2046: days of being exo
Some AU Fics I Have Planned (And Will Never Write) #1:
whether this little dream should fade
in the mood for love au: lu han is a secretary at a travel agency, living with his boyfriend wu fan, who is a businessman frequently working overseas. yixing is a journalist rooming with a younger brother of a friend, zitao, who works at a magazine stand. they move into the apartment right next door. eventually wu fan and tao start an affair. lu han, with no one to turn to, befriends yixing, who convinces him to re-enact his relationship with wu fan as a form of therapy.
Yixing takes Lu Han to Goldfinch for their first dinner together. He knows that Wu Fan and Lu Han must have had their first date in Beijing, but when he tries to imagine where they might have gone, what they might have eaten, he finds himself lost in the playback reels of his Changsha memories: a steaming hot eatery his parents like to frequent filled with trolleys of dim sum in constant motion, his high school girlfriend eating skewers of barbecue meats as they shyly held hands, the time he took a girl to a nice restaurant with his first paycheck and she broke up with him over fish head stew. He can't see Lu Han in any of these places, can't imagine Wu Fan doing any of the things he did. Even knowing Wu Fan as little as he does now, Yixing senses they are too fundamentally different to exist side-by-side in Yixing's body. Which, after all, is part of his whole relationship with Lu Han.
In the cab ride over, he and Lu Han sit side by side, not touching. Lu Han is meditative, distant. Yixing watches a sliver of Lu Han's profile reflected in the window, counts the seconds between each of Lu Han's little involuntary movements: a blink of the eye, the tiny jerk of his head when their taxi brakes for a stray pedestrian for the eighth time. The main thoroughfares of Causeway Bay are noisy and blurrily lit up, unlike Changsha, or even Beijing, at night. In their tiny black cab, the noise of the wheels and the crowd outside muffled, Yixing feels cut loose. His hand rests next to Lu Han's on the taxi seat, and between them floats Wu Fan's presence, more palpable than if he had been really there. Yixing realizes, belatedly, that he should have picked somewhere within walking distance.
"I've never been to this restaurant before," Lu Han says, uncharacteristically breaking the silence.
"You'll like it," Yixing says, trying to sound reassuring. "It's from the sixties. One of my favorite directors filmed a few period pieces there."
"You and your Cantonese romances," jokes Lu Han.
"Doesn't it set the mood?" Yixing laughs.
The smile fades from Lu Han's face the moment the words leave his lips, and Yixing despairs. Silently, like a cicada shedding its dead skin, Lu Han falls away from the conversation, from Yixing. This is not the Lu Han who plays mahjong with the ladies on weekends, nor the Lu Han who smiles as if sharing a secret when he passes Yixing at the noodle stand. They are, for the first time, solidly stuck in their roles: two strangers having an affair, unsure of their feelings and each other. But worse, Yixing thinks. After all, he has nothing, not even attraction, to fall back on.
Helpless, Yixing grabs Lu Han's hand, squeezes it. Lu Han's fingers are ice cold in Yixing's palm. They slip away, wordlessly, when their taxi pulls up to the restaurant doors.
-
The romantic in Yixing likes the way the seventies clings to Goldfinch. Narrow tables, half-hearted faded decorations, the high stiff booths giving every diner a sense of mystery. Lu Han hides behind the gaudy fake leather-bound menu as soon as they sit down, and Yixing wonders if he's merely embarrassed, or it's a sign of something worse. Something more like regret.
"Order for me," Yixing tells him.
Lu Han peeks over, his lips drawn in a small, tight smile. "That's not how it normally works," he says. "Usually he-"
"Order what he would eat," Yixing clarifies. He sets the menu down and spreads his hand over it, like a gesture of finality.
Lu Han's eyes are bright, like they alone attract the light cast off by the dim fixture at their table. If this were a real affair, Yixing thinks, he would tell Lu Han that his eyes were the first thing he ever - but he stops that train of thought. "Do you like spicy food?" Lu Han asks, dubious.
"Whatever he'd eat," Yixing says again. "It doesn't matter."
It occurs to Yixing suddenly that he has no idea what Zitao would order, if given this menu. He opens it again and glances down the list of entrees. Stir-fried noodles? Soup? Pork chop over rice? He's never paid attention. He imagines Wu Fan and Zitao sitting at this table, across from each other, Zitao fidgeting, his head bent so as not to seem too tall. He sees in his head Wu Fan's large hands holding the menu steady. Wu Fan's confident voice, saying to the waitress, he'll have the steak.
But it's Lu Han's voice speaking to their waitress, saying, "Medium rare, please." Yixing looks up, bewildered, and there is a smile somewhere in the way Lu Han considers him. "With mustard, right?" he prompts, as if this is a conversation Yixing and he have often.
Yixing clears his throat. "Yes," he says, surrendering his own menu to the waitress. "Mustard, please," he says, and meets Lu Han's gaze.
-
They both get milk tea while they wait for their food. Yixing nervously stirs sugar into his, the sound of the spoon clicking against porcelain very loud in the silence. Lu Han watches him. Eventually, he asks, "You drink yours with sugar?"
"Sometimes," Yixing confesses. "Does Wu Fan-"
"No, no, don't worry about it," Lu Han says quickly, balking at the name. He lifts his cup to his face, smiling at Yixing. In the half-shadow, his face is less feminine, almost mischievous, yet strangely fragile. Yixing wonders how much of Lu Han's expression is real, how much of it is a mask. He wonders if this is the face Wu Fan sees, or if there is another layer, something more sincere, that's waiting for Yixing to uncover. I'm actually a very honest person, Lu Han had once told Yixing, as he gathers up his mahjong winnings. It's just that other people find me hard to read.
Right now, Yixing is other people. He tracks each of Lu Han's' movements: Lu Han putting his cup down, Lu Han leaning his cheek against his palm as if examining something in a daydream. Yixing is trying, and failing, to guess what is coming next. You always act like you're afraid, his last girlfriend had said to him, laughing as they danced. What do you think I'm going to do, bite you? And this, at least, Yixing doesn't need to fake about dinner with Lu Han. He is on edge, an actor who has forgotten his script and is too embarrassed to tell his co-star that he's improvising. It is how he's always felt about first dates.
"Normally," Lu Han says lightly, "he'd use this silence to sweet talk. He's the kind of person who pretends to be cool, you know."
Yixing starts. "I don't know how to sweet talk."
"What do you say to Little Tao then?" Lu Han teases.
"I told you already," Yixing says, suddenly angry. "We're not like that."
Silence. Lu Han picks up his cup again, embarrassed, and Yixing feels like kicking himself. "Sorry," Lu Han says into the cup. "I was just joking."
"No, I should apologize." Yixing sighs. "I'm not-I haven't-I should try harder." He looks up at Lu Han, steeling himself. "This is my idea, so I should-"
"Don't force yourself," Lu Han says, a little too eagerly.
"I want to do this," Yixing tells him. Then, more firmly, "I want to do this for you."
It is not quite a lie, and it is not quite the truth either. But his words are strong and confident, like the curl of Wu Fan's arm around Lu Han's waist the last time Yixing saw them together. To his own ears, he sounds like someone who could order Lu Han's dinner for him, someone who could hold Lu Han's hand in the back of a taxi. And Lu Han, after a beat, nods, like he's giving in.
-
A few minutes later, their food arrives. The mustard is so spicy Yixing almost tears up, but he forces himself to eat every bite. When they're finished, he tells Lu Han, "It's good. It has a kick to it." He pauses, gathering courage. A million possibilities run through his head, but Lu Han waits patiently for Yixing to pick one. Finally, he smiles, reaches for Lu Han's hand across the table.
Says, his voice soft and tender, "Just like you."
i mean for god's sake my whole journal concept is wong kar-wai you'd think i could deliver at least one au but no
whether this little dream should fade
in the mood for love au: lu han is a secretary at a travel agency, living with his boyfriend wu fan, who is a businessman frequently working overseas. yixing is a journalist rooming with a younger brother of a friend, zitao, who works at a magazine stand. they move into the apartment right next door. eventually wu fan and tao start an affair. lu han, with no one to turn to, befriends yixing, who convinces him to re-enact his relationship with wu fan as a form of therapy.
Yixing takes Lu Han to Goldfinch for their first dinner together. He knows that Wu Fan and Lu Han must have had their first date in Beijing, but when he tries to imagine where they might have gone, what they might have eaten, he finds himself lost in the playback reels of his Changsha memories: a steaming hot eatery his parents like to frequent filled with trolleys of dim sum in constant motion, his high school girlfriend eating skewers of barbecue meats as they shyly held hands, the time he took a girl to a nice restaurant with his first paycheck and she broke up with him over fish head stew. He can't see Lu Han in any of these places, can't imagine Wu Fan doing any of the things he did. Even knowing Wu Fan as little as he does now, Yixing senses they are too fundamentally different to exist side-by-side in Yixing's body. Which, after all, is part of his whole relationship with Lu Han.
In the cab ride over, he and Lu Han sit side by side, not touching. Lu Han is meditative, distant. Yixing watches a sliver of Lu Han's profile reflected in the window, counts the seconds between each of Lu Han's little involuntary movements: a blink of the eye, the tiny jerk of his head when their taxi brakes for a stray pedestrian for the eighth time. The main thoroughfares of Causeway Bay are noisy and blurrily lit up, unlike Changsha, or even Beijing, at night. In their tiny black cab, the noise of the wheels and the crowd outside muffled, Yixing feels cut loose. His hand rests next to Lu Han's on the taxi seat, and between them floats Wu Fan's presence, more palpable than if he had been really there. Yixing realizes, belatedly, that he should have picked somewhere within walking distance.
"I've never been to this restaurant before," Lu Han says, uncharacteristically breaking the silence.
"You'll like it," Yixing says, trying to sound reassuring. "It's from the sixties. One of my favorite directors filmed a few period pieces there."
"You and your Cantonese romances," jokes Lu Han.
"Doesn't it set the mood?" Yixing laughs.
The smile fades from Lu Han's face the moment the words leave his lips, and Yixing despairs. Silently, like a cicada shedding its dead skin, Lu Han falls away from the conversation, from Yixing. This is not the Lu Han who plays mahjong with the ladies on weekends, nor the Lu Han who smiles as if sharing a secret when he passes Yixing at the noodle stand. They are, for the first time, solidly stuck in their roles: two strangers having an affair, unsure of their feelings and each other. But worse, Yixing thinks. After all, he has nothing, not even attraction, to fall back on.
Helpless, Yixing grabs Lu Han's hand, squeezes it. Lu Han's fingers are ice cold in Yixing's palm. They slip away, wordlessly, when their taxi pulls up to the restaurant doors.
-
The romantic in Yixing likes the way the seventies clings to Goldfinch. Narrow tables, half-hearted faded decorations, the high stiff booths giving every diner a sense of mystery. Lu Han hides behind the gaudy fake leather-bound menu as soon as they sit down, and Yixing wonders if he's merely embarrassed, or it's a sign of something worse. Something more like regret.
"Order for me," Yixing tells him.
Lu Han peeks over, his lips drawn in a small, tight smile. "That's not how it normally works," he says. "Usually he-"
"Order what he would eat," Yixing clarifies. He sets the menu down and spreads his hand over it, like a gesture of finality.
Lu Han's eyes are bright, like they alone attract the light cast off by the dim fixture at their table. If this were a real affair, Yixing thinks, he would tell Lu Han that his eyes were the first thing he ever - but he stops that train of thought. "Do you like spicy food?" Lu Han asks, dubious.
"Whatever he'd eat," Yixing says again. "It doesn't matter."
It occurs to Yixing suddenly that he has no idea what Zitao would order, if given this menu. He opens it again and glances down the list of entrees. Stir-fried noodles? Soup? Pork chop over rice? He's never paid attention. He imagines Wu Fan and Zitao sitting at this table, across from each other, Zitao fidgeting, his head bent so as not to seem too tall. He sees in his head Wu Fan's large hands holding the menu steady. Wu Fan's confident voice, saying to the waitress, he'll have the steak.
But it's Lu Han's voice speaking to their waitress, saying, "Medium rare, please." Yixing looks up, bewildered, and there is a smile somewhere in the way Lu Han considers him. "With mustard, right?" he prompts, as if this is a conversation Yixing and he have often.
Yixing clears his throat. "Yes," he says, surrendering his own menu to the waitress. "Mustard, please," he says, and meets Lu Han's gaze.
-
They both get milk tea while they wait for their food. Yixing nervously stirs sugar into his, the sound of the spoon clicking against porcelain very loud in the silence. Lu Han watches him. Eventually, he asks, "You drink yours with sugar?"
"Sometimes," Yixing confesses. "Does Wu Fan-"
"No, no, don't worry about it," Lu Han says quickly, balking at the name. He lifts his cup to his face, smiling at Yixing. In the half-shadow, his face is less feminine, almost mischievous, yet strangely fragile. Yixing wonders how much of Lu Han's expression is real, how much of it is a mask. He wonders if this is the face Wu Fan sees, or if there is another layer, something more sincere, that's waiting for Yixing to uncover. I'm actually a very honest person, Lu Han had once told Yixing, as he gathers up his mahjong winnings. It's just that other people find me hard to read.
Right now, Yixing is other people. He tracks each of Lu Han's' movements: Lu Han putting his cup down, Lu Han leaning his cheek against his palm as if examining something in a daydream. Yixing is trying, and failing, to guess what is coming next. You always act like you're afraid, his last girlfriend had said to him, laughing as they danced. What do you think I'm going to do, bite you? And this, at least, Yixing doesn't need to fake about dinner with Lu Han. He is on edge, an actor who has forgotten his script and is too embarrassed to tell his co-star that he's improvising. It is how he's always felt about first dates.
"Normally," Lu Han says lightly, "he'd use this silence to sweet talk. He's the kind of person who pretends to be cool, you know."
Yixing starts. "I don't know how to sweet talk."
"What do you say to Little Tao then?" Lu Han teases.
"I told you already," Yixing says, suddenly angry. "We're not like that."
Silence. Lu Han picks up his cup again, embarrassed, and Yixing feels like kicking himself. "Sorry," Lu Han says into the cup. "I was just joking."
"No, I should apologize." Yixing sighs. "I'm not-I haven't-I should try harder." He looks up at Lu Han, steeling himself. "This is my idea, so I should-"
"Don't force yourself," Lu Han says, a little too eagerly.
"I want to do this," Yixing tells him. Then, more firmly, "I want to do this for you."
It is not quite a lie, and it is not quite the truth either. But his words are strong and confident, like the curl of Wu Fan's arm around Lu Han's waist the last time Yixing saw them together. To his own ears, he sounds like someone who could order Lu Han's dinner for him, someone who could hold Lu Han's hand in the back of a taxi. And Lu Han, after a beat, nods, like he's giving in.
-
A few minutes later, their food arrives. The mustard is so spicy Yixing almost tears up, but he forces himself to eat every bite. When they're finished, he tells Lu Han, "It's good. It has a kick to it." He pauses, gathering courage. A million possibilities run through his head, but Lu Han waits patiently for Yixing to pick one. Finally, he smiles, reaches for Lu Han's hand across the table.
Says, his voice soft and tender, "Just like you."
i mean for god's sake my whole journal concept is wong kar-wai you'd think i could deliver at least one au but no