It was the night of the seventh of October 2012, and The Zealot stood tall in all its glamor and grit.

The inappropriately-named club is stationed at this old, sketchy apartment building in downtown Incheon, bright, different-colored lights and muffled music making up for its ugly exterior.  Patrons, both young and old, gravitated towards it like moths drawn to a flame, filling the cold night with the dull buzz of senseless chatter.

It was the night of the seventh of October 2012, and it was Zhang Yixing’s birthday.

He previously had different plans—perhaps one that has something to do with the whipped cream and CDs stashed away behind his couch—but Wu Yifan had insisted he went out, for once.  It’ll be fun, he said.  Be there or be square, he said.

“Zitao will be there,” Yifan had bribed, looking like his offer was something Yixing can never refuse.  Yixing had scoffed at him; everyone knew that if anyone will have the most fun with the boy around, it would be King Wu Yifan himself.  But with a resigned huff and an exasperated roll of the eyes, Yixing had mumbled a barely audible “whatever”, earning a bear hug and a certainly un-manly squeal from his best friend.

And so, despite all the stench and sweat and hanging low in the air like some out-of-place birthday party banner, The Zealot was exactly where Zhang Yixing found himself thirty minutes later than their agreed time.  He squeezed through the tightly-packed throng of drunkenly gyrating bodies, earning a and a smooch or two from giddy strangers, and so by the time he’d stumbled his way to his peers, he was practically a crane who’d survived a thunderstorm.

At the same time he’d managed his escape, two other people stepped out from the alcohol-zombie horde, smirking at him like they owned the place.

“Oh, hey!  Happy birthday!”


-


“Can you imagine?  I’ve caught top-honor student Doh Kyungsoo sharing test answers with that Kim Jongin again.  The third time this week!  Unbelievable!”

“Ugh, tell me about it.  There’s definitely something going on with those two.  Still, better than reading those notes Mr. Byun passes in class.  I was better off not having a detailed description of how he apparently ‘plays’ a lot with Mr. Oh.”

“Yeesh.  No one can top that.”

“Right.”

“…”

“Is that… supposed to be a joke?”

Kim Minseok stifled a giggle, successfully shielding his arm when Kim Junmyeon aimed a stern slap his way.  The latter laughed along with him anyway, shaking his head as he cleared away the contents of his desk.  The rest of the department had gone home earlier, and so the two were left to close up the faculty room for the day.

Junmyeon sighed, plopping down on his office chair, and slumping his handsome face against the cool glass surface of his now emptied desk.  From this position, the daunting pile of test papers and textbooks blocked his view of Minseok, who then cartoonishly swung sideways so he could cast a worried glance at his best friend.

“Hey,” he began, peering behind the Great Wall of Paperwork. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon hummed in response, momentarily closing his eyes. “Just tired, is all.”

“You sure?  You look like you need a break.”

At that, the man’s eyes opened, and his torso shot up as if suddenly electrocuted.  He grabbed the other’s shoulders in one quick motion, earning a yelp from the startled baozi.

“Minseok,” he said carefully. “I’ve thought about it.  The thing.”

“The… ‘thing’?” Minseok stuttered, staring wide-eyed between the suddenly excited man and the vice-like grip on his small arms. “What’s–what’s ‘the thing’?”

“You know. The thing.” Junmyeon hinted. “I want to… I want to do it tonight.”

To supplement his words, Junmyeon let go of Minseok, who watched in utter confusion as his best friend slowly and sensually brushed a hand through his gelled hair, and ran a delicate finger around his pink lips.  He then proceeded to caress his hand down his chest, smoothing it all the way down his thighs, punctuating the small performance with a sultry wink.  Minseok would’ve suffered a nosebleed anime-style, but the other impatiently stomped his feet and added an aegyo flying kiss, and the whole ual charades suddenly made sense.

“Ohhh.  The—“ Minseok quickly imitated Junmyeon’s previous actions, somehow managing to make it look cuter and ier.  “—thing.”

The latter looked both impressed and terrified. “Uh… yeah.”

“Cool!  See you at The Zealot!”


-


“Minseok?  What are you doing here?”

Said man stepped out from the alcohol-zombie horde, smirking at him like he owned the place, a boy with handsome features trailing after him. “Because it’s your birthday, dummy.  Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Yixing laughed joyously, pulling him in for a bear hug. “Thanks man. I’ve missed you!”

“You ding-dong.  We see each other every day at work.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I always miss seeing your cute face.” Yixing squished his friend’s face with both hands, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing when he gets a closer look at his current subject of fascination.  Is he wearing… makeup?

A cough rang through the loud music, and the embracing pair look up to see the boy Minseok came with tapping his foot impatiently.  Minseok walked over, putting an arm around—no, draping himself all over—his companion.  He patted the boy’s chest, “this is my wife, Kim Jongdae.”

Jongdae rolled his eyes and pushed Minseok’s hand off, but secretly blushed under the brightly-colored lights.  He marched towards the birthday boy, holding out a hand.  “Happy birthday, Yixing,” he greeted, a little too stiffly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Instead of meeting the hand with a formal handshake, Yixing just laughed and gave him a high-five.


“Happy birthday, happy birthdaaay, happy birthday to you!”

Yixing tried to blow out the sparklers taped to the cocktail cake, but despite the many attempts and spittle, it still wouldn’t go out.  So, worried about the germs contaminating their shared drinks, his friends pulled him back and covered his mouth.  They each grabbed a glass from the pile, raising it in the air.

“To your twenty-first year,” Minseok announced. “May you live for longer.”

“Yeah!” His friends shouted.

“And may you finally get laid.”

His friends shouted louder, cheering and clinking their glasses with Yixing’s and Minseok’s.  The latter chuckled.  Yixing rolled his eyes, barely catching the cheeky wink his friend gave him.


-


Under the bright lights and pounding music, Kim Junmyeon was long gone.

In his place, wearing a tight-fitting red dress, a chocolate-brown wig, strappy heels, and nail polish, is Kim Junhee—a woman of exquisite beauty, oozing confidence, and one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine party points.  She barely batted an eye at the drunken peasants crowding in awe at her feet; just one wave of her hand and they go falling like flies around her.

But with the effects of alcohol just starting to kick in, and nerves nagging him like an agitated mother, it was Junmyeon who sat alone at the bar, eyes squinting at the annoying mixture of blinding color and deafening noise.  Hand gripping his glass of bourbon and coke like his life depended on it, he craned his neck as high as he could, eyes looking out for where his best friend could have gone.

After what felt like centuries, said man finally reappeared, pushing through the crowd with a dazed-looking Jongdae in tow.  Junmyeon’s eyebrows furrowed at the latter’s dishevelled state.

“What’s wrong with him?” He voiced out, “And what happened to your dress?”

“Oh, him?  He’s just having fun,” Minseok chuckled, waving one hand dismissively and making sure to hold tight onto Jongdae with the other. “I had to take it off; the material was chafing my skin.”

“Ah,” Junmyeon said, unconvinced.

“That’s ooone preeeeeeeetty lady,” Jongdae interrupted, pulling his hand away from Minseok’s until he’s let go of, and stumbling towards Junmyeon, “hellooooooo pretty lady.”

“Oh, um, h-hel—“

“—but you know what??“ He slurred, booping the cross-dressed man’s nose with an air of accusation. “Fu-uck you.  My Minseokie’s preeettier.”
“Okay…” Junmyeon wasn’t sure if he should be offended.  Minseok, on the other hand, looked nothing less than amused.

“God, I love this man,” he chuckled, patting Jongdae’s chest. “Say, Junhee?”

Junmyeon blushed, timidly looking up from the drink he’d been idly sloshing around. “Yeah?”

“Wanna dance?”


-


Unfortunately for Zhang Yixing, it seemed like his and his friends’ mutual birthday wishes for his long-awaited deization wou