livin la vida loca 2/2

[itachibana13]

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Kris wishes the weekend was back. At least it isn’t a Wednesday. He hates Wednesdays.

But Wednesday is tomorrow, and today will probably be just as hectic as yesterday was. Even though Sonia, Melissa, and their other friend are huddled on the other side of the carriage, he can still hear them chatting happily from where he is. Something about Homecoming.

They get off at the next stop, and Kris busies himself with staring at his phone for updates on world events he has no interest in. The preparations for the winter Olympics held in Russia have begun, and there’s an online vote going on to see who the opening act should be. Kris isn’t particularly into Olympics - he mainly watches them in social outings, and he doesn’t really have much patriotism for his country. Or any of them. Things are sort of weird when you’re split between four different countries.

Kris was born in Guangzhou, roughly 28 years ago, and then shuttled off to Vancouver, where he was raised until middle school. Once seventh grade hit, his family packed up bags again and settled in Seoul. He met Chanyeol in eighth grade, and figured this is what stability feels like.

Then he moved to New York City for college, and here Kris is, on September 20, 2013, standing in a subway that’s just about to pull into his stop at Canal Street.

When he finally makes it to his his office building, Chanyeol is talking to Amy Lee, the girl at the reception desk, with a grin on his face. Amy has a matching grin, and Kris mumbles a broken hello as he slips past them both and into the elevator.

What was that he was reading on his phone again? Right, the Olympics.

When Kris was a junior in high school, the winter Olympics were in 2002, held in Salt Lake City. Kris didn’t know who to cheer for, but Chanyeol sure did, so he stayed put in Chanyeol’s house after hagwon and cheered for athletes Kris didn’t really know or care about. But Chanyeol has always had enough enthusiasm for two people, and even then, he made you want to be a third person. So Kris cheered when Choi Eunkwang won the gold, and yelled when Lee Kyuhyun didn’t reach the finals.

It wasn’t the ideal life, but it was good, and Kris liked good.

The rest of the week progressed slowly, and day by day, Kris could see Chanyeol and his slowly ever growing group of friends. Amy was the first, then it was Peniel, and then there were people that Kris didn’t even know the names of that would chat him up after work. Any time Kris wanted to spare to talk to Chanyeol were shafted, and instead of waiting around, he decided to start leaving earlier.

Then Friday came, along with a text message.

(*^▽^*) Yifan!!!!!!! Take me to Ktown!!!!!!!! I wanna see!!!!! KOREA!!

Despite himself, Kris laughs. It’s almost too easy to see Chanyeol with his eyes aflame like they were back turning the Olympics as he cheered for Eunkwang to run faster, faster, faster, fasterfasterfaster.

Shouldn’t you call me hyung?

It’s almost time to leave the office, and Kris still at least three more reports to look over. Today is a no-go, he thinks. His phone vibrates again.

(*^▽^*) Yifan hyung!!!!!!! Take me to Ktown!!!!!!!! I wanna see!!!!! KOREA!!

This brat.

He punches in a quick message with his address and time before before shutting off his phone and opening a file.

Chanyeol, in fact, comes exactly on time, which is surprising because Chanyeol is never on time. Rather, he was never on time in high school.

“Is this the famous Wu Yifan’s apartment?” Chanyeol asks cheekily as he steps into Kris’ apartment. He’s forgone the suit and tie for a simple t-shirt and jeans, and Kris marvels at how much younger he looks, especially with his thick-rimmed glasses.

“Kris,” he says, shutting the door gently. “Yifan isn’t my name anymore.”

“I bet your mom thinks that too,” Chanyeol retorts, toeing off his shoes in the doorway. “Speaking of her, show me this guest room that Lu Han’s been telling me all about.”

Kris groans. “I thought you wanted to see Ktown, not my apartment.”

“Kill two birds with one stone,” he sing songs, walking past him and into the living room. “You have an upstairs?”

“It’s a townhouse,” Kris explains as Chanyeol stumbles up the staircase. “Not exactly a flat.”

“This is awesome!” Chanyeol yells from upstairs. Kris hopes his neighbors aren’t in. “I haven’t had an upstairs since high school. You have two bedrooms! Two!”

“The other room is completely empty right now. I used to have a flatmate, but she got married two years ago.”

Chanyeol comes running back down the stairs. “What was her name? What did she look like, was she pretty?”

Kris sighs as Chanyeol slides past him. “Her name is Nicole, and her picture is in the living room. She got married to a guy named Dominic.”

“She’s pretty,” Chanyeol says, and comes back to the front door, where Kris is, and has been, waiting for him. “Is she Spanish?”

“Puerto Rican.”

Chanyeol purses his lips. “Cool.”

Kris sighs and shakes his head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

They run into the school girls on the subway, which startles both sides, and Kris tries to act like he doesn’t know who each of them are by name now and leads Chanyeol away by the arm. (“You are such a Korean drama protagonist,” Chanyeol says, laughing, and Kris glowers in response. Somewhere behind him he can hear Sonia and Angela giggling.)

They get out of the subway at Herald Square, and Kris takes him down 32nd Street, where the row of small shops and restaurants with hangul written along the sides awaits them.

“Ta-dah,” Kris says, with a lame flourish of his hands. “Ktown.”

It isn’t much, really. It’s barely one full block, with bright hangul signs piling on top of each other like it’s a competition, and maybe it is, who knows, but Chanyeol’s eyes light up like serendibite, and his grin is so wide Kris thinks it might outstretch his face. “Let’s go,” he says, and doesn’t wait for Kris to follow him.

He walks into the first store to catch his eye, which is a small cafe, and Chanyeol excitedly chatters with the barista in Korean. He orders chrysanthemum tea and pulls Kris out of the cafe and down the street.

Chanyeol looks so happy he might just burst into tears. “We need to go to noraebang,” Chanyeol demands, and Kris doesn’t argue. “And we need to eat at each of these places.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

Kris laughs and steers Chanyeol in the direction of restaurant across the street, near Fifth Avenue. “Let’s start with this one, then.”

Chanyeol talks to the waitress much more than necessary just to speak in Korean, which Kris doesn’t get, because really, they’ve been talking in Korean this whole time and it didn’t matter.

“It’s far from home,” Chanyeol says about half an hour later, when he flips over a piece of galbi to cook. “But it’s good enough. I can live with it.”

“Live with what?”

Chanyeol looks at him. “Ktown.”

Kris watches him place a piece of garlic on top of the grill, and then it suddenly hits him. And then he just feels stupid, because how could he not have known? How could Kris, who experienced the same feelings and turmoil, not known? It makes sense, the way Chanyeol’s eyes glitter when he reaches over the menu and orders soju and claps along to the newest girl group song humming over the restaurant.

Kris isn’t buzzed, and if he isn’t, Chanyeol is probably still perfectly sober (a fact he really hates to admit), as they leave, but when Chanyeol turns around one more time to look down the street, where the flashing lights blink and stutter, and the sound of a homeless man a couple of yards behind them plays an out of tune guitar, he starts to cry.

“I miss Korea,” he hiccups, and a few passerby walk around him, as if there isn’t a grown man crying in the middle of Manhattan, as if he doesn’t even exist at all. “I miss home so much.”

Kris has never had a sense of “home.” Kris’ heart has been divided and divided and divided again, beyond land borders and across oceans and tongues and manners. His body is an open wound, the presence of New York like alcohol - kills all the germs, but burns and leaves you with a scar.

He ushers Chanyeol into the subway, wraps an arm around his shoulder and brings him in close to his chest, and hopes that Chanyeol can find himself again.

Chanyeol cries silently. He doesn’t sob, and he isn’t sniffling or trembling, but his face is ghostly pale and his hands are cold to touch when Kris holds them.

Chanyeol’s flat is closer, but Kris brings him to his own apartment anyway. After forcing him to brush his teeth and change into a spare pair of shorts and t-shirt Kris has laying around, he sets him down in his bed and throws the comforter over him. It’s been a long day, he thinks, and moves to grab a blanket from the closet so he can crash on the couch, but Chanyeol’s hand on his arm stops him. “Stay,” he pleads, and Kris doesn’t even know if he thinks it through before he crawls under the blankets with Chanyeol.

“Do you remember when we were younger?” Kris asks, eyeing the way Chanyeol drags his thumb over the bony part of Kris’ wrist. It’s probably meant to comfort himself, but Kris likes the way his fingers are warm and soft. “When we’d sleep over at each other’s house?”

Chanyeol laughs. “Your mom used to always set up a futon for you to sleep on, but we’d just squeeze onto the bed and push each other off.”

“That bed was tiny,” Kris sighs. “The futon was even smaller.”

“My sister used to make jokes,” he says, “‘look Chanyeol, you’ve got a boyfriend who can cuddle you to his chest’.”

Kris laughs. He knows that, besides him, Yura was the person Chanyeol confided in the most. And he assumes that after he left for America, that once shared position became full-time for her. “Does your sister know you’re bi?”

“Of course. She was the first to know.”

Kris hums. He thinks about the concept of home. There’s China, and the warmth it settles in his bones when he thinks about the blinking lights of coffee shops and the doorman with the missing tooth Kris used to always be scared of. There’s a lonely sort of sense of home, the one he’ll always have but not exactly once he think he belongs to. China is something out of a dream for Kris, the haziness of Cantonese slipping off his tongue like water off a cliff.

Then there’s Canada, and the out of body feeling that comes along with it. Canada isn’t daunting anymore, but back when English was as difficult as any other language other than Cantonese or Mandarin, and he couldn’t hide his long-limbed, bony body behind his mother, the skyscrapers of Vancouver and overheard rumbling of the Skytrain nearly left him in in a mixture of anticipation and awe every day. That’s where he picked up basketball, and that, he thinks, may have been the best decision of his life.

Dribbling a basketball did wonders to his ever rising anxiety, which only increased when Seoul became his new home. Home in Seoul lies with Chanyeol in their high school in Apgujeong, somewhere in between the street vendor who would always tell Kris to stop growing, and Chanyeol to see if he wanted to date her daughter.

There is always a piece of Kris that will belong to each and every body of land his foot steps on. But now, in this moment, in the comfort of his bed and the radiating warmth of the grown man beside him, Kris feels like home is right here.

“That song,” Chanyeol brings him out of his thoughts, “that’s an old song.”

“Oh,” Kris says, not exactly sure what he was humming. “Is it?”

“H.O.T,” Chanyeol confirms. “We loved Candy.”

Kris laughs. “Who didn’t love Candy? Who doesn’t love Candy?”

“Song of the century,” Chanyeol agrees. “We need to sing that when we go to noraebang.”

“And,” Kris says, voice reprimanding, “we need to sleep. Because it’s two in the morning.”

“Now it’s three in the morning, and I’m trying to change your mind-”

“Stop.”

Chanyeol grins on him and flops on his back, hand leaving Kris’. He feels a little selfish for wanting it back on his, but figures that this is also a sign that Chanyeol is better now. Or as better someone who’s homesick can be. For now, at least. “Why do you always call me when you’re high?”

“I hate that song.”

“I’m going to keep this in mind,” Chanyeol sing-songs, and Kris groans.

“Sleep.”

“Whatever you say, Yifan.”

Chanyeol goes back to his apartment the next day, and Kris spends the rest of the day at a small house party at Tiffany’s flat. He sleeps in his bed alone, and tries not to think about how nice it would be to sleep with Chanyeol again.

Work rears its ugly head when Soojung comes in on Tuesday with a stack of papers thicker than Kris’ grande caramel macchiato. Even she looks apologetic when they make a thudding sound as they land on his desk. “There’s not a lot of good response to one of the new TV shows,” she explains. “Especially after there was a translation error on one of the Korean documentaries.”

“Thank you,” he says stiffly, eyeing the pile like it might poison him if he touches it. He wouldn’t put it past the Data Retractor team. “I might need another drink to get me through the day.”

Soojung laughs. “Send me a message when you need it.”

And that’s how Kris gets sucked down the black hole of nonstop calls and business conferences and reports. He doesn’t get to see Chanyeol for another three weeks, and when he does, he seems to be even more glowing than before, but Kris knows better than to fall for a facade.

“I never asked,” Kris says as they ride the E train to Chanyeol’s apartment, “How long is your transfer here for?”

“Hm? It’s permanent.”

“Oh,” Kris mumbles. “That’s... that must be scary.”

Chanyeol shrugs. He smiles a bit, and looks down at his phone. The clock reads 2:53. “It was. But it’s not that bad now. I still miss Korea, but that’s okay. You’re here, and that’s pretty nice.”

Kris is a twenty eight year old man and god dammit he is not blushing.

“I mean,” Chanyeol says, looking wistful, “it’s still hard. My mom called yesterday and I just- One minute I was laughing about something Amy said, and then I was sitting on the floor and crying about how much I wanted to eat her sundubu jjigae again. But I can deal with it, I think.”

Kris nods thoughtfully, and wonders if he’s supposed to comfort Chanyeol now. He wants to. “Well. I’m here when you need me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol mumbles, then smiles. “Yeah.”

“So, I might like someone,” Kris says three days later, in a small Mexican restaurant on 14th Street. It’s not Kris’ ideal choice of place, but since Amber lives so close to NYU, coming down so often doesn’t feel that bad.

“Really?” Amber asks. “What happened to, whathisname, Rohit, or something?”

Kris sighs and pours himself a glass of water. “That was last year. You’re the worst, it’s not like I even have that many men in my life.”

Amber shrugs. “One’s enough for me.”

“Because you’re gross and Henry is that much more gross,” Kris whines. “Are you gonna listen to me or not?”

“I’m always listening to you,” Amber says. “Bad habits are the hardest to get rid of.”

Kris stabs a piece of meat with his fork. Someone sitting at the next table over glares at him, and Kris thinks he wasn’t supposed to eat it like that. He shrugs. He’s well versed in the art of chopsticks, not fork and knife and tortilla wrap. “Did Henry use that pick up line on you?”

Amber rolls her eyes, which means that yes, he did, and Kris laughs. “So who is your new eye candy?”

Kris hesitates. “Uh. He’s not exactly eye candy, since he’s um, my friend. My best friend, actually.”

“Dude, you know Minseok and Lu Han are like, a thing, right? Like... they’ve been together for at least four years now.”

“Lu Han’s not my best friend!” Kris whines. “He’s a close friend I happen to see the most often. I’m talking about Chanyeol, my friend from high school who moved here from Korea.”

“Oh!” she says, smiling. “Him. Henry told me a bit about him. Something about what Lu Han told him, or something like that. It was a big game of telephone that probably didn’t end well.”

“Chanyeol’s bi. He told me the first time we went out together, actually. Probably because we were both drunk,” Kris rambles. “And nothing ends well with Henry.”

“That’s my, er, boyfriend, you’re talking about.”

“That was an awkward pause. Don’t tell me you’ve broken up.”

Amber hesitates for the first time that whole night, and Kris’ wonders if he’s gonna have to beat anyone up. He’s never had a younger sister before, and his cousins had always been older than him, but Amber seems like the next best option.

“Henry proposed to me!” she blurts.

Kris stares at her blankly.

“I said yes,” she mumbles.

He is so going to beat Henry up.

He remembers Yura’s wedding, in his senior year of high school. It was also the first day he realized he was gay.

Realize is a bit of an overstatement. Yura’s wedding was the first time he came to terms with the fact he was gay. He remembers standing on Chanyeol’s right side, away from the stage, and wondering what it would be like to kiss that cute boy in the far back, who he later learned was one of Chanyeol’s cousins.

He remembers Yura walking down the aisle in her white gown, with gold trimming and flowers embroidered around the waistline, veil low on her face. He remembers watching her husband-to-be crying as she walked forward, the smile on his face as he lifted the veil and leaned in to kiss her. It was magical, and then Kris was stuck in place, heart frozen in his chest as he thought about the wedding he would never be able to have.

Now, a decade later, in the heart of America, Kris knows he has the option to choose whoever he wants to spend the rest of his life with, but he won’t ever forget the feeling of dread that overcame him.

And now Amber’s getting married, which is a weird thought, because he also remembers when she walked into his room on an unnaturally hot day in September and introduced herself to him and his roommate. And then they stared, because what is this random girl wearing a tanktop and basketball shorts doing in their room? But then they introduced themselves back, and that is somewhere on the top of the list of the best things Kris has done in his lifetime.

“Dude,” Kris says, barging into Minseok’s office, entirely unsurprised to see Lu Han sitting on the edge of his desk. He’s surprised to see Chanyeol there, though. “Did you hear that Amber’s getting married?”

Lu Han grins at him as Minseok laughs. “We were there.”

“You were what?”

“It was in Union Square,” Lu Han says. “Actually, we didn’t go with them. We just happened to stumble by.”

“Also I live, like, right there,” Minseok says. Chanyeol mutters something like rich bastard under his breath.

Kris ignores him. “Do you know when the wedding’s going to be?”

“Not for a couple months.”

Minseok grins. “About time, huh? They’ve been dating since sophomore year of college, right?.”

“Yeah,” Kris breathes out. “About time.”

Lu Han grins from where he’s sitting next to Minseok, arm wrapped around his waist. “Never thought they’d be the first to actually get married though,” he says. “Figured maybe Seohyun and Kyuhyun. Or maybe Hakim and Lindsey.”

“It’s always the ones you least expect,” Chanyeol points out.

Lu Han raises an eyebrow. “Have you even met either of those two?”

Chanyeol beams, and Kris really doesn’t like that. “Amber and I like to have Shit-Talk-About-Kris sessions. She dropped by once, and we got each other’s numbers!”

Lu Han opens his mouth to retort, but stops when he sees the look on Kris’ face, and Kris figures it must be something really embarrassing, because Minseok and Lu Han are practically doubling over in laughter.

Kris can think of at least a million things to say. What do you guys say about me? When did she come here? Why are so you good at this type of thing? Do you guys really have Shit-Talk-About-Kris sessions? Instead, he settles on: “How do you make friends so easily?”

“Well, the first step would be to not have your face.”

Minseok and Lu han grin like they know exactly what Chanyeol’s talking about, but Kris stares at them with a blank look. What’s wrong with his face? He’s been told it’s a rather nice one, actually.

“Here,” Chanyeol says as he steps forward, “let me show you what I mean.” And then his fingers are digging uncomfortably into Kris’ cheeks, pulling them upwards, and somewhere in the background he can hear Minseok spluttering and Lu Han howling with laughter.

It hurts, and tugging might give him premature wrinkles, but mainly it hurts, and Kris smacks away Chanyeol’s hands moodily. “Don’t touch my face.”

“This is what I mean,” Chanyeol replies, wiping his hands on his sacks. “I wouldn’t go near you if I didn’t know who you were with your face all twisted like that.”

Kris scowls. His face is not twisted.

“You’re so lucky I know how lame you really are,” Chanyeol continues. “Like when I first met you when you were walking out of the girl’s bathroom-”

“The signs were in hangul-”

“There were pictures!”

Minseok nudges Lu Han in the side. “They look like an old married couple.”

“I want to know more about how embarrassing Kris is,” Lu Han sniffs.

“The point being,” Chanyeol finally settles on, “You always look like you've seen your mortal enemy and are brooding about your angsty life.”

“Angsty Main Character Syndrome,” Lu Han quips happily. “Someone who understands me.”

They high five, much to Kris’ dismay.

Soojung laughs when she comes in with Kris’ schedule for the day. “Are you in a bad mood?”

“I’m always in a bad mood.”

“No,” she says, “You always just pretend you’re in a bad mood. To scare away the new interns.”

“Does it work?”

She hums for a bit, watching Kris twirl his pen around his fingers. Chanyeol taught him how to do that, in their sophomore year. Well. They learned together, and it ended up with a lot of writing utensils flying all over the classroom. “Only the ones who don’t know better,” she finally settles on. “Do you want your regular coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he mumbles.

"Let's do something," Chanyeol asks, a week later in the back of a Korean bar. "Something fun."

“Sure. Doing what?”

“Let’s watch a movie,” Chanyeol smiles, but there’s an edge to smile that Kris recognizes from many years ago.

“What’s the catch?” he asks around the rim of his glass.

“There’s no catch,” Chanyeol says, but his lips purse in that same way it did years ago when Chanyeol tried to surprise Kris for his birthday. It didn’t work. “It’s just a movie.”

Kris waits.

“A Korean movie.”

Kris waits more.

“We have to go to Flushing to see it.”

He looks out the window to see the rain beating against the glass of the window. Outside, there’s a woman whose umbrella is blowing in on itself, and she stumbles across the sidewalk in her heels. He turns back to Chanyeol, who’s giving him a shit-eating grin. “Can we go when it’s not storming?”

“But it’s really late,” Chanyeol complains. “It goes out of theatre in a week, and it rains for the whole week. We might as well go since we’re already out.”

Kris is going to say no. He’s going to say no. He’s going to say no. He’s going to-

“Fine,” Kris mumbles, heaving an overly dramatic sigh. He’ll get Chanyeol back for this, somehow. Maybe he’ll make him get him coffee everyday, or switch jobs for a day, though actually, he’s not sure if he trusts Chanyeol with that one. “Why do I do these things with you?” Kris asks himself. Chanyeol answers anyway.

“Because I’m your cute little didi that you would do anything for.”

Kris is twenty eight, AKA way too old to be rolling his eyes. He does it anyway. “Talking in Chinese doesn’t win you any brownie points.”

“Oh, I already won the brownie points in advance. I was just finally giving you your consolation prize,” Chanyeol says as the waitress gives them back the check. “You’re totally lying if you say my puppy eyes have never had an effect on you.”

“It’s because you look pitiful.”

Chanyeol shrugs as he pockets his credit card. "Doesn't matter if I get what I want."

"So you're pitiful and shameless," Kris says as they make their way to the door. "Are you serious about this?"

"Dead serious." Chanyeol's smile wavers when there's a crack of thunder in the distance, but in that same this-is-such-a-bad-idea-let's-do-it-anyway way he used to do back in high school when he managed to rope Kris into going to that Fin.K.L concert that one time. Chanyeol spent all of the next day gushing about how Lee Hyori totally waved at him, I can hear the wedding bells already, and Kris stared at his test grade in algebra and mumbled, She probably waved you goodbye.

This is how Kris finds himself in the middle of Queens, watching the most standard office romance story he's ever seen, with his suit jacket completely soaked through and blonde hair disheveled and dripping water. "I hate you," he tells Chanyeol coming out of the movie theater. "I hate you so much. You owe me so much for that; it wasn't even a good movie."

"Yeah, but Shin Sekyung was so hot."

"She's half your age."

"She's only twenty! It's just a six year difference."

Kris groans as he shucks his suit jacket over his head. "I'm going to hail a taxi and you're going to pay for all of it because this is your fault."

Chanyeol shrugs. "I'll just use the company card and say we were discussing business."

"You're awful."

“But pretty genius,” Chanyeol says with a grin, and Kris really wants to smack him because it’s pouring and Kris’ white dress shirt is soaked through and god dammit he feels really exposed right now, and why does Chanyeol not care at all? He’s been trying to ignore how he can see dusty pink nipples and the faint outline of Chanyeol’s abs through his soaked dress shirt. It’s really distracting.

“No, just pretty awful. And there, look, taxi coming- Is he really going to drive us all the way back to Manhattan?”

Chanyeol waves his hand and the car pulls up to the curb. “One way to find out. What address do I give?”

“Mine,” Kris mumbles gruffly. There’s no way he’s going to go to Chanyeol’s apartment just to go back to his own at three in the morning, as curious as he is to see what Chanyeol’s place looks like.

“Let’s go,” Chanyeol says as he opens the door. “We’re good to go.”

“You’re still paying,” Kris reminds him as he gets in.

Chanyeol’s fingers tap the rhythm to a new electronica song Kris hears often on the radio, and though that in itself isn’t very distracting, it’s the fact that Kris has been staring at those fingers for the past fifteen minutes.

They’re big, though not as big as Kris’, and his fingers aren’t as long and slender like Yixing’s, but they’re got this boyish charm to them that Kris likes a lot.

He’s hit with the sudden realization again that he really, really likes Chanyeol a lot.

His conversation with Amber had gotten cut short with the news of her engagement, so he’s never really gotten the time to think it out, but now that he’s here, with nothing to distract him and Chanyeol barely an arm’s length away from him, he lets the emotions swirl around him like a flurry of feathers.

It feels really stupid, actually. It’s like he’s back in high school and telling Chanyeol all about that girl who sat behind him in History and asking Chanyeol about how to ask her out. Chanyeol would hit him on the head and say You’re the captain of the basketball team, dumbass, why are you thinking about this so hard?

The problem was that he wasn’t thinking. The shaky pit-a-pat in his chest was dizzying enough to block out all other logic, and in the end, she went out with Taekwoon, the quiet kid with the high-pitched voice who sat in the corner of the classroom.

It feels a bit like that now, except this time he’s not Wu Yifan, sophomore in high school, head over heels for a girl he’s never talked to before. This time he’s Kris Wu, a twenty eight year old living in Manhattan, in love with his best childhood friend. The weird pit-a-pat shouldn’t feel so much stronger, shouldn’t be this dizzying, but it is.

“You’ve been staring at my hand for the past twenty minutes, are you okay?”

He’s pulled out of his reverie by Chanyeol, who has this stupid smug look on his face, like he knows what Kris was thinking, except Kris has seen that look many times before, and it’s his default I-Don’t-Know-What’s-Happening-But-This-Face-Makes-Me-Look-Like-I-Do expression.

“I was thinking about those stupid fingerless gloves you used to wear. D’you remember those?”

“Oh god,” Chanyeol mumbles. “I used to think those were cool, okay.”

“That’s not even your worst fashion error,” Kris says, smug. “Remember that time you crimped your hair?”

“That was my girlfriend’s idea,” Chanyeol sniffs. “I am free of charge there.”

Kris laughs. “You kept it. For a whole two weeks.”

“We dated for a grand total three weeks, shut up.”

The taxi pulls up to the side of the street in front of Kris’ apartment building, and Kris climbs out moodily so Chanyeol can pay. The rain is lighter now, but that doesn’t really matter since Kris is still dripping wet, and his shirt is still see through, and his pants are still clinging to his legs like an uncomfortable, second skin. “Come on,” he calls out to Chanyeol, who hasn’t moved.

“What?”

“You’re not coming in?” Kris asks, noting the way Chanyeol’s eyes go wide and his lips part slightly. Chanyeol’s always had really nice lips, but it’s only now that Kris wants to press his own against them.

“Oh. Didn’t know I was supposed to,” Chanyeol says, opening the door. “Right, guess I’m not going to Greenwich then. Keep the change.”

When Chanyeol comes around the taxi, Kris raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you usually really stingy about money?”

Chanyeol shrugs as they approach the door and Kris digs through his pocket for the key. “I am, but it was like forty-something cents in change.”

“You know we’re both going to get sick, right?” Kris calls out once they step into the warmth of his apartment. “And it’s all going to be your fault. I hope you can’t sleep tonight.”

“For what reasons am I not sleeping?” Chanyeol says with a grin and a really unattractive waggle of his eyebrows.

“For reasons of me choking you,” Kris groans as he heads to the bedroom while unbuttoning his shirt. Fuck it, who cares if Chanyeol is right there; it’s gross and sticky and damp.

“One of my ex-boyfriends used to be into that,” Chanyeol sing-songs. Then, “Whoa. You have a tattoo? Since when?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I have two,” Kris comments offhandedly as he peels the fabric off of his body. Chanyeol’s looking at the scorpion on his arm, so he turns to give him a better view of the one on the upper part of his chest, a little below his collarbones.

“Do they mean anything?” Chanyeol asks, stepping a bit closer. He looks like he wants to touch them, and honestly, Kris doesn’t think he’d mind that.

“This one is just because I’m a Scorpio,” Kris says, pointing to the one on his bicep. “And this one...” he says, pointing to small “Courage” on his chest, “is because every time I moved somewhere new, my mom would always tell me to be courageous. It’s her favorite word.”

“Wow,” Chanyeol breathes, hand automatically coming up to trace the letters. He hopes Chanyeol doesn’t notice his sharp intake of breath, because even though his hand is ice cold against Kris’ body, the physical contact sends an electrifying zap through his veins. “Even I don’t have a tattoo. It looks good.”

“Thanks?” Kris laughs, but Chanyeol’s hand stays there, and he’s still staring at Kris’ chest, deep in thought. He waits, unsure of what Chanyeol’s going to do, but when he doesn’t do anything, he whispers his name in question, and Chanyeol jumps.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says hastily, flushing. “I was thinking about something. Anyway, uh, do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Uh, sure?” Kris asks more than he says, and watches Chanyeol scramble off to the bathroom.

He was definitely blushing, and Chanyeol never blushes. Not even when he had to serenade Minyoung, the underclassman who definitely had more balls than the entire class of 3-A put together. Actually that’s how he’d gotten her number. He stares at the empty spot where Chanyeol was standing until there’s a shout from the direction of the bathroom that sounds very much like, “Wu Yifan! What the hell are all these?”

When he gets to the bathroom, Chanyeol is stripped down to his boxers and staring at his various hair products. “I have no idea what the hell any of this means,” he says. “Ten years later, and you are still just as high maintenance.”

“It’s not that difficult,” Kris mutters. “That’s shampoo, that’s conditioner, that’s a treatment for dyed hair, that’s-”

“Right, shampoo, that’s all I needed to know.”

Kris sighs. “Let me know when you’re done so I can brush my teeth.”

Chanyeol gives him a ridiculous look. “Just brush your teeth. I’m shameless, remember?”

“Fine,” Kris says, but shakes his head in exasperation. He turns around, and by the time he’s gotten the toothbrush in his mouth, he hears a small splash of water from behind him and a pleasant sigh.

“I’m going to use up all your hot water,” Chanyeol calls, and even at ass o’clock, Kris finds it in himself to roll his eyes.

“Why are you taking a bath?” he asks around the foamy toothbrush.

“Because I can’t remember the last time I took a bath. And your bathtub is huge. Rich bastard.”

“You live in Greenwich.”

Chanyeol waves him away. “It’s on lease from the company for a year. I have to find somewhere else to move in that time.”

“Found anywhere yet? How much time do you have left?”

“Nope, and about nine months, I think? I came here in June or July.”

“It’s the beginning of October, so... Wow,” Kris says, after spitting out foam. “You’ve been here for almost four months.”

Chanyeol grins. “Weird, isn’t it? Sometimes it feels like I’m a real New Yorker, taking the subway to work and having my lunches in fancy coffee shops, but at other times I just want to go back to Seoul and eat spicy ddeokbokki from the street vendors. I still stay up on the weekends to watch Music Core.”

Kris hums before he rinses his mouth. “The feeling never really goes away,” he admits. “I still want to go back to China sometimes. Even Canada and Korea. It’s like you belong everywhere but nowhere at the same time.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I would have stayed this long if it weren’t for you.” Kris hears the catch in Chanyeol’s breath before he breathes, “Courage. I need some more of that.”

Kris turns around to look at Chanyeol, awkward lanky limbs stretched out in the bathtub that’s big, yet too small for his long body. “Nah,” he says. The white of the tub draws some of the color of the room, and thought Kris has been living here for a good five years, the homeliness is sucked right out of it. “I think you’re pretty good.”

Chanyeol gives him an appreciative smile, one with teeth and weird smushy eyes that makes his heart go all chaotic in his ribcage. Kris thinks he knows where all the homeliness went. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna, uh, get you clothes to change into. I”ll... be back?”

By the time Kris gets back with a spare change of pajamas and a towel, because who knows how much of a mess Chanyeol is gonna make, Chanyeol’s gotten at least a fourth of the tub’s water onto the floor and is fighting with the cap of his shampoo bottle. “What are you doing?”

Chanyeol freezes and drops the bottle, and it sinks past the water’s surface with a plop. “What the hell’s wrong with your shampoo?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You just push the cap down and turn it.”

“Like a medicine bottle?” Chanyeol reaches down and picks up the bottle before giving it a suspicious stare. “What kind of weird shampoo do you use?”

He lets Chanyeol gives it two test tries before Kris groans and sets the clothes and towel down on the countertop. “Yes, like a medicine bottle. Give it here, I’ll open it.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Yes, mother.”

“I might as well wash your hair while I’m at it.”

"Please do; less work for me." Chanyeol lets his head roll back against the edge of the tub, and Kris sighs.

"You're so useless," he says, but kneels down next to Chanyeol anyway. "The last time I washed anyone's hair was when I was in elementary school and it was okay to bathe together."

Chanyeol wrinkles his nose. "Never even with a girlfriend?"

"Not even with any of my boyfriends," Kris corrects as he twists the cap open. "None of my relationships ever lasted that long."

Kris runs his hands through Chanyeol's hair, who hums absentmindedly. Chanyeol's scalp is wet and cold under his fingers, but he sort of likes it regardless. Kris has always liked being in charge, being able to tell people what to do and how to do things. Even though Chanyeol is made up of a good six feet of obnoxious and brat, he still feels like silly putty beneath Kris. He scratches lightly at Chanyeol's nape and grimaces when Chanyeol starts to snicker.

"What, are you ticklish?"

"No," Chanyeol says, still snickering. "It's not that, it's just- Have you ever considered getting your hands checked? Because those are not normal."

Kris rolls his eyes.

So maybe not as pliant as Kris would like, but he slides his hands down to Chanyeol's neck and wraps his hands around them, smirking at Chanyeol's snicker. "I'm going to choke you."

"That's not really my thing," Chanyeol says, craning his head back to look Kris in the eye, "but I can always make adjustments if you play into my likes."

"And those are?"

Chanyeol grins bright at him again. "Well, I personally think you'd look perfect in a maid's outfiblurbfhdslafd--"

Kris makes sure he has his most obnoxious smile on his face as he presses down on Chanyeol's shoulders and shoves him under the water surface.

When Chanyeol comes back up for air, he glares at Kris once before shaking his head and splashing water all over. "You asshole."

"You deserved it," Kris bites back, flinching when Chanyeol tries to splash him.

"I'm going to flush all your weird hair products down the drain," Chanyeol threatens. "And then I'm going to tell Lu Han about all your weird high school moments. Like the time you thought you were supposed to eat crackers when you have heartburn."

"That was exactly what the translation said, you can't blame me," Kris snaps. "You read it too. And you are supposed to eat crackers, stupid."

Chanyeol splashes him again, getting his pants all wet, and honestly at this point he might as well just take those off, too. He’s hit with an odd out-of-body feeling, along with the realization that what is he doing, he’s shirtless with wet pants with his naked best friend in a bathtub, and what the fuck? How is that even vaguely normal? He’s proud of himself for not having looked at Chanyeol’s dick yet.

“Stupid, who was the one who thought that rapping for the talent show in junior year was a good idea?” Chanyeol splashes him again. There probably isn’t any water left in the tub. “You’re lucky you’re so good looking no one bothered to listen to your voice.”

“Why are you bringing up the past?” Kris half-yells, trying to block his face. He’s going to smother Chanyeol in his sleep tonight.

“You brought it up first!” Chanyeol retorts, cupping his hands in the tub and making sure he gets Kris’ face this time. He does.

Kris splutters, and Chanyeol revels in victory for a few seconds before Kris reaches his hands out and Chanyeol ducks.

“Who’s the one trying to strangle a naked dude in their tub, huh?”

“Who’s the grown ass man who had to ask someone to shampoo their hair because they couldn’t open the bottle?”

“You offered, crazy fuck!”

“What the hell are we doing?” Kris asks, and Chanyeol stops moving, and the water falls out of his palm and back into the tub.

The silence the stretches across feels much longer than the few seconds it really is. Chanyeol’s hands are frozen midair in some kind of limbo, and Kris thinks he can hear his heart beating in his chest.

Then Chanyeol’s right eyebrow twitches, and it, this is just so ridiculous it’s all they need to burst out into laughter.

“You crazy piece of shit,” Chanyeol wheezes. “You’re literally having an argument with a naked dude in your bathtub.”

“You are the naked dude in the bathtub,” Kris hisses. “Why are we - why is this a conversation we’re having? Go shower or something instead of getting water all over the floor.”

“Where the hell is the shower?”

“Right here,” Kris grumbles, reaching over to pull on the lever, and that is probably somewhere high on the list of Bad Idea Kris Has Had, because without the shower curtain, the water sprays all over the floor and on himself.

“You- dumbfuck,” Chanyeol shouts. “Now who’s getting water all over the floor?”

This is by far one of the weirdest bathroom endeavors Kris has ever had, and that includes the time one of his exes tried to lift him onto the counter for bathroom sex but couldn’t pick him up.

“You might as well just take off your pants and get in,” Chanyeol says. “Or you’re gonna have an awesome water bill to pay off.”

Kris rolls his eyes. Water bill, okay. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s probably the best I’m going to get,” Kris mumbles as he takes off his belt.

Chanyeol grins. “Oh, Yifan. You know me so well.”

He steps into the tub and slides the curtain shut, letting the warm water spill over his shoulders and down his back. Chanyeol stands up as well, and Kris isn’t exactly sure how two six feet dudes fit in the shower, but they do.

Chanyeol and Kris stumble into bed somewhere after 3AM, and the last thing Kris hears before he falls asleep is, “We are so fucked for work tomorrow.”

This is Chanyeol’s fault. It’s Chanyeols fault, because everything is Chanyeol’s fault, because they’re going to be forty minutes late for work at this rate, and this would be the second time this week he’s late. Kris’ fucking electronic razor isn’t fucking working, Chanyeol brushes his teeth like he has rabies, and someone changed Kris’ alarm tone to Baby Got Back. He’s already got shaving cream on his face though, god dammit. Maybe if Kris slams the razor on the counter, it’ll start working.

“Dude,” Chanyeol says, now looking like Santa Claus, “a razor is a razor. You don’t need the battery to work.”

“But it should work,” Kris groans. “Don’t talk with your mouth full of toothpaste.”

“Yes, mother,” Chanyeol slurs as he bends down over the sink and spits. Kris wrinkles his nose. He’d almost forgotten how shamelessly disgusting Chanyeol can be. Kris fiddles with his razor for a moment more before it’s taken out of his hands by a clean faced Chanyeol. “Let me show you how normal people shave.”

“You’re going to cut my face off,” Kris hisses, but Chanyeol ignores him and presses him up against the wall.

“Shut up and let me do the work,” Chanyeol snaps, and Kris would say something, really, but the razor is way too close to his face and he doesn’t trust Chanyeol at all.

In fact, this is probably the least yet most domestic moment he’s had with anyone, and Chanyeol’s not even his boyfriend, as much as Kris likes him.

He can feel the cool press of the razor against his face, and then nothing. Chanyeol works calmly and meticulously, and the silence in the bathroom is eerily contrasting with the pounding of his heart.

“You’re quiet,” Chanyeol murmurs, way too close too close to his ear, and Kris wants to reply you’re pressing a razor into my face, but he doesn’t, because, well, Chanyeol’s pressing a razor to his face.

Shaving takes a grand total of three minutes, and even when Chanyeol washes the razor in the sink, Kris keeps himself plastered to the wall, trying to ignore how Chanyeol has three more eyelashes in his left eye than in his right, and fuck, that’s really creepy. Almost as creepy as the time Chanyeol thought a good way to ask a girl out would be to tell her how many times he’d seen her walking her dog that month, which wouldn’t have been that creepy if they lived in the same neighborhood.

“We’re going to be like an hour late,” Chanyeol says after he’s finished, and it’s then that Kris looks at the time.

“Oh god,” he groans. “This is all your fault.”

Lu Han comes in with a cup of coffee and a question: “Okay, Mr. Wu, what’s the story?”

Kris is going to faceplant right into his report, that’s what. Because Park fucking Chanyeol had to see a movie all the way in Flushing at ass o’clock.

“Oh,” says a voice trailing behind Lu Han, “he has a little crush on Chanyeol, that’s the story.”

“How do you know that?” Kris asks. He doesn’t really want to kill Minseok, but when Minseok gives the most mocking shrug of innocence he figures that he might just have to.

“It was obvious. Also you sleep texted me at like four in the morning. I thought you were drunk at first, but it was a Wednesday night.”

Kris wants to fall onto the floor and never get up. He doesn’t remember anything after the shower, which, now that he thinks about it, was pretty weird. So was this morning. Everything about Chanyeol is pretty weird. “Don’t talk to me about anything, I haven’t finished my coffee.”

“One day,” Lu Han sing songs as Minseok ushers him out of the door, “I’m going to get you a smoothie. It’ll be passion fruit. I’m going to make it as sugary as your soul.”

The next two weeks are spent in and out of the office, with little run-ins with Chanyeol and a few other friends. On Monday, he meets up with a few college friends; Tuesday, he sits in his pajamas and watches reruns of Lost; Wednesday he sits with Amber in a boring wedding dress shop and helps her pick out the best wedding dress, and is still more enthusiastic about it than her; and then on Thursday, he and Chanyeol continue their Ktown escapades, the H-mart edition, and Kris has to help Chanyeol carry back at least six bags worth of groceries back to his apartment.

Kris lingers at the door, like he should say something, anything regarding this little crush that’s not really a crush anymore, but instead he blurts out, “Come clubbing with me and Lu Han tonight.”

“You know I never turn down an opportunity to get shitfaced with my boyfriend,” Lu Han says, “but is that literally all you could think of?”

Kris shrugs and picks up a shirt. “How is this?”

Minseok winces. “It’s too I-fucked-your-sister-last-night-and-I’m-coming-back-for-round-two-ish.” Kris and Lu Han share a glance.

“How the hell do you classify shirts?” Kris asks, but drops the piece of article like it burns anyway.

“Maybe you should just tape hundred dollar bills to your chest,” Lu Han says. “What better way to say ‘Look! I’m rich and have lots of money, also I’m in love with Park Chanyeol!’”

Kris’ friends are useless.

Chanyeol’s wearing a plain black v-neck that makes him look like a college student all over again. Or, well, that’s what Kris assumes Chanyeol looked like back in college. It’s a nice look.

“Remember how last time you got really drunk and I had to take you home?” Chanyeol says, “Well, this time it’s gonna be me.”

I didn’t get that drunk, Kris wants to say, but Chanyeol’s already downed a shot and is ordering two more.

If Kris is a hazard on the dance floor, then Chanyeol is a danger to himself and everyone around him. Add in some alcohol, and you have him with his arm wrapped around Kris’ waist trying to move to the beat and stand up at the same time.

“I think now’s a great time to sit down,” Kris says.

“I think,” Chanyeol slurs, tipping forward dangerously, “I think we need to talk. And dance. I want to dance. I’m gonna dance!”

Kris tries to pull him away from the dance floor, but he’s surprisingly hard to move despite being drunk. Not that Kris hasn’t had any drinks, but he’s made sure to be level-headed enough to drag Chanyeol home. “No more dancing. We can talk sitting down,” he says.

“No,” Chanyeol snaps, hand sliding from Kris’ waist to his wrist. “If we’re gonna talk, we’re going to talk, right here. Right here, because... Because-”

“Because?” Kris echoes, because if Chanyeol’s not gonna budge, then maybe he can speed up this whole process by a lot and get them home safely. He can spot Minseok and Lu Han dancing together in the corner of his eye, and decides it’s better not to get them involved. “Because what?”

“Because that,” Chanyeol snaps. He lets go of Kris’ wrist and opts to jab him in the chest instead. “That stupid thing you do with your face. And your mouth. Where you have lips and shit. And they move. Attractively.”

“Uh.” Kris doesn’t really know how to deal with drunk people who talk about their obsession with his face.

“It’s stupid, because at least if you were unattractive I could get over you faster.”

“Wait, what?” Kris doesn’t think he heard that right. “Chanyeol, wait-”

“I’ve already had to get over you once, back in high school,” Chanyeol rants, “and now I have to do it again? I don’t want to do it again. I just-”

“Chanyeol,” Kris cuts in, hands coming up to cup his face. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to get over me again.”

Kris can see the little gears turning in Chanyeol’s head as he processes his words. “I don’t?”

“No,” Kris mumbles, leaning in close. Chanyeol’s got these bright, watery eyes and soft lips that he really wants to kiss. “No you don’t.”

It’s Chanyeol who grips Kris’ shoulder and presses their lips together. It's Kris who opens Chanyeol's mouth with small nips and licks, and it's Kris who presses Chanyeol flush against his body and licks his way into Chanyeol's mouth.

There’s a lot of different ways Kris wants to kiss Chanyeol, but right now, as Chanyeol grips onto his shirt sleeves way too tight and wobbles forward, he thinks that it can wait a bit. “Let’s go home,” he says against Chanyeol’s lips.

“‘dunwanna,” Chanyeol whines, and digs his head into Kris’ shoulder when he tries to drag them away from the dance floor.

“Yes, you do,” Kris says. “We can continue this at home, okay?”

He takes the weird grunt-y sound Chanyeol makes as an affirmative to drag him out of the club and hail the nearest taxi. The whole ride back to Kris’ apartment, Chanyeol leans in too close and drags his hand up Kris’ thigh, and it’s all very distracting, but his breath smells like alcohol and he can’t sit still, so when they finally get back, Kris makes him sit on the kitchen stool and drink bottles of water until Chanyeol complains of wanting to throw up, then drags them both into bed.

“I’m gonna die,” Chanyeol groans over a plate of microwave pizza. “Who the fuck let me drink that much?”

“Pretty sure it was you,” Kris says over the pounding of his own head. He didn’t even get that drunk, what the hell. “Save me some, okay? I’m gonna get the mail.”

The lady in the escalator shoots him a mix of a suspicious and a sympathetic glance when he bangs his head on the wall in an attempt to alleviate his headache. “Are you okay?” she asks, out of politeness.

“Rough night,” he groans.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and gets off at the next floor. He doesn’t think she meant to go to that floor.

The rest of the way down is plagued with the thoughts of Oh God does Chanyeol remember what happened last night? and then Oh my God I kissed Chanyeol last night and What the fuck I wasn’t even that drunk.

Mail is mundane and boring until he spots a tiny red envelope on the bottom of the stack. Curiosity gets the better of him and he opens it in the elevator.

“You are cordially invited to the wedding of Amber Liu and Henry Lau on December 10,” Kris reads as he steps back into his apartment.

“That’s in like three weeks, isn’t it?” Chanyeol calls from the kitchen. “I think I got an invitation, too.”

“Red envelope?” Kris asks. He throws the rest of the mail on the counter to deal with later.

“Yup.”

“I’m almost offended I’m not the best man.”

“Almost?”

Kris shrugs. “I’m pretty sure it’s Kyuhyun, so it doesn’t matter.”

Chanyeol nods and goes back to his pizza. They don’t talk about last night.

Kris thinks Chanyeol doesn’t actually remember what happened that night, until a week later Chanyeol barges into his office while Soojung is going over his meeting tomorrow and demands that they need to talk.

“Um,” Kris says, exchanging glances with Soojung, “Can it wait?”

“No, because this is important. Like, actual important. Not There’s-A-New-Video-Game-Coming-Out important. Though that’s pretty important too.”

Kris raises an eyebrow and motions for Soojung to leave the room.

“What’s up?” he asks, standing up when the door closes behind her. Chanyeol’s fists are clenched, and he’s biting on his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He looks really silly.

“We need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“About last week. When we went clubbing.”

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

“I just...” Chanyeol exhales noisily, clenching and unclenching his fists. “The things I said. I figured I’d just come clean and say that those weren’t drunk thoughts. They were, but I mean. I meant those things. I like you.”

It’s very undramatic, contrary to what Lu Han thinks his life is like. “I wasn’t even drunk, so I don’t have an excuse. I meant what I said, too.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol blinks. “So, uh. Does that mean that we’re like... a thing?”

Kris takes a quick glance at the clock. It’s been two minutes. He has some time to spare, still. “Do you want to be a thing?”

Chanyeol laughs, like this is the most ridiculous thing ever. It probably is. “Yeah. Let’s... do that.”

Kris grins. “Alright then,” and then he pulls Chanyeol in close by the hips and presses their lips together.

“We should both be working,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Kris agrees. “But I don’t care.”

And if Kris doesn’t care, Chanyeol really doesn’t give a fuck.

Kris doesn’t look any different than he does at work, but everyone compliments him on his choice of suit anyway.

“Did you guys really have to match?” Kyuhyun asks. “The whole black and white thing, don’t tell me you guys didn’t plan that, because you did.”

“We actually didn’t,” Chanyeol says, looking down at his own white suit. “We just thought it was funny and made some adjustments to actually match. Like Kris’ black tie and my white one.

“Don’t they look like Thing One and Thing Two, though?” a female voice says from behind them.

“Amber!” Kris grins, engulfing her in a bone-crushing hug. “Congratulations; you look amazing.”

She smiles up at him. “If the bride’s side had a Best Man, you would’ve been that. But there isn’t.”

“You look gorgeous!” Chanyeol coos. “How long did Kris have to sit with you to pick out that dress? And where’s your boytoy?”

“She’s not even wearing the dress I chose.”

“You have awful ideas,” Kyuhyun says, “I wouldn’t trust your decisions either.”

Kris sniffs. He was the one who introduced Henry to Amber, so clearly his decisions are the better kind. Speaking of Henry-

“You guys came!” Henry calls, grinning from ear to ear. Kris doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so happy before, and Henry is a really cheery guy. He replaces Kris’ previous position and hugs Amber, arm lingering around her waist. She rolls her eyes.

“I actually didn’t plan to come,” Chanyeol says, “since I secretly hate you all. Or actually maybe I’m just here to sabotage the wedding.”

Henry gasps. “Is that why the flower decorations are peonies and not myrtles?”

“Exactly,” Chanyeol laughs. “Just wait until you see the honeymoon car. It’s a Cadillac, not a Mercedes.”

“You sick bastard,” Henry teases.

“There’s a camera right there,” Kris says, laughing. “Don’t curse.”

Henry shrugs. “It’s my own wedding tape.”

“Picture!” Chanyeol says, and imitates Amber’s groan. “It’s your wedding, come on.”

The cameraman takes a picture of them together and moves on, except Chanyeol elbows Kris in the elbow after. “What?”

“Take a picture with my phone!”

He groans. “They literally just took a picture of us.”

“Yeah, but I want my own copy.”

Kyuhyun laughs. “In that case, we have to do one with mine, too.”

Kris groans as he grabs the two phones and takes a few steps back. “I’m not going to give you your phones back,” he says.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pocket, turning his body a little next to Amber, who has her own arm wrapped around Henry’s waist, who’s doing the same thing back to her. On the other side, Kyuhyun’s got his arms at his sides, small smile on his lips.

His focus is mainly on Chanyeol, though, as he snaps the pictures. Stupid, weird Chanyeol who makes them all do funny poses for the next picture. His tongue is out, eyes crossed, and bending awkwardly at the knee below Amber, and it’s just so stupid and endearing that Kris’ heart goes ba-dump in his chest.

He feels like he’s watching an artist painting a picture, except there’s not actually an artist. The canvas sprouts its own colors of blues and greens and cyans and magentas, each one splashing over the other like they’re fighting for the spotlight.

And just like them, Kris wants to place his hands on the top of the canvas and drag it downwards, taking all the wet paint with him and leaving pristine white in its wake.

And maybe he wants to wipe his hands on his face with the paint, just so he can have a little bit of Chanyeol, like how he wants Chanyeol to have almost all of him.

After the picture is taken, they all go their own separate ways, Henry and Amber to greet other people, and Kyuhyun probably to get away from them. Chanyeol picks up a glass of champagne the nearby table and hands it to Kris.

“Move in with me,” he says, suddenly, and Chanyeol blinks in confusion, glass held between them awkwardly.

“What?”

“Um,” Kris mumbles, less sure now. “You should. Move in with me? You said that a while ago - your apartment is on lease from the company, and you haven’t found a new apartment yet. Its been like half a year or something already, right?”

Chanyeyol stares at him for a while longer, before he laughs. “You don’t have to make excuses. We can talk about it later,” he says, and Kris deflates for a bit. Chanyeol snickers over the rim of his glass and takes Kris’ hand in his own. “But for now, my answer is yes.”

Kris’ smile is almost as bright as Chanyeol’s.

“You are so fucking lazy,” Chanyeol groans, which Kris thinks is kind of hypocritical, since right after Chanyeol says that he slumps on top of a box and starts mumbling into the cardboard.

“It’s not my stuff,” Kris retorts, too preoccupied with his Xbox.

“You’re stupid and mean and I hate you,” Chanyeol huffs, rolling onto the floor. “I’m not getting up.”

“Those were some effective elementary school insults,” Kris says, placing his controller on the couch. “Get off the floor.”

“No. You suck.”

Chanyeol’s hair has grown out, and now it hides his stupid, endearingly big ears and is almost reaching his eyes. Kris loves his stupid, endearingly big ears and eyes, though.

He heaves a sigh and gets up from where he’s sitting and walks to Chanyeol’s sprawled body and over his torso, bending down so he’s hovering over Chanyeol’s waist. “You suck more.”

“No, you do. You suck so much I’m gonna pack up all my things again and move back to Korea.”

Kris snorts, placing his index and middle finger on Chanyeol’s stomach. “You haven’t even unpacked. Half your shit is still outside.”

Chanyeol watches Kris walk his fingers up his torso to his chest, lightly scratching into the fabric between his pectorals. His eyes are hooded, mouth parting slightly, and Kris grins.

“Even easier,” Chanyeol replies, half distracted as Kris’ fingers trace their way up his neck, “I can just get on the next flight to, ah, Korea-”

Kris grips his chin and leans in close enough to feel Chanyeol’s breath on his own lips. “You’re not just gonna leave me, are you? For the second time, too.”

“You left the first ti-”

Chanyeol has a nice voice, Kris admits, but he likes it better when their mouths are sliding against each other, hot and wet on the floor of Kris’ apartment.

Scratch that. Kris and Chanyeol’s apartment.

Chanyeol sucks on his tongue fervently as Kris’ hand slides up Chanyeol’s shirt, tracing the faint outline of his abs. He feels Chanyeol pull away, soft breathes hitting his nose, and looks Kris in the eye.

“You’re,” Chanyeol gasps, leaning away from Kris’ face, and laughs breathlessly when Kris tries to follow, “You’re not leaving again. As your best friend and boyfriend, I demand it. Okay?”

Kris’ heart is beating wildly in his ribcage, determined to explode and set off the rest of his body tingling with tiny firecrackers.

“Okay,” Kris says, smiling into Chanyeol’s cheek. “Okay.”