Note: This picks up after the end of Part 1, so be sure to go back and reread that if you need to! 

It’s funny because they don’t really fit each other at all. At least, not in the way that paired couples are meant to fit—seamlessly and effortlessly, as two halves of a whole.

But what they do have—understanding and familiarity—come from a long history together, years of friendship and trust. Even then, the jagged edges between them are still there.

It’s not perfect and it’s not easy, but really, Chanyeol wouldn’t have it any other way. There are times when he pushes a little too hard and Jongdae doesn’t push back hard enough. It makes the little misunderstandings between them escalate into a fight.

To say the least, it isn’t pretty. But each time it happens, they learn a little more and take another step forward together.

It’s enough to have Jongdae sitting across from him, smiling widely as he says, “I forgive you.” Then there’s the twinkle in his eyes, the half laugh in his voice, as he follows that with, “You idiot.”

Chanyeol smiles back, nudging Jongdae’s foot with his own under the table. “But you like me anyway.” The last half of his sentence is said in a whisper, with a quick glance around them. They can’t afford to be too cautious, even in such a private setting.

“You wish.” There are unspoken words in the corners of Jongdae’s lips, in the way he kicks Chanyeol’s chair. “Don’t you have work in an hour?”

Chanyeol glances down at his watch and nearly jumps out of the chair. “Yeah, I almost forgot.” He looks up at Jongdae with an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you later?” It’s hard for them to meet up with their constantly conflicting schedules, and each time, it feels like it’s not enough.

Jongdae shakes his head as he gathers their empty coffee cups and tosses them into the trash. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Chanyeol’s so busy texting on his phone that he nearly runs into Jongdae when the other stops just inside the door of the coffee shop. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t bring an umbrella, did you?” Jongdae ask, and Chanyeol mentally curses as he stares at the heavy rain outside.

He has a meeting with his professor today—a final talk about his degree requirements, to go over his most important presentation yet. It’s nothing particularly formal, but it wouldn’t be polite to step into the office looking like a wet dog.

“Here.” Jongdae takes off his jacket and hands it to Chanyeol. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Chanyeol hesitates before taking the jacket. It’s soft and warm, but it won’t be enough of a cover against the rain. “Come on.” He’s half holding Jongdae as they walk out of the coffee shop, the jacket thrown over their heads as they run through the rain.

They don’t stop until they’re under the roof of the bus stop. They’re thoroughly soaked, Jongdae’s jacket limp and wet in Chanyeol’s hand.

But appearances are the last thing in Chanyeol’s hand right now. It’s easy to forget when Jongdae’s beside him, the warmth of his smile more tangible than the sun’s rays, when Jongdae leans in to brush some water from the side of his face, to fix his hair.

Reality doesn’t seep in until a police car passes them, its sirens wailing, a blur of red, white, and blue. It doesn’t stop, probably doesn’t even notice them in the heavy downpour, but it serves as a stark reminder nonetheless. Jongdae quickly drops his hand, and Chanyeol barely manages to brush his fingertips as he reaches out, wanting to touch but not quite able to hold on. Chanyeol swallows, closing his hands into a fist.

“I’ll text you later?” Jongdae says, and his words are too stiff, too formal.

Chanyeol takes a step back, tries to keep some distance between them—an arm’s length is preferred. It’s rarely just the two of them out in public. They haven’t gotten caught yet, have been able to evade the random checks through fleeting touches and meaningful stares.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. His voice sounds strained to his own ears, and his smile wavers a little as he gives Jongdae his jacket back. He wishes that he could give back something better than the cold, wet fabric—wishes that, at the very least, he could restore it to its original condition. “I’ll text you.”

Even then, they can’t be completely sure. It’s unclear how much control the government really has, or how much they’d bother to watch over the citizens. It’s the gray uncertainty that keeps their texts and calls so bland, leading to confusion and misunderstandings. In the end, anything can be damaging.

Chanyeol turns to wave at Jongdae as the bus comes, tries to memorize the exact curve of Jongdae’s eyes when he smiles, before he turns to get on the bus. The bus starts moving before Chanyeol can pay for his fee, and by the time he’s taken a seat, Jongdae is already out of sight.

Chanyeol stares out of the window, at the world drowned in grays and reds. Even with the heater on in the bus he still feels so cold, like he’s missing something. It doesn’t take much for these doubts to eat away inside of him, before daily life drowns out the warmth that he feels sometimes.

Sometimes, it feels like this is only an uphill trek, a dead-end route. Whispers of reform are unlikely to be fulfilled anytime soon, not when the system is so strong, so definite. Sometimes, it feels like it’s just the two of them against the world, like these risks they’ve taken aren’t worthwhile in the end.

But there are also those moments in between—the brightness of Jongdae’s laugh, the feeling of Jongdae’s hand in his—that make Chanyeol believe that maybe they’ll be able to see this through until the end.

There’s an almost overwhelming buttery popcorn smell the moment Chanyeol steps into the apartment. He heads to the kitchen immediately, looking around the wall.

Jongdae’s standing at the counter, reaching up to grab a bowl from the top shelf of the cabinet. Chanyeol walks up to him, his hand brushing Jongdae’s as he takes the bowl. Jongdae jumps, startled, and laughs when he sees Chanyeol.

“Can’t you warn me that you’re here next time?” Jongdae asks, but there’s no real bite in his words as he takes the bowl from Chanyeol’s hands.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Chanyeol teases, leaning closer to look into Jongdae’s eyes. They haven’t seen each other in almost three weeks, and he can see the effects of a busy schedule on Jongdae’s face, the fatigue behind Jongdae’s dancing eyes. He’s close enough that he can feel Jongdae’s breath hitting his cheek, can almost hear Jongdae swallowing. Chanyeol looks past Jongdae instead, heart beating too quickly from what he’d been centimeters from doing. “Is the popcorn done yet?”

“I’ve only done one bag so far,” Jongdae says, turning away from Chanyeol a little to look at the microwave. He taps a finger on the counter, in time with the numbers that are steadily counting down on the microwave’s display screen.

“Let me do the rest,” Chanyeol says, taking an unopened bag of popcorn. He tears off the outer plastic wrapping, glancing quickly at the instructions before pushing Jongdae out of the kitchen. “Go do something else. I’ve got this.”

“That’s what you said when you burned down the house last time,” Jongdae mutters as he walks out. Chanyeol resists the urge to retort to his statement, knowing that it would probably lead to a long back-and-forth conversation between the two of them.

The microwave beeps, and Chanyeol pulls out the finished popcorn, blowing lightly at his fingertips as he does so. He puts in another bag, entering the time and pressing the start button. Chanyeol pulls open the bag of popcorn, inhaling deeply. He hadn’t eaten dinner before coming over, so he’s prepared to eat as much of the popcorn in Jongdae’s apartment as he can.

Chanyeol steps out of the kitchen and looks around. Jongdae’s nowhere in sight, so he’s probably in his bedroom or in the TV room, selecting their movie. Usually, Chanyeol would be there as well, arguing with Jongdae about which movie they were going to watch—or, in most cases, rewatch. But this time, Chanyeol has something more planned.

He acts quickly, working during the time it takes to pop the popcorn. By the time he walks out of the kitchen, the movie is already playing on the TV. Jongdae looks up as Chanyeol enters, scooting aside on the couch to make room for him.

“I was going to wait for you,” Jongdae says, taking a handful of the popcorn that Chanyeol places between them. He looks down as the title of the movie flashes across the screen. “Why’d you make two bowls?”

“I’m hungry,” Chanyeol says, taking one of the bottles of soda that Jongdae’s placed on the coffee table before them. “Baekhyun isn’t here?” he asks, changing the subject just as the opening scene starts playing.

“No. He’s busy.” Jongdae tucks a foot under his leg as he leans back against the couch. “He might be back this weekend, though. We should do something together.”

“I’m not free this weekend.”

The room is quiet enough that Jongdae’s soft, “Oh,” seems to echo in the space around them.

Chanyeol swallows, chewing on a mouthful of popcorn. It’s been too long since the three of them have been together, since he’s really felt complete. Even with Jongdae next to him, it still feels like the couch is too spacious, without another loud, demanding voice next to them, without another body pressed to his side.

Sometimes, he worries that Baekhyun may have forgotten about them. Even though they’ve all grown up together, of the three of them, Baekhyun is the one that’s most likely to drift. Especially now, that Baekhyun has a bright future ahead of him, a career that neither Chanyeol nor Jongdae can follow. Chanyeol’s learned how easy it is to forget, to leave behind fragments of the past.

The movie playing on the screen is an action movie, with the usual plot of explosions and violence, poorly scripted dialogue and lack of serious characterization. It’s the kind of movie that they used to love watching as kids, but now, Chanyeol sees nothing but faults in the movie.

It doesn’t help that he’s distracted, constantly glancing down at the bowls of popcorn on the couch.

Jongdae finds it just as the buildings on the screen explode, his gasp almost covered by the loud background soundtrack. “Chanyeol…”

Chanyeol looks from the screen, staring into the Jongdae’s eyes, reflecting the bright light from the TV. “I wanted to ask you,” he says, and he smiles as he closes his hand around Jongdae’s, knowing that Jongdae’s holding the ring in his palm. “It’s not a lot, and it won’t be anything special, but if you want…”

“Of course,” Jongdae says, his expression almost shocked, like he can’t believe that Chanyeol thought he’d say no.

Chanyeol laughs, looking down at their hands. He’d had doubts running through his mind even as he’d chosen the rings. He hadn’t even been quite able to go through with the typical engagement process—down on one knee, ring encased in a velvet black box. He doesn’t think he could kneel through the nerve-wracking silence, doesn’t think that he could even get down on one knee without falling over.

His fingers are still shaking now as he lets go of Jongdae’s hand and pulls out his own ring from his pocket. It’s a simple silver band, almost a symbol of friendship, and it’s the best that he could purchase without making the seller too suspicious. Anything fancier and he’d have to produce official documents. As it is, Chanyeol had gotten Jongdae’s name etched on the inside of his ring, and his name etched on the inside of Jongdae’s. It’s subtle, almost unnoticeable—just like their relationship, hidden just beneath the surface.

Jongdae laughs as he grabs a napkin, wiping the ring thoroughly as he complains, “It’s just like you not to think things through completely. Why would you put a ring under all this popcorn? It’s all buttery and gross.”

But Jongdae doesn’t really mind, if the way he smiles at Chanyeol is any indication. Chanyeol smiles back, fitting their fingers together. Their rings brush briefly against each other, a silent vow of everything they haven’t said.

If the past years of being together have taught them anything at all, it’s this: the ability to pick up on the smallest gestures, like the light brush of Chanyeol’s fingers across the back of Jongdae’s hand, or the way Jongdae squeezes Chanyeol’s hand and holds it there, in the space between the two of them.

Chanyeol’s phone rings just as he’s getting out his wallet to pay at the convenience store. He glances down at the screen, ready to just direct the call to voicemail, but it’s Jongdae calling.

Chanyeol gives the cashier a few bills, not pausing to take the change as he walks out of the store. “Jongdae?” he says, standing just by the door, shifting the plastic bag in his right hand to his left so that he can hold the phone to his ear. He leans against the wall, next to a trash can with cigarette butts littered around it. “What’s up?” Chanyeol opens the soda that he’d bought, holding it away from him as he opens the can.

“Chanyeol,” Jongdae says, and he doesn’t continue. Chanyeol knows that he’s still there, though, because the dial tone hasn’t sounded yet, and because, under the loud voices of the world around him, he can hear the steadiness of Jongdae’s breaths.

Sometimes, Chanyeol wishes that Jongdae was right next to him, so they wouldn’t have to keep playing this guessing game. It would be so much easier if he could just see Jongdae’s facial expression, so he wouldn’t have to be extremely careful about how to take his next step. Sometimes, it feels like their relationship is dangling on fine threads, ready to fall apart at the slightest pull.

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol repeats, taking a gulp of the soda. It’s still refreshingly cold, but it burns as it goes down his throat, settling unevenly in his stomach.

He waits a little longer, almost afraid to breathe, but Jongdae doesn’t say anything else for a long time. And sometimes, it’s like this, too. When it’s late into the night, the whispers of dawn just a hand’s reach away, they have these long phone calls if neither one of them is asleep yet. They don’t say anything, don’t do anything other than hear each other breathe. It helps, even when Jongdae isn’t lying next to Chanyeol, because the sound of Jongdae breathing at least gives some assurance that he’s there.

“Are you sure?” Jongdae asks eventually, the note of hesitance carrying clearly in his words.

“Of course,” Chanyeol says, staring out into the street of crowded people. Because something like this—it’s not possible to make such a decision so easily.

He knows what Jongdae is referring to, though. Jongdae had received his papers already, the name Byun Baekhyun written in bold across the top, but Chanyeol hasn’t. He’s already past the age of twenty, even the age of twenty-five, and he still hasn’t received his match yet. It’s not like the government has forgotten about him; he still goes back year after year for interviews and questions. Any day now, he could receive a paper in the mail telling him his assignment.

It’s just another one of the dangling threads of uncertainties in their relationship, one that they’ve never dared to discuss directly. But Chanyeol’s certain, now more than before, with his ring catching the sun’s rays, that it wouldn’t matter.

Hey, Chanyeol imagines saying, imagines blurting out a real confession in the simplest words, under the brightness of the afternoon sky.

He imagines walking down the streets with Jongdae like any ordinary couple, documents of commitment in their pockets and contentment in their hearts.

He imagines taking Jongdae’s hand again in a few weeks and thinks about the long life ahead of them. “Hey,” he says instead, pushing his thumb down against the tab of the aluminum can, “hang on there, okay?”

It turns out better than Chanyeol had imagined. He can almost imagine Kyungsoo rolling his eyes, asking, “What did you think?” 

Kyungsoo had complained about it when Chanyeol had told him about the wedding. “Do you know how much flour it takes to make a wedding cake?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows like he was already making the calculations in his head.

Chanyeol laughed, putting a finger between Kyungsoo’s eyebrows to smooth the skin of his forehead. “I can make it up for you.”

Kyungsoo stared into Chanyeol’s eyes, holding his gaze for so long that Chanyeol was unnerved, too scared to even take his finger from Kyungsoo’s forehead.

“What is it?” Chanyeol asked, holding his breath as he stared back at Kyungsoo. He wavered a little, wanting to break eye contact but unable to do so.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Kyungsoo said, finally breaking the silence that stretched between them. He looked down at the ground, and Chanyeol caught a flicker of emotion on his face that disappeared as quickly as it came. “About Jongdae.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol answered, letting his arm drop back down by his side. “Why?”

Kyungsoo shook his head, smiling as he brushed his hair from his eyes. He reached out to hit Chanyeol, causing the other to jump away. And just like that, the heavy atmosphere in the room dissolved into easy banter between two close friends. “Nothing,” he replied, starting to jot notes onto the shopping list stuck to the door of their fridge with a magnet. “You can do it,” Kyungsoo added, catching Chanyeol’s eyes as he said the words with confidence.

Chanyeol had nodded then, believing that Kyungsoo knew more because he was able to see so much more. He isn’t so sure now, though, not when he’s standing before the mirror in his room, checking his reflection again.

“I’m going to throw this mirror away if you look at it again,” Kyungsoo threatens, coming up behind Chanyeol and fixing his collar for him. He brushes a few stray stands of hair from Chanyeol’s forehead, lets his fingers linger there for a moment before he flicks Chanyeol’s forehead. “You’ll be fine. It’s not like Jongdae’s going to ditch you at the altar just because you look awful.”

“You think so?” Chanyeol says, giving Kyungsoo a wavering smile. He can’t believe how nervous he is. It’s not because he’s uncertain about Jongdae’s feelings for him, or even his feelings for Jongdae, but as much as he wants to avoid the dramatics, it still feels like so much is dependent on getting this right.

“Actually, no.” Kyungsoo laughs when Chanyeol tries to give him a pitiful look, walking out of the room as he calls over his shoulder, “Hurry up or we’ll be late.”

Chanyeol can’t help glancing in the mirror again before he leaves, adjusting his tie even though he knows that it’ll get messed up again as he runs after Kyungsoo.

The ride to Jongdae’s apartment is very quiet, almost unbearably so. It’s not like Kyungsoo talks much when he’s driving anyway, since he always insists on giving the road his undivided attention, and usually, Chanyeol would be playing on his phone or listening to the radio. He can’t focus on either one of those things right now, and after going through several channels on the radio and finding nothing worth listening to, Chanyeol turns it off, sighing as he leans his head back.

“Aren’t you supposed to give me some last minute advice as my best man?” Chanyeol asks, glancing over at Kyungsoo. “You know, your last words before you lose me forever.”

“Good riddance,” Kyungsoo says, slowing at a yellow light. Chanyeol glances at the clock; as slow as Kyungsoo seems to be driving, they’ll still be able to make it there on time. “Don’t mess up,” Kyungsoo continues, when he’s come to a complete stop. “Recite your lines and don’t kiss Jongdae before the priest tells you to.”

Chanyeol laughs, but it sounds strangled, even to his own ears. Kyungsoo looks over at him, squeezing Chanyeol’s hand briefly before he puts it back on the wheel again. Don’t worry, Kyungsoo tells him, and Chanyeol closes his hand into a fist on his knee as he looks out the window and doesn’t worry.

They arrive at Jongdae and Baekhyun’s apartment a few minutes after their agreed time. Baekhyun isn’t quite done with setting up yet, and one of the metal fold-up chairs falls to the ground with a loud clatter as he opens the door.

“Come on in,” Baekhyun says, waving them inside. “Don’t take off your shoes, sit in the corner, and don’t say anything. You’re not allowed to move until the guests arrive, and you’re not allowed to meet Jongdae until the ceremony begins.”

Chanyeol raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue, but Kyungsoo pulls on his hand and shoots him a warning glance. They sit down on the floor by the door, watching as Baekhyun runs around the room.

It’s almost comical from here, the way Baekhyun struggles with setting up in his too-large black robes. He keeps running a hand through his hair and muttering things under his breath, glancing around and shaking his head as he puts posters up and tears them down just as quickly. Baekhyun looks too stressed for something they’d agreed to keep as informal as possible.

But Chanyeol’s grateful that Baekhyun had managed to set aside this time for them. It can’t be easy, not when Baekhyun has a career of his own hours away, but Baekhyun had been willing to set aside his schedule even on a short notice to orchestrate this.

Chanyeol turns his head to look at Kyungsoo. He’s bored, but he doesn’t want to annoy Baekhyun by talking, so he concentrates on a thought and tries to speak to Kyungsoo without using his mouth. Baekhyun’s being so bossy. Why don’t you go help him? Why can’t I see Jongdae?

Kyungsoo’s only response is to flick Chanyeol’s forehead again. Chanyeol notices Kyungsoo’s hand shaking a little as he moves away, though, and he thinks that Kyungsoo might be nervous as well.

They’ve only invited a handful of guests, all close friends who they’d trust with their lives. Because, if they were ever caught, that’s what it’d cost them—their lives. It’s against the law for two people who aren’t assigned to each other to meet with each other, but it’s a major offense to try something like this—to try to bend around the law and stay together despite the obstacles.

They can’t even afford to tell their parents, so Kyungsoo’s the one who ends up giving Chanyeol away at the altar, leading him from the kitchen to the living room between the path of flickering candles that Baekhyun had arranged on the ground. Baekhyun’s the one to pledge them to each other, providing a sheet of paper for them to sign their unofficial marriage document.

And Jongdae—Chanyeol nearly forgets to breathe when he sees Jongdae’s face. He focuses on it through the brightness of the flickering candles, through the slow drawl of Baekhyun’s voice in the background, through the sharp pinch that Kyungsoo gives Chanyeol as he brings him up to Jongdae.

There’s an incomparably bright smile on Jongdae’s face, and even though this shouldn’t feel anything different, there’s something special about today. Chanyeol had promised himself that he wouldn’t get emotional today, but he can’t help the fluttering feeling he gets when Jongdae kneels to slide the ring onto Chanyeol’s finger, can’t stop himself from capturing Jongdae’s lips before Baekhyun tells him that he can.

He can see Kyungsoo rolling his eyes at him as Baekhyun complains that they’re messing up the ordering of the ceremony. It doesn’t matter, though, Chanyeol thinks, as Jongdae laughs breathlessly against his lips. Order didn’t matter, not when they had the rest of their lives together.

“You can let me go now,” Jongdae murmurs, leaning back a little so Chanyeol can see the way his eyes shine under the lights. “Let’s get through this first.”

Chanyeol blinks, taking a step away from Jongdae. “Okay.” He keeps holding Jongdae’s hand, barely listening as Baekhyun makes a speech.

Baekhyun takes his time, and from the playful look in his eyes when he notices Chanyeol shooting him a look, he’s doing it on purposes. He takes the audience back in time, back to when he and Chanyeol were kids, to the first time they’d met Jongdae, and he even sings a song in the middle of his speech. It’s everything short of taking the spotlight completely, but when he finishes, Chanyeol notices that Baekhyun’s eyes are too bright, like he’s trying to hold back tears. “I wish you guys luck,” Baekhyun concludes, stepping to the side as he hands Chanyeol and Jongdae their marriage document.

And maybe this—the applause and cheers within a small living room, the marriage document scrawled in pencil on lined paper, the live entertainment provided by the one and only Byun Baekhyun—hadn’t exactly been what Chanyeol had imagined his marriage would be like. Even now, there’s uncertainty. There’s no way of telling when Chanyeol’s assignment will arrive, and there’s no way he can promise Jongdae forever, not when they’re going to return to their separate apartments after this ceremony.

But this is enough, Chanyeol thinks, as Baekhyun and Kyungsoo sign their names under the witnesses section of the document. He’s still holding Jongdae’s hand, and there’s music coming on through the speakers. Even if he can’t dance, he pulls Jongdae along anyway, matching Baekhyun’s laugh with one of his own as he spins Jongdae on the floor.

He knows that this moment won’t last forever; soon, they’ll be going back to their separate lives. But what matters now is that he’s surrounded by his closest friends, and he doesn’t lack anything at this moment. Chanyeol leans down to kiss Jongdae properly, and closes his eyes so he can memorize this—the feel of Jongdae’s lips against his own, the song playing in the background, the hum of conversation in the background, and the complete content in his heart. Maybe they won’t be able to recreate this exact atmosphere again, but at least Chanyeol will have this memory forever.

Baekchen part will be up next. Sorry this took so long!