the smoke that roams looking for a home (ii)
BACK
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four.
Everything’s a little too much right now.
Yifan tries to focus his attention on Kyungsoo, who’s steadily rattling off their fiscal quarter’s numbers to him and discussing the possible next steps, but his words just slip away as easily as they flow into his ears, and he’s left staring blankly at the folder report Kyungsoo’s brandishing in front of him.
Minseok comes into the office with a stack of folders and drops them onto his desk with a sympathetic smile, and slips away as quietly as he’d entered, Kyungsoo’s speech uninterrupted. Yifan turns his head a little to stare at the stack of reports, lips pressed together tightly, as he visualizes the next five hours of having to go over each one of them in fine detail. The unpleasant feeling of his stomach churning has him pushing out of his seat abruptly, startling Kyungsoo into silence.
“Sorry. Bathroom break, can’t wait,” Yifan mumbles and hurries out of the office without giving Kyungsoo a chance to respond.
He doesn’t quite run out of the building, especially since CEOs are supposed to act with at least a modicum of professionalism and grace, but it’s a near thing. He exits the building with an undoubtedly frazzled expression and backs away from the glass doors, looking up at the stories with trepidation. He almost backs into someone, and whirls around to profusely apologize. The woman brushes away his apologies without a second glance and walks away into the building.
A walk might help. At the very least, he can decompress and breathe easier after a walk.
-
Sehun called in sick today-though it’s a slow day, so they’re not too backed-up by his absence. But they started up a lunch delivery recently, thanks to Henry’s desire for more patronage and Jongdae’s clever idea for a short-term promotion, and Jongin can only do so many orders on his own, with his dinky motorbike. They drew straws again, to decide who would get to leave the kitchen today.
Lu Han actually pulled the short one this time, but he pouted and begged until Yixing took his spot instead. It’s not too bad, though. Yixing gets a day out of the kitchen and Lu Han’s Playstation 3 out of this deal, so he’s pretty pleased, all things considered.
His first delivery is to a small boutique on Myeongdong 8-gil, and he borrows Amber’s bike to make the trip there, weaving through crowds of tourists and shoppers. The roads are especially crowded today, being a Saturday and a little after noon which means the optimal time for shopping, so it’s a little hard trying to get through and keep the food order steady on the back of his bike, but he makes it somehow.
He takes a look at the beauty shops stretching down the road when he comes out of the boutique, from the Nature Republic flagship to the Tony Moly and innisfree on either side, and is reminded of his mother’s birthday coming up in a month. Yixing assesses the hoards of people crowding around the entrance and spilling out of every shop entrances. Maybe another day, then.
His next delivery isn’t too far away, at the LGCNS building, and he gets there in another ten minutes with all the foot traffic, and he runs into the building with the food, eager to hand it over while it’s still fresh and warm. The receptionist smiles politely at him and lets him through with a cursory hand, and Yixing takes the elevator to the fifth floor.
He gets a text from Henry to come back for another delivery, and Yixing bows to the man who finishes paying him for his food and reminds him that he’ll be back within a few hours to pick up the dishes before heading back out.
-
He’s been out for at least fifteen minutes now. Way longer than what he’d probably like for Kyungsoo to think he’s doing in the bathroom, but Yifan’s still a little too on edge to really care at this point. He can suffer through the ribbing Chanyeol’ll probably put him through when he gets back.
Yifan heaves a heavy sigh and trudges down the street. This isn’t the first time he’s felt overwhelmed at work, but it’s the first time he’s been so discomfited that he had to physically leave the building in the middle of a meeting. At the very least, it wasn’t a board meeting, but this was nonetheless irresponsible and unprofessional of him. He feels the guilt just as heavily as he feels the clenching panic, deep in his gut and spreading through his lungs like wildfire, an indescribable suffocation with a vice grip on his trachea.
Burnout had been something his predecessor had warned him of before Yifan had taken over as CEO of their company. Yunho had been almost gaunt, the long hours of sitting in an enclosed space and trying to produce success out of numbers and sheer determination written in the lines on his face and the faltering smile as he’d clasped Yifan on the shoulder for the last time before taking his leave. They weren’t a big company, a middle-sized non-profit organization with a few fingers dipped into some heavy gold pots, but the weight of his title and the expectations of the faceless board members had felt no less real.
Yifan isn’t a leader, in any sense of the word. He thinks under pressure, rises to the occasion when it is necessitated and he is the only one capable, but he just isn’t built to stand this long, holding up a company on his own two shoulders. He’d made that mistake in high school, trying to captain his team to victory, and had ended with a dashed dream and a lasting knee injury for his hubris. The amount of flattery and resolve to meet his board members’ expectations and prove himself worthy when they’d first elected him to position have long since given away to a bone-deep weariness and a pervasive desire to sleep.
His body turned out far more fragile than he’d imagined.
-
Yixing pulls up to the mid-sized Long Star building and parks his bike by the curb in between a heavy SUV and a silver Hyundai with a half-hearted prayer that it won’t get crushed in the five minutes he’ll be away for.
The receptionist directs him to the fourteenth floor, and he shares the ride up the elevator with a jittery man who almost bolts out of the cab when they arrive. Yixing follows behind at a more leisurely pace, carrying two bags of lunch boxes in either hand. There isn’t an actual reception desk on this floor, though, so he stays by the elevator, waiting for someone who looks hungry to come up to him.
A harried man with wide eyes steps out of one of the offices, head tilted toward him with a handset pressed to his ear, and waves Yixing over. Yixing gratefully walks over, avoiding a passing worker with a huge stack of paper crossing by, and holds out his bags with a questioning smile.
“Delivery for a Do Kyungsoo?” he says quietly for confirmation, and the man nods and gestures for him to set the bags down on his desk, clearing off the stray folders and packets about for Yixing. He holds up a finger and calls out into the open office space back outside, pressing the receiver of his handset to his chest.
“Chanyeol, can you come and pay the delivery guy for me? I’m on a call with our development director right now,” he says, and a dyed redhead pops his head out from one of the cubicles in the middle of the floor.
“Oh, hey, you got us lunch?” he replies back, leaving his cubicle and jogging over to where Kyungsoo and Yixing stand. Kyungsoo just waves his hand vaguely and goes back to his phone call, giving Yixing an apologetic nod of his head. Yixing just smiles and waits for Chanyeol to dig out his wallet. “What’s the damage today?”
“30 000 won,” Yixing says pleasantly, clasping his hands behind his back. Chanyeol whistles a little, and fishes out three ₩10 000 bills to pass over.
“Oh, is this the place Jongdae works at! Nice, I’ve been meaning to try their stuff,” Chanyeol says absentmindedly, shoving his wallet back into his pants. Kyungsoo hangs up just as he starts taking out the lunch boxes from the bags. “I wonder where Yifan hyung is, he’s missing out.”
“He said he had to go to the bathroom a while ago. I assumed he had bowel problems,” Kyungsoo says with a frown, and nods again in thanks to Yixing, who bows back and starts his way back to the elevator to leave.
“I just went like fifteen minutes ago; there was no one there. And none of the stink that usually comes with bad shit, you know what I mean?” he hears from Chanyeol before the elevator doors ding open and he steps in. “I’m worried."
-
He ended up in Namsan, milling with tourists and couples walking up and down the hill to the tower. Yifan picks a spot by the railing near the lower cliffs, halfway up the hill, and sits on the bench in front of it, staring blankly out into the city.
It’s almost three in the afternoon now, long since the morning when he’d run out on Kyungsoo. His stomach whines a little, and he lays a hand flat across his belly in detached consolation.
The city stares back, unblinking.
-
five.
They book a special seating at Nian Gao, Chanyeol making good on his promise to bring Yifan to a Chinese place, and because Minseok finally pops the question on Sooyeon, his girlfriend of three years, and she’d said yes. The restaurant is the one Chanyeol had pointed out to Yifan months ago, hidden away in one of the smaller alleyways of Myeongdong 3-gil, small and out of the ways from less adventurous tourists, but it’s intimate and bustling inside, perfect for their group.
Minseok and Sooyeon sit in the seats of honor tonight, laughing abashedly as Chanyeol and Baekhyun tease them from across the table, Kyungsoo in between them, occasionally slapping the back of both their heads when they get too invasive or lewd with their words. Their new interns, Jinri and Sunyoung, sit a little off to the side, still shy and hesitant to participate in the good-natured ribbing of Minseok’s new engagement, but Chanyeol does a good job of including them into the conversation, and even makes them laugh a few times when he stumbles over some of the Chinese words when reading off food orders to their waiter.
Yifan sits at the head of the table, closest to the kitchen doors, content to just watch his friends and colleagues sit and chatter in celebration of one of their oldest friend’s engagement. It’s a good night to go out, warm and pleasant with a full moon to light the way home; Minseok made a good decision in choosing tonight to propose.
He toys with his napkin, picking at the edges, while Chanyeol and Baekhyun whoop loudly, clapping for Minseok to kiss Sooyeon in public. Kyungsoo kicks Baekhyun down and pushes Chanyeol back in his seat, but he manages to steal a glance at Yifan beforehand, questioning. Yifan forces a smile back and shakes his head, not open to any interrogation.
He’s not up for anything high energy, but being with his little makeshift family is enough tonight.
-
Yixing opts to take the long way back home this time. He arrives at the Beijing Airport around 7 in the morning, sleep-rumpled and red-eyed like his namesake flight. He gets a quick latte at the airport Starbucks, loaded with an extra shot of espresso for good luck, and waits for the shuttle to Beijing West Station to start up its route.
It’ll be a good six hours or so before he hits Changsha, going by train, and his mother had berated him already for wasting the time he could’ve spent already safe and sound back in his grandparents’ home traveling through China, but Yixing stood his ground this time. It’s been years since he’s come back to China, much less Changsha. He wants to take the time to reacquaint himself again.
-
The food is delicious, both nostalgic and new to Yifan’s taste buds. He’s been to Taiwan only twice, both for business purposes, and had kept to hotel food both times, so getting to finally eat its famed cuisine a few years later is a bit of a treat, even if it is in the middle of Seoul, Korea. But the gon chow ngau ho and the communal serving bowl of pei dan sau yuk juk are so familiar, he keeps thinking he’s back in Guangzhou again, eating with his family at a chaa lau and blinking in surprise when he finds himself in a tiny restaurant amongst Koreans instead.
Their group noise level only gets louder as the night goes on, supplemented by the delicious food and alcohol flow. Chanyeol manages to get the restaurant manager, Jongdae, to come by and introduce himself finally, laughing in astonishment when Kyungsoo reveals that he and Jongdae had been classmates back in high school. Jongdae fits right in with Chanyeol and Baekhyun, easily trading barbs and joking with everyone around the table like he’s been part of their company for years and not just introduced a few moments ago. He congratulates Minseok and Sooyeon sincerely, and promises them a complimentary bottle of bai jiu to commemorate the occasion with a conspiratorial wink.
Sooyeon asks to give her compliments to the chef, and Jongdae crows in delight.
“Lu Han hyung is gonna be so happy you said this, Sooyeon-ssi,” he says, eyes twinkling, hovering behind Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s chairs. “He’s head chef tonight ‘cause Henry hyung’s out sick and it’s Yixing hyung’s week off, and he’s been so anxious about messing up.”
Yifan clears his throat, speaking up at this. “No, he did a good job. It reminds me of home,” he says quietly, with a small smile. “You guys all did a really good job, please let them all know.”
Jongdae smiles back, ears a little pink. “Thank you, Yifan-ssi. I’ll be sure to let our staff know.”
Chanyeol chuckles a little, and nudges Jongdae lightly. “That’s high praise indeed from Yifan hyung, you know, you should be proud. And look at you, already talking like you’re one of them. You’re going native,” he teases. He turns to his table and stage whispers with a raise of his eyebrow. “He’s already got a cute Chinese nickname and everything. They call him Chen in the kitchen-isn’t that adorable?”
Jongdae laughs a little, embarrassed, and shoves Chanyeol’s head a little. “Shut up, you’re just jealous they like me more than your office likes you. And you’ve been working with them for like over two years now, so.”
“Hey! That’s not true, they love me! Right, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol pouts, looking at a blank-faced Kyungsoo in askance.
“Who is this ‘they’ you’re talking about? And why are you asking me?” he deadpans, to the loud laughter around the table.
“That is rude, Soo, see if I ever talk to you again.” Chanyeol wrinkles his nose and directs his puppy eyes at Yifan for support. “Hyung, you love me, right?”
Yifan smirks and lazily shrugs in response. “Hard to say, really.”
Jongdae cackles especially loud at Chanyeol’s betrayed expression.
-
He falls asleep on the train and misses on most of the scenery during his six-hour long ride, but Yixing’s not too bothered when he steps off the train and breathes in the Changsha air, the cloying thickness of its warmth wrapping around him in a homecoming embrace. He can enjoy it when he leaves.
His first stop is at a bus-stop rest because he hasn’t eaten anything in more than six hours. His second stop is to a shen liao dian, where he picks up a bundle of joss sticks and joss money, and makes a quick walk over to the flower shop a few streets down for a bouquet of mixed calla lilies.
His grandfather’s site isn’t really that big, wedged along in one of the thousands of rows of tombs and headstones at the cemetery. It takes him a little bit to find it, hidden in plain sight along with all the other identical headstones, but he gets there in the end. He stands in front of the stone in silence for a moment, expressionless, before he breaks into a wistful smile and sets down the flowers.
“Hi, grandpa. I’m home,” he says softly.
-
zero.
When it rains, it pours. Monsoon season in Seoul is no fucking joke.
Yifan grimaces at his rain-soaked suit jacket in dismay. Not five minutes out of the cab and he’s already half-drenched from the heavy downpour. He doesn’t even want to think about the state of his hair right now.
The streets of Myeongdong are still crowded, though, filled to the brim with eager shoppers and tourists despite the rain. Yifan looks enviously at the couples passing by, huddling under their wide umbrellas, and sighs, dragging a wet hand through his equally wet locks of hair. Waste of the hour he’d spent this morning styling his hair just so. His umbrella had been resting right next to the shoe rack too, but he’d been too busy rushing around to get dressed in time to pay attention to the meteorology report for the week.
He sighs heavily and shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched in a slouch, and meanders down one of the lesser-crowded streets. Kyungsoo might have an apoplectic fit by the time he gets into the office, but the rain’s basically drained Yifan of any fighting spirit he’d managed to muster up this morning. He’ll just chance it today; he’s the boss anyway.
He sidesteps a couple of schoolgirls who walk past him, giggling into their hands and looking back over their shoulders at him, and pretends he doesn’t feel the eyes of the other bystanders judging him. The back of his neck heats up, regardless of his resolve, and Yifan hunches even further into himself, slightly picking up the pace to shake off the gazes on his figure. He’s wet and embarrassed and without an escape in sight.
His stomach chooses that moment to loudly proclaim its presence to the public with a startlingly loud gurgle. Yifan doesn’t pause in his steps, but it’s a near thing. He can’t hide the wince that swipes across his face fast enough, and he’s almost glad when his phone follows up the growl with a loud ring, distracting him from his embarrassment. He steps off to the side, under the minimal shelter of a large awning of a Starbucks, and wipes his hand futilely against his pants, which by now, are just as equally wet as the rest of him, and takes out his phone to check the caller id.
It’s Kyungsoo, already starting up the calls thirty minutes earlier than Yifan had guessed. He sighs a little, debates with himself about whether he should answer the call when it drops. Yifan raises an eyebrow, but tucks it back into the hidden pocket of his jacket, patting it safe. Well, that settles that, then.
Still, though. He squints out at the road ahead of him, and the heavy curtain of rainfall splattering down on the streets, and grimaces to himself. He can’t very well spend the rest of the day standing outside a Starbucks; Kyungsoo would literally eviscerate him. But, he also doesn’t want to spend any more time in the horrendous downpour and end up miserable and waterlogged, even though he doesn’t really have a choice in the end.
His stomach growls again, and Yifan curls a hand around it, about to give in and make a run for it to the office. He exhales loudly, and calculates the differences in time if he takes the shortcuts through the alleyways or if he stays on the main roads; the alleyways seem like the faster option.
Yifan steels himself, does his best to block out the public’s surrounding presence, and starts running, pushing through groups of people and muttering quick apologies when he bumps into shoulders and backs. He splashes through the first few alleys, cutting sharp turns and near slipping on the smooth stone-paved roads with his smooth-soled oxfords, and takes a break near the archway of another street, catching his breath. He’s definitely going to have to hit the gym again later on.
He starts again, taking a slower pace, as his breathing grows heavier, and his stomach growls again just as he passes a familiar-looking, hidden-away restaurant storefront. He stops again, bending over to physically try and catch his breath, breathing in large gulps of air, and flicks his hair back with a wet hand before looking at the storefront a little closer.
Nian Gao looks even smaller in the daylight-though, really, it’s hard to see anything at all in this rain. But surprisingly, as Yifan squints through his wet lashes and the heavy rainfall, there’s a light on in the restaurant, even though the sign pasted on the front door indicates their opening two hours from now. He feels a little silly, grasping at the door handle and trying it, but he’s more desperate to get out of the rain, and-
It’s open.
-
Yixing’s in the middle of chopping through a few dozen carrots for tonight’s menu when the entrance door swings open with the familiar tinkle of the welcoming bell signalling the presence of another person. He looks up, eyes wide, slapping himself in the back of his mind for forgetting to relock the front door when he got in this morning, and finds a drenched businessman standing awkwardly by the entranceway, dripping on Henry’s favorite welcome mat.
“...Hello,” he says, setting his knife down, and leaning over the serving window connecting the front room to the kitchen space so that the man can attach the disembodied voice to a face. “You look a little wet.”
The man coughs, expression discomfited and apologetic, and bows his head. “Uh, hi. Do you-do you mind if I, uh, stand here for a little bit? I, well,” he raises his arms and gestures at his dripping clothes, “I could use a little drying.”
Yixing dimples a little and beckons him forward. “Not at all. I’ll even let you sit for a while.” He grabs a dishtowel and wipes his hands clean before stepping out of the kitchen to fully greet the man. “I’ll find you a towel.”
The man’s stomach takes the time to growl loudly at that moment, before he has a chance to reply, and he winces before offering an apologetic grimace. Yixing grins a little wider.
“And maybe some food while we’re at it.”
-
Yifan finds himself seated at the bar counter ten minutes later, with a towel over his head and a towel on his seat to soak up the excess water, watching as the chef prepares him something through the kitchen window. He feels a touch out of place and a bit guilty for imposing when the restaurant clearly wasn’t open for business, but Yifan’s desire for both food and dry shelter makes him selfishly stay put.
He coughs again, and taps at the wooden counter with a fingertip. “Um, thank you for letting me stay here,” he says uncomfortably, staring hard at the grain instead of at the chef. “You really didn’t have to go this far.”
“Nonsense. What kind of person would I be to let someone stand out in the rain and go hungry? I’m not a monster,” the chef says good-naturedly. “I’m Yixing, by the way, Zhang Yixing. And you are?”
“Uh, Wu Yifan.”
“Oh, Chinese?” Yixing switches over to Mandarin with an excited grin. “It’s always such a pleasure to find another Chinese person in this neck of the woods.”
Yifan’s Mandarin’s rusted over the years, but the sounds of Yixing’s tones still flow as smoothly as they did when his mother used to speak to him over the phone, asking about his day and telling him to care of his health. He clears his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone else in this language. I’ve almost forgotten.”
Yixing chuckles, coming out of the kitchen and setting down a steaming bowl of noodles in front of Yifan. “Well, you never really forget, you know. Like riding a bike.” He notices Yifan’s intent stare at the bowl and laughs again, pushing it towards him. “I hope you like beef noodles; they’re my specialty.”
“Thank you,” Yifan says gratefully, not bothering with pretending to decline for the sake of image, and pulls the bowl over until the steam fully hits him in his face, engulfing him in a warm cloud of beef stock and steamed bok choy. “It smells delicious.”
Yixing pulls out a pair of chopsticks from the one of the containers sitting on the counter and passes it over. “It tastes even better, I’m sure.”
-
Yixing lets Yifan be, content to just let him eat in peace. He goes back into the kitchen and picks up the knife at his cutting station and starts julienning his carrots again, getting into the methodical rhythm of the task. The chopping goes on for a little longer, with Yixing cutting thin matchsticks out of his peeled carrots. When he’s done, he grabs a bowl to set his prepped carrots in and let them soak in a vinegar brine while he grabs the basket of daikon from out of the pantry to prep. He grabs a peeler and an empty bin for scraps and starts rough peeling his daikon.
He notices Yifan from the kitchen window, watching him, and he smiles, catching Yifan’s eye instead.
“So, what’s the story with you being out in the rain today?” he asks with a quirk of his brow, quickly peeling the rough outer skin of a medium-sized daikon. “You too good for umbrellas?”
Yifan stares at him in mid-bite of a mouthful of noodles and blushes suddenly, a charming pink that spreads over his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. It’s surprisingly cute, given that he looks like a drenched street rat at the moment.
“I, uh-” Yifan tries to say before he chokes and starts coughing. Yixing huffs out in startled amusement, and sets down the root to go pass over napkins through the window while Yifan attempts to cough out his entire diaphragm.
“Maybe try swallowing before you talk next time,” Yixing says helpfully, filling a cup of water from the kitchen tap and handing it through the window onto the counter. “There’s no rush to answer, after all, it’s just my silly curiosity. Don’t feel pressured to answer if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m, I’m good,” Yifan says when he gets his breath back, sitting back heavily in his bar seat. He’s still pink, red even, and Yixing doesn’t tell him how surprisingly endearing that is. He suspects it’ll only send Yifan into another coughing fit again. “I, uh, forgot my umbrella today. And yeah. Just got caught in the rain at the wrong time.”
“Really. ‘Cause you’re dressed like you’re going to at least a wedding, or something. You aren’t a runaway bride, right? Am I harboring a fugitive right now?” Yixing teases.
“Ahah, no, uh. No,” Yifan says lamely, laughing once and playing with the remaining noodles in his bowl.
“No?” Yixing says pleasantly, tilting his head at him. Yifan laughs again and meets Yixing’s eyes ruefully.
“I’m playing hooky from work, basically,” he confides, guilty grin across his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Yixing presses a solemn hand to his heart, face somber. “Your secret is safe with me.” Yifan’s lips twitch and he looks back down at his bowl of noodles.
-
He doesn’t really know what makes him say it. Maybe it’s the calm and teasing personality of Yixing’s, the comfortable air between them even though Yifan literally knows nothing about him, the welcome distraction from having to think about work for once, but.
“I’ve been having a bit of trouble at work lately,” he says quietly, stirring his chopsticks in his noodle broth.
Yixing doesn’t bat an eye, just smiles encouragingly. “Going through a rough patch?”
Yifan smiles back weakly and nods a little.
“You wanna talk about it?” Yixing asks kindly, eyes crinkling, walking out of the kitchen and taking a seat beside him at the bar. Yifan shrugs, wordless. Yixing doesn’t prompt him for a verbal response, just watches him with a small dimpled smile and soft eyes.
“Do you ever-” Yifan blurts out, forcing the words that have been running through his mind since he started this job, years ago. He swallows thickly, cutting himself off for a moment before trucking on. “Do you ever just get the feeling like you keep doing something for the sake of doing it, but nothing ever comes out of it and everything just feels like you’ve wasted your whole time all along? Do you-do you know what I mean?”
Yixing’s quiet for a moment. “I feel like I’m getting an approximation of what you’re trying to say, but it’d help if you try to say it again, but differently,” he says with a touch of humor, quirking up the corner of his lips.
Yifan sighs, and shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s silly, I’m just-”
“No, it’s not,” Yixing cuts off suddenly, serious, and sitting up in his seat. “I’m sorry for joking earlier, I thought it would lighten the mood, but this is important to you, Yifan, so it’s not silly or whatever else you were gonna say to dismiss it. Say it again; I won’t joke this time.”
“Um.” Yixing looks at him encouragingly, and Yifan lets out his breath before trying again. “I don’t know, I just, I feel like I’m stuck at the bottom of this hole, and there’s no actual way out. Like, I dug my way here, and now I’m just stuck.”
“Why do you feel like there’s no way out?” Yixing asks, furrowing his brows.
“I, well, I just can’t find any? I think I fooled myself into thinking that I could get through whatever funk I’d been in by just working harder and taking on more responsibilities, but in the end I just dug so much into this hole that I destroyed any possible exits left?” Yifan swallows again, discomfited and at odds with himself.
Yixing hums in thought, frowning slightly as he processes. Yifan feels oddly vulnerable now, having parted with the deepest part of himself that he’d barely been able to reconcile with himself. He fidgets a little, skittering his fingers across the counter, eyes glued to the congealing noodle soup in front of him for a steadying presence.
“I think-and you don’t have to take anything I’m saying-but I think what you’ve been doing is placing all the responsibility on yourself, and not allowing yourself to do anything else but this, and not letting yourself rely on anyone else. It sounds like you’ve been so determined to prove yourself that you gave up your own emotional health to push yourself further.” Yixing hesitates. “Have you talked about this with anyone else? Maybe a friend? Family member? Girlfriend?”
Yifan coughs and jerks his head in a negative. “No one. No, uh, girlfriend either.”
Yixing’s expression quirks, an unreadable emotion in the crease of his eyes, before his somberness returns. “Well, I’m not a doctor or anything, as you can clearly see,” he gestures to his chef’s uniform and the kitchens with a sardonic hand, “but my advice at this point is to just stop focusing on this singular goal.” He reaches over, lays a warm hand over Yifan’s chest, right where his heart lurches a little, and knocks his knuckles against it. “You’ve been ignoring what your heart’s been telling you for so long; I think it’s time you started listening to it again, don’t you think? You’ve been working so hard, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a break and do something for yourself, haven’t you? Give yourself a break.”
“I-” Yifan stares down at the hand on his chest, Yixing’s fingers surprisingly small and dainty.
“I mean, obviously, this isn’t going to just go away with just one measly break,” Yixing hurries on, laughing self-consciously, taking back his hand and cradling it on his lap. “But, it’s a start, you know? It’s like that song that American singer says: ‘Give your heart a break, just give your heart a break,’” he sings suddenly, his voice light and clear, twirling a finger in the air for emphasis.
Yifan laughs at that, the heaviness pressing down on his chest suddenly gone. He can feel his gums peek out from his curled lips, but he’s a little more amazed that he’s smiling at all. He can’t remember the last time he’d smiled this widely or freely, without the necessity of politeness forcing the situation, in a long while.
It feels nice.
-
Yixing feels a little anxious, giving unsolicited advice like this, especially when he doesn’t really know Yifan or his troubles. It’s hard to tell if he’s overstepping his bounds or not.
But, Yifan is laughing so openly, a far cry from the initial dour and exhausted-looking man he’d greeted an hour ago, so he must’ve said something right. He feels his own lips twitching, Yifan’s laughter latching onto his ribcage, infectious, and soon he’s laughing just as loudly as Yifan, the both of them bending over themselves in mirth.
Yifan’s the first to die down, huffing his breaths and visibly pulling himself back together. He surreptitiously wipes at his eyes for stray tears while Yixing tries to gather himself back up, still giggling in his fists.
“You know you just quoted a love song at me, right?” Yifan teases, pulling a small smirk. Yixing blinks in surprise, and laughs again, this time in a self-conscious breath, and scratches the back of his head cutely.
“Well, I wasn’t trying to be that forward, I promise,” he says, dimpling. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Yifan’s phone takes the chance to ring at that moment, cutting the conversation.
Yifan looks apologetically at Yixing, but Yixing just shakes his head with a smile, gesturing for him to take his phone, while picking up Yifan’s half-eaten bowl and taking it back to the kitchen. He empties the contents into the garbage and sets the bowl and chopsticks down in the main sink, rolling up his sleeves, and turns on the running water.
There’s a hurried rush of conversation, Yifan’s low voice reassuring some unseen person that he’ll be at the office within half an hour, and Yixing has to hold himself back from turning around and peeking through the kitchen window to watch the conversation take place. He allows Yifan his privacy though, taking his time to thoroughly wash the bowl and chopsticks, and after placing the utensils and bowl back into their storage spots, he wipes down the sink with a warm dishtowel.
Yifan clears his throat, a little hesitant, and Yixing turns around, expression pleasant. “I’m, uh, I’m so sorry about this, but my assistant is apparently threatening my existence and my, uh, livelihood if I don’t actually go back to work this instance, so.”
Yixing raises his brows in amusement, and leans against the window, pillowing his chin on his forearms. “Well, I wouldn’t want for you to live like a eunuch for the rest of your life. You better hurry back.”
“I’m, um, thank you. Thank you for listening to me talk; I don’t really know why I ended up talking to you about a problem so silly, but thank you. For letting me talk,” Yifan says haltingly, standing with his hands by his sides, fingers twitching. “And, um, for feeding me too. That was-that was really nice of you to do, thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll send you the bill in the mail,” Yixing jokes, holding back a snort when Yifan sputters a little. “I’m kidding, it’s on the house. And you remember what I said before? What’s important to you isn’t silly. Don’t dismiss it. I’m glad you talked about it with me-I’m glad you talked about it to someone at all.” Yixing shakes his index finger at Yifan, half-serious. “Don’t bottle up everything, Yifan. You’re not alone.”
Yifan smiles, a little embarrassed, but nods, setting down the towel he’d been clutching in his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbles, looking away. He makes his way to the entranceway of the restaurant, and hesitates.
“Feel free to come back whenever you wanna chat,” Yixing offers after a beat, watching Yifan shift weight from foot to foot. He hides a private smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Yifan blinks and nods once, lifting a hand up in a wave goodbye, before swinging open the door and stepping out.
-
The rain’s let up in the hour and a half that Yifan had spent inside Nian Gao with Yixing, and he tests the droplets with an outstretched hand before leaving the slight awning hanging over the entrance of the restaurant and into the open road of the alleyway. The slight shower should be manageable enough for Yifan to walk to work without getting too wet.
He thinks about Yixing’s words for a moment, turning his head to take a last look at the restaurant and the single light illuminating the interior, and he smiles to himself.
He starts walking.
-
end.
end notes: the ending is a happy one, i promise. it's open-ended as is, but they do meet again. please trust in me!!!! the zero indicates a restart of a countdown :')
anyway, thank you to mangosteins and pyro_o for continuing to be the wind beneath my shaky wings. this fic was literally banged out in the span of four days, and the last night was particularly difficult for us all, hahaha. i'm sorry for always being such a procrastinator, but i really couldn't have asked for better betas or better friends. :')))
this was my first time pinch-hitting for an exchange! cindy was asking for fanxingyou, and i just like pounced on that train because i was kind of sad for missing out on the exchange in the first place. little did i know the pain i would suffer even trying to make myself get through the two pinch hits i ended up signing up to do. anyway! i ended up writing super long for this one which i really did not anticipate, but uh, yeah.
i think i'm cursed HAHAHHA