♛

Chanyeol woke up before Baekhyun, and he was glad he did. The sleeping beauty beside him was a more than pleasant start to his day; what was even more perfect was the position they woke up in. Somehow through the night, the blanket was kicked off and while Chanyeol shivered a little under his , Baekhyun had his shirt rolled up over his pale tummy, and his legs stretched like a starfish. The best part was Chanyeol, sleeping on his stomach with one leg over Baekhyun’s and his arm outstretched and resting on Baekhyun’s exposed middle.

He chuckled and tried ticking the sleeper, but Baekhyun only giggled half-heartedly in his slumber and rolled over so his nose was pressed against Chanyeol’s neck.

What a time to be alive.

Poking his cheek slightly, Chanyeol lifted Baekhyun’s head off his neck and placed it back on the pillow, and climbed over him to retrieve the blanket. He draped it over Baekhyun – not before pulling his shirt back down, and then proceeded to get his own shirt from the living room. He came back fully dressed and sat down at Baekhyun’s bedside, and grinned a little bit as he ran a finger along his plushie cheek.

Wake up, Byun. He tried to send the message to Baekhyun’s dreamland but failed obviously. He was disappointed anyway. Wake up so I can tell you stuff.

He ruffled Baekhyun’s hair lightly, still silently praying that he’d rise and shine. He clicked his tongue. There wasn’t much use. He’d probably do something stupid anyway. The roses were still on the side table. They were starting to die. Chanyeol sighed and picked them up.

There was a note in there. He plucked it out and skimmed passed the badly written Korean characters. Are we really just gonna stay friends?

His undeveloped brain thought nothing of it, and he stuffed it back in the bouquet and threw the flowers back on the side table.

The yearbook was there, too. Without second thought, Chanyeol lifted the book and, with a yawn and a rub of his eyes, he opened it. He found their picture quickly, and blushed a little at their close distance. The thought didn’t occur to him that he was sitting on the same guy’s bed, and the same guy’s leg was kicking his thigh in sleep. He laughed to himself, and as he started to close the book, a paper fell out.

Baekhyun’s right leg was on Chanyeol’s lap, and the other was behind his back. Chanyeol didn’t consider moving. He looked at the fallen paper, and the first thing that caught his eye was Baekhyun’s head peeking out from behind a locker. It was a photo from their high school days. It was only after he studied Baekhyun’s every facial feature in the picture that he noticed that the actual focus of the shot was none other than himself. He didn’t remember the day, but he remembered the T-shirt and if he squinted, he could remember the year. Third year? He didn’t care.

Baekhyun was stirring. He slipped the picture back in the album and put it back.

And then, with a final poke of his finger to Baekhyun’s cheek, he got up and padded to the bathroom.

Even after he showered, Baekhyun was in the same position he’d been left in. This time Lady was awake and wagging her tail at the foot of his bedside. Chanyeol ushered her into the kitchen with him and, now with his little assistant, got to making breakfast. He had to take a few trips down to his own kitchen, but it was worth the breakfast scent that filled Baekhyun’s apartment and made the perfectly furnished home feel more like someone lived in it.

It was a day for omelettes and French toast. The morning was warm; Chanyeol imagined music playing in the background as he cracked the eggs and chopped the vegetables. It was soft violin. He didn’t know why Byun Baekhyun made the air sound like soft violin.

He loaded the food onto a tray and without much delay, carried it to the bedroom. Baekhyun was still asleep, face down and legs out and arms stretched at his sides. Chanyeol gave Lady the cue and she pounced on her owner’s back. Baekhyun woke up with a yelp.

“Lady, why-”

“Morning, sunshine.” Chanyeol dipped his head to meet Baekhyun’s glare, keeping the food steady.

“You’re still here…”

“You’re surprised?”

“Park.” Baekhyun yawned, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself on his elbows, and onto his knees. “What’s on the tray?”

“Omelettes.”

“And French toast?”

“You bet.”

Baekhyun nodded sleepily. “Did we get married overnight?”

Chanyeol burst into laughter. Obviously Baekhyun was still somewhere else. He set the tray on the flatter plane of the bed and slipped onto what he now considered to be ‘his side’ of it. Baekhyun didn’t complain.

“I can assure you, that in the 9 hours of sleep we were blessed with, there was no marriage.” Chanyeol smiled. “Sleep well?”

“Like a bell,” and then another yawn. “I need to wash up. I’ll be back.” Baekhyun started to stand. “Don’t eat anything without me.”

He was back in minutes, now in a cleaner shirt.

“So,” Chanyeol started. “What are your plans for today?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “Work, mostly.”

“Is architecture hard?”

“Not really.” Baekhyun leaned against the bedframe, sitting up with his legs stretched straight and the blanket pulled up to his stomach. He took the tray on his lap and wiggled his fingers indecisively between the omelettes and French toast. “I just need to be both creative and practical, and that can be kind of hard.” He settled for toast first. “Plus, Jongdae won’t let me build around the sandbox. He wants the park to be separate.”

Chanyeol looked confused. “Why?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Baekhyun munched on his toast. “Normally, playgrounds in such small spaces are built around a central structure – in this case, the sandbox. But Jongdae said, and I quote: ‘the sandbox is supposed to stay lonely, no matter what.’”

“Oh.” Chanyeol exhaled. “So he’s like that, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s just obsessed with the sandbox. I don’t really know why, though.” Reaching for his fork, Chanyeol started for the omelettes.

Neither of them said much about work after that.

“This toast it pretty good,” Baekhyun commented. “But you’ve cooked better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chanyeol looked defensive.

“I’m just saying,” Baekhyun held up a hand. “It’s not revolutionary.”

There was a moment where they both just looked at each other, Baekhyun challenging Chanyeol’s ability to respond in quick wit and the latter, trying not to lose the stare-off.

“You’re probably just not eating it right.”

Baekhyun fell into giggles. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the problem.”

“Really. Here,” Chanyeol held up a forkful of toast and raised an eyebrow. Baekhyun stopped giggling and took a bite. “Tell me that isn’t the best French toast you’ve ever had.”

Baekhyun munched and swallowed. “Well,” he looked away a little as he said this. “It’s definitely the Frenchiest.”

And then even Lady blushed.

♛

❆

Baekhyun left the house hours later in a rush to get work done. Somehow, his day had started off well. He stepped into the outdoor air smiling. It was quiet.

“Hi.”

The voice cut through his quiet and Baekhyun jumped.

Behind him, Junmyeon laughed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Baekhyun locked the door and turned to face his company. “What are you up to?”

“Talking to you, as of now.” Junmyeon’s hands fit into his pockets and he had an edgy rock band look to him as he leaned against the fence. What he was doing on their side of the fence, Baekhyun didn’t care to ask. “Are you going back to the sandbox?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun shrugged. “It’s becoming my comfort spot.”

“Ah, we’ve all been there.” Junmyeon smiled. “Jongdae’s sandbox is like universal medication.”

“Jongdae’s?”

“Too many long stories. Too small a town.”

They’d started walking in the direction of the playground site now. It seemed natural. Baekhyun wondered how many times they’d walked like this. The conversations were becoming a daily necessity.

As they made their way down the street, Baekhyun drew the nerve to ask about the over-important sandbox. Junmyeon told him a story of his childhood.

“When I was younger – I was raised here – Jongdae’s grandparents’ memorial gathering was held at that park. And Jongdae and Yixing and I were too young to grieve, but I remember making a sandcastle in their memory and picking flowers to decorate it with.” Junmyeon pointed down a street. “There was a garden where the flower shop is. It’s still somewhere there, I think.” He smiled. “My dad asked my mom out at that sandbox, too. Yixing’s little sister learned to walk there. It was where Luhan hid out when he didn’t wanna go to prom. I’m pretty sure I met your roommate there. Chanyeol. He had red hair then. When Sehun ran away from home, he ended up at that sandbox. That’s where Yixing found him.”

Baekhyun gaped. “That is an important sandbox.”

“No kidding.” Junmyeon said, squinting a little as the sunlight hit his eyes. “Being a kid was weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

But Junmyeon kept looking straight ahead at the long street ahead of them. At all of Parkside. “We were so focused on our paper airplanes, we never saw the real ones passing over our heads.”

Baekhyun looked impressed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Adolescence.” Junmyeon said. “Just that.”

“You’re writer for sure.”

“I’d hate to be anything else.”

“There’s a conversation starter.” Baekhyun said. “What’d you be if you weren’t a writer?”

“Probably something dumb like a cashier at a grocery store. You?”

Baekhyun looked up at the sky and then back in front of him. “I never actually wanted to be an architect. I wanted to be a teacher.”

“That’s a sad life to choose.” Junmyeon clicked his tongue. “Not only surrounded by people but closely knit with their futures. And students would hate on you behind your back. Plus staff meetings.”

“Oh, the horrible idea of staff meetings.” They both laughed. They were at the sandbox now, and they both took a seat at the sandbox’s wooden rim, planting their feet on the dry sand weightlessly enough that it wouldn’t enter their shoes.

“Really,” Junmyeon started. “I think architecture is a fitting place for you.”

“Because it’s practical or because it’s less practical than an office job?” Baekhyun raised an eyebrow.

“Because you get to do something as undefined and undefining as creating playgrounds.”

Baekhyun nodded. “Why undefining?”

“Every park, a different playground, right?” Junmyeon shrugged. “It says nothing yet a lot about who you are. So it’s completely undefining at the end of things.”

“And of course, that leads me to ask,” Baekhyun’s eyes shimmered. “Why undefined?”

“Because every architect is unique.”

“Like every writer.”

“You’re incredibly good at conversation, Byun Baekhyun.”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“I’m not.” Junmyeon said. “Pretty much every loser in this town can keep a thought running,” he admitted. “But you. You’re special.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows knit together as he took out his sketchbook and crossed a leg over the other. He used his knees as a desk and started to sketch, dividing his focus between his work and his company.

“Well, for starters, you’re new here.”

“Fresh meat?”

“More like fresh mind.” Junmyeon clarified. “A bit different from the others in the way you think.”

“I thought you said you had a friend who was just like me.”

“Not just like. But amusingly similar.”

“In the way we think?”

“In the way you smile, I guess. With your eyes.”

Baekhyun didn’t know if Junmyeon was flirting or just a poet, but he was happy to talk to someone and have it lead to more and more conversation. And he could walk out feeling like he’d spoken to someone.

It only made his thoughts run back to the songwriter who lived downstairs, and he wondered what it would be like to really talk to Park Chanyeol.

❆

♟

“WHY.”

Jongdae slammed the picture book on his face.

“Easy there, tiger.” Yixing chuckled an tied a final elastic loop on a girl’s hair. She looked in the hand mirror and squealed in delight before running back to the bean bags where she plopped down and started giggling with her friends. The next person in line made his way up on his hands and knees.

Jeonghan turned around to display his shoulder-length hair. “Hyung, I want the mermaid one.”

Yixing dimpled. “One fishtail braid coming right up.”

Jongdae was still repeatedly slapping himself with the book. He was sitting cross-legged at Yixing’s side – they were both sitting on the carpeted floor of the book corner, where they’d made a lineup for the kids to get made over.

“Would you relax,” Yixing said. “I’m sure it’ll end up okay.”

“Are you kidding? It’s ruined.”

“No, it’s not. They’ll get through it.” Yixing’s fingers worked magic over Jeonghan’s hair. “I just don’t see why it affects you so much.”

Jongdae huffed. “If Kyungsoo and Jongin don’t have a happily ever after, I’ve failed as a fairy godmother.”

“Self-proclaimed.” Yixing added.

“It’s hurting my heart.”

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” the baker mused.

“Thanks, Dickens.”

“That’s Shakespeare, you idiot teacher.”

“But I disagree,” Jongdae said, ig