the smoke that roams looking for a home (i)
written for bornofdawn for fanxingyou for their prompt: yixing is a chef at the chinese restaurant in seoul, yifan is a bigshot ceo who ends up at the restaurant to avoid the rain.
the smoke that roams looking for a home
pg; ~11.3k; preslash kris/lay (okay basically none at all if you wanna look at it that way)
You could spend your entire life in Seoul and keep missing each other. (missed connections!au)
one.
The alarm clock rings shrill and incessant, but Yifan barely breaks in his slow breathing, too lost in his dream world to pay any mind. The loud slam of his bedroom door opening, though, and the furious steps of his PA walking in put a sizeable dent in his sleep concentration. He furrows his brows, eyes still shut, and snuggles further under his blankets. His spine shivers a little, his seldom-minded sixth sense trying to warn him, but Yifan rolls onto his back, squashing away the tremors.
“Wu Yifan, you have exactly ten seconds to get up from that bed before I toss you and your mattress out your bedroom window,” Do Kyungsoo says calmly, not bothering to raise his voice or add any sort of nuance to his tone beyond the certainty of following through on his threat.
There’s a moment of pause in the air, interrupted only by the faint noises of beeping cars and traffic sounds, before Yifan shoots straight up from his bed, eyes peeled wide open and frantically looking around. Kyungsoo hides a smile and unfolds his arms from the overbearing position they’d been in.
“Clock’s ticking,” he says, tapping at his watch, and Yifan snaps his eyes to Kyungsoo’s passive face, unseeing before the context finally sinks in.
“Shit,” he hisses and scrambles out of bed, almost slipping on his bed sheets and onto the wood floor. “What time is it? Shit!”
“I’ll say. This is the last time I let you sleep in-what I get for trying to be nice for once,” mutters Kyungsoo, rubbing his temples. Yifan hurries into the bathroom, flinging off his shirt and boxers, uncaring of his singular audience, and jumps into the shower without aplomb. He hops around a little at the first spray of ice-cold water and clutches at his arms, shrinking back into one of the far corners of his shower stall until the water reaches the hot temperature he wanted.
“What time is it, Kyungsoo, please,” Yifan asks again, over the roar of his showerhead. He furiously scrubs at his body, squeezing out a gigantic glob of overly-expensive shampoo and goes to town on his hair, trying to clean himself in the least amount of time possible.
“Almost 8:30,” Kyungsoo sings aloud from his bedroom, perched on his mattress imperiously. Yifan squints at him through his wet shower stall door, blinking one eye open and close at a time to keep the soapy shampoo from running into his eyes.
“Why are you so relaxed?” he shouts through the glass, running water almost drowning his voice out. Kyungsoo manages to hear, through some miracle-probably some satanic magic-and shrugs leisurely, spreading his arms out.
“If I don’t maintain a calm and steady heart rate right now, I may actually end up murdering you out of pure frustration,” he replies succinctly.
Yifan’s too busy gargling his mouthwash and rinsing the shampoo out of his hair to hear.
-
Yixing drew the short end of the stick this month, so supply duty is on him. Their restaurant manager usually does the bulk ordering for most ingredients, but given Joonmyeon’s recent departure from the position to go back to school full-time for his PhD and their overall tight staff, the past few months have been rather touch-and-go on the supplies front (and everything else, to be honest).
He sets his alarm for 6 AM, an hour earlier than his regular wake-up time, cutting back his sleep time to a measly four hours instead of a more generous five on a regular day, so that he can go to the sijang first thing in the mornings before heading into the restaurant to help with prep-work.
(He’s rather thankful their restaurant isn’t all that big or too popular, hidden away as it is off the main road, on the one of the side alleys, despite Henry’s continuous blustering over their small patronship; it means the amount of ingredients Yixing has to buy on a regular day is limited to only how many customers they’ll predict to have that day. It also means that he doesn’t have to strain his back as much to carry back all the ingredients to the restaurant-his back has gone through enough punishment to last him a lifetime at this point, no need to add more stress to it.)
This particular morning, Yixing awakens well before the alarm clock has a chance to ring, his body still a little too keyed up from yesterday’s late-night closing. A rather large group of ten had hit their place only an hour before their regular closing time, and they had to pull two times their regular weight to get food to the customers and still close down at a reasonable time.
Yixing sits at his kitchen table for thirty minutes, dressed in a thick cardigan and supersized pajama bottoms, staring blankly into his cup of coffee as it cools without him noticing until he takes a sip from it and makes a face at the taste. He chases away the bitterness with a couple bites of similarly-cold toast, promising his whining stomach that he’ll feed it something nice at the market, and changes into a pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt and heads out for the bus to Myeongdong.
-
Yifan squeezes into the cab, folding himself as small as possible, drawing in his giant knees so that Kyungsoo can slide in after him and not feel like they’ve been stuck in a pressure tank. Kyungsoo slams the door shut after he’s safely seated, and the cab peels away from the curb, seamlessly entering back into the stream of cars on the road.
“Take us to the Long Star building, please,” Yifan says to their cabbie, aware of the expression on Kyungsoo’s face. He reflexively curls into himself, clutching at his slacks before forcing his hands to unclench so he doesn’t wrinkle his pants.
“You’re so lucky I planned this meeting for 10 AM in anticipation of your oversleeping,” Kyungsoo mutters darkly, taking out the notes for the shareholders’ meeting they’re headed to go over. Yifan nods along, pulling an apologetic smile in an effort to placate his PA. “Did you even look through the notes I sent you last week, or do I have to cram that into your brain too?”
Yifan’s smile falters, and Kyungsoo makes the beginning motions to what Yifan can only think is to strangle him, and he hurriedly puts his hands up to defend himself. “I did, I did.”
Kyungsoo’s hands drop back down the report on his lap, but his eyes remain trained on Yifan’s tense form. “I sense a but in here.”
“...Well, I read it a while ago, so...I don’t quite remember all of it,” Yifan says slowly, face scrunching up in a wince. Kyungsoo’s nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath and lets it out.
“I expect at least double my usual Christmas bonus this year,” he says tightly. “If not a small island.”
“I owe you at least a small country at this point,” Yifan says gratefully, nudging him in the shoulder. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and passes over the file report with a particularly hard thwap across Yifan’s thighs.
“Shut up and read. I need to do some meditative breathing.”
-
Yixing waits on the bus curb, going over the handwritten list Henry had passed over to him the night before. He chews on a finger while going over the numbers in his head, trying to gauge the best amount of ingredients to buy for the day. Yesterday was a bit of a freak occurrence, with the unexpected large party of people at the end, but it did also mean that they were forced to change up ingredients to meet the orders. Henry wants a double of everything for today’s menu, as a result, but Yixing’s just not sure whether today would get the same results for them to even require that double.
He’s a little put out, if he’s to be honest. Yixing’s not horrific with numbers-better than Lu Han when it comes to critical thinking, at least-but having to deal with the pain of knowing just how much to order to keep a restaurant running and not sinking in red is just so far above his pay grade. He’s a line cook, not a manager.
Yixing shakes away the thought, though. Dwelling on the negatives won’t help anyone in the long run, least of all him.
-
The taxi cab passes down the road without stop, steadily making its way to its destination. The transit bus pulls into the curb, just as the cab drives by on the left lane, and lets its passengers step on.
-
two.
“Hyuuuuung, come on, it’s almost 4 o’clock, you promised you’d eat lunch with me!” Chanyeol whines extra hard, leaning over Yifan’s desk. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve last tasted food today? 5 AM, hyung, 5. This is inhumane business practice, hyung, denying your workers food, I’m gonna sue!”
Yifan rubs at his temples, pounding headache already starting to build. “Why don’t you send in a formal complaint and I’ll have Minseok take a look at it for you?” he says dryly, looking up from the hand framing his forehead.
Chanyeol scowls a little and pushes away from the desk with a huff. He crosses his arms and marches himself to the couch in the corner of the office and flops noisily down onto the cushions with a harrumph. “I feel like you’re patronizing me and my legitimate grievance here, and I’ll have you know I won’t stand for it.”
Yifan grins, hides it under the palm of his hand, and continues screening through their company’s latest financial reports, penning in notes and circling areas that need to be checked over in finer detail later on. His stomach growls in agreement, though, a stark contrast to his unsympathetic words, and Chanyeol shoots up from his seat with a triumphant laugh and extended index finger pointed at him.
“Aha! See, even your own body agrees with me!” Chanyeol crows, almost dancing in place. Yifan stares at him with deadpan eyes, silently judging the twenty-four year-old for currently acting less than half his age.
“Chanyeol, I’m really busy at the moment, okay. I’m sorry I made you wait for lunch; go eat without me,” Yifan says after a minute, sighing and dropping his head into his hands. He massages his eyelids, pressing in the tips of his fingers into his sockets until his vision bleeds white, and sighs again when the pounding increases.
A pair of cool hands pulls his fingers away, replacing them with cooler tips that gently work at his temples, rubbing in and alleviating the pain a little. Yifan opens his eyes reluctantly, and looks up at a leaned-over Chanyeol who’s delicately massaging his headache away. Chanyeol smiles at him, his expression now softened and of fond exasperation.
“You idiot, I’m not just whining so I can go eat. I’m worried about you too,” he says with a huff. “You’ve been in this office the whole day; I don’t even think you came out for a bathroom break.”
Yifan rolls his eyes. “Thank you for giving so much thought to my excretory system, Chanyeol. Hyung is so touched.” He doesn’t mention that he did actually stay in the office the entire day; no need to add fuel to Chanyeol’s fire.
“Don’t be an ass,” Chanyeol admonishes, fingers still gentle. “You can go back to the office after this-just eat a small meal with me. Please.” He stops then, and stares straight down at Yifan, eyes somber. “Eat something.”
Yifan opens his mouth to argue some more, maybe say something mean so Chanyeol will go away and leave him be, but his stomach growls for the second time and all the fight deflates out of his body. “Okay, you win, you brat,” he mutters.
-
“I need another three orders of lu rou fan, one niu rou mian, and a ke za jian for the party of four, please,” shouts Jongdae, their newest hire, as he sticks his head under the flap dividing the kitchen and the front room. A chorus of acknowledgements comes back from the bustling staff in the kitchen, and Jongdae shouts a thank you before heading back out.
“Yixing, Lu Han, three lu rou, one niu mian!” Henry calls out, tacking the orders onto the line of waiting receipts. “Fei, another oya jian please! Keep ‘em coming, guys. What’s the status on those yu wan, Amber?”
“Next batch up in 5 seconds, man, hold your tits,” Amber replies, calmly ladling up fish balls and broth and passing them over on the dish counter to be checked off. “You need a Xanax or something?”
“Shut up and gimme those bowls,” Henry says without batting an eye, and murmurs his thanks when all the dishes for the current order are placed in front of him. “Okay, Sehun, Jongin, next order, go, go, go!”
Yixing works calmly on his third pot of pork belly that night, stirring the contents on the stove with a deft hand. He spoons out big chunks of pork from the half-full pot on the burner behind it, already braised and ready to serve, onto three bowls of rice filled to the brim, layering on the braising liquid and a few sprigs of cilantro for color. He fishes out three soft-boiled eggs from a side pot, quickly slices them open, and arranges them on top of the pork, drizzling some more sauce on top, before bringing them to the counter one-by-one.
“Lu rou ready to go,” he says with a smile. Henry flashes him a big grin in return and whisks the bowls off the counter and onto Sehun’s waiting serving tray without fanfare.
“Where is my mian, Lu Han,” Henry calls out, flipping through his orders. Lu Han bustles up with a neatly plated bowl of beef noodles with a huff.
“Amber’s right, you do need a Xanax,” he says, exasperated. Yixing giggles and pinches him in the stomach, ducking the swipe Lu Han takes at him when he yelps.
“Be careful about what you say, or I’ll have Yixing make rou of you,” Henry says, wagging a finger at Lu Han and high-fiving Yixing across the counter. Lu Han sticks his tongue out at him, and then at Yixing, and goes back to his station.
“I have another order,” Jongdae says as he bursts back into the kitchen, and Yixing returns to his station too.
-
Yifan lets himself be dragged mercilessly down the bustling streets of the main road of Myeongdong, content to let Chanyeol steer him around.
“-believe that Kyungsoo just keeps letting Baekhyun get to him like this, man, this is the third time this week I’ve had to break them up before Kyungsoo actually tried to toss him out the window. And you know, we’re on the 14th floor,” Chanyeol says with a shake of his head. “One of these days, Baekhyun’s really gonna end up dying. I think we should ready our alibi, you know, draw up some contracts that release us from responsibility before Kyungsoo goes through with it.”
Yifan hums absentmindedly in response. “Just let them be, they’ll work it out by themselves.”
Chanyeol stops in his tracks, uncaring of the scowling couple that bumps unexpectedly into him, and stares at Yifan. “Hyung, Baekhyun’s gonna end up in a ditch somewhere, and Kyungsoo will probably have to go on the run for first-degree murder. You’re gonna be out of an assistant if you let them ‘work it out’.”
Yifan huffs a laugh. “Are you making a big deal because you’re actually worried about me, or are you just jealous because Kyungsoo’s been paying more attention to Baekhyun than you lately?”
“W-what, what are you talking about, hyung, don’t be silly,” Chanyeol sputters, laughing uncomfortably loud and pushing Yifan away hard enough that he almost stumbles into a group of schoolgirls walking beside them. Yifan just laughs again, holding up a hand in placation, and slings an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders and starts walking again.
“Alright, alright, no need to get so defensive,” he says easily, rubbing Chanyeol’s arm. “Now, where is it you wanted us to go eat, hm? I assume I’ll be paying again today?”
Chanyeol pouts, but leads on. “Of course not! What kind of friend would I be if I made you pay for eating out with me! You think so little of me, hyung, it hurts.” Yifan raises his eyebrows at him, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes in response.
“My bad, then. Please accept my apologies, oh Best Friend in the Entire World, let this Lowly One treat you to atone for my unholy sin,” Yifan deadpans. Chanyeol pushes him away with his elbow, but lets Yifan leave his arm still around his shoulder.
“I’m serious, though, okay, you need to remember to eat more often, hyung,” Chanyeol says suddenly, his earlier joking tone absent and frown in place. “You’re not young anymore-to be honest, your life is already half-over if you think about it. You should treat it with more respect.”
Yifan stays quiet, but he smiles to himself, ducking his head down to hide it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says in the end, sincerely. He lifts a hand and ruffles Chanyeol’s hair a little.
Chanyeol sticks his nose up in the air in exaggerated importance, but he grins a little too, bringing back the playful mood from before. “See that you do, hyung. Now, as a reward for listening to me, I’ll graciously let you get the check tonight.”
“...You little shit.”
-
Yixing takes his twenty-minute dinner break in between a lull at the restaurant. Henry waves him away when he lets him know, and Lu Han pouts at him from the confines of his station, having taken his break an hour earlier. He exits out of the building through the backdoor, taking with him a take-out container of ba wan that Amber had pushed into his hands with a no-nonsense order to “eat something, for god’s sake, or I’ll beat you with a frying pan” and a bottle of water.
He stays next to the back entrance, hunching down on an overturned crate and cracks open his bottle to take a nice long gulp. He sighs into the darkening sky when he swallows, staring up into the orange-blue sky with furrowed brows. Spring’s ripening bit by bit, trading its greener, sweeter breeze for a more encircling warmth; Yixing’s taken to wearing tanks and and boxers to bed these days. But the air is still cool enough right now for Yixing to decompress and sit in without feeling like he’s about to boil over.
He snaps open the plastic container and scoops up a dumpling with one of the wood sticks Amber thoughtfully left in with the food, and chews on it slowly, savoring the crunch of bamboo shoots and the give of minced pork and shitake under his teeth. Almost as good as the dumplings his grandfather used to make for them during the winter season.
There’s a screech of the backdoor being scraped open, and Yixing lifts up his head to see who it is.
“Ah! Yixing hyung! Are you on your dinner break?” asks Jongdae brightly, his face coming into sharp relief in the yellow glow of the overhead light. He has a similar plastic container in his hands, filled with two huge translucent dumplings, and he moves over to sit next to Yixing, dragging another stray crate over as his chair. “Man, it gets really busy here, doesn’t it?”
“Hm, sometimes,” Yixing agrees, chewing still. “I feel like we picked up a lot more traction since Henry hired you, actually.” He nudges Jongdae lightly in the ribs with his elbow, grinning. “I guess you’re our good luck charm, Kim Jongdae-ssi.”
Jongdae laughs it off and opens his own container, cradling it on his lap for a makeshift table. “Don’t be like that, hyung, you’re gonna make me blush.”
“But it’s true! Our new magnae is so handsome and well-spoken,” Yixing teases, watching as Jongdae gets pinker in the dim lights. “Of course we’d get more customers with such a cool manager to take care of them. He leaves all the girls’ hearts fluttering, doesn’t he?”
“Hyuuuuung, please,” Jongdae whines, laughing. Yixing backs off, chuckling, and eats his second dumpling. “I’m in a relationship anyway, they don’t stand a chance.”
Yixing raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in curiosity. “Oh?” He chews thoughtfully for a moment. “That must be nice, then.”
Jongdae smiles to himself, a privately fond grin, and shrugs, and Yixing politely averts his eyes. But Jongdae looks back up now, nudging Yixing in turn, his own bit of curiosity taking over. “What about you, hyung? Do you have anyone?”
Yixing blinks at the sudden question, frozen in mid-chew before he relaxes again and continues eating. He shrugs nonchalantly. “No. Free as the wind,” he replies simply. Jongdae frowns, and Yixing sneakily steals a dumpling out of his container.
“Don’t you want one, though? A relationship?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t really mind either way, honestly. I haven’t really actively looked for anyone, but I don’t particularly care?” He takes a big bite of his stolen dumpling before speaking again. “Things are fine the way they are.”
“...You’re so carefree, hyung, wow,” Jongdae says after a few seconds, amused.
“It gives me more time to watch my shows in peace,” Yixing says primly, just as Jongdae tries to scoop up a dumpling from his takeout and finds it already half empty.
“Aw, hyung!”
-
They seat themselves as soon as one of groups huddling under the plastic covers leave, and Chanyeol orders them a huge plate of soondae and ddeokbokki to split, plus a couple sticks of odeng for them each. Yifan doesn’t say anything, but he levels Chanyeol with a succinct eyebrow as Chanyeol passes over two plastic cups and snaps open a bottle of soju.
“Okay, so this isn’t the healthiest place to eat, I know, but I’ve been craving soondae since I got to work this morning. And besides, I mean, I’m still young and spry in my twenties, so,” Chanyeol says sheepishly, pouring Yifan a shot before pouring himself one. He offers an exaggerated admonished smile, and Yifan rolls his eyes in response.
“Caring about my health, my ass,” Yifan mutters, downing the shot. “Plenty of places to eat indoors, and you pick the one that’ll lead me into an early heart attack.”
“Keep it down, hyung, do you want the ahjumma to spit in your food? Besides, you’re treating me tonight, so I get to pick what I wanna eat. We can eat somewhere else next time,” hisses Chanyeol, ribbing him with his bony elbow. Yifan grunts and loosens his tie before picking up his pair of chopsticks and going to town on the plate of soondae placed down in front of them.
“We’re eating something Chinese next time,” he says thickly, mouth full of blood sausage and clear noodles. Chanyeol snorts and nods in thanks to the ahjumma who hands over his carton of ddeokbokki.
“I’ll bring you to the place Jongdae just got hired at. I hear they do good Taiwanese-Cantonese fusion food,” he says offhandedly. “It’s actually just down that alley over there.” He stretches his arm behind him, near clipping a waiting customer in the face, and points to the dark alleyway a little left from under the covers of the pojangmacha.
“I’m holding you to that,” Yifan says and grabs for the soju bottle. “Pass over the ddeokbokki.”
-
Jongdae goes back in after only a few minutes, pouting over the loss of half his dinner. Yixing takes a last breath in the night air, the skies now completely black and illuminated by the city lights, and tosses away his trash before going back inside.
Break over.
-
three.
The subway station is a little crowded, filled with the last stretch of rush-hour people eager to head home. Yifan stays near the back, leaning against a pillar and trying to hold back a particularly large yawn from escaping.
If he had it his way, Yifan would be on the express train back to his place to catch up on a week’s worth of sleep. Unfortunately, Tao’s been raving about this photoshoot his company finally managed to scrape together with one of the premier photographers of South Korea, Lee Myungsoo, and demanded Yifan’s presence at the start for solidarity. It’s not particularly hard, per se, for Yifan to say no to people, but Zitao just has one of those faces that Yifan loathes to deny anything.
He doesn’t mind, not really. It’s a big milestone for Tao’s start-up fashion line, something Yifan knew Tao had only dreamed of back when he’d just started out sketching ideas for his portfolio in college. He’s proud that Tao’s made it this far-he’s just, well, tired.
They’d been working on this grant application for the past two weeks now, trying to get everything in before the deadline, but the offices have been so uncooperative with his company, Yifan’s had to pull a couple of straight all-nighters this whole week just to get all the necessary details and make sure that the material they’re sending in meets the ridiculously vague requirements. Kyungsoo almost popped several blood vessels in the past two days alone, trying to deal with the most ambiguous and unhelpful office secretaries at the Ministry of Health and Welfare. Yifan thought he’d have to put him in a literal time-out until Kyungsoo could interact with normal human beings without verbal abuse.
It’s done, though, signed and sealed, and sent off with Baekhyun for delivery. All Yifan has to do now is just hold on for another three hours before he can finally sink into his soft mattress and become one with his bed at last.
He yawns aloud just as the Blue Line races into the station, and stops for the passengers to climb aboard.
-
The crush of people piling into the just-arrived subway train is a little disorienting, and Yixing does his best not to bump into or step on anybody, though it’s really impossible with the amount of people squeezing in. He manages to grab onto the coveted pole spot by the doors, and steadies himself with an exhale of relief as the train closes its doors and pulls out of the station.
Jongdae has taken to complaining about his boyfriend’s recent negotiations with a deal with a famous photographer of some sort for his fashion line during lulls at the restaurant with anybody willing to listen-so, basically the kitchen staff because they had nowhere else to run-and apparently has to sit through a three-hour long shoot for the sake of his boyfriend and their continued happiness. So, naturally, he invited (read: begged until they all caved in) his favorite hyungs and noonas to come join him to celebrate the auspicious event.
Amber and Fei had begged out, citing earlier plans, and Henry managed to talk his way out of going with a promise of a shift change, but Lu Han and Yixing were too late in escaping. Well, Lu Han, anyway-Yixing doesn’t actually mind. It’s not like he had any plans on his day off beyond sitting in his boxers and watching old reruns of Chinese variety shows on his dinky television.
So, here he is, on the Blue Line, squished between a particularly unhappy businessman and a trio of high school boys, blaring obnoxiously loud hip-hop through their clunky headphones. It shouldn’t be too bad of a ride though, just a little over fourteen minutes, and hopefully the crowd of people will stream out in between now and his stop enough for Yixing to have some breathing space.
He adjusts his stance as the subway rocks a little, pulling a sharp turn, and murmurs an apology to the businessman when he bumps into his shoulder. The man only frowns back and looks away.
Yixing blows out his breath and wishes wistfully for his headphones and mp3 player.
-
Yifan manages to snag a seat after the train stops in at Chungmuro and half the train cart files out, opening up the space inside for the remaining passengers. He squeezes into an end seat, next to a mother trying to placate her pair of squabbling children, and smiles politely at her before laying his head against the metal guard above the bench arm, closing his eyes.
It’ll be another ten minutes before he has to get off; he’ll just rest his eyes in the mean time.
A text goes off on his phone, and Yifan cracks open an eye and takes out his phone to check. It’s a cute kkt from Tao, complete with a selca of his pouting face and a string of crying emojis, reminding him to meet Tao at the studio before the shoot starts. Yifan snorts a little and sends back a quick affirmation and ETA about his current in-transit location, and closes his eyes again.
A few more minutes.
-
The train pulls in without problem at Gireum Station, and Yixing hops off with ease, his cart already half-emptied by now. He checks for a wifi signal, and shoots off a text to Jongdae and Lu Han about his arrival before heading for the exit.
The sun is in its last few minutes of glory by the time Yixing surfaces, and he squints up at the sinking sunset, half hidden by the slew of arching buildings. He smiles a little, and then pulls up the map Jongdae had sent him to get to the studio and starts walking.
-
Yifan’s phone vibrates several times in succession, but he stays asleep, dead to the world. The subway pulls into Danggogae, its last stop.
-
NEXT
the smoke that roams looking for a home
pg; ~11.3k; preslash kris/lay (okay basically none at all if you wanna look at it that way)
You could spend your entire life in Seoul and keep missing each other. (missed connections!au)
one.
The alarm clock rings shrill and incessant, but Yifan barely breaks in his slow breathing, too lost in his dream world to pay any mind. The loud slam of his bedroom door opening, though, and the furious steps of his PA walking in put a sizeable dent in his sleep concentration. He furrows his brows, eyes still shut, and snuggles further under his blankets. His spine shivers a little, his seldom-minded sixth sense trying to warn him, but Yifan rolls onto his back, squashing away the tremors.
“Wu Yifan, you have exactly ten seconds to get up from that bed before I toss you and your mattress out your bedroom window,” Do Kyungsoo says calmly, not bothering to raise his voice or add any sort of nuance to his tone beyond the certainty of following through on his threat.
There’s a moment of pause in the air, interrupted only by the faint noises of beeping cars and traffic sounds, before Yifan shoots straight up from his bed, eyes peeled wide open and frantically looking around. Kyungsoo hides a smile and unfolds his arms from the overbearing position they’d been in.
“Clock’s ticking,” he says, tapping at his watch, and Yifan snaps his eyes to Kyungsoo’s passive face, unseeing before the context finally sinks in.
“Shit,” he hisses and scrambles out of bed, almost slipping on his bed sheets and onto the wood floor. “What time is it? Shit!”
“I’ll say. This is the last time I let you sleep in-what I get for trying to be nice for once,” mutters Kyungsoo, rubbing his temples. Yifan hurries into the bathroom, flinging off his shirt and boxers, uncaring of his singular audience, and jumps into the shower without aplomb. He hops around a little at the first spray of ice-cold water and clutches at his arms, shrinking back into one of the far corners of his shower stall until the water reaches the hot temperature he wanted.
“What time is it, Kyungsoo, please,” Yifan asks again, over the roar of his showerhead. He furiously scrubs at his body, squeezing out a gigantic glob of overly-expensive shampoo and goes to town on his hair, trying to clean himself in the least amount of time possible.
“Almost 8:30,” Kyungsoo sings aloud from his bedroom, perched on his mattress imperiously. Yifan squints at him through his wet shower stall door, blinking one eye open and close at a time to keep the soapy shampoo from running into his eyes.
“Why are you so relaxed?” he shouts through the glass, running water almost drowning his voice out. Kyungsoo manages to hear, through some miracle-probably some satanic magic-and shrugs leisurely, spreading his arms out.
“If I don’t maintain a calm and steady heart rate right now, I may actually end up murdering you out of pure frustration,” he replies succinctly.
Yifan’s too busy gargling his mouthwash and rinsing the shampoo out of his hair to hear.
-
Yixing drew the short end of the stick this month, so supply duty is on him. Their restaurant manager usually does the bulk ordering for most ingredients, but given Joonmyeon’s recent departure from the position to go back to school full-time for his PhD and their overall tight staff, the past few months have been rather touch-and-go on the supplies front (and everything else, to be honest).
He sets his alarm for 6 AM, an hour earlier than his regular wake-up time, cutting back his sleep time to a measly four hours instead of a more generous five on a regular day, so that he can go to the sijang first thing in the mornings before heading into the restaurant to help with prep-work.
(He’s rather thankful their restaurant isn’t all that big or too popular, hidden away as it is off the main road, on the one of the side alleys, despite Henry’s continuous blustering over their small patronship; it means the amount of ingredients Yixing has to buy on a regular day is limited to only how many customers they’ll predict to have that day. It also means that he doesn’t have to strain his back as much to carry back all the ingredients to the restaurant-his back has gone through enough punishment to last him a lifetime at this point, no need to add more stress to it.)
This particular morning, Yixing awakens well before the alarm clock has a chance to ring, his body still a little too keyed up from yesterday’s late-night closing. A rather large group of ten had hit their place only an hour before their regular closing time, and they had to pull two times their regular weight to get food to the customers and still close down at a reasonable time.
Yixing sits at his kitchen table for thirty minutes, dressed in a thick cardigan and supersized pajama bottoms, staring blankly into his cup of coffee as it cools without him noticing until he takes a sip from it and makes a face at the taste. He chases away the bitterness with a couple bites of similarly-cold toast, promising his whining stomach that he’ll feed it something nice at the market, and changes into a pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt and heads out for the bus to Myeongdong.
-
Yifan squeezes into the cab, folding himself as small as possible, drawing in his giant knees so that Kyungsoo can slide in after him and not feel like they’ve been stuck in a pressure tank. Kyungsoo slams the door shut after he’s safely seated, and the cab peels away from the curb, seamlessly entering back into the stream of cars on the road.
“Take us to the Long Star building, please,” Yifan says to their cabbie, aware of the expression on Kyungsoo’s face. He reflexively curls into himself, clutching at his slacks before forcing his hands to unclench so he doesn’t wrinkle his pants.
“You’re so lucky I planned this meeting for 10 AM in anticipation of your oversleeping,” Kyungsoo mutters darkly, taking out the notes for the shareholders’ meeting they’re headed to go over. Yifan nods along, pulling an apologetic smile in an effort to placate his PA. “Did you even look through the notes I sent you last week, or do I have to cram that into your brain too?”
Yifan’s smile falters, and Kyungsoo makes the beginning motions to what Yifan can only think is to strangle him, and he hurriedly puts his hands up to defend himself. “I did, I did.”
Kyungsoo’s hands drop back down the report on his lap, but his eyes remain trained on Yifan’s tense form. “I sense a but in here.”
“...Well, I read it a while ago, so...I don’t quite remember all of it,” Yifan says slowly, face scrunching up in a wince. Kyungsoo’s nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath and lets it out.
“I expect at least double my usual Christmas bonus this year,” he says tightly. “If not a small island.”
“I owe you at least a small country at this point,” Yifan says gratefully, nudging him in the shoulder. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and passes over the file report with a particularly hard thwap across Yifan’s thighs.
“Shut up and read. I need to do some meditative breathing.”
-
Yixing waits on the bus curb, going over the handwritten list Henry had passed over to him the night before. He chews on a finger while going over the numbers in his head, trying to gauge the best amount of ingredients to buy for the day. Yesterday was a bit of a freak occurrence, with the unexpected large party of people at the end, but it did also mean that they were forced to change up ingredients to meet the orders. Henry wants a double of everything for today’s menu, as a result, but Yixing’s just not sure whether today would get the same results for them to even require that double.
He’s a little put out, if he’s to be honest. Yixing’s not horrific with numbers-better than Lu Han when it comes to critical thinking, at least-but having to deal with the pain of knowing just how much to order to keep a restaurant running and not sinking in red is just so far above his pay grade. He’s a line cook, not a manager.
Yixing shakes away the thought, though. Dwelling on the negatives won’t help anyone in the long run, least of all him.
-
The taxi cab passes down the road without stop, steadily making its way to its destination. The transit bus pulls into the curb, just as the cab drives by on the left lane, and lets its passengers step on.
-
two.
“Hyuuuuung, come on, it’s almost 4 o’clock, you promised you’d eat lunch with me!” Chanyeol whines extra hard, leaning over Yifan’s desk. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve last tasted food today? 5 AM, hyung, 5. This is inhumane business practice, hyung, denying your workers food, I’m gonna sue!”
Yifan rubs at his temples, pounding headache already starting to build. “Why don’t you send in a formal complaint and I’ll have Minseok take a look at it for you?” he says dryly, looking up from the hand framing his forehead.
Chanyeol scowls a little and pushes away from the desk with a huff. He crosses his arms and marches himself to the couch in the corner of the office and flops noisily down onto the cushions with a harrumph. “I feel like you’re patronizing me and my legitimate grievance here, and I’ll have you know I won’t stand for it.”
Yifan grins, hides it under the palm of his hand, and continues screening through their company’s latest financial reports, penning in notes and circling areas that need to be checked over in finer detail later on. His stomach growls in agreement, though, a stark contrast to his unsympathetic words, and Chanyeol shoots up from his seat with a triumphant laugh and extended index finger pointed at him.
“Aha! See, even your own body agrees with me!” Chanyeol crows, almost dancing in place. Yifan stares at him with deadpan eyes, silently judging the twenty-four year-old for currently acting less than half his age.
“Chanyeol, I’m really busy at the moment, okay. I’m sorry I made you wait for lunch; go eat without me,” Yifan says after a minute, sighing and dropping his head into his hands. He massages his eyelids, pressing in the tips of his fingers into his sockets until his vision bleeds white, and sighs again when the pounding increases.
A pair of cool hands pulls his fingers away, replacing them with cooler tips that gently work at his temples, rubbing in and alleviating the pain a little. Yifan opens his eyes reluctantly, and looks up at a leaned-over Chanyeol who’s delicately massaging his headache away. Chanyeol smiles at him, his expression now softened and of fond exasperation.
“You idiot, I’m not just whining so I can go eat. I’m worried about you too,” he says with a huff. “You’ve been in this office the whole day; I don’t even think you came out for a bathroom break.”
Yifan rolls his eyes. “Thank you for giving so much thought to my excretory system, Chanyeol. Hyung is so touched.” He doesn’t mention that he did actually stay in the office the entire day; no need to add fuel to Chanyeol’s fire.
“Don’t be an ass,” Chanyeol admonishes, fingers still gentle. “You can go back to the office after this-just eat a small meal with me. Please.” He stops then, and stares straight down at Yifan, eyes somber. “Eat something.”
Yifan opens his mouth to argue some more, maybe say something mean so Chanyeol will go away and leave him be, but his stomach growls for the second time and all the fight deflates out of his body. “Okay, you win, you brat,” he mutters.
-
“I need another three orders of lu rou fan, one niu rou mian, and a ke za jian for the party of four, please,” shouts Jongdae, their newest hire, as he sticks his head under the flap dividing the kitchen and the front room. A chorus of acknowledgements comes back from the bustling staff in the kitchen, and Jongdae shouts a thank you before heading back out.
“Yixing, Lu Han, three lu rou, one niu mian!” Henry calls out, tacking the orders onto the line of waiting receipts. “Fei, another oya jian please! Keep ‘em coming, guys. What’s the status on those yu wan, Amber?”
“Next batch up in 5 seconds, man, hold your tits,” Amber replies, calmly ladling up fish balls and broth and passing them over on the dish counter to be checked off. “You need a Xanax or something?”
“Shut up and gimme those bowls,” Henry says without batting an eye, and murmurs his thanks when all the dishes for the current order are placed in front of him. “Okay, Sehun, Jongin, next order, go, go, go!”
Yixing works calmly on his third pot of pork belly that night, stirring the contents on the stove with a deft hand. He spoons out big chunks of pork from the half-full pot on the burner behind it, already braised and ready to serve, onto three bowls of rice filled to the brim, layering on the braising liquid and a few sprigs of cilantro for color. He fishes out three soft-boiled eggs from a side pot, quickly slices them open, and arranges them on top of the pork, drizzling some more sauce on top, before bringing them to the counter one-by-one.
“Lu rou ready to go,” he says with a smile. Henry flashes him a big grin in return and whisks the bowls off the counter and onto Sehun’s waiting serving tray without fanfare.
“Where is my mian, Lu Han,” Henry calls out, flipping through his orders. Lu Han bustles up with a neatly plated bowl of beef noodles with a huff.
“Amber’s right, you do need a Xanax,” he says, exasperated. Yixing giggles and pinches him in the stomach, ducking the swipe Lu Han takes at him when he yelps.
“Be careful about what you say, or I’ll have Yixing make rou of you,” Henry says, wagging a finger at Lu Han and high-fiving Yixing across the counter. Lu Han sticks his tongue out at him, and then at Yixing, and goes back to his station.
“I have another order,” Jongdae says as he bursts back into the kitchen, and Yixing returns to his station too.
-
Yifan lets himself be dragged mercilessly down the bustling streets of the main road of Myeongdong, content to let Chanyeol steer him around.
“-believe that Kyungsoo just keeps letting Baekhyun get to him like this, man, this is the third time this week I’ve had to break them up before Kyungsoo actually tried to toss him out the window. And you know, we’re on the 14th floor,” Chanyeol says with a shake of his head. “One of these days, Baekhyun’s really gonna end up dying. I think we should ready our alibi, you know, draw up some contracts that release us from responsibility before Kyungsoo goes through with it.”
Yifan hums absentmindedly in response. “Just let them be, they’ll work it out by themselves.”
Chanyeol stops in his tracks, uncaring of the scowling couple that bumps unexpectedly into him, and stares at Yifan. “Hyung, Baekhyun’s gonna end up in a ditch somewhere, and Kyungsoo will probably have to go on the run for first-degree murder. You’re gonna be out of an assistant if you let them ‘work it out’.”
Yifan huffs a laugh. “Are you making a big deal because you’re actually worried about me, or are you just jealous because Kyungsoo’s been paying more attention to Baekhyun than you lately?”
“W-what, what are you talking about, hyung, don’t be silly,” Chanyeol sputters, laughing uncomfortably loud and pushing Yifan away hard enough that he almost stumbles into a group of schoolgirls walking beside them. Yifan just laughs again, holding up a hand in placation, and slings an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders and starts walking again.
“Alright, alright, no need to get so defensive,” he says easily, rubbing Chanyeol’s arm. “Now, where is it you wanted us to go eat, hm? I assume I’ll be paying again today?”
Chanyeol pouts, but leads on. “Of course not! What kind of friend would I be if I made you pay for eating out with me! You think so little of me, hyung, it hurts.” Yifan raises his eyebrows at him, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes in response.
“My bad, then. Please accept my apologies, oh Best Friend in the Entire World, let this Lowly One treat you to atone for my unholy sin,” Yifan deadpans. Chanyeol pushes him away with his elbow, but lets Yifan leave his arm still around his shoulder.
“I’m serious, though, okay, you need to remember to eat more often, hyung,” Chanyeol says suddenly, his earlier joking tone absent and frown in place. “You’re not young anymore-to be honest, your life is already half-over if you think about it. You should treat it with more respect.”
Yifan stays quiet, but he smiles to himself, ducking his head down to hide it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says in the end, sincerely. He lifts a hand and ruffles Chanyeol’s hair a little.
Chanyeol sticks his nose up in the air in exaggerated importance, but he grins a little too, bringing back the playful mood from before. “See that you do, hyung. Now, as a reward for listening to me, I’ll graciously let you get the check tonight.”
“...You little shit.”
-
Yixing takes his twenty-minute dinner break in between a lull at the restaurant. Henry waves him away when he lets him know, and Lu Han pouts at him from the confines of his station, having taken his break an hour earlier. He exits out of the building through the backdoor, taking with him a take-out container of ba wan that Amber had pushed into his hands with a no-nonsense order to “eat something, for god’s sake, or I’ll beat you with a frying pan” and a bottle of water.
He stays next to the back entrance, hunching down on an overturned crate and cracks open his bottle to take a nice long gulp. He sighs into the darkening sky when he swallows, staring up into the orange-blue sky with furrowed brows. Spring’s ripening bit by bit, trading its greener, sweeter breeze for a more encircling warmth; Yixing’s taken to wearing tanks and and boxers to bed these days. But the air is still cool enough right now for Yixing to decompress and sit in without feeling like he’s about to boil over.
He snaps open the plastic container and scoops up a dumpling with one of the wood sticks Amber thoughtfully left in with the food, and chews on it slowly, savoring the crunch of bamboo shoots and the give of minced pork and shitake under his teeth. Almost as good as the dumplings his grandfather used to make for them during the winter season.
There’s a screech of the backdoor being scraped open, and Yixing lifts up his head to see who it is.
“Ah! Yixing hyung! Are you on your dinner break?” asks Jongdae brightly, his face coming into sharp relief in the yellow glow of the overhead light. He has a similar plastic container in his hands, filled with two huge translucent dumplings, and he moves over to sit next to Yixing, dragging another stray crate over as his chair. “Man, it gets really busy here, doesn’t it?”
“Hm, sometimes,” Yixing agrees, chewing still. “I feel like we picked up a lot more traction since Henry hired you, actually.” He nudges Jongdae lightly in the ribs with his elbow, grinning. “I guess you’re our good luck charm, Kim Jongdae-ssi.”
Jongdae laughs it off and opens his own container, cradling it on his lap for a makeshift table. “Don’t be like that, hyung, you’re gonna make me blush.”
“But it’s true! Our new magnae is so handsome and well-spoken,” Yixing teases, watching as Jongdae gets pinker in the dim lights. “Of course we’d get more customers with such a cool manager to take care of them. He leaves all the girls’ hearts fluttering, doesn’t he?”
“Hyuuuuung, please,” Jongdae whines, laughing. Yixing backs off, chuckling, and eats his second dumpling. “I’m in a relationship anyway, they don’t stand a chance.”
Yixing raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in curiosity. “Oh?” He chews thoughtfully for a moment. “That must be nice, then.”
Jongdae smiles to himself, a privately fond grin, and shrugs, and Yixing politely averts his eyes. But Jongdae looks back up now, nudging Yixing in turn, his own bit of curiosity taking over. “What about you, hyung? Do you have anyone?”
Yixing blinks at the sudden question, frozen in mid-chew before he relaxes again and continues eating. He shrugs nonchalantly. “No. Free as the wind,” he replies simply. Jongdae frowns, and Yixing sneakily steals a dumpling out of his container.
“Don’t you want one, though? A relationship?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t really mind either way, honestly. I haven’t really actively looked for anyone, but I don’t particularly care?” He takes a big bite of his stolen dumpling before speaking again. “Things are fine the way they are.”
“...You’re so carefree, hyung, wow,” Jongdae says after a few seconds, amused.
“It gives me more time to watch my shows in peace,” Yixing says primly, just as Jongdae tries to scoop up a dumpling from his takeout and finds it already half empty.
“Aw, hyung!”
-
They seat themselves as soon as one of groups huddling under the plastic covers leave, and Chanyeol orders them a huge plate of soondae and ddeokbokki to split, plus a couple sticks of odeng for them each. Yifan doesn’t say anything, but he levels Chanyeol with a succinct eyebrow as Chanyeol passes over two plastic cups and snaps open a bottle of soju.
“Okay, so this isn’t the healthiest place to eat, I know, but I’ve been craving soondae since I got to work this morning. And besides, I mean, I’m still young and spry in my twenties, so,” Chanyeol says sheepishly, pouring Yifan a shot before pouring himself one. He offers an exaggerated admonished smile, and Yifan rolls his eyes in response.
“Caring about my health, my ass,” Yifan mutters, downing the shot. “Plenty of places to eat indoors, and you pick the one that’ll lead me into an early heart attack.”
“Keep it down, hyung, do you want the ahjumma to spit in your food? Besides, you’re treating me tonight, so I get to pick what I wanna eat. We can eat somewhere else next time,” hisses Chanyeol, ribbing him with his bony elbow. Yifan grunts and loosens his tie before picking up his pair of chopsticks and going to town on the plate of soondae placed down in front of them.
“We’re eating something Chinese next time,” he says thickly, mouth full of blood sausage and clear noodles. Chanyeol snorts and nods in thanks to the ahjumma who hands over his carton of ddeokbokki.
“I’ll bring you to the place Jongdae just got hired at. I hear they do good Taiwanese-Cantonese fusion food,” he says offhandedly. “It’s actually just down that alley over there.” He stretches his arm behind him, near clipping a waiting customer in the face, and points to the dark alleyway a little left from under the covers of the pojangmacha.
“I’m holding you to that,” Yifan says and grabs for the soju bottle. “Pass over the ddeokbokki.”
-
Jongdae goes back in after only a few minutes, pouting over the loss of half his dinner. Yixing takes a last breath in the night air, the skies now completely black and illuminated by the city lights, and tosses away his trash before going back inside.
Break over.
-
three.
The subway station is a little crowded, filled with the last stretch of rush-hour people eager to head home. Yifan stays near the back, leaning against a pillar and trying to hold back a particularly large yawn from escaping.
If he had it his way, Yifan would be on the express train back to his place to catch up on a week’s worth of sleep. Unfortunately, Tao’s been raving about this photoshoot his company finally managed to scrape together with one of the premier photographers of South Korea, Lee Myungsoo, and demanded Yifan’s presence at the start for solidarity. It’s not particularly hard, per se, for Yifan to say no to people, but Zitao just has one of those faces that Yifan loathes to deny anything.
He doesn’t mind, not really. It’s a big milestone for Tao’s start-up fashion line, something Yifan knew Tao had only dreamed of back when he’d just started out sketching ideas for his portfolio in college. He’s proud that Tao’s made it this far-he’s just, well, tired.
They’d been working on this grant application for the past two weeks now, trying to get everything in before the deadline, but the offices have been so uncooperative with his company, Yifan’s had to pull a couple of straight all-nighters this whole week just to get all the necessary details and make sure that the material they’re sending in meets the ridiculously vague requirements. Kyungsoo almost popped several blood vessels in the past two days alone, trying to deal with the most ambiguous and unhelpful office secretaries at the Ministry of Health and Welfare. Yifan thought he’d have to put him in a literal time-out until Kyungsoo could interact with normal human beings without verbal abuse.
It’s done, though, signed and sealed, and sent off with Baekhyun for delivery. All Yifan has to do now is just hold on for another three hours before he can finally sink into his soft mattress and become one with his bed at last.
He yawns aloud just as the Blue Line races into the station, and stops for the passengers to climb aboard.
-
The crush of people piling into the just-arrived subway train is a little disorienting, and Yixing does his best not to bump into or step on anybody, though it’s really impossible with the amount of people squeezing in. He manages to grab onto the coveted pole spot by the doors, and steadies himself with an exhale of relief as the train closes its doors and pulls out of the station.
Jongdae has taken to complaining about his boyfriend’s recent negotiations with a deal with a famous photographer of some sort for his fashion line during lulls at the restaurant with anybody willing to listen-so, basically the kitchen staff because they had nowhere else to run-and apparently has to sit through a three-hour long shoot for the sake of his boyfriend and their continued happiness. So, naturally, he invited (read: begged until they all caved in) his favorite hyungs and noonas to come join him to celebrate the auspicious event.
Amber and Fei had begged out, citing earlier plans, and Henry managed to talk his way out of going with a promise of a shift change, but Lu Han and Yixing were too late in escaping. Well, Lu Han, anyway-Yixing doesn’t actually mind. It’s not like he had any plans on his day off beyond sitting in his boxers and watching old reruns of Chinese variety shows on his dinky television.
So, here he is, on the Blue Line, squished between a particularly unhappy businessman and a trio of high school boys, blaring obnoxiously loud hip-hop through their clunky headphones. It shouldn’t be too bad of a ride though, just a little over fourteen minutes, and hopefully the crowd of people will stream out in between now and his stop enough for Yixing to have some breathing space.
He adjusts his stance as the subway rocks a little, pulling a sharp turn, and murmurs an apology to the businessman when he bumps into his shoulder. The man only frowns back and looks away.
Yixing blows out his breath and wishes wistfully for his headphones and mp3 player.
-
Yifan manages to snag a seat after the train stops in at Chungmuro and half the train cart files out, opening up the space inside for the remaining passengers. He squeezes into an end seat, next to a mother trying to placate her pair of squabbling children, and smiles politely at her before laying his head against the metal guard above the bench arm, closing his eyes.
It’ll be another ten minutes before he has to get off; he’ll just rest his eyes in the mean time.
A text goes off on his phone, and Yifan cracks open an eye and takes out his phone to check. It’s a cute kkt from Tao, complete with a selca of his pouting face and a string of crying emojis, reminding him to meet Tao at the studio before the shoot starts. Yifan snorts a little and sends back a quick affirmation and ETA about his current in-transit location, and closes his eyes again.
A few more minutes.
-
The train pulls in without problem at Gireum Station, and Yixing hops off with ease, his cart already half-emptied by now. He checks for a wifi signal, and shoots off a text to Jongdae and Lu Han about his arrival before heading for the exit.
The sun is in its last few minutes of glory by the time Yixing surfaces, and he squints up at the sinking sunset, half hidden by the slew of arching buildings. He smiles a little, and then pulls up the map Jongdae had sent him to get to the studio and starts walking.
-
Yifan’s phone vibrates several times in succession, but he stays asleep, dead to the world. The subway pulls into Danggogae, its last stop.
-
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