♟

The preschool was strangely quiet when Yixing entered, and there didn’t seem to be anyone there. He scanned the big, carpeted room for signs of life. The room was divided into four parts – East, West, North, South – and right now he was standing in the South.

The South was distinguished by its yellow carpet, the small cubbies where the kids kept their shoes and the hooks where they hung their backpacks. It also had Jongdae’s desk, which was behind the cubbies, a big three-angle teacher’s desk with piles of agendas and clutters of red pens and other little stationary.

Yixing noticed a head, a dark brown head of curls hiding behind the big bookshelf of the far corner of the room. He noticed a few more, and then he realized what was happening.

Jongdae’s desk chair was facing the wall. It made a sudden turn, 180 degrees around, and it’s owner sat grinning with one leg crossed over the other. There was a childish giggle from some corner of the room as Jongdae stood up.

“Ready or not,” he sang. “Here I come.”

And then he began his hunt through the classroom, creeping from corner to corner, looking behind shelves and chairs. For the most bit, he pretended he really had no clue where anyone could be, and Yixing watched in amusement from the entrance. He still hadn’t been seen, so he decided not to make his presence known until the game was done.

“Hmmm, I wonder where the kids could be…” Jongdae jerked around and poked his head under a table. Someone squealed and a little boy crawled out. “Found one!” Jongdae pumped his fist in the air dramatically as the boy ran into a corner with a bunch of beanbag chairs, plopping down on one and puffing out his cheeks. Yixing guessed that was the ‘jail’. 

He watched as Jongdae plucked a few more five-year-olds from their hiding spots, and by the time there were about ten kids in the ‘jail,’ he had an idea. He slipped off his shoes and pressed a finger to his lips as he tip-toed over to Jongdae’s desk. The teacher still hadn’t seen him, but the kids in the beanbag jail saw him, letting out tinkles of laughter but then quickly slapping their hands over their mouths in secrecy.

Yixing ducked under the table, easily being able to sit cross-legged under the desk as he watched Jongdae’s legs roam around the room. He set the paper bag he’d brought with him in his lap.

The teacher started to sneak up to his desk in the South side, expecting another giggling child. Jongdae bent down to look under the table, and their eyes met for a brief moment before Yixing whispered, “Boo,” and Jongdae screamed, falling back on his rear end. The children cheered and Yixing crawled out of the small space, laughing at his friend who sat on the floor clutching his heart in shock.

“W-What the hell, Xing,” Jongdae whisper-yelled, so the kids couldn’t hear him. Yixing opened his mouth to say something, but Jongdae interrupted him with a kick to his shins. “You- First you ignore me for two days, then you come in here to steal my kids?!”

“Who said anything abou-”

Another kick.

“Well, too bad!” Jongdae shot up and ran to the ‘jail’, stretching his arms out like a protective shield over the children. “You can’t have them.”

Yixing shrugged and held up the paper bag. “I brought treats,” he said simply. With another round of cheers, the kids abandoned Jongdae, ducking under his arms to run over and gather around the baker, who held the bag over his head. “Come on guys, to the Island.”

The crowd scurried to the East side in a chorus of yesses. The East was carpeted blue, with big grey and brown and sandy brown beanbags (Jongdae loved beanbags; he said they made the place feel like a big couch). The walls were covered in sky blue wallpaper, with cotton-ball clouds and cardboard palm trees. Hence, they called it the Island.

Yixing sat on a green stool, waiting for the kids to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce in a circle – because they weren’t allowed to sit on the beanbags during ‘meetings’; there weren’t enough beanbags in the Island and Jongdae said that was unfair.

Jongdae begrudgingly joined them, and the children cleared a place for their teacher. Their attention, however, was on the unexpected guest.

“Alright, whoever guesses what’s in the bag, gets the first pick.” Yixing shook the paper bag and Jongdae scoffed.

“Please,” he pointed to the bag accusingly. “You can tell just by his face. He brought cookies.”

The boy sitting beside Jongdae, Seungkwan – Yixing remembered him – wrinkled his forehead. “How can you tell just by his face?”

“I just can,” Jongdae shrugged.

“Well, he’s right.” Yixing said. He tossed the bag to Jongdae who caught it and eyed the exterior.

“I sense chocolate chip,” he announced with squinted eyes. He opened the bag and grinned because, as usual, he was right. Jongdae handed the cookies to the child who was sitting on Yixing’s left. “Jisoo, please take one and pass it on. Everyone, you can only have one each, okay?”

“Okay,” the kids sing-songed, and Jisoo took a cookie and passed it to his left.

As the preschoolers took their cookies in a soft chatter of voices and laughs, Jongdae turned to Yixing. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

Yixing tried to look offended. “Can’t a guy visit his best friend on a work day and not get badgered about it?”

“Best friend?” Jongdae let out a short, angry sigh. “You’re not my best friend. A real best friend would actually answer my texts and calls and not ignore me for two whole days, only giving me one freaking message to brush my teeth or something, and then go back to pretending I don’t exist!”

For a few minutes, Jongdae continued his angry rant, and even the children listened as they munched on their chocolate chip cookies. The teacher finally shut up when Seungkwan gave him the paper bag and told him the last cookie was his. Jongdae hesitantly took the cookie and chomped it down.

“I’m thtill mad ath you,” he said through a full mouth.

“Just a quick reminder that this hyung, or oppa, has bad manners and none of you should ever talk with your mouth full,” Yixing said to the children, who nodded knowingly.

“Don’t you have work?” Jongdae rolled his eyes.

“Luhan can take care of it.”

“Whatever.” Jongdae stood up, brushing any cookie crumbs off his hoodie. “Alright kids, playtime’s over and it’s time to go back to learning.”

“Awww,” the children groaned in unison.

“Oppa, we don’t wanna learn!” A girl with blonde curls whined.

Jongdae smiled. “How about, since Yixing’s here,” he gave his friend an innocent bat of his eyelashes. “He can be our new assistant teacher, just for today.”

Yixing’s eyes widened. “I really should be getting back to work.”

“Nonsense!” Jongdae exclaimed. “Luhan can take care of it, right?”

“He…” Yixing sighed and ran a hand through his hair, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “How about some music time, then?”

“Oh oh oh! Music time!” A small long-haired boy, who Yixing remembered as Jeonghan, ran to Jongdae’s desk and dragged out the guitar he kept behind it. Jisoo helped, because the instrument was a bit too hard to handle all the way back to the Island. “Hyung, play for us!” Jeonghan said eagerly.

Yixing laughed.

“Well, aren’t I lucky that you keep leaving your guitar here?” Jongdae grinned. “Play for us, Hyung!”

The circle of pleading eyes stared him down, and Yixing took the guitar and strummed a single ripple of music. “What should we play?”

Yeri, one of the smaller girls, tugged on the sleeve of Jongdae’s hoodie. “Aren’t you gonna sing with him, Oppa?”

Jongdae looked blank for a split-second, but then he nodded. “Obviously.” And so he walked over and leaned against the wall beside Yixing and the kids scooted closer, not bothering to keep their circle.

“Which song?” Yixing turned to Jongdae.

“Um, the cute one we played on your mom’s birthday.”

“Got it.”

And then he started to play, the most simple and summery song they knew, and Jongdae winked at the kids before he started to sing. The song was light and cheery, and the kids tilted their heads left and right to go along with the flow, some slapping their knees to the beat.

Yixing spent an hour at the preschool, playing songs and, later, pretending to teach trigonometry to the bundles of fascinated five-year-olds. He got scolded more than the students did in a month, but they were very amused as they watched their teacher be one-upped and constantly defied by his best friend.

Around one in the afternoon, Yixing had to return to work, so he took his guitar with him this time and put on his shoes. There was a series of whining and Oppa don’t go’s, but soon they all resumed their coloring and counting, and it was just Jongdae and Yixing and the exit.

“Don’t come again,” Jongdae joked.

“Next time, let the kids guess the treat,” Yixing said. “Keep your psychic abilities to yourself.”

The teacher laughed and a child ran over and clung to his leg. “Oppa, tell your boyfriend to stay,” she said in a low voice.

Jongdae blinked. “He’s not my-”

“Bye, kids,” Yixing interrupted, and the children replied with loud goodbyes as the visitor shot out the door and swung his guitar case over his shoulder as he walked away.

With a laugh, Jongdae turned back to his students.

“Okay, then, back to math.”

♟

♞

It was 1:15 and Minseok was wondering if Luhan was going to come to the flower shop again. It was 1:20 when he did.

The florist tapped the pencil in his hand on the counter and sighed, as if on cue, when the blonde entered the shop casually.

“What did you bring this time?” Minseok asked, without so much as a greeting.

Luhan smiled. “Why do just naturally assume I’m gonna bring you something every time?”

“You’re holding a takeout box,” Minseok pointed out. “What’s in it?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Luhan set the box on the counter and blew a stray hair out of his face, puffing his cheeks out like peaches. “For now, tell me how your day has been so far.”

Minseok didn’t know why he did this – ask generic questions like how are you, how was your day, or are you doing okay – but the florist found it interesting how Luhan expected serious, detailed answers and no formality and especially not the classic ‘I’m okay.’

“It’s still early.” Minseok said.

“So?”

He sighed. “It was fine.”

That answer would not cut it. Luhan pursed his lips. “What did you do?”

Minseok shrugged. “I opened up shop and arranged flowers till you got here.”

“Don’t you have employees?”

“I have Tao,” Minseok answered with a nod. “He doesn’t get in till two, though.”

“So you have an hour of loneliness until he gets here.” Luhan hummed in understanding. “What shall we do to pass the time?”

Minseok didn’t answer him. “Why do you keep coming here? How does that ‘fix’ me?”

Luhan whistled and leaned his elbows on the counter, leaning against it in a way that made Minseok find him even more obnoxious. “Well, it doesn’t.” Minseok scowled but Luhan continued. “But, when I’m around – I don’t know if you’ve noticed – but you try to hold in your…anger.”

“I-”

“Probably because you don’t want to prove my point, I know, but,” Luhan talked faster and looked at Minseok. “It’s progress.”

Minseok was writing things down in a blue file folder, sleeves down and cuffed. He hated them that way, and he’d much rather have them rolled up to make his work easier. Unfortunately, he’d had a suspicion that Sehun would come to the flower shop with Tao, and the innocent junior would see the tattoo on Minseok’s wrist and it would all be over, because the florist will have corrupted Sehun’s youth completely.

“Not really,” Minseok said. “I feel like, at this point, I’d much rather snap your neck if it meant you’d stop coming here for no reason.”

Luhan made a face. “That’s…an unhealthy thought. You’d get arrested.”

“It would be worth it.”

“But you’d still be proving my point.”

“Aish, you and your goddamn point.” Minseok put the pencil down and looked at the takeout box Luhan had set on the counter. “What’s in the box, Luhan?”

“Open it.”

Minseok eyed him for a whole minute, before pealing the tape off the sides. And looking inside. The scent of the baked treat reached his nose before he even saw the food itself. “Pie.”

“Yeah.”

“Any particular reason why there’s a yoyo in there, too?”

Luhan shrugged. “Have you ever yo-yoed?”

“I…can’t say I have. Probably when I was a kid.” Minseok replied.

“Back in high school,” Luhan started, “I was a reigning champion. No one could beat me at yoyo.”

He figured. Luhan, who could solve a Rubik’s cube in seconds and had the pass-times of an idle child, was, of course, a reigning yoyo champion. Minseok furrowed his eyebrows. “How old are you, anyway?”

Luhan answered simply. “Twenty-six.”

Minseok did not hide his shock, because

- They were the same age

- They did not look the same age

- Actually, they did look the same age, but that was because Minseok had clear skin (in his opinion)

- Luhan looked sixteen

“What? Am I old?”

“No,” Minseok spoke slowly, as if still processing it. “We’re the same age…” He wrinkled his forehead. “Why do you work in the sweetshop?”

The question came out of nowhere, but as soon as it slipped out Minseok knew he’d been meaning to ask.

“Why can’t I?” Luhan cocked his head.

“It’s just…” Minseok blanked out. There really wasn’t anything wrong with working in the sweetshop. It wasn’t a big deal at all. He’d already forgotten why he’d ever meant to ask. “Never mind.”

“I’m only working over the summer, to pass time,” Luhan clarified, although he didn’t have to.

“Are you a student?”

The blond didn’t answer. He leaned over the counter and reached into the box, pulling out the yo-yo and looping it’s string over his finger.

“Can you at least do the basics?” Luhan asked. Minseok looked at him for a second before processing that he was talking about the yoyo.

With a flick of his wrist, he willed the yoyo to unwind and travel smoothly down, stopping just above the floor before rolling back up and into his palms.

“That looks easy,” Minseok said, narrowing his eyes. “Let me try.”

Luhan shrugged, tossing him the yoyo, which Minseok caught easily. He slipped his finger through the string and rolled his wrist to warm up. He tried not to stick his tongue out at Luhan before he swung. Swung. He released the yoyo as if to throw it against the floor tiles, and it shot down. The string stretched out fully before swinging forward, and the yoyo flew up towards the wall and hit something soft.

“Oww,” The ‘something soft’ whined. Tao stood in the doorway, holding his nose in pain and giving his boss a hurtful glare. “Why?”

“Uh,” Sorry, is what Minseok meant to say.  “ it up, Tao.”

“You’re early,” Luhan noted, looking up at the clock. Tao blinked at the stranger who knew his work schedule, and scratched his eyebrow.

“Guess so,” he said in a nasal tone. H was still holding his nose.

“Whatever, it’s good that you’re here,” Minseok said. “There’s this wedding order we got, for a centerpiece bouquet.” The florist walked around the counter and picked up the blue file that had been sitting there for a while now. “All the criteria is in here, and it’s really easy. I know you have a good eye for color, so I want you to handle it alone.”

Tao looked like he was in pain, and not because he was hit with a yoyo not too long ago. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m busy, and you work for me.”

“Okay.” Tao took the file from his boss and tucked it under arm. “Um, I had to ask you something.”

Luhan perked up to hear and Minseok raised an eyebrow.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

Tao released a deep breath and Minseok waved off the sudden suspense in the room.

“Well, you see…” Tao bit his lip. “What’s your ideal type?”

Minseok’s nose twitched awkwardly. Luhan pressed a hand over his face to keep in his laughter.

“Is that what you had to ask me?”

“Yeah.”

“Tao, why the hell-”

“Just answer the question, boss.”

Minseok sighed and wondered why he kept caving under the boss title. Luhan stayed silent as he started cutting the pie, but there was amusement written all over his face.

“Well,” Minseok began, giving Luhan a defying look before turning back to his employee. “I like tough guys.”

“Bad boys?”

“Yeah, those. Bad boys who aren’t bound by rules and .”

Luhan chuckled and Minseok shot him a look.

“Do you have anything to add?”

“No, no,” Luhan laughed. “Ignore me.”

Minseok did. He restored his attention to Tao. “And, they have to be loaded. Everyone likes a rich guy.”

Tao nodded. “Okay.”

“Unfortunately, considering the fact that you work here for, like, twenty minutes a week,” Minseok smirked. “I doubt you’ll be able to fill that part of the criteria.”

“Is this about Sehun?” Someone asked, and Minseok and Tao both turned to look at Luhan, who was eating the pie nonchalantly.

“How’d you know it was about Sehun?” Tao was wide-eyed, because who was this psychic stranger?

“You didn’t say so?”

Minseok and Tao shook their heads in unison.

“That’s funny,” Luhan said, smiling slightly, like he knew something obvious that they weren’t seeing. “Would you like some pie?”

♞

♛

Chanyeol was beginning to hate his ceiling. He’d been staring at it for hours, and it was dull and dusty, just like his day. Those were the idle thoughts that roamed through his mind as he lay flat on his back on his lonely leather couch, watching the ceiling fan make aimless turns around it’s axis.

He wondered what Baekhyun was doing upstairs. They hadn’t really done any work yesterday; they’d ended up sitting on the stairs with matching cans of Pepsi until around late night. Lady was curled up in Chanyeol’s lap, and Baekhyun sat one step higher than the former. All they really did was talk and make bad puns on each other’s names like they usually did, and Baekhyun asked a few simple questions like how the washing machine worked and if Chanyeol had the key to the cellar in the backyard.

Chanyeol sighed and sat up.

He moved his hair out of his face and opened the door to the laundry room, looking up at the staircase. Without hesitation, he walked up the stairs and knocked on Baekhyun’s door.

There was a “Coming!” and then a loud thump, followed by a bark and an “Ouch.” The door opened and Baekhyun was rubbing his forehead. “Hey,” he said.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, that was just…” Baekhyun turned his head to shoot his puppy a glare. “Lady tripped me.”

“Right.” Chanyeol’s face contorted