written by exoscenario

Labels: you&sehun

Lu Han has been spending the last two weeks following Minseok around with pitiful sad eyes and wobbly lips, hugging him from behind at the most random moments while whining, "Minseok, don't go! Baozi, don't go!!" Lu Han has taken to calling himself a little bun parasite, gluing himself to his friend's back and making the same 7-year-old baozi jokes every half sentence. Minseok indulged this nostalgic madness for the first five days with all the patience of a round-faced Buddha, until that one time Lu Han jumped on him while he was holding a hot ramyun noodles cup, a small reward after five non-stop hours of practice. Lu Han learned that noodles just didn't taste very good if one had to eat it off a sweat-soaked t-shirt.

"Bao--"

Minseok quickly stuffs a large kimbap piece into Lu Han's little mouth. Lu Han's protest is garbled by the rice. Kris nods absently in gratitude, hands flicking through a stack of paper as he goes over their schedule, long legs nudging at Chanyeol who is hugging his calves on the floor in imitation of Lu Han The Parasite.

"Final rehearsal at twelve, interviews at five, and then showtime at seven, sharp."

As if they haven't learned the motions by heart now after five world tours pulling at their feet. Same old, same old, but this is their final stop. Seoul Beijing Tokyo Bangkok Los Angeles London Paris Shanghai and back again. Today is Seoul, the encore concert, the last leg of EXO's 5th World Tour. Twelve days from now, Kim Minseok will be the first EXO member to go into military service.

It isn't the end, not really. EXO-K still have their variety show corner every week on Wednesday night; EXO-M (sans Minseok) is still booked for the next China-Korea Friendship concert. Joonmyun and Baekhyun's radio show every day at ten in the evening. Cosmopolitan group photoshoot next Monday. SPAO endorsement contract in the winter season. BBQ and karaoke night hosted by Joonmyun the day just before Minseok's enlistment. The thing about having twelve people in a group is it takes a while before the stage starts to feel too big and empty.

Yet everyone knows this is the beginning of the end.

The truth is no one knows whether the next album would even happen. It's Minseok this year, but next year it's Joonmyun, then Chanyeol and Baekhyun and Jongdae. These days Chanyeol burns out his energy in the sleepless nights at drama filming locations instead of the practice room. So does Kris, but in China and Taiwan. Kyungsoo runs from one musical to the next inbetween his uni classes. Lu Han is buried in the preparation for his first solo single, always somewhere halfway between China and Korea. Everyone is busy with a piece of their own career, and before they know it, their lives don't revolve around EXO anymore. Lu Han says that's what growing up means. Your life stops revolving around anyone but yourself.

Lu Han said all these wise-ass words, but he still cried like a baby at the end of their final Beijing encore concert just two days ago, despite swearing up and down that handsome manly men like him would never. Okay, so it wasn't as bad as Zitao's or Yixing's or even Kris' ugly waterworks, but he was still standing there sniffling with eyes all red and watery as the whole stadium screamed and cried their names during duizhang's final thank-you speech. He'd never admit it, but Jongin brought over from somewhere a whole box of paper tissues and wiped his nose for him. The kid then stuffed the crumpled dirty tissues one by one into his pants' pockets, how kind. He didn't even notice it, his vision all blurred and blinded by bright lights in those final moments, his hands just holding on to Jongin's wrists as warm fingers pressed over his face, strong and reassuring.

Today Lu Han swears that kid would be the one crying into his shoulders. 

Except Jongin is not a kid anymore, seven years after their debut. Lu Han prods Jongin's sharp shoulders when he catches him sitting on the edge of the empty stage, just staring up at the empty seats rising high up the venue in the white hours between three and five in the early morning. He remembers thinking they all seemed so small compared to the stage in their very first concert, so nervous Jongin and he couldn't even sync their beats together between one solo and the next. Five years later after that nerve-wracking first time of too much anxiety and bone-deep exhaustion, they finally look tall and grounded enough to own this stage now. 

Jongin looks calm. He feels calm. Lu Han slings an arm around Jongin's shoulders. Kai and Lu Han of EXO. Soon enough they won't be that anymore. Just Lu Han. Just Kai, or maybe just Kim Jongin.

Jongin leans his head against Lu Han's smaller shoulders. Comfortable in his own skin. Strands of hair tickle Lu Han's cheeks. They will miss this.






Ten minutes until showtime, and the buzz of shouts and cheer in the concert arena is already deafening. It drives sharp vibration through all their frames, a pure rush of adrenaline and fierce joy. They all squeeze in next to each other, all twelve of them in a squished circle for the last time in a long long while. Twelve hands gripping each other's, strong and warm and so so familiar. Someone's nails are digging hard into his hand, but it's impossible to wipe the grin off his face. Jongin's arm is slung over Baekhyun's shoulders, but his hand is curling around the back of Lu Han's neck. They are all grinning and smiling now, the joy close to bursting out of their hearts as they hold on to each other, mouths opened wide for one last cheer. 

They grew up together. They've grown up together. Eight plus years of tentative acquaintances, colleagues, friends, brothers. Family.

"EXO, SARANGHAJA!!"

The shout is the loudest they've ever done, drowning out even the pressing background buzz. Chanyeol's voice booms the loudest over all of them, his voice cracking into a hoarse cry half-way. Baekhyun is laughing, but Jongin could already see his eyes getting red as Baekhyun buries his face into his shoulders. Their hands linger over each other's even after the cheer stops ringing in their ears.

They have been doing this for years and years; they have stood on all the biggest stages across the continents, oceans, and language barriers; yet Jongin still thinks the most beautiful moment of a concert is those few brief seconds when they slowly rise up to the stage, soaking in the heat of thousands of people and the bass of the track thrumming under their feet, when the air dips into a collectively held breath and the lights finally hit them and Jongin discreetly tugs off one of his earbuds and--

The arena explodes.






This is their story. They are not the first nor the last, just twelve boys with dreams and hopes and sweat and tears and a fierceness in their hearts that keeps pushing them forward. They've all seen this story before. Eleven-year-old Kim Jongin saw Shinhwa on a tiny TV and fell in love. A teenage Lu Han found his dream future in TVXQ and a whole new country. Some stories have a sad ending, some go on into the history books. 

Some people say it's just the same old songs, the same old kids with glitter make-up and sparkly clothes and perfect skin all crooning catchy tunes about young love and superficial teenagers. But those people, they don't know the fierce joy in their ribcages when they're standing high on that stage with all the lights shining bright, singing their hearts out to a crowd of thousands singing back. They don't know the burn and stretch of muscles pulled taut against hard wood floors and dirty mirrors in the early murky hours. They don't know the tears and smiles of all these young girls and boys who all reach out for them as they run up to the edge of the stage, screaming the most genuine declarations of love.

All the best songs are love songs, and you don't know a story until you're living it.

They have lived it, Joonmyun and Kris and Chanyeol and Yixing and Lu Han and Jongin and Kyungsoo and Sehun and Jongdae and Baekhyun and Zitao and Minseok. EXO, all seven years of a collective dream. All the little boys who spent their youth chasing the lights and their hearts' desire, they've done it. Together.

"Saranghanda! Wo ai nimen! Aishiteru! I love you! Je t'aime!" Chanyeol's voice booms across the arena, voice going hoarse and cracking around the edges, and the whole place echoes with returning shouts. They are all running along the edges of the stage now, waving and laughing and shouting and crying. 

The girls are all crying, cheeks wet with tears and smeared make-up, but they are all smiling, too. They've all grown up together with the boys, too - young women now with career and love and a fierce pride in their hearts for these young men. Jongin's knees hit the edge of the stage, his hands reaching towards them, and he's shouting into his mic, "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

The words he used to struggle with have become strangely easy to say after seven years.

"I love you!" He shouts as Lu Han's lithe form slams into his back, and Lu Han's arms tighten around his shoulders. Lu Han is laughing into his shoulders, and then suddenly Baekhyun is slamming into him from the left side, enveloping both of them into a hug. 

"Group hug!" Someone shouts, and out of nowhere Sehun and Jongdae and Chanyeol and Yixing and everyone are throwing themselves on top of each other, squishing and pushing and toppling everyone off their feet.

"Get off, get off!!" Lu Han shrieks from somewhere underneath the mountain of limbs and crushed ribs, but no one is listening, everyone too busy laughing and trying to elbow each other in the face. Buried at the core of the human mountain, Lu Han clings to Jongin's neck for dear life, his face smushed against Jongin's cheek.

Someone is laughing and shouting "EXO, saranghaja!" on top of the pile, and he's pretty sure that's Jongdae.






Years later, they will miss this. The glory days. They will never live these golden moments again, when the lights are bright up high and their hands are all clasped tight together and the crowd of thousands are shouting their names. They will never be able to experience this bursting joy in their hearts again, that feeling when they're all invincible on top of the world and they've lived their dream in their twenties and nothing will ever come close to the high of this joint stage. Never again.

Twenty-six going on thirty, and they have already lived the best years of their lives.

But this is not the end. This is when a chapter closes, and a new story begins. One day maybe the public will forget their story, drowned in a neverending wave of young kids living this same old dream, but they will never forget this. Tomorrow, when they splinter off on their own ways with TV shows and dramas and musicals and one-person dance practice, EXO will still be something that ties them together in memory. Maybe they will see each other once every four months, maybe one day they will all get together and cry manly tears as they finally send off the little grown up maknae-line Jongin and Sehun into military service, maybe Lu Han will be in China and Taiwan and everywhere in Asia but Seoul during those two years Jongin is not there, but for now--

For now, in this moment, their hands are all clasped tight together. The lights shine bright.

written by carvone

Labels: kailu

“Dear you piece of shit—“ 

Chanyeol clears his throat. “Going out on a limb here, but I’m thinking that isn’t the way to approach this problem.”

“… To the most royal piece of shit I know—“

He sighs. Deeply. “Lu Han.” Chanyeol has his authoritative voice on, the one that he tends to use when Lu Han is acting like a first-grader. 

“Chanyeol,” Lu Han mimics. Who’s a first-grader now?

“Listen to me, Lu Han,” Chanyeol repeats, lessening his authoritative voice for the sake of actually making it through a conversation with Lu Han without Lu Han being a complete and utter smartass. “I know I have no right to say this—“

“Affirmative.”

“—but I really just don’t think a breakup letter is going to be effective when one, we no longer live in medieval Seoul, and two, Sehun has already broken up with you.”

Lu Han chooses not to dignify such false slander with a response. Instead he chokes on his water, takes an obnoxious slurp of the ramen in front of him, and continues to clack wildly away at the keyboard.






DEAR YOU PIECE OF SHIT,

I HATE YOU AND I WANT MY COMIC BOOKS (((AND MONTHS OF LOVE!!!!!))) BACK.

NOT Yours,
THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO YOU, YOU ASSHOLE.






He is standing angrily in front of Sehun’s apartment door, and by standing angrily, Lu Han really means to say that he’s standing with his legs spread two feet apart, his fists clenched and his lips pursed in what he refers fondly to as his “you’re an asshole” face. He looks incredibly uncomfortable and potentially confused. “I am angry,” he encourages himself, because it’s only when he’s angry that he tends to send frustrated and strongly worded letters to people.

“Very very angry,” Lu Han repeats. “So angry, in fact, that I might even spit on this letter.”

It takes a moment’s worth of contemplation before Lu Han spits at the envelope in his hands.

He misses and spits on his arm. “Oh my god,” he mutters. “I can’t even spit on a freaking letter I am tangibly holding two inches from my face.” Lu Han takes a brief, staccato pause. “… because that’s how angry I am, yes.”

As soon as the elevator dings, clear indication that someone is exiting said elevator to enter their apartment on Sehun’s floor, Lu Han decides that he is, in fact, not angry enough to deliver any letters so he decides to dive behind a potted plant instead until the coast is clear.

The elevator doors part and Sehun appears in his stoic glory with grocery bags hanging from his arms.

Lu Han silently curses him for being domestically attractive before hissing to himself and chanting reminders of, “be the plant be the plant be the plant.”

“Lu Han hyung?”

He purposely attempts to cover his face with a particularly large leaf.

“… I can see you?”

Two particularly large leaves.

“Hyung,” Sehun sighs out.

The world is not on his side, so Lu Han takes the time to comfortably spring up from his squatting position. He brushes himself off, takes a second to fix his fringe, and then flashes a dazzling smile. “Oh! Sehun! What brings you—“

Well shit.

“—to your apartment door?”

The uncomfortably long silence between them is broken by Sehun idly swinging his grocery bags. “I don’t know,” he states dumbly. “I think I might live here but I’m not too sure so I decided to drop by, as per usual, and double check,” he adds just to rub in Lu Han’s face that Lu Han is dumber.

“Smartass,” Lu Han mutters.

“What?”

“Got to go! Next time you go grocery shopping, you should buy pistachios. I heard they help with… you know.” He lewdly gestures to Sehun’s pants. “Or a cucumber down there. That could work too.”






“You wimped out on sending your letter, hid behind a plant, and then falsely accused Sehun of having issues with his crotch?”

“In my defense,” Lu Han begins loudly on the phone. It cuts off there because he genuinely has no defense to offer except for a huff of disdain. “In my defense, I have a right to an attorney so if you decide to take this matter to court, I will be defended. Get it?”

It isn’t too hard to actually hear Chanyeol smack his hand against his forehead on the other end.






In Sehun’s defense, Lu Han is hyper-aware of the fact that he shouldn’t really count as a human being. After all, he has accomplished all that there is for him to accomplish. He’s already graduated from a good university with good grades; he’s already thrown his résumé into the mailboxes of every single accounting firm of the country (or so he thinks); he thinks he’s worked every odd job there is in the world; not to mention the fact that he is that shameless son of a bitch who threatens to press charges to anyone who does not fill his to-go cup of Coke up all the way.

Other than all of that, however, Lu Han thinks he is one of the most attractive and endearing people around.

But of course, there’s no use in pummeling that into people’s minds when he could better spend his time sitting in the middle of his dingy apartment in agony, sprinkling the remnants of his résumé over his head while watching re-runs of ‘My Name is Kim Samsoon.’

…

“Why would anyone break up with me?”

He stabs his spoon into the center of his ice cream.

“What do I not have aside from a stable income and a zipper for my mouth!?”

He digs out a particularly large chunk of ice cream.

“I am the bachelor of the century, damn it!”

Pieces of ice cream sort of fly everywhere what with Lu Han’s spastic flailing.

“I will get a job tomorrow if it’s the last thing I do!”

He concludes his tirade by shoving all of the ice cream piled high on the edge of his spoon into his mouth, which he promptly realizes is a bad decision because he doesn’t think neither ice cream nor spoons were invented so Lu Han could blatantly ignore regulation procedures for the consumption of frozen dairy.

The “oh my fucking god” comes out as more of a muffled mish-mash of words before Lu Han clamps his eyes shut and fans at himself with his hand in an effort to holistically soothe his irate brain freeze.






“But it has been my dream since I first stepped foot into Korea those fateful years ago to work here. Like right here, this exact store, every detail—you name it.”

The store manager looks at Lu Han incredulously. “Um.”

“Please tell me your ‘um’ is an ‘um’ of yes.”

“Um,” the store manager repeats. “We just opened this store a month ago.” 

“That was not the ‘um’ I was looking for but thank you for doing business with me, I hope your kids grow up to be successful people and if you see me on the streets please don’t say hello because this was embarrassing.”

“Um.”

“Goodbye.”

Needless to say, he leaves the baby clothing store with much less confidence than he initially started with. This is a clear indication to Lu Han that Sehun has probably seduced the store manager into not hiring Lu Han or something because as of late, everything that goes wrong in his life is immediately Sehun’s fuckin’ fault. 

He frantically calls Chanyeol as soon as he finds a bus stop bench to sit on (which promptly takes about two seconds). “Chanyeol.”

“Lu Han.”

“Sehun has sabotaged me yet again.”

Audible sighs seem to be something of second nature to Chanyeol as of late, because that is exactly what Lu Han hears in response. “You can’t keep blaming your botched job seeking attempts on Sehun having multiple voodoo dolls that are coincidentally similar to the people interviewing you.”

“Chanyeol.”

“Do you want me to help you find a job.”

Lu Han scoffs. “I don’t need your pity, Chanyeol! I just need you to listen to me complain about my life!” He seems unrightfully flabbergasted at such an offer, such an insinuation! To think that his best friend is going so far as to imply that Lu Han is incapable of finding his own job is a farce in itself.

“Alright, so I’ll start looking for you.”

He scoffs again and waits a good ten seconds before mumbling a quiet, “Okay.”






He wakes up to a text message in formal Korean (Lu Han can only assume Chanyeol has already headed to his 9-5 job and is, therefore, in business mode).

Lu Han,

Got you an interview at the new boutique opened up in Myeongdong next to your favorite music store. The interview is at 2PM so if you aren’t up by then I will personally have to explain to my friend that you are mentally incapable of being a reliable employee so please don’t embarrass me.

Chanyeol

The phone buzzes two minutes later.

EVERYBODY PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND GET YOUR DRINKS UP

SORRY BUT YOU SAW I TOTALLY FUCKING NAMEDROPPED 2PM IN MY LAST TEXT JESUS CHRIST

Lu Han sighs. The phone vibrates a third time.

man that prick kyungsoo is looking at me bc i’m muttering along to the song now like who the fuck do u think u ARE kyungsoo

Instead of responding, Lu Han thinks it is in his best interest to tumble out of bed (it’s now well past 11:00 AM) and prepare to be an endearing gem of the world for the sake of financial stability. He leans in closer towards his reflection in his bedroom mirror and examines his face for any night-time blemishes potentially ambushing him from a night filled with ramen and ice cream.

None.

“Good job, skin. Thank you, skin. One day, you will get me a job, skin.”

Absentmindedly, he fluffs his hair in random places and sighs.

“Alright, Lu Han, you are as cute as the cutest button in the world. Who wouldn’t hire you?”

He grins.

“Fuck that, you are the cutest button in the world, and you’re going to drive that piece of trash you call a car right into Myeongdong and wow the internal organs out of whoever’s interviewing you.”

Pause.

“Yeahhhh.” 






The little heap of trash that could (fondly referred to on good days as Lu Han’s car) decides to be the little heap of trash that gets into car accidents. On top of that, his little heap of trash decides it is the best of days to crash into a nice, black, BMW that (according to Lu Han) drives out of nowhere (aka out of the intersection where the other car had the right of way).

It looks expensive.

“This is all your fault,” Lu Han begins. “… Sehun.”

He takes a deep breath and prepares himself to put on the saddest sad face of the century. Gingerly, Lu Han pushes the door open and drags his feet to the front of the car (where he accidentally hit the nice, black, BMW). “Oh my gosh,” Lu Han begins. “Oh my gosh,” he repeats. “Oh my goshhhhh,” Lu Han wails.

He throws a wary glance at the driver of the other car and nearly chokes on his own façade when he sees a young man in a tailored black suit, frown evident on pursed lips.

(Lu Han only sort of chokes because said victim of negligent driving is extremely attractive.)

“I am so sorry,” he whimpers.

“Can you stop,” the stranger requests suddenly. “With the weird crying noises you’re making at the base of your throat, I mean. They’re ridiculously distracting and I’m trying to figure out what I want to do about this.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt—“

“Yes you do.”

“—alright, I do mean to interrupt but I just wanted to let you know that I am a penniless foreigner.” He pauses to clear his throat and proceeds to slur his words with a bona fide Chinese accent. “I just want to live in Korea because I love Park Jisung and Manchester United even though Park relocated.” 

“One, nice try. Two, really? Manchester United? And three—“ 

The stranger says nothing. He whips out an expensive looking smart phone and snaps four consecutive pictures of the damage, the cars, Lu Han’s license plate, and then one of Lu Han’s bewildered facial expression.

“There is no three, but ManU sucks and if you could write your phone number and name down in my phone for future references when I have the time and energy to deal with this damage, that would be fantastic.”

Lu Han wordlessly does such, mouth slightly agape while doing so.

It’s only when the stranger begins to drive away that Lu Han has the energy and awareness to scream, “HEY HEY SCREW YOU, MANCHESTER’S WHERE IT’S AT, YOU ASSHOLE.”






It’s 2:11 PM when Lu Han manages to sprint into the little boutique titled ‘MOONDROP,’ stationed next to his favorite music store. His hair is disheveled, his eyes are wild and confused, and his clothes are a mess thanks to the running he had to do due to shitty parking availability.

“Hi,” he wheezes out.

Not to mention he hasn’t played soccer since he graduated three years ago, and therefore, is wholly out of shape.

“I have an interphewview scheduled for phew 2:00 PM.”

“It’s 2:11 PM,” the clerk responds.

“I have a very serious, very obscure disease that makes it impossible for me to show up at times that end with zero.”

“You also seem to have an issue with pathological lying.”

“Excuse you, I am a grade-A liar and also a victim of a very horrible disease so please, onward with my interview, potential co-worker!”

The clerk rolls his eyes. “The head of the chain is going to interview you and he has yet to arrive due to cited car troubles so please sit in one of the faux fur armchairs and play the quiet game with yourself. Thank you for stopping by Moondrop Boutiques, have a star-filled day!”

Lu Han squints at the employee’s name tag. “Have a star-filled day to you too, Yixing.” As he seats himself in the faux fur armchair, he silently tries to think of offensive puns that could potentially be morphed with Yixing’s name. 

Five minutes passes before the bell at the front door jingles and Lu Han jumps up from his seat and points an accusing finger at Yixing. “YI(X)SINGLE FOREVER, GET IT? BECAUSE YOU SU—“

“Good afternoon, Mister Kim! Your interviewee is the one pointing a finger at me and attempting to make a horribly un-punny joke!”






“Oh.”

“Hm.”

“I crashed into your car this morning.”

“Mm.”

“I mean, my car crashed into your car this morning. My car apologizes by the way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Also Chelsea sucks.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, nice to meet you, Mister Kim! My name’s Lu Han and I am here to wow you with my charm.”

“Wow.”






Lu Han swears he is sitting across from someone who is definitely younger than him. He isn’t too sure how to act when the person interviewing him—the person apparently in charge of this whole chain—is younger than him, aka more successful than him, aka more important than he will ever be. He also swears that the person sitting across from him gives little to no fucks about what he’s doing.

“My name’s Jongin,” Jongin explains. “Mister Kim is what my dad makes the employees call me because he thinks I’m at the age where respect is super important.”

“So why do I get to call you Jongin? Does that mean I’m hired?”

“Not really.” Jongin casually flips through Lu Han’s file, pretending every now and then to be wholly engrossed in what he’s reading. “I just don’t really hear my name on a daily basis so I figured I might as well get someone to call me by it for a little bit.”

“Just to spite you, I will now be referring to you as Mister Kim.”

“Reverse psychology.”

“Fuck you, Kim Jongin.”

Jongin flashes a grin that makes Lu Han feel as though he is obligated to swoon or something. Instead, he scowls, and Jongin responds by tossing the résumé onto his desk. “I don’t really like to read the font that you typed your credentials in,” he confesses. “Plus you crashed into my car this morning.”

“My car has a mind of its own! So does my computer!”

“And you told me Chelsea sucks.”

“Chelsea—no, Chelsea does suck.”

Lu Han receives an eye roll in response. “Alright, Mister Lu. Please enlighten me. Why on earth should I hire you when all you’ve done for me in the twenty minutes that we’ve known each other is cause me anguish?”

“Well.”

“Well?”

“My boyfriend of two years broke up with me the other day and as a royal fuck-you I quit my job because it was one that I decided reminded me of him, although in all honesty, I have never once in my life grouped Sehun—that’s my ex’s name—with craft supplies, which is what I sold. Also I have been living on this disgusting diet of ramen, ice cream, and sometimes boiled cabbage and Chinese herbal medicine and it’s really gross and I think I might die but it’s all I can afford!

Plus, I have a good fucking everything and I’ve been working at the shittiest places so please please please give me this job so I can call my mom and be like ‘yeah, mom! I’m definitely living it up in Seoul!’”

Jongin leans forward, one hand on his desk while the other grips Lu Han’s chin and turns his face forcibly this way and that. “I guess.” He comments offhandedly before letting go and sitting back down. “You’re hired.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god, did my sob story melt your impassive heart of ice?”

“Actually, I just like to hire attractive people. I only hired Yixing because he has dimples.” 

Lu Han feels oddly dejected. “Oh.” He frowns. “What do I have then?”

“You have nice skin.”






“Chanyeol? I got the job!”

“Nice! How’d your interview go?”

“You didn’t warn me about the egotistic emotionless freak that is the interviewer and my boss.”

“Jongin?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Aw.”

“Don’t ‘aw’ me, you asshole.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Really.”

“I mean, no, but as his friend I am obligated to call him such. Just like how I was obligated to tell Jongin that you are a beautiful foreigner with exotic appeal so he’d consider allowing you to apply for a job.”

“You did what.”

“I did not do my paperwork yet so I will be hanging up on you to get to that. Goodbye!”

“PARK CHANY—“






He celebrates by delivering the angry letter to Sehun AND spitting on it without missing.

(When he goes to sleep, he immediately regrets it because Lu Han thinks the comic books might have been Sehun’s, after all.

The months of love were definitely Lu Han’s, however.)






When he enters the boutique for his first day of work, Yixing is not present so Lu Han’s pun is rendered useless for time being. Instead, there’s a different man with his back turned to the door. “Hi,” Lu Han greets pleasantly. “My name’s Lu Han and could you imagine if I was an armed robber and you had your back turned to me and OH MY GOD LOOK AT YOU, YOU LOOK LIKE A LITTLE STEAMED BUN.”

The new employee blinks.

“… my name’s Minseok, it’s nice to meet you…? I… I think?”

“You are like a cute little baozi that I want to keep in my pocket. Ick, actually, no. That’d be gross. No one keeps baozi in their pockets. Anyways, before we progress this friendship any further, can I please pinch your cheeks?”

“… no?”

“Alright, well, you’ve terminated all potential chances of friendship with that single syllable. Anyways! I’m Lu Han, like I said, and I am your new co-worker and am also wholly prepared to enter a non-friendship-employees-only acquaintanceship with you.”

“I’m confused.” Minseok scrunches up his face into an expression of anxiety before rubbing at the back of his neck. “Wait, Lu Han?” He blinks a couple of times before pointing a finger towards the door from which Lu Han entered. “You were hired as a personal assistant.”

“What.”

“Yeah, because Mister Kim’s busy running around for meetings and stuff…” Minseok is nervously rubbing at the back of his neck again. “So you were hired. And. So. You—um, you do stuff… like… handle phone calls and tell him he looks nice when he hasn’t slept for days.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh god.”

“… what? It can’t be too bad.”

“I am horribly inept at complimenting and emotionally encouraging people, oh my god, no, I hate emotions.”

He takes this time to pinch the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. Lu Han breathes in and out slowly before sighing, focusing predominantly on the fact that he will be paid to be an aid. Paid. Paid money. 

“On the bright side, I don’t think Mister Kim really likes emotions either,” Minseok chirrups. “He also doesn’t like waiting so you’d better go head to the main office before he decides to fire you.” He extends a slip of paper with an address neatly scribble across it. 

He sighs.

“Right-o. Goodbye, fairest Baozi. I will pinch your cheeks someday, but until then, I bid you adieu!”

“Bye,” the other responds flatly.






The main office building is a lot larger and way more extravagant than expected. Lu Han feels like an ant whilst standing outside of it, as soon as he enters it, and especially when he’s standing awkwardly in the elevator, headed to the 28th floor. 

Business people do not seem to make the best of conversation partners, so to avoid the awkwardness and tension seeping through the elevator atmosphere from the numerous working class members of society surrounding him, he chooses to turn and face the corner.

This proves to be highly ineffective at preserving his pride when he begins to subconsciously mutter reminders to himself, that, in retrospect, most likely sounded like demonic mumbles and grunts.

He realizes the horrible contribution his habit has made to his social stigma when the elevator dings, he turns around, and he realizes that everyone has fled in the meantime.

“I just wanted to be loved,” Lu Han whispers dramatically to himself before dragging his feet out of the elevator and to the secretary.

“What can I do for you today, sir?”

“Love me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m here to see Mister Kim. I’m his new personal assistant.”

“You are dressed like a pauper, sir.”

Lu Han scoffs in shock before stepping back to look at his outfit for the day. His clothes are, by no means, designer brand, but to be called a pauper? He purses his lips and shakes his head in disapproval. “A pauper I am not!” 

“A very very hip pauper, but a pauper nonetheless.”

“I am very offended by your statements and you haven’t even introduced yourself.”

She parts her lips and he holds up a hand in protest.

“Nope. I don’t even want to know your name! Just redirect this pauper to King Kim and once I slay him with my mighty sword and obtain kingship, I will banish you from my kingdom yet.”

The secretary does not react to Lu Han’s horrible, horrible threat. Instead, she presses her ear against the receiver of a phone. “Hi, Mister Kim. Your personal assistant has arrived and is looking particularly homely. Shall we call the wardrobe maintenance crew and get him into acceptable clothing? No? Alright, sir, we’ll schedule a meeting for tomorrow. Shall I send him in?”

She hangs up the phone while Lu Han is in the middle of jamming as many mints as he can into his jacket pocket.

“Hi. Update me,” he urges.

“He told me he has no doubts that you look homely and that you should go ahead and come in because there’s no use attempting to fix you today.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, and you are stealing my mints.”

Lu Han pops a mint into his mouth for added emphasis. “Ha.”






The office he walks into is oddly empty. All that fills it is a large desk, two tall bookcases crammed to one side of the room, and a small coffee table with two seats stashed in the corner. Aside from the lack of furnishing, it is additionally extremely bright thanks to the wide, sloping windows taking up the whole wall behind Jongin’s desk.

“From this angle you sort of look like an angel because the light is streaming in just right!”

Jongin stands up and closes all of the blinds.

“Wow, I hate you, too,” Lu Han sputters.

“Pull up a chair,” Jongin instead suggests, gesturing one hand towards the two chairs in the corner of the room. He runs lithe fingers through already tousled hair. “Or sit on the ground, I really don’t care.” 

Lu Han chooses to get a chair for the sake of his own butt.

“Alright, so, any questions about procedure and protocol before we head out? Today’s a busy day and I already have the strong desire to drown myself in a vat of steaming hot coffee, so.”

“Yes. First, how do you take your coffee? Aside from steaming, hot, and in a vat.”

“Black.”

“Ick.”

“Just kidding. I like two spoonfuls of sugar and one of cream.”

“… also ick. Secondly, what the fuck is it that I’m supposed to be doing, exactly?”

Jongin’s lips curve into a hint of a smile before he fumbles with a desk drawer to tug out a binder filled to the brim with papers. He slides it over to Lu Han with a careless ease before glancing up. “Manage my life for me.”

“No, really,” Lu Han insists, sifting through paper after paper of emails printed out confirming meetings. On the calendar pages in the binder, Lu Han can even spot a few birthdays, reminders of anniversaries and family meetings.

“No,” Jongin corrects. “Really.”

“Really?” Lu Han squeaks.

“You manage my life for me. Make sure I don’t miss things and make sure I don’t take people up on their offers to get blitzed or something. You have to be my conscience, because uh, I’m beginning to think I sort of lack one. At parties, you have to tell me who’s who so I don’t make my dad cry tears of blood at night in shame. When my parents try to make me meet girls I’d really rather not waste time on, you have to pretend to be my gay lover. It’s not too hard, really. Everything sort of falls into place.”

“Can I quit.”

Jongin leans forward on his desk again, propping his elbow up against the surface and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “You could,” he reasons. “But I am paying you a really nice amount of money, along with accommodating for your meals and even clothes every now and then because you aregoing to be seen with me a lot.”

“Do you really want to be seen with me in public?”

“No.”

“… rude.”

“Honest. Now, are you done asking questions or are you going to make this day harder on yourself?”

“Alright, third question. Who the hell are you?”






It’s after only his first day of work that Lu Han begins to feel horribly exhausted. He thinks he can feel his bones crack with each step he takes, and briefly, in a fit of hallucinatory rage, he thinks he can see gray hairs and wrinkles in his reflection (in the end, it was really just that—a hallucinatory rage spurred by exhaustion). 

“How was your first day of work?” Baekhyun, another friend, asks good-naturedly on the other end of the phone. In response, Lu Han makes a noise that sounds like a mix between a dying sea lion and a disgruntled cow. “Wow,” Baekhyun breathes in response. “That sounds either really stellar or you are dying.”

“I am tired and my soul is crying and I almost called Sehun per usual to ask him to speak so I could laugh at his dumb jokes and stuff but nooooooo, that’s not kosher!”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you for your sympathy. Chanyeol, that asshole, refused to pick up my calls because he was too busy playing his co-workers in Super Smash Bros.”

It is very obvious that Baekhyun is tolerantly confused on the other end. Lu Han takes this moment of silence to screech into the phone again. “Why am I doing this again!?”

There is a brief pause before Baekhyun hums in contemplation. “Um.” Lu Han can already imagine him furrowing his brows in deep thought on the other end. “Well. If you make a lot of money, you can buy a lot of cool stuff and donate it to children in third-world countries because chances are they’ll need the pick-me-up.”

“… Baekhyun, I did not ask you to make me sad.”

“Oh, um, and also you can use your extra money to buy more cool stuff to flaunt and stuff and Sehun will be like ‘Oh my gosh! Lu Han is so cool! I wish I was still dating him!’ and chase after you, but you can then be like ‘Hah! No!’ and it’d be really cool and drama-like.”

“Alright, I’m hanging up.”






Lu Han takes the time to reflect upon what he knows of Jongin while beginning his nightly ritual of brushing his teeth and washing his face (along with other frivolities he chooses not to disclose to too many people for the sake of keeping his skin secret just that, a secret!)

1. “I don’t really want to be a businessman or whatever. Just doing it ‘cause of my dad.”
2. “Uh, Moondrop Boutique’s part of a big chain of clothing stores. I’m currently in charge of the ones in Seoul, Busan, Incheon, and Jejudo.”
3. “I like my coffee like I like my women.” (Lu Han made a choking noise here, as he recollects.) “Nice and warmhearted!”
4. “I’m twenty-two.”
5. “Okay, I lied I’m twenty-three.”
6. “Nope, lied again, I’m actually twenty-two.”
7. “I make a lot of bad decisions, apparently, so that’s why you’re here.”
8. “I am perpetually sleepy.”
9. “I don’t like being called Mister Kim.”
10. “9 out of 10 times, I am contemplating going to Europe to become a backpacker.”

He realizes after he gargles and spits that he doesn’t actually know much about Jongin, after all. Promptly after reciting this litany of statements, Jongin proceeded to fall asleep on Lu Han’s shoulder and then somehow managed to look sprightly and wide awake as soon as they arrived at destination number one.

“Demon child,” Lu Han mutters as he prepares his facial worshiping session.

“Wonderboy.”






Lu Han realizes over time that mature entrepreneur Kim Jongin is actually an insolent brat. 

(Translation: Jongin does not hesitate when it comes to calling Lu Han out on his shit, also known aseverything.

Scenario one reels back to Lu Han fondly claiming to Jongin that his father fought in the same war as Mulan. To which Jongin mockingly (fondly) responded “Swear it on Mushu’s right whisker.” Reported conclusion is that Lu Han was rendered speechless for approximately ten whole minutes. 

Scenario two is post ten minute interval when Lu Han attempted to stabilize composure by saying Minseok was the equivalent of baozi. Facts state that Jongin responded by saying “Mandu.” Conclusions are unverified but hypotheses claim that Lu Han displayed signs of being affronted before being distracted by street-side food vendors.

Scenario count now exceeds one hundred.)






“I think you know too much about me,” Jongin groans one day in the car when Lu Han hands him a cup of coffee (per usual) and a Chupa Chup. “And all I know about you is that you are Chinese, really lame, and hung up over some dude named Sehun.”

Lu Han retracts the morning peace offering of a Chupa Chup and scowls.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Lu Han corrects. “And I don’t talk about Sehun that much!”

“You name-drop him at least fifty times a day—whenever you drop a pencil or any other object you typically say ‘Fucking Oh Sehun!’” 

“I do not.”

The car skids to a stop at a red light and Lu Han stumbles in his seat.

“Fucking Oh—“

Jongin raises a brow expectantly.

“Oh.”

“You’ve already spent every living, waking hour of every living, waking day in this car and out and about with me. I think I’ve drooled on your shoulders one too many times, and this feeling of actually bonding with someone is really gross and I don’t know if I like it,” Jongin explains dramatically, swiping the Chupa Chup from Lu Han’s hand while sighing. 

“Making friends,” he responds. “People do that sometimes.”

“I am not a person.” 

“Jongin, you are so insensitive. I am almost 99% sure that aliens also have friends.” 

Lu Han gets hit in the face with a balled up candy wrapper for that one. He sticks his tongue out at Jongin before fumbling with the binder to check off pit stops and clear up appointments for the rest of the day. After all, it’s only noon—though they have been out since 8:00 AM.

“So you have one more meeting after this one and then—“

“And then?”

“You’re having dinner with your parents and your sister and her fiancée.” 

“Sweet, we’ll get you dolled up for that one.”

Silence fills the car, only because Lu Han is too busy looking through the notes and Jongin’s too busy waiting for Lu Han to unleash an explosive reaction. He counts the seconds in his head (1… 2… 3…) before the binder falls to the floor of the car and Lu Han blinks wildly and gasps.

“WHAT.”

“Inside voices. We are in a moving vehicle and you could throw off the driver.”

“What.” 

“I think I detailed to you once that being a pseudo gay lover was a job requirement.”

“You were serious?”

Jongin reaches over the driver’s seat to tap the old man’s shoulder. “Can you drive us to the shopping strip instead of the designated address?” He throws a backwards glance in Lu Han’s general direction before smiling. “We have much more important business to attend to.” 






“You sound like you’re going to kill me. Can I raise objections.”

“No.”

“Will I be read my rights as a natural Korean citizen?”

“Are you one?”

“Moving on. Can I have an attorney.”

“I am buying you clothes, not planning on jumping into the dressing room while you’re changing to take incriminating photographs. Sorry to let you down, I know that’d be a party for you.”

“… I would still like an attorney.”

“Can you afford one?”

“… oooh! I’m Kim Jongin and I’m a big-shot heir! Ooooh! I’m sooo cool because I think it’s fun terrorizing really tragically handsome people named Lu Han!”

“You are tragically comedic.”






The fabric of his shirt is soft.

That’s all he can afford to think about—how soft the fabric of his shirt is. That, and how nicely tied his tie is, something he can subtly give props to Jongin for. His hair feels nice and light. His everything feels aesthetically pleasing.

“Man, I am hot.”

Jongin rolls his eyes. “You are not,” he chastises. “You have to talk in your Chinese accent so my parents won’t feel obligated to drill you with questions you’d otherwise fumble through with your really unfortunate way of phrasing sentences so they are the most awkward they can be.”

“Hey,” Lu Han protests.

“I’m doing this for precautionary measures and primarily your sake. Do not make extended eye contact with my mother because she may turn you into stone and just kindly laugh at whatever my dad says because most of what he says consists of attempted jokes.”

“Your sister?”

“Will most likely be drunk after the first fifteen minutes.”

“… ah.”

Jongin sighs as the car pulls up to what appears to be an Italian restaurant. It is smack-dab in the middle of Gangnam (a place Lu Han finds no reason to visit as of late—or ever) and entering it are primly dressed individuals with overly white smiles.

“Ready your defenses.”

“Jongin, we aren’t going to war.”

“This is the realest war you’ll ever see. Realer than your father’s history with Mulan.”

“Hey.”






Jongin’s mother and father greet Jongin with air kisses and light pats on the back. His sister is holding a glass of red wine and the person Lu Han can only assume is her fiancée is eyeing said glass nervously.

“We’ve missed you, our dear Jongin!”

“Saw you this morning, mother.”

“Missed you so much since then—“

Lu Han lifts a hand in greeting before hesitantly bowing as soon as his eyes lock with Mrs. Kim’s. “H—“ He fumbles over the first syllable on purpose. “He-llo!” 

“Jongin.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Who is this doll.”

“… what.”

“Who is this child?”

Doll, Lu Han thinks to himself. The crazy Medusa thinks he’s a doll. Ha, he says silently to Perseus. His thoughts decline into shame at even going so far as to make a history allusion at a fucking five-star restaurant. Thankfully, Jongin pulls him out of such puddle of shame by tugging on his arm, literally.

“My…” Suddenly, Jongin seems all too hesitant, as though the idea is no longer going as planned. Lu Han predicts that Jongin was not at all expecting his mother to look upon Lu Han with shining eyes. For the sake of Jongin, Lu Han considers saying ‘friend,’ or ‘business partner,’ or even honestly confessing, ‘personal assistant.’

“Boyfriend!” Lu Han chirrups.

Or none of the above.

“Boy… friend,” Mr. Kim repeats.

“Boyfriend,” Jongin confirms with a weak smile.

“Boyfriend?” Mrs. Kim attempts to clarify.

“Oh god,” Jongin’s sister murmurs. “That’s a famous song, isn’t it?”

He suppresses the cackle threatening to bubble out and flashes a smile again. “I prefer the term ‘partner,’ actually!” Lu Han intentionally chooses to speak in his nearly flawless Korean.

“Oh! And he speaks Korean too!”

“Jonginnie—“ and Lu Han takes this pause to bat his eyelashes at the younger boy. “—has taught me a lot!”

“Have you really, Jongin?”

The terse smile and gritted teeth are an absolute joy for Lu Han to see. Jongin laughs awkwardly. “Yes. Of… course. He is the… apple… of my… eye.”






Lu Han is on the verge of tears by the time he and Jongin pile back into the car. Dinner consisted strictly of Lu Han weaving a ridiculous tale for each question asked, and Jongin’s parents demanding to hear the cheesiest of possible things come out of Jongin’s mouth.

“Jongin,” Lu Han wheezes in between guffaws. “Am I really the apple of your eye?”

“Oh my god.”

“Was it really love at first sight when we met while walking on those rainy Paris streets?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you were such a romantic and so effortlessly in love with me?”

Jongin’s face is now covered by his hands.

“I want to fire you,” he declares. “But I can’t, because my parents are enamored of you.”

“Yes, yes, I have that effect on people.”

…

“And though I don’t know for sure, I’m sure animals and aliens would also be enamored of me.”

“Why do I even let you talk.”

“Do you know who else is enamored of me?”

“Don’t.”

“Or should I just say hopelessly in love with me?”

“I swear—“

“What’s that? Shh… ah, yes. The wind is telling me that the answer to my question is ‘Kim Jongin.’”

“Running into traffic suddenly seems so very tempting.”






In all honesty, this fatefully painful slash amusing encounter does nothing more than bolster Jongin’s comfortableness level with Lu Han (or so the latter presumes). It is after another few weeks in and too many more days of running around Seoul to count that Jongin begins to branch out from speaking to Lu Han in short clipped phrases, but in actual coherent, strung-up sentences. 

“You like me,” Lu Han points out one day in the car with a smug grin.

“You are obnoxious,” Jongin responds almost immediately.

“But I am endearing and I am sure sometimes you think about petting me on the head or pinching my cheeks or something.”

“… what?”

“Don’t deny it.”

“I do not think about petting you on the head.”

“So you do think about pinching me on the cheek!”

The strengthening of their somewhat dysfunctional bond is precisely what allows Lu Han to spring past professional relationships (if he ever respected one in the first place) and straight into a free-for-all friendship filled with loving insults directed primarily towards Jongin.

“What’s on the schedule for the rest of today?” the younger asks instead, obviously in no mood to attempt to deny Lu Han’s acts of vivacity. 

Lu Han is still wearing his shit-eating grin, even while sifting through the binder detailing Jongin’s life. “Hm.”

“Good or bad?”

“You’re done for the day after a half-hour confirmation meeting to close up a deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep!”

“Let’s get dinner afterwards then,” Jongin suggests idly and offhandedly. His suggestion is uttered so casually and nonchalantly (and followed all too quickly by Jongin turning his head to gaze out the window) that Lu Han finds himself nodding and humming in agreement. It’s after Jongin exits the car to enter the building in which his short meeting is taking place that Lu Han realizes, while sitting alone in the back, that he has never privately had dinner with Jongin.

“Ajussi, did I just get asked on a date?” Lu Han mutters to the driver.

This is not a good idea because almost immediately, the old man snaps out of his daze and clears his throat before beginning to croak, “Back in my day a man and a man could never really date! Ooof course that never stopped them whippersnappers who were so convinced they were in love—“ 






Jongin comes out fifteen minutes late, disheveled expression replacing the bright one he typically wears upon finishing the last meeting of a day. Lu Han can only assume the worst; he thinks it might have been a bad meeting, maybe the compromise didn’t go through, or that Jongin is feeling much more disgruntled by forces of nature that Lu Han cannot even begin to fathom.

He thinks Jongin’s mind must be a terrifying sleep-deprived place for the souls who didn’t quite make it past Purgatory in Dante’s Inferno.

“Hi,” Lu Han greets meekly when Jongin enters.

“Hello.”

“Where to, sir?” the old man hacks from the front of the car. 

Jongin glances up. His gaze lifts from the floor of the car to the back of the driver’s head. “Just head back to my apartment for now. I want to get my car, and you can have the rest of the day off.” Lu Han makes no comment and chooses to lean back in his seat instead.

“Why are you grumpy?” he whispers curiously after two minutes of promising to himself that he would not pry.

The response does not come for a while. It takes another punctuated inhale and exhale of air, sharp and staggered, before Jongin runs a hand through his hair in frustration and makes eye contact with Lu Han, if only for a second. “Tired,” he explains. “I feel old,” he complains, letting his head thud against his seat. “I just want to walk around downtown and pretend I don’t have to wake up at 6:00 AM to get ready for work tomorrow.”

“I am a very capable personal assistant,” Lu Han chimes in. “I have singlehandedly wheedled myself into your life in a matter of weeks and you even let me sleep on your couch when I forgot the key to my apartment in that convenience store! You know, the convenience store I forced you to eat ramen in!”

Jongin cringes. “And?”

“I am also very capable of making sure you don’t want to jump off of a cliff into shark-infested waters.”

“Fantastic,” Jongin chuckles.

“In other words, Jongin,” he finally states—the lilting tone in his voice diminishing slowly. “You’re allowed to take a day off sometimes too. The world’s not going to end if you decide to let yourself relax for once. I mean, the Mayans even said that it’s happening in late December and that’s a while away!”

Lu Han’s attempt at cheering Jongin up turns into more of a conspiracy theory discussion (that is regrettably one-sided). This being said, Jongin still smiles resolutely while Lu Han is rambling about the Illuminati and the meaning of alphabet soup and other nonsensical things.






The chattering does not stop even after Jongin guides Lu Han into his own car. It doesn’t stop until Jongin parks and exits the car, waiting for Lu Han to one, notice, and two, follow suit.

“Apgujeong?” is the first thing Lu Han says as soon as exiting. “What? Is Myeongdong too young and vibrant for you, Mister Kim?”

“Do you have a problem with the senile old man hiding inside of me?” Jongin retorts before jamming his hands into his jacket pockets and beginning to make a way for the sidewalks. Lu Han trails behind slowly and hesitantly before catching up, eventually, and walking side-by-side with Jongin. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I want everything to eat.”

“Reasonable of you.”

“So reasonable it hurts a little. Makes me want to shed tears.”

“Does it.”

“Yes, over food.”

Mindless banter continues until Jongin’s phone rings, fifteen minutes into their walk around the brightly lit streets. He stifles a small sigh before gesturing to Lu Han that it’s important. “I’ll be right back. Wait here for me?”

“Will do, boss.”

He sees the flicker of resignation in Jongin’s eyes before the younger walks off to a quieter building nearby to quickly take the call. Lu Han, in the meantime, decides that it’s in his best interest to stand in the middle of the sidewalk to see how many people are willing to walk around him rather than jostle into him.

Apgujeong, unlike Myeongdong, is filled with too many high-class rich Koreans. They are dainty yet brisk in their night-time ambles, and with their lazy lack of impatience, only one manages to crash into Lu Han—and that in itself is an accident, and a minuscule one at that. 

If he had the money, Lu Han thinks Apgujeong would have been—

“Lu Han hyung?”

—a horrible, horrible place to be, because he swears to god that any place with Sehun there to haunt him is a secondary hell. 

“Sehun!”

The smile on his face is painful and crooked, but he has neither strength nor desire to fix what’s already horribly forced. His gaze flickers from Sehun’s figure and lands comfortably on the person beside him.

“… and Yixing?”

“You two know each other?” Sehun blinks.

“We work together,” Yixing explains slowly, obviously as confused as Sehun. “… you two know each other?”

“We,” Lu Han begins with hesitation. “Yes, we know each other.” 

“We used to date,” Sehun cuts in. Hearing the words come from Sehun’s lips sounds oddly aggravating, as though Lu Han is in near denial about any such relationship with Sehun in the past—though he’s wholly aware of its painful existence. 

“Something like that,” he adds on to Sehun’s explanation with a light laugh. “Are you two…”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah?”

“We’re dating,” Yixing clarifies with a sheepish smile. It’s then that Lu Han sees that their hands are locked, fingers interlaced. He maintains a placid smile for the sake of being a good sport before nodding, almost listlessly. Fleetingly, he wonders how long it could possibly take to take a single fucking phone call. 

“Congratulations!”

“Are you here alone, hyung?” 

“I, um, no. I’m actually here with—“

“He’s here with his boyfriend.” Jongin’s entrance into the conversation is all but expected. Sehun and Yixing (Yixing especially due to the fact that Jongin is his boss) stare, wide-eyed, and Lu Han even finds himself blinking in utter confusion for the briefest of seconds. Casually, Jongin slips an arm around Lu Han’s waist and tugs him closer. “His boyfriend being me.” 

“What are you saying?” Lu Han hisses.

“I’m saying that you’re the apple of my eye, that I fell in love with you at first sight in Paris, and I am incredibly motivated to be more romantic around you because I’m effortlessly in love with you,” Jongin chokes out with a smoothness that Lu Han thinks he might have to commend him on. “… baby,” he concludes.

Sehun and Yixing glance at each other warily.

“Congratulations, hyung,” Sehun utters uneasily.

“… congratulations, Mister Kim…?” Yixing laughs awkwardly.

“Yeah yeah, thanks. You guys should get going before I start making out with him. I’m that in love with him, after all.”

They take the hint and leave almost immediately after saying hurried farewells, leaving Lu Han a blushing but snickering mess and Jongin a picture-perfect definition of embarrassment.

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“How about, ‘Thank you so much, Jongin, for sacrificing the remnants of your pride for the sake of mine! Good thing that son of a bitch Sehun seemed jealous and I will now never ever say his name in repetition while around you!’?”

“… nah.”

“You’re welcome anyways, ungrateful ass.”

“Jongin?”

“Yes?”

“You can let go of me now.”

Lu Han cackles at the unsightly shade of red that Jongin’s face adopts. 






“How’s work?”

“Manageable. I’m used to it now.”

“Man, I’m so proud of you! Finally getting somewhere in life now that you’re twenty-five!”

“I will have you know that at age twenty-three, I worked at Baskin Robbin’s for like, two weeks, and that was an accomplishment I put into my scrapbook!”

“Have you thrown away that scrapbook?”

“… yes, last week?”

“Man, I’m so proud of you! Finally getting somewhere in life now that you’re twenty-five!”

“Fuck you, Chanyeol.”

“Hehe, you wish. How’s Jongin? Is he manageable as well?”

“He’s a nice guy, I guess, after you chip away at the exterior. And by chip away I mean I felt like a prison inmate helplessly attempting to dig a hole into a cement wall with a spoon for the first two weeks of my employment.”

“But now you’ve been working with him for over a month!”

“Yes, and now I don’t feel as compelled to reward myself with incentive prizes for every dumb thing I don’t voice out loud with him.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have come to realize that Kim Jongin is actually like a three-year-old, so he has a lot of dumb shit to say too. We are dumb together, in essence. Plus, he’s much more tolerant and likeable than expected.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“He also hates peas.”






Jongin makes walking around Apgujeong a weekly thing.






Jongin makes walking around outside of business attire a bi-weekly thing.






Jongin makes walking around with Lu Han outside of work a frequent thing.






Lu Han accommodates for everything Jongin wants and undoubtedly needs.






“Are you at my apartment already?” Jongin inquires from the other end of the line. There’s a rustling of paper, or maybe something else that Lu Han can’t quite discern. 

“Yep. And you’re fifteen minutes late,” Lu Han points out with an exaggerated sigh. “I do too much waiting for you, Mister Kim.”

“Almost there.” Lu Han hears Jongin laugh lightly on the other end. “Just wait up five more minutes, and then we can head out.”

Because Lu Han likes to be an asshole sometimes and show Jongin evidence of being an asshole, he hangs up the phone and starts the timer on the mobile device. He thinks five minutes exactly is plenty of time to give Jongin, and if it isn’t, he’s sure there are plenty of places to hide to feign departure.

Four minutes left.

When their relationship escalated from one of clipped conversations to one of uncensored, wholly honest statements is a mystery to Lu Han. He isn’t complaining, however, because there’s something comforting about Jongin.

Three minutes left.

Lu Han thinks it might be the overall easygoing nature of the younger boy. Maybe it’s just how easily Jongin opens up so long as someone tries. Lu Han tried, he muses to himself, and perhaps that was precisely why Jongin got Lu Han to open up so quickly in return.

Two minutes left.

There is something about Jongin that is charming in the most clandestine of ways. Maybe the sleepy droop of his eyes when he’s sleep-deprived and craving coffee. Or maybe it’s the way he absentmindedly tucks his chin over Lu Han’s shoulder when there’s nothing else to do but fidget.

One minute left.

He isn’t sure. He isn’t really sure, but at the same time, he honestly doesn’t think it matters much in the long run anyways.






The doorknob rattles and Jongin stumbles in. “Hey. Sorry I’m—“

“Late. Prick.”

He rolls his eyes in response to Lu Han's huffiness before running a hand through his hair. "I got sidetracked. But now that we're both here, in the same place, I figure this is a good time for me to do this."

Before Lu Han has time to make any inquiries, Jongin presents a bouquet of what appears to be two dozen roses and a box of expensive looking French chocolates to match.

"Will you go out with me?"

"This is so cheesy and emotional. Have I ever told you how much I fumble with cheesy and emotional things?” Lu Han blurts out instead, primarily because he is way too thrown off to answer coherently, so naturally he resorts to acerbic words and smartass sayings. “I mean.” He pauses, trying to think of ways to alleviate the situation. “… I am going to hold this against you for forever?”

Jongin grins before dumping both the roses and the gold box of chocolates into the trash can nearby. "I am hereby expressing that I accept your crazy quirks and obsessive compulsive demands pertaining to romance and beyond."

"That looked so expensive."

"It came out of your paycheck."

Lu Han stares, mouth agape before peering over the trash can and casually plucking the box of chocolates out. "I will be seeing you in court."

"Yeees?"

"... after I kiss you and you take me out to dinner."

The box of chocolates is forgotten anyways when Jongin tilts Lu Han’s chin up to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. 

written by asrou

Labels: lu han struggles to find purpose. he finds jongin and protests. -kailu-

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