Zitao can picture him now, a tiny, wizened little raisin of a man, deaf and distracted enough to be unbothered by the way Mrs. Kim goes on and on without end.
By the time Zitao reaches the last few stairs, he’s so firmly expecting to be greeted by the balding, grandfatherly image he’s created he has to bite back a startled shriek at the sight that actually does meet him on the second floor. Instead, he misses the top step completely, falling through the second set of charming swinging gates to land on his hands and knees in front of a very surprised, very attractive, very much not ancient or wizened Yixing. This will not go down as the best first impression Zitao’s ever made.
It takes Yixing maybe three seconds to recover from Zitao’s less than graceful appearance on his floor. “Oh no,” he says, while Zitao is too frozen with embarrassment to do much more than cringe internally. Yixing scoots his chair back from his desk and makes his way to where Zitao still sprawls, somehow even more acutely aware of how stupid he looks thanks to the apology in this definitely not-balding stranger’s voice. “Mrs. Kim called your precinct again to make sure I don’t somehow get myself mugged, didn’t she? I’m so sorry.”
The noise Zitao makes in response is about as unintelligible as it is inhuman, and he’s just grateful that this Yixing seems to take much less joy in rubbing Zitao’s mistakes in his face than Byun Baekhyun does.
“Here, let me help you up.”
He hauls Zitao up by his biceps easily, giving him a quick once-over to make sure there are no visible injuries before stepping back and smiling at Zitao. Heaven help him, Zitao thinks wildly, still trying to jumpstart his brain back into some manner of functionality, the man’s got a fucking dimple.
“I can let you out now, if you’ve got to get back to the station,” Yixing says, shooting a quick glance back at his work spread out across the desk behind him. “If you don’t mind staying, though, I do have some of Mrs. Kim’s famous strawberry shortcake left, and some coffee.”
Yixing sounds almost hopeful, and who is Zitao to turn away from a civilian in need - especially when there’s cake and coffee involved.
Needless to say, Zitao’s a little conflicted when he finally returns back to the precinct to report to Joonmyun and Baekhyun. On the one hand, he’d kind of like to shake the smirk right off Baekhyun’s face when he asks how his first call went. On the other… Zitao actually enjoyed sitting with Yixing as he finished his audit, demolishing a few generous slices of Mrs. Kim’s strawberry shortcake and listening to Yixing explain the importance of scheduling regular inventory counts that also take into consideration the condition of the rental instruments in his back room.
Unable to bring himself to give Baekhyun any kind of satisfaction, Zitao settles for ignoring the man while he thinks about the extra slice of cake sitting in his locker. Yixing had been very insistent that Zitao take a slice back to the station with him (“Consider it my thanks for indulging Mrs. Kim when most people would call it a waste of time. Please.”), and Zitao can’t deny he’s looking forward to heading home and enjoying every last crumb.
Mrs. Kim’s calls, as Zitao comes to find out, take on a somewhat regular pattern. They come on the first and third Thursday of every month, for the most part, specifically asking for Zitao now, though Baekhyun does field the odd call one Sunday evening when Zitao’s out sick with the flu.
He comes back to find a small package on his desk, his name written in a neat, precise hand he doesn’t recognize. Across the room, Zitao can see Baekhyun smirking at him, and for a moment he wonders if Baekhyun’s gone through all the trouble of having one of his friends mail in a prank. He hasn’t, as it turns out, because the package is from Yixing. There’s a small canister of dried tea leaves (Remember to stay hydrated! the attached note reads) and two bags of cough drops. Beneath that, with an admonition for Zitao to take better care of himself penned out in shaky letters, and wrapped in thin linen, is a loaf of what smells like cinnamon bread.
“Three months in and you’ve already got Yixing and Mrs. Kim playing favorites,” Baekhyun says, once Zitao has everything spread out across his desk. “Just what did you do to charm their pants off like that?”
Zitao doesn’t splutter, is far too mature and controlled to splutter, but he can’t deny that a small part of him wonders just what it would take to charm Zhang Yixing’s pants off in a more literal sense.
It would probably take a miracle, Zitao privately concludes, roughly two months later. He still takes each and every one of Mrs. Kim’s calls, and has even made a point of stopping by Yixing’s little music shop on one of his rare days off, but Zitao’s getting a little discouraged at the way their friendship is progressing. Or rather, the way it isn’t, because, five months down the road, Yixing still greets Zitao politely and thanks him for walking him to the metro politely and asks after Baekhyun and Joonmyun politely. It’s not a thought Zitao ever thought he would have, but he’s growing sick to death of all Yixing’s manners.
There aren’t many people Zitao trusts more than Joonmyun, which is why he broaches the subject, when Joonmyun mentions that he needs to pick up a few reeds from Yixing’s store, and asks Zitao if he’d like to join him.
Zitao hasn’t whined since he was five, but he’ll admit to having a somewhat plaintive tone of voice when he thinks about Yixing’s pretty, pleasant smile - and the way he never returns Zitao’s mild teasing when Zitao stays late to help Yixing put stock away.
“Shouldn’t we be friends by now?”
Joonmyun pats his arm consolingly, and, Zitao will always give credit where credit is due, actually manages to look away from the selection of clarinet reeds in front of them while he listens to Zitao’s very organized, very detailed list of complaints regarding Yixing’s ‘polite, but distant’ attitude. “I don’t think it’s quite as bad as all that. You wouldn’t have this little crush on him if he teased you the way Baekhyun does, now would you?”
It takes all of Zitao’s very considerable willpower to keep from glaring at his own captain. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he just has a different way of appreciating your friendship? It’s obvious he dotes on you, Zitao, and -“
“Everyone dotes on Zitao,” Yixing agrees pleasantly, stepping up from behind both Zitao and Joonmyun without warning.
Zitao would like to think that he doesn’t startle easily - and he certainly doesn’t jump a good foot in the air the way Joonmyun does - but Yixing still rubs a gentle hand down his arm like he’s settling a jumpy cat.
Joonmyun very pointedly turns his attention to the reeds he’d come to pick up while Yixing shoots Zitao a charming, pleasant smile. “Not that I’m not happy to see you both here, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Kim hasn’t called the station all week.”
“I just needed to pick up a few reeds, and Zitao offered to keep me company,” Joonmyun answers, once it’s obvious that Zitao is a little too focused on the hand now lightly gripping his wrist to form anything resembling a coherent sentence.
Thankfully for Zitao, Yixing has always been a little oblivious. “That’s sweet of you, Zitao,” he says, and squeezes Zitao’s wrist once. He turns to Joonmyun, his voice a stage-whisper that Zitao picks up easily, and adds, “I was going to be a little embarrassed if it turned out that he’d let me go on and on about the benefits of learning to play an instrument while already playing one.”
And that’s it - that’s the comfortable teasing Zitao’s been waiting for, but it’s directed at Joonmyun, not him. Zitao pulls away from Yixing’s gentle grip and pretends to be engrossed in the oboe reeds a bare two feet over. Yixing doesn’t stay much longer after that, and if his goodbye is a little muted, well, Zitao is obviously not close enough a friend that it’s any of his business.
They watch him walk away, barely making it to the end of the aisle before he’s flagged down by another customer. “What I was trying to say,” Joonmyun murmurs, while Zitao struggles to drag his attention away from the way Yixing’s shirt pulls nicely over his broad shoulders, how the tie of his canvas apron only emphasizes his trim waist.
“Before Yixing scared us both, what I wanted to say was that it’s obvious he cares about you a lot. And it’s equally obvious you’re just as attached to him, so why don’t you do something about it? Ask him on a date, Taozi. It’s better than marinating in your interest in him like this.”
Zitao, for the record, is not marinating in anything.
It’s just Zitao’s luck that it’s his day off when Yixing is finally involved in something that actually requires police assistance. He gets the call from Baekhyun, of all people, just as he’s walking out of the gym, a little sweaty and worse for the wear, but exhilarated and refreshed all the same.
“You might want to swing by if you’re not in the middle of something,” is what Baekhyun says when he finally answers his phone. “It’s Yixing, he -“
Zitao hangs up the phone before Baekhyun can say anything else, already sprinting to his car.
The drive to the station is a quick one, but Zitao feels every single second of the seven-minute trip, scenario after scenario playing through his mind. Yixing was hit by a car, Yixing’s store was held up, Yixing was caught in the crossfire of a bank robbery - it doesn’t matter that his precinct has seen less than five gun-related crimes all year, Zitao’s mind is racing too fast for his common sense to keep up.
When he finally does burst through the doors of the station, Zitao spots Yixing almost immediately. He’s sitting across from Baekhyun’s desk, pressing a small pack of ice to the side of his head, and Zitao could faint from relief.
“Zitao!” Baekhyun calls out, not a second later, and not even Zitao can miss the look of utter relief that floods Yixing’s expression as he makes his way over to Baekhyun’s desk to stand next to Yixing.
“I’m just finishing up Yixing’s statement,” Baekhyun tells him. “He’ll be done here then, if you want to help him to the metro or take him home. The paramedics said he has a light concussion, I don’t know if he has anyone to watch over him for the afternoon?”
“It’s fine,” Yixing assures Baekhyun, and then turns to shoot Zitao a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”
He doesn’t look fine, though. His lips are split and swollen, and the left side of his face is bruising despite the ice pack, small scrapes peppering his cheek and temple. Zitao doesn’t mean to do anything, certainly doesn’t mean to touch him, but he’s tracing the injuries before he can stop himself, his worry solidifying as Yixing winces away from his hand.
“It really does look worse than it is,” he insists.
Zitao’s quiet as he walks Yixing to his car. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone close to him hurt like this, and he doesn’t know what to do, what to say, to make it better. It only makes him feel worse when Yixing reaches over to squeeze his hand reassuringly as they’re waiting at a red light, his soft, “Please don’t worry, I’m okay, I really am,” only making Zitao feel guiltier.
He walks Yixing to the door of his apartment despite Yixing’s protests, and then follows him inside. It’s small, a little bit messier than Zitao might have expected, but comfortably so. Yixing seems to perk up once his door closes, and he settles Zitao on his couch before heading into his kitchen to start some tea.
“Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?” Zitao asks, halfway to his feet when Yixing’s laugh echoes through the apartment.
“If you’re stuck here making sure I don’t doze off for the next few hours, the least I can do is get you something to drink. Is green tea alright with you?”
Even water feels like it would be too generous, right now, but Zitao swallows that thought down before he can give voice to it, and instead makes his way into the kitchen, where Yixing is measuring out the same kind of tea he’d sent to Zitao a few months earlier.
The bruising on Yixing’s face looks worse in the yellow light of his kitchen, and Zitao’s heart constricts yet again at the sight.
“What happened,” he asks before he can stop himself.
Yixing shrugs, licking at his busted lip absently. “Mrs. Kim always did say that I was going to wander into a mugging one of these days.”
It’s a short and simple story, really. He’d been on his way back from dropping off the store’s deposit when he’d interrupted a mugging and found his face forcefully introduced to a building’s back wall for his trouble. There’d been a knife involved, more of a threat than anything, though Zitao got the feeling that Yixing was downplaying the seriousness of it all for his sake.
“I’m sorry,” Zitao tells him, reaching out to cup his face gently with both hands. He lets his thumb trace Yixing’s bottom lip, watches as Yixing’s tongue darts out to mimic the action not five seconds later, and that’s it. That’s all Zitao’s heart can take. He leans in, kisses him gently, mindful of Yixing’s injuries and the dried blood on the corner of Yixing’s mouth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he says as he pulls back.
Yixing’s own hands come up to hold his wrists, keeping him in place, and this is nothing like what Zitao’s imagined. He hasn’t saved Yixing from anything, hasn’t played the hero, hasn’t swept Yixing off his feet with his courage and skill, but that doesn’t seem to matter when Yixing’s the one moving back in this time, his kiss soft and sweet despite the faint taste of blood that lingers on Zitao’s tongue.
“You’re here right now,” Yixing says, just as the kettle goes off. “That’s what’s important.”
Rating: PG
Pairing(s)/Focus: Tao / Yixing
Summary: If his partner’s teasing is the cloud in rookie policeman Huang Zitao’s life, then Zhang Yixing is definitely his silver lining.
Notes: For Nene ♥
It’s not as if Zitao comes to the city with his head in the clouds and stars in his eyes. Yes, he’s fresh from the academy, and maybe just a little bit lacking in experience, but he’s hardly an ignorant country hick. Huang Zitao is scrappy, street-smart. He knows what he’s getting himself into.
He’s done his homework, too, and has already mentally prepared himself for whatever hazing his first precinct feels fit to put him through. He may not have been first in his class academically, but he has an impressive martial arts background and the best practical scores his instructors had seen in years. Zitao’s been warned that this might make him a target for a bit more ‘friendly teasing’ than the average rookie, but he can handle that. He’s Huang Zitao; he can handle anything.
Unfortunately, for all that he lands himself smack dab in the middle of the kind of sleepy old suburb practically designed to shelter rookie officers in their formative years on the force, he also lands himself in the one precinct home to the country’s most understanding and empathetic captain (Kim Joonmyun, easily Zitao’s favorite person in the city) and the most irreverent, smart-mouthed detective on the force (Byun Baekhyun, bane of Zitao’s existence). It is not a good combination for Zitao’s mental or emotional well-being.
Baekhyun seems to delight in drawing attention to every one of Zitao’s miniscule imperfections, crowing with laughter every time Zitao misfiles an old report for him. If he stopped there, that would be one thing, but if there’s anything Zitao comes to learn about Byun Baekhyun in his first months at the precinct, it’s that Baekhyun never realizes when he’s going too far.
It doesn’t matter what Zitao’s duties for the day include, because Baekhyun always has a suggestion for a ‘better’ use of Zitao’s time. Zitao doesn’t even get the satisfaction of being the put-upon delivery boy because most days, while Baekhyun completes his rounds for the both of them, Zitao’s busy filing and re-filing old paperwork, organizing backlogs and, on one particularly miserable afternoon, answering the precinct phones in the lobby. Zitao’s never been one to let himself grow discouraged when facing an obstacle, but he’s starting to think that Byun Baekhyun is no ordinary obstacle.
The day he starts to trust Byun Baekhyun, Zitao’s told himself more than once, is the day hell freezes over. And yet, the moment Baekhyun takes a late night call and tells Zitao that it’s time he start pulling his weight around the department, Zitao falls for it. Hook, line, and sinker, he falls for every single inch.
He should have known, is all Zitao can think to himself as he does his very best not to glare too hard at the beaming, elderly woman in front of him. The way Byun Baekhyun had grinned before telling him he had a call to respond to should have been more than clue enough that he was being set up. That’s his problem, Zitao decides. He’s just too nice, too willing to believe the best in everyone around him.
“It’s so nice to see that uniform on a young man with something to him! I don’t know why they didn’t send you before, officer. It doesn’t make sense, to send a boy who looks like a strong wind might knock him over, when I call to ask for some protection from all the suspicious characters skulking about in the middle of the night, now does it? What did you say your name was again, dear?”
“Huang Zitao, ma’am,” Zitao bites out.
He can see the way Mrs. Kim files that information away, which is a lot more than he can say for those suspicious characters he’d been called out for in the first place. The quiet stillness of the street hasn’t been broken by so much as a stray cat since Zitao opened the door of his car.
“The area seems clear now,” he says, and he’s not exactly proud of how much of a struggle it is to keep his tone bland and polite. “I can give you a ride home if you’d like, so you don’t have to worry about running into any unsavory characters at this time of night.”
“Such a gentleman,” Mrs. Kim chuckles. She reaches one gloved hand out to pat at Zitao’s elbow, her smile at once condescending and indulgent. “I’m not so old I can’t make it half a block on my own. I’ve lived in this neighborhood my whole life, Officer Huang, and everyone knows I can take care of myself. No, no, I called you for my employer’s sake. He’s a bit of a - what would you call it? - an easy mark?”
“I’m sorry?”
Zitao never enjoys floundering, but the feeling is magnified several times over when Mrs. Kim throws her hands up as if to say, ‘What can you do?’
“He’s still upstairs auditing the register. Officer Byun usually doesn’t make it here in such good time. You’re more than welcome to head up now, though, dear; I’m sure Yixing won’t object to some company while he finishes up. And then you can just take him to the metro, yes?”
One of the first things Zitao learned at the academy was the importance of taking and keeping control of any situation. He has a sinking feeling, as he watches Mrs. Kim tuck her scarf into her coat and lock him into the tiny music store before toddling off into the darkness, that it’s a lesson he’s failed spectacularly tonight.
He waits another few seconds in silence, squinting out at the street as though Mrs. Kim might suddenly reappear to let him out of the store. When that fails, he tries not to think of just how hard everyone at the station is going to laugh when he finally makes it back. There’s no sense in being hard on himself when there’s a Byun Baekhyun in the precinct to do that for him.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to waste time looking for the stairs, since they’re directly across from the entrance. Zitao huffs at the cutesy little Employees Only sign on the gate at the foot. Yixing, Mrs. Kim had called her employer. Zitao can picture him now, a tiny, wizened little raisin of a man, deaf and distracted enough to be unbothered by the way Mrs. Kim goes on and on without end.
By the time Zitao reaches the last few stairs, he’s so firmly expecting to be greeted by the balding, grandfatherly image he’s created he has to bite back a startled shriek at the sight that actually does meet him on the second floor. Instead, he misses the top step completely, falling through the second set of charming swinging gates to land on his hands and knees in front of a very surprised, very attractive, very much not ancient or wizened Yixing. This will not go down as the best first impression Zitao’s ever made.
It takes Yixing maybe three seconds to recover from Zitao’s less than graceful appearance on his floor. “Oh no,” he says, while Zitao is too frozen with embarrassment to do much more than cringe internally. Yixing scoots his chair back from his desk and makes his way to where Zitao still sprawls, somehow even more acutely aware of how stupid he looks thanks to the apology in this definitely not-balding stranger’s voice. “Mrs. Kim called your precinct again to make sure I don’t somehow get myself mugged, didn’t she? I’m so sorry.”
The noise Zitao makes in response is about as unintelligible as it is inhuman, and he’s just grateful that this Yixing seems to take much less joy in rubbing Zitao’s mistakes in his face than Byun Baekhyun does.
“Here, let me help you up.”
He hauls Zitao up by his biceps easily, giving him a quick once-over to make sure there are no visible injuries before stepping back and smiling at Zitao. Heaven help him, Zitao thinks wildly, still trying to jumpstart his brain back into some manner of functionality, the man’s got a fucking dimple.
“I can let you out now, if you’ve got to get back to the station,” Yixing says, shooting a quick glance back at his work spread out across the desk behind him. “If you don’t mind staying, though, I do have some of Mrs. Kim’s famous strawberry shortcake left, and some coffee.”
Yixing sounds almost hopeful, and who is Zitao to turn away from a civilian in need - especially when there’s cake and coffee involved.
Needless to say, Zitao’s a little conflicted when he finally returns back to the precinct to report to Joonmyun and Baekhyun. On the one hand, he’d kind of like to shake the smirk right off Baekhyun’s face when he asks how his first call went. On the other… Zitao actually enjoyed sitting with Yixing as he finished his audit, demolishing a few generous slices of Mrs. Kim’s strawberry shortcake and listening to Yixing explain the importance of scheduling regular inventory counts that also take into consideration the condition of the rental instruments in his back room.
Unable to bring himself to give Baekhyun any kind of satisfaction, Zitao settles for ignoring the man while he thinks about the extra slice of cake sitting in his locker. Yixing had been very insistent that Zitao take a slice back to the station with him (“Consider it my thanks for indulging Mrs. Kim when most people would call it a waste of time. Please.”), and Zitao can’t deny he’s looking forward to heading home and enjoying every last crumb.
Mrs. Kim’s calls, as Zitao comes to find out, take on a somewhat regular pattern. They come on the first and third Thursday of every month, for the most part, specifically asking for Zitao now, though Baekhyun does field the odd call one Sunday evening when Zitao’s out sick with the flu.
He comes back to find a small package on his desk, his name written in a neat, precise hand he doesn’t recognize. Across the room, Zitao can see Baekhyun smirking at him, and for a moment he wonders if Baekhyun’s gone through all the trouble of having one of his friends mail in a prank. He hasn’t, as it turns out, because the package is from Yixing. There’s a small canister of dried tea leaves (Remember to stay hydrated! the attached note reads) and two bags of cough drops. Beneath that, with an admonition for Zitao to take better care of himself penned out in shaky letters, and wrapped in thin linen, is a loaf of what smells like cinnamon bread.
“Three months in and you’ve already got Yixing and Mrs. Kim playing favorites,” Baekhyun says, once Zitao has everything spread out across his desk. “Just what did you do to charm their pants off like that?”
Zitao doesn’t splutter, is far too mature and controlled to splutter, but he can’t deny that a small part of him wonders just what it would take to charm Zhang Yixing’s pants off in a more literal sense.
It would probably take a miracle, Zitao privately concludes, roughly two months later. He still takes each and every one of Mrs. Kim’s calls, and has even made a point of stopping by Yixing’s little music shop on one of his rare days off, but Zitao’s getting a little discouraged at the way their friendship is progressing. Or rather, the way it isn’t, because, five months down the road, Yixing still greets Zitao politely and thanks him for walking him to the metro politely and asks after Baekhyun and Joonmyun politely. It’s not a thought Zitao ever thought he would have, but he’s growing sick to death of all Yixing’s manners.
There aren’t many people Zitao trusts more than Joonmyun, which is why he broaches the subject, when Joonmyun mentions that he needs to pick up a few reeds from Yixing’s store, and asks Zitao if he’d like to join him.
Zitao hasn’t whined since he was five, but he’ll admit to having a somewhat plaintive tone of voice when he thinks about Yixing’s pretty, pleasant smile - and the way he never returns Zitao’s mild teasing when Zitao stays late to help Yixing put stock away.
“Shouldn’t we be friends by now?”
Joonmyun pats his arm consolingly, and, Zitao will always give credit where credit is due, actually manages to look away from the selection of clarinet reeds in front of them while he listens to Zitao’s very organized, very detailed list of complaints regarding Yixing’s ‘polite, but distant’ attitude. “I don’t think it’s quite as bad as all that. You wouldn’t have this little crush on him if he teased you the way Baekhyun does, now would you?”
It takes all of Zitao’s very considerable willpower to keep from glaring at his own captain. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he just has a different way of appreciating your friendship? It’s obvious he dotes on you, Zitao, and -“
“Everyone dotes on Zitao,” Yixing agrees pleasantly, stepping up from behind both Zitao and Joonmyun without warning.
Zitao would like to think that he doesn’t startle easily - and he certainly doesn’t jump a good foot in the air the way Joonmyun does - but Yixing still rubs a gentle hand down his arm like he’s settling a jumpy cat.
Joonmyun very pointedly turns his attention to the reeds he’d come to pick up while Yixing shoots Zitao a charming, pleasant smile. “Not that I’m not happy to see you both here, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Kim hasn’t called the station all week.”
“I just needed to pick up a few reeds, and Zitao offered to keep me company,” Joonmyun answers, once it’s obvious that Zitao is a little too focused on the hand now lightly gripping his wrist to form anything resembling a coherent sentence.
Thankfully for Zitao, Yixing has always been a little oblivious. “That’s sweet of you, Zitao,” he says, and squeezes Zitao’s wrist once. He turns to Joonmyun, his voice a stage-whisper that Zitao picks up easily, and adds, “I was going to be a little embarrassed if it turned out that he’d let me go on and on about the benefits of learning to play an instrument while already playing one.”
And that’s it - that’s the comfortable teasing Zitao’s been waiting for, but it’s directed at Joonmyun, not him. Zitao pulls away from Yixing’s gentle grip and pretends to be engrossed in the oboe reeds a bare two feet over. Yixing doesn’t stay much longer after that, and if his goodbye is a little muted, well, Zitao is obviously not close enough a friend that it’s any of his business.
They watch him walk away, barely making it to the end of the aisle before he’s flagged down by another customer. “What I was trying to say,” Joonmyun murmurs, while Zitao struggles to drag his attention away from the way Yixing’s shirt pulls nicely over his broad shoulders, how the tie of his canvas apron only emphasizes his trim waist.
“Before Yixing scared us both, what I wanted to say was that it’s obvious he cares about you a lot. And it’s equally obvious you’re just as attached to him, so why don’t you do something about it? Ask him on a date, Taozi. It’s better than marinating in your interest in him like this.”
Zitao, for the record, is not marinating in anything.
It’s just Zitao’s luck that it’s his day off when Yixing is finally involved in something that actually requires police assistance. He gets the call from Baekhyun, of all people, just as he’s walking out of the gym, a little sweaty and worse for the wear, but exhilarated and refreshed all the same.
“You might want to swing by if you’re not in the middle of something,” is what Baekhyun says when he finally answers his phone. “It’s Yixing, he -“
Zitao hangs up the phone before Baekhyun can say anything else, already sprinting to his car.
The drive to the station is a quick one, but Zitao feels every single second of the seven-minute trip, scenario after scenario playing through his mind. Yixing was hit by a car, Yixing’s store was held up, Yixing was caught in the crossfire of a bank robbery - it doesn’t matter that his precinct has seen less than five gun-related crimes all year, Zitao’s mind is racing too fast for his common sense to keep up.
When he finally does burst through the doors of the station, Zitao spots Yixing almost immediately. He’s sitting across from Baekhyun’s desk, pressing a small pack of ice to the side of his head, and Zitao could faint from relief.
“Zitao!” Baekhyun calls out, not a second later, and not even Zitao can miss the look of utter relief that floods Yixing’s expression as he makes his way over to Baekhyun’s desk to stand next to Yixing.
“I’m just finishing up Yixing’s statement,” Baekhyun tells him. “He’ll be done here then, if you want to help him to the metro or take him home. The paramedics said he has a light concussion, I don’t know if he has anyone to watch over him for the afternoon?”
“It’s fine,” Yixing assures Baekhyun, and then turns to shoot Zitao a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”
He doesn’t look fine, though. His lips are split and swollen, and the left side of his face is bruising despite the ice pack, small scrapes peppering his cheek and temple. Zitao doesn’t mean to do anything, certainly doesn’t mean to touch him, but he’s tracing the injuries before he can stop himself, his worry solidifying as Yixing winces away from his hand.
“It really does look worse than it is,” he insists.
Zitao’s quiet as he walks Yixing to his car. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone close to him hurt like this, and he doesn’t know what to do, what to say, to make it better. It only makes him feel worse when Yixing reaches over to squeeze his hand reassuringly as they’re waiting at a red light, his soft, “Please don’t worry, I’m okay, I really am,” only making Zitao feel guiltier.
He walks Yixing to the door of his apartment despite Yixing’s protests, and then follows him inside. It’s small, a little bit messier than Zitao might have expected, but comfortably so. Yixing seems to perk up once his door closes, and he settles Zitao on his couch before heading into his kitchen to start some tea.
“Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?” Zitao asks, halfway to his feet when Yixing’s laugh echoes through the apartment.
“If you’re stuck here making sure I don’t doze off for the next few hours, the least I can do is get you something to drink. Is green tea alright with you?”
Even water feels like it would be too generous, right now, but Zitao swallows that thought down before he can give voice to it, and instead makes his way into the kitchen, where Yixing is measuring out the same kind of tea he’d sent to Zitao a few months earlier.
The bruising on Yixing’s face looks worse in the yellow light of his kitchen, and Zitao’s heart constricts yet again at the sight.
“What happened,” he asks before he can stop himself.
Yixing shrugs, licking at his busted lip absently. “Mrs. Kim always did say that I was going to wander into a mugging one of these days.”
It’s a short and simple story, really. He’d been on his way back from dropping off the store’s deposit when he’d interrupted a mugging and found his face forcefully introduced to a building’s back wall for his trouble. There’d been a knife involved, more of a threat than anything, though Zitao got the feeling that Yixing was downplaying the seriousness of it all for his sake.
“I’m sorry,” Zitao tells him, reaching out to cup his face gently with both hands. He lets his thumb trace Yixing’s bottom lip, watches as Yixing’s tongue darts out to mimic the action not five seconds later, and that’s it. That’s all Zitao’s heart can take. He leans in, kisses him gently, mindful of Yixing’s injuries and the dried blood on the corner of Yixing’s mouth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he says as he pulls back.
Yixing’s own hands come up to hold his wrists, keeping him in place, and this is nothing like what Zitao’s imagined. He hasn’t saved Yixing from anything, hasn’t played the hero, hasn’t swept Yixing off his feet with his courage and skill, but that doesn’t seem to matter when Yixing’s the one moving back in this time, his kiss soft and sweet despite the faint taste of blood that lingers on Zitao’s tongue.
“You’re here right now,” Yixing says, just as the kettle goes off. “That’s what’s important.”