Baekhyun doesn’t have time to calculate his words carefully. 

The boy’s hands are big and calloused, and they hold his acoustic guitar as if they are molded around it, as if the instrument is everything sacred and sweet to him. His lips look even more plump when they’re forming syllables, when his gravelly voice is drifting through the branches of the trees. Baekhyun wishes he was a bird perched on one of them, listening but never understanding, wholeheartedly entranced. He finds himself wishing for a lot.

A thrill tickles his spine and sends him flying forward toward the tall boy, truly bold for the first time. He’d seen the guitarist seated here before and he’d given a kind smile before continuing his trek to the subway station, determined to make it to class, determined to ignore the addictive sound of his voice. He’d seen the boy from his window, observed just how absorbed he is in his music, face stoic and voice lilting.

But today there is something in the air, something that crackles between them, something that fills Baekhyun with confidence. The musician is smiling from his seat on the bench, eyes bright and big with wonder. Despite his obvious reactions to Baekhyun’s advancement, his fingers don’t slow at all, a familiar ballad becoming the soundtrack to Baekhyun’s racing mind. 

“You’re really good at playing. And singing,” he wishes he sounded more articulate, less like his impulsive self who blurts out whatever comes to mind. “I used to want to pursue music, but I decided to focus on my major more. I’m glad you’re continuing for yourself.” 

 “Is that why you always smile at me while I play? That’s cute.” 

His speaking voice is low and sweet, layer upon layer of depth and warmth, similar to his singing yet clearly distinct. When he sings, this boy is a force of air, gusts of wind that pull Baekhyun from place to place, that tussle his hair and leave him dizzy. When he speaks, he is delicate, more ephemeral than fragile flower, softer than a drop of dew on morning grass.

Whether he is singing or speaking, all that comes to Baekhyun's mind is beautiful things. This boy speaks, and rivers flow. This boy sings, and flowers bloom.

Baekhyun wants to fall asleep listening to it, wants to taste the lips that produce it, wants to touch calloused fingers to his own. Maddening, sudden, overwhelming -- this boy is something dangerous, and Baekhyun likes it. He likes the way their eyes meet, new and familiar at the same time. And, even more so, he likes the way his heart slows to match the chords of his guitar. 

“You’re lucky I’m not a musician anymore,” Baekhyun feels himself heating up, a sudden urge to make this boy laugh overpowering him. He wants to see him smile; he wants to make him smile. “They wouldn’t want two y guys performing on the same block. It’d be too competitive. Overwhelming for the public, honestly.” 

And he does. He laughs so hard that he stops playing abruptly, the ballad ending with a squeal from his lips and a harsh slap on the bench, violent and overjoyed all at once.  Baekhyun’s heart stops when the music does. He is enchanted with the way charming this boy feels, riding on a wave of joy from simply getting his attention. 

“Well, this y musician is greatful. I’d get too distracted by your cheekbones and forget how to play, probably,” he winks, far too exaggerated, a silly gesture that leaves Baekhyun in shambles. He’s charming and lovely and Baekhyun’s stomach is doing somersaults. “I’m Chanyeol, by the way.” 

--

Baekhyun doesn't remember when stopping to talk to Chanyeol became part of his daily routine, but he does remember the first time he'd had to lean against the subway station’s cold tile for an extra minute after, composing himself from the puddle of red cheeks he'd become. 

His own cold, shaky fingertips pinched his cheeks back to life, a frigid reminder to keep it together in public. His mind couldn't stop replaying Chanyeol's eyes dragging down his frame and settling with a confident air on his legs, gaze restrained and hungry.

It was the second or third month after they’d met -- a day when Baekhyun got too bold, where Chanyeol reciprocated it tenfold. A day when Baekhyun had wanted nothing more than to feel those hands touch his, to share smiles that mean more than just playful flirting. 

It was always simple jokes and lingering looks before, but this time it felt serious -- felt as though he might actually melt and be absorbed into the pavement.  

Chanyeol, a casual musician and self-proclaimed lover of fresh air, had taken to situating himself on a bench midway between the subway station and the park for the last four months.

Each afternoon, Baekhyun is greeted by big hands, big ears, and a smile that dazzles. It feels like a routine to see him sprawled out on the bench, slim fingers plucking guitar strings and voice humming softly to whatever comes to mind. Sharing pleasantries and beaming smiles is becoming a routine, too -- though Baekhyun fears to analyze the exact reason why just yet.

Chanyeol's sudden appearance and chatty nature wouldn’t have been an issue, really, if his choice of seating wasn't the same bench that acts as Baekhyun’s living-room window view. (Or if Baekhyun had more self control than to develop a big, fat crush on him.)

Chanyeol's melodic voice and soft strumming are mesmerizing enough, but of course he's funny and friendly and perfect to boot. And, of course, he seems to think Baekhyun is interesting enough to tease and flirt with. 

It's not good for the shorter's heart, honestly. 

Even with Chanyeol's unwavering eyes and coquettish words, Baekhyun isn't quite ready to address the way the musician makes him panic and fluster, the way he looks out his window in hopes of memorizing the taller's features from his third-story apartment. 

Today, Baekhyun has no excuse to send himself out into the chilly air to catch a glimpse of Chanyeol’s talent and beauty. Completely caught up on both groceries, necesseties, and class, Baekhyun resolves to stay inside the entire day, to preserve his self pride and avoid seeing the boy for one afternoon. He sits on his couch, wrapped in his softest blanket, and waits for Yixing to show up with their lunch, only slightly peeved at how good Chanyeol had looked last time he’d peeked out the window. 

It takes only ten minutes worth of variety shows before there’s a knock at his door, the pattern that raps against the wood familiar and childlike. He smiles at the thought of his best friend, of having someone else to talk to -- namely, someone to help distract him from the way his eyes trail toward the window subconsciously, a tiny part of him absorbed in whatever Chanyeol might be doing. This is bad, he thinks. 

“It’s open, Xing.” 

And then the door really is open. Yixing is marching his way in confidently, cheeks dimpled and dyed pink from the wind. The taller boy does a half-hearted wave with his free hand, raising the other to excitedly shake the paper bag full of take out. It smells like grease. Baekhyun’s stomach rumbles. 

“I brought enough food for six people!” 

Baekhyun refocuses on the TV in front of him, fully accustomed to Yixing shuffling around in his kitchen unsupervised.

“Good thing I didn’t have breakfast. I’m hungry enough to actually finish it all.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good thing, actually,” Baekhyun frowns, using the pout that he knows Yixing always softens for, lighting up when Yixing really does melt. “It’s not healthy to go to work and school without proper nutrition. When you wake up, you should at least have some --”

“I know, mom, I know. I should have some water and fruit and maybe some toast. I’ll do better, okay? You don’t have to nag me because you took a health class last semester.” 

The platter of junk food is shoved in front of him, a pile of glorious, glorious calories on the coffee table. Yixing plops down next to him with a sigh and stretches, eyes searching Baekhyun’s in greeting, in amused curiosity. 

“Eat up, nutritionist Byun.” 

“I don’t think nutritionist Byun would eat this many onion rings, actually. But you can call his receptionist and verify that if you want.” 

Yixing laughs his tiny laugh, sweet and giggly, and snags a handful of fries. Sitting next to him on this couch feels like normal, like home -- his best friend has always kept him afloat, had supported him with junk food and movie nights when he needed them most. Sometimes that came when he was considering changing his major, panicked and crying because he doesn’t want to be an accountant, not really. And sometimes it’s simply a Saturday night and they’re both free, eyes droopy and company oh-so-familiar. Baekhyun decides that, in almost every situation, annoying Yixing is the best option he has. 

“Thanks for coming over,” his hands are quicker than his mind, offering Yixing’s favorite dipping sauce to him without needing to think. He can only be thankful for a moment before Baekhyun is poking oily fingertips into his dimple, triumphant. “I missed you. You went and got a job and left me all alone.”

“Ew!” he’s squirming away, annoyed, and Baekhyun takes this as his cue to laugh, completely content for a moment. “You’ll clog my pores. That’s pure evil, Baek.” 

Baekhyun doesn’t respond, heart at ease from the taller’s presence and the food in front of him. Instead, he focuses on the show blaring from the TV, the subpar nutritional value of this meal, the way the left side of the couch has a Yixing-sized dent in it from years of nights like this. 

Normal -- things are normal, and he’s not even thinking about the taller boy outside and just how cute he’d look sat next to him on this couch, too. He banishes the thought, knowing that he’s being ridiculous for thinking that this mindless flirting could mean anything more than playful glances and shimmering smiles. He takes another bite and wills his mind to stop. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Yixing swallows his food loudly, a sip of water following immediately afterward. Baekhyun waits, relishing in the distraction, grateful that Yixing is as gross as always. “I saw your little boyfriend on the way over. He’s nice for a weirdo who sits on benches and serenades people, I guess.” 

Baekhyun says nothing and focuses on chewing, a foreign kind of protectiveness washing over him. Then he’s meeting Yixing’s eyes again, overcome with the realization that the taller is waiting for some sort of explanation, any sort of reasoning for their odd relationship. 

“First of all, he’s not a weirdo who serenades people. He’s only a year younger than us and he loves playing the guitar. He works night shifts at the market downtown, so he can only practice music during the day -- and he likes being outside. He combined his hobbies. He’s busy, that’s all.” 

“Baekhyun, you sound awfully creepy right now." 

Baekhyun sputters and whacks Yixing’s arm with all the strength he can, feeling himself go red. He’s confident, god damn it. He’s loud and outgoing and bubbly, not a blushing mess at the mention of him taking special interest in some boy. Baekhyun doesn’t do that -- he refuses.

“Oh, stop. He told me that! Once he asked where I always go, and I said university, and he told me he was taking a year off to work and save money and --” Yixing’s eyes are amused, almost smug, and Baekhyun rolls his in return. “You know what? You can go ask him yourself. We’re friends. I see him daily -- more than you, even! He’s not a weirdo, and that’s all you need to know.” 

Yixing’s giggling when he takes his next bite, and Baekhyun wants to rub his oily fingers over every square inch of his face if it makes that smirk fall, if it makes the boiling embarrassment in his veins cool. He can’t be flustered, not when Chanyeol is only a flirty acquaintance he sees daily -- not when Yixing will endlessly for it. 

“Say what you want, but I’ve known you my entire life,” Yixing stands to refill his cup, jumping away as Baekhyun’s hand reaches out to swat at him again, dodging it gracefully. He smiles. “And you have a type. Chanyeol is the epitome of your type. You can flirt with him and ogle all you want; I don’t judge.”

Baekhyun covers his face with hands, groaning loudly and ignoring just how clogged his own pores are going to be. 

--

The wind is only slightly frigid today. It’s more humid than anything, each step akin to wading into chilly water, and Baekhyun takes a sticky breath in. Maybe his lungs will like this, will flourish like flowers in a spring rain -- or maybe he will just want to go back inside. 

He squints against the drizzling rain, lithe body fighting against the wind, and almost jumps into the air when his eyes land on a familiar face. Chanyeol. 

“Why are you outside?” Baekhyun asks, dumbfounded and not even trying to hide it. He can’t think of something witty or cute to say, something that will make Chanyeol laugh and crinkle his eyes and outshine the sun. Nothing amusing comes to mind when he looks at the pitiful boy on the bench in front of him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chanyeol smiles, dark eyes even more entrancing when they’re contrasted with his deep red hoodie. Baekhyun notices that his guitar is still in its case, seemingly untouched and protected from the elements. “If I wasn’t here, I’d miss a glimpse of you. That’d be tragic.” 

Oh. There goes the flirting again. Back to their routine, back to Baekhyun brushing each word off before it can sink into his chest too deeply, back to watching the taller’s face transform with each syllable he lets drip from sweet lips.

“You’re just going to wait outside until it gets sunny?” Baekhyun frowns, hoping that his concern isn’t too palpable, hoping that Chanyeol doesn’t notice the way he searches for the right words, so unlike himself. “That’s not a very good plan. You’ll look like a little puppy out in the rain until then.” 

Chanyeol smiles, and his upper lip spreads thin across the line of his mouth, revealing his teeth and the sparkle hiding in his eyes. It’s obvious he likes their conversation today, even if he’s stuck sitting in the rain, even if Baekhyun is hesitating before each word he speaks. 

“If I’m a puppy out in the rain, won’t someone take me home with them, then? It sounds like a good idea to me.” 

Baekhyun hates the way his lips move when he says that, hates the way he wants to press his against them. He longs to move closer, to push their foggy breaths together until there is nothing but them on this bench, until the world is spinning around them, a clash of drizzling rain and warm cheeks. 

“Too bad there’s a no pet policy in my apartment,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. Chanyeol’s eyes follow every movement, and he feels heat pooling in his toes and crawling its way up to his neck. “Well, good luck. Hope it clears up for you!”

“Go get smarter,” he nods toward Baekhyun’s backpack, smile knowing and as sweet as honey. “Also, I like the raincoat. Very bright, very sunshiney -- very yellow. If I’m a puppy, you’re a duckling.”

Baekhyun knows he’s teasing, is positive that Chanyeol lives to antagonize him for his colorful clothes, for the yellow raincoat he’s wearing. It’s cute, Baekhyun reminds himself, pout displayed for Chanyeol to see. 

The taller only smiles gratefully for it, cheeks full and slightly damp from the rain. Baekhyun should probably go (if he wants to keep any ounce of his dignity.) 

“You laugh all you want. The raincoat is adorable! It’s a classic look. You’re just mad because you’ll never see what’s under it.” 

He walks away, proud of himself despite the immediate blush he feels creeping to his ears, the mortification when he realizes that people walking by probably heard him say that. Sure, he's flirty and annoying when Chanyeol is around, but he never acts like that, so bold and overtly ual. The humid air must’ve clogged more than just a lung -- maybe it got part of his brain. 

But the satisfaction of leaving Chanyeol to digest his statement in the waning rain, waiting for the clouds to part and for his music to flow once again, overpowers any embarrassment. For once, he cherishes the outcome more than he regrets his compulsiveness. 

-- 

That afternoon the sky clears, and Baekhyun feels the new sunshine burning in his very core. When he exits the subway station and begins to head toward his apartment, he’s only vaguely surprised when Chanyeol’s guitar stops and switches to a new song, this time a soft ballad. 

Days like this may be his favorite. On days like today, Chanyeol customizes his song to match him as he arrives, eyes b with playfulness and lips murmuring lyrics that shake the shorter to his core.

Today, it’s Coldplay, and Baekhyun belatedly realizes he’s still wearing his yellow raincoat, even after the clouds have parted, after the wind and the birds have resumed their duet. He’s given the guitarist a perfect opportunity to serenade him, unfortunately; Chanyeol is ecstatic, buzzing with energy as he clears his voice to sing. 

“I came along, I wrote a song for you, and all the things you do,” Chanyeol croons, and Baekhyun feels himself losing all control of his facial expressions. God, he’s cute, and Baekhyun is weak. He is far too fragile for this. “And it was called yellow.”

He shakes his head, preserving his last shred of sanity, and sticks his tongue out at the musician. It’s as defiant as he trusts himself to be right now.

“Ha ha. Cute,” Baekhyun is well-aware that he looks pained, annoyed even -- but he can’t help it, not when Chanyeol’s singing such a lovely song to him, when he’s tired from class and all he wants to do is collapse and let himself dream about this flirting meaning something more. His daydreams are nothing more than just fantasies, but he will take it. Fool’s gold, he supposes. 

“I know I’m cute. Give me something new, duckling.” 

“Did you just write that? You make that up on the spot? You’re such a prodigy,” the sarcasm is bitter on the shorter’s tongue, but Chanyeol isn’t affected, smile toothy and joyous, overwhelmingly happy. 

Baekhyun almost feels bad for teasing him so much -- maybe he should stop with this useless game. He’s a young, sweet musician who just wants to practice in the light of the sun; he never asked for Baekhyun’s comments and ogling eyes. At least, not explicitly. 

“Of course. I sold it to this underground group called Coldplay. You probably haven’t heard of them, though. Keep an eye out, I have a feeling they’ll hit it big.” 

He laughs at himself as he says it and, really, that should be cause for Baekhyun to roll his eyes, but instead he feels light as a feather, swept up in the way Chanyeol jokes and teases and plays with every aspect of his life. He is so carefree, so sweet, and Baekhyun likes it.

Chanyeol is talented and goofy, but he is so much more than just that -- there is a piece of Chanyeol under his facade, a piece that shimmers from praise and conversation, a piece that Baekhyun strives to satisfy with smiles and laughs. 

“I have a sneaking suspicion this band will do a better job singing it than you do. You can quote me on that.”

He shrugs off the raincoat haphazardly, ignoring the way Chanyeol whistles at the sight, stopping his playing to fan himself dramatically. He’s acting as though he’s hot and bothered from the tiniest movement of a raincoat and, honestly, Baekhyun wants to cry at the thought of Chanyeol actually being affected by him in any way.

What a jerk -- what an adorable jerk that Baekhyun would like to kiss and cuddle, given the chance. 

“You’re so dumb,” there’s no venom in the words, just fondness, and Baekhyun’s smile meets Chanyeol’s in the middle, two stars colliding in broad daylight. “Grow up, you weird little twelve year old.” 

Chanyeol only nods, seemingly admitting defeat for the day, and Baekhyun gives him a tiny smile as he shuffles away from the bench. Another day, another song, another moment where he forces down every rash thought whispering for him to linger and truly discover Chanyeol, to make it clear that he wants something more than just this. 

But he doesn’t -- the disconnect between his logical thoughts and his mouth has gotten him into heartbreak before. And there is no point in ruining a daily interaction, a fun distraction, for the sake of his heart and its tendency to fall too quickly for anyone who spares him a smile. 

(He learned he was not always right junior year of high school when he insisted that, yes, he truly was in love with Yixing. His mind confused the lines between platonic and romantic quite often and, after the first awkward, unsettling kiss with his best friend, he’d decided to let others come to him first from now on.)

He’s five feet away when he hears Chanyeol’s guitar start up again, this time a fast-paced song, and, like always, the taller is clearing his throat in preparation to sing. He doesn’t expect the newly-warmed-up voice to be yelling at him, though. 

“See you soon! Oh, and Baekhyun,” a pause. The smaller debates whether turning around was the right choice, the sudden leap in his pulse sending him into overdrive, hopes high and head spinning. “You took off your raincoat. I got to see what was under it, after all. Call me if you get sick of wearing anything else.” 

And Baekhyun is flipping him off, walking away as hurriedly as possible, flustered in ways he wishes he’d never felt before, wishes he’ll never feel again. His mind is thrumming to the rhythm of his own heartbeat, to the gentle chords Chanyeol had played for him only minutes ago -- deceptive yet enchanting all the same. 

--

Chanyeol never shows up on Thursdays or Saturdays. Baekhyun doesn’t ask why, but he assumes it’s for either work or personal reasons -- both things he doesn’t really have any stake in, things that no random stranger on the street truly needs to be aware of. 

But that doesn’t stop him from worrying that Chanyeol is working too hard on the weekend. It doesn’t keep him from being extra kind on Fridays just in case Chanyeol is tired, just in case there is no energy left for him to joke and flirt. Friday is the day that they act like real friends, and it is Baekhyun’s favorite. 

He’d gotten up early in the morning to go shopping with Yixing (making sure he was getting enough fruits and veggies for the next week, just to satisfy the worried mother inside of Baekhyun, to satiate the part of him who cares too hard and knows that the taller doesn’t know his own limits and needs.) 

And in that rosy, early-morning light, there was no Chanyeol. Much to his dismay, there was no sign of the taller boy when he was getting ready, not even when he’d waited on that very bench for Yixing’s departure text. 

Baekhyun knows it’s foolish to expect the guitarist to go out of his way to sit on this bench and sing every day, to light up the view from Baekhyun’s living room, to make him smile and blush and wish there was some way of knowing whether he was imagining it all.

He knows he is foolish, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Now, in this crowded subway car, Baekhyun feels a little sweaty and overwhelmed, leaning on Yixing’s shoulder and trying to calm the nausea that comes with trips across the city like this one. 

“We bought one of everything in the produce section. I think I’ll survive until next week,” Yixing elbows him in the side, an extra irritation to his already uncomfortable situation. “You know, you barely buy yourself fruits and vegetables. Hypocrisy?” 

“All you do is train and dance and teach,” Baekhyun scrunches his nose and buries his head further into Yixing’s shoulder, going for his neck and staying there. This is comfortable. This is the least likely place for him to puke. “I go to school and work at the bookstore on campus. It’s nothing compared to you. You actually use your body, Xing. You need to eat well.” 

“I’ll tell Junmyeon that you’re not eating well either, and then we’ll both die.” 

Baekhyun groans against his neck, delighting in the way Yixing shifts uncomfortably, annoyed at his clinginess and proximity. Baekhyun thrives from being clingy, even as he feels a new wave of discomfort wash over him.

“Not Junmyeon,” he yawns a little, feeling gross and fatigued in a new way that he can only attribute to Chanyeol withdrawals. “He already wants to kick my all the time. Don’t give him a reason.” 

Yixing shakes his head, and Baekhyun feels it against his. He focuses on the shoes of everyone standing around them, on the thought of the taller waiting for him on his bench, eager eyes ready to detect what song he’ll sing for Baekhyun today. It gives him butterflies -- the good kind, not the nauseous kind -- and he smiles to himself from the crook of Yixing’s neck. 

When they finally emerge from the station, both their hands loaded down with bags full of fruit and vegetables, Baekhyun’s heart soars. He’s there -- just like he’d hoped, like he’d wished for, and he can’t help but smile.

Today is the day they’re sweet to each other, the day that he watches Chanyeol’s eyes crinkle and observe him gently, not joking and sultry like they usually are. Friday is the day that Baekhyun dreams of, and he raises a weighed-down hand to wave it wildly, so overjoyed he could break into tears and take a nap in the park right now. 

“Chanyeol!” he’s acting like a fool, and there are countless joggers and early-morning walk enthusiasts giving him a wary eye, but it’s completely fine. 

Chanyeol is waving back, his laugh faint compared to the lingering song he's finished playing. His large hand moves to the base of the guitar, fingers trapping the chords into silence. The shortest boy gulps, pleased, and ignores the way Yixing is staring at him incredulously.  

“Oh, I know what song you need today,” Chanyeol’s glowing in this sunlight, and Baekhyun feels his eyes travel to the bags of fruit in his hands.  

Chanyeol’s fingers spring into action, flurried and practiced. It’s a familiar tune, upbeat and fun, one that Baekhyun thinks he knows by heart. Another second of the beat, and he’s positive it’s Red Velvet. There is no way for him to stand still, not now, not when Chanyeol is playing this song for him.

Not when only weeks ago he'd divulged to the taller just how much he loves the group, how Yixing helps him to learn dances, how he makes a fool out of himself anytime their music is played. 

This is purposeful, but Baekhyun hasn't backed down from any of their little games before, and he won't start now. Setting down his bags of fruit to move forward toward Chanyeol and kneeling on the ground in the beginning pose, he feels himself laughing, giddy. 

“Baekhyun, please,” Yixing’s voice is high-pitched and on the brink of howling. “We’re in a public park!” 

But Baekhyun’s body has a mind of its own, arms moving at full speed to launch into the dance, as vibrant and excited as his idols themselves. 

“Red red red flavor, I'm curious honey,” Chanyeol’s voice is low and full of something that makes Baekhyun’s insides melt, even as he lands each dance move, even as their eyes connect in a mixture of laughter and happiness. “The strawberry flavor that melts more as you bite, look for it at your corner candy shop, baby.” 

It feels surreal to be dancing to this song, to be staring straight into his eyes and giggling as the sun settles over them, but it’s happening, and Baekhyun doesn’t want to think of anything besides the possibility that Chanyeol eyes are conveying something deeper than joking flirtation, than months of laughing off attraction and ignoring advances.

His feet shuffle, just like he'd memorized, and he sends a wink to Chanyeol as he does it, confident and overjoyed. His incurable confidence and Chanyeol's encouraging voice are a bad combination, but he'll have time to regret this later -- it's fine. 

“My favorite is the summer flavor!” Baekhyun screams it out, voice loud and broken against the serene morning air.

He can’t help it -- Chanyeol is looking at him like he hung the stars, singing in a way that holds so much more than just these lyrics. They make it to the chorus before Baekhyun is too worn out to dance much more, voice cracking each time he and Chanyeol meet in a verse. 

He hadn’t pursued music in college, hadn’t furthered any of his hopes, but singing with Chanyeol in the park, eyes melting against the faint golden light of a sunrise, is a good place to start. Music is beautiful, and so is Chanyeol. Baekhyun wants to relearn them both, wants to capture Chanyeol’s kiss and his melody all in one fell swoop.

It’s only when he’s coming down from the adrenaline rush of their duet, from the happiness of dancing and singing and meeting Chanyeol’s eyes with nothing but pure hope, does he realize there’s a crowd gathered around them, all murmuring and giggling at the spectacle they’d put on.  

Chanyeol seems to understand the situation, bowing out before anyone can come much closer or try to question what had just happened. Neither has an answer -- just an electric connection, something inside each had snapped, a moment where it was made clear that something had been simmering under the surface, ready to boil at any minute. 

It was dumb and goofy and probably horribly off-key, but Baekhyun can feel the happiness dripping into every cell of his body, can feel the hope that burst with the first smile Chanyeol had given him. 

“I can help Baekhyun take his groceries, if you want,” Chanyeol sounds a little desperate, too terribly embarrassed to stay on his bench with the crowd, and Yixing’s kind heart seems to spare pity for him. 

“If he’s okay with it,” Yixing’s eyes bore into the smaller, and Baekhyun’s nodding, thoughts overflowing inside, turbulent enough that he can’t concentrate on the question he’s being asked. “Okay, okay. Call me later, Baek?” 

“Of course,” Baekhyun’s nodding, dazed. Each moment is a flurry of Chanyeol and music and the sunrise. He's never wanted to kiss him more than right now. Baekhyun wants to part his lips and draw out each note, wants to trace down his arm and feel the way Chanyeol moves under him. 

They weave through the crowd, and Baekhyun suddenly realizes he’s following the taller into the apartment complex. His apartment complex.

“You have a pretty voice,” Chanyeol notes, smile as bright as ever, deep voice reverberating against the plain gray walls of the lobby. Baekhyun’s stomach clenches. "I wish you'd have kept working toward a career in music."

For the first time, Baekhyun is looking up at him, really looking, and he thinks that the fiery red hue of the taller’s ears is overwhelmingly adorable. A lot about Chanyeol is adorable, even the nervous way his eyes flit between Baekhyun’s gaze and lips, the way he’s so close and so far, teasing like every word he’s ever spoken. For once, Baekhyun has no doubt that he is being sincere. 

“Oh, thank you,” they’re in an elevator, silent and wonderstruck, eyeing each other with a newfound wariness that leaves Baekhyun shivering. “Third floor.” 

The elevator opens. Baekhyun’s door opens. Baekhyun’s door closes.

The bags are on the floor, and suddenly his face is held in Chanyeol’s hands, just as calloused and rough and warm as he’d imagined, just as searing and overpowering as he’d hoped. The taller pulls back, searching his eyes for any hint of resistance or fear, for any sign of regret. Baekhyun smiles, chest feeling so tight he fears he’ll pass out if he doesn’t fill it with Chanyeol’s air again, if he is not encompassed in the taller’s hands once again, firm and steady. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you,” Chanyeol confesses, lips soft against Baekhyun’s, body warm compared to the door he is pressed up against. “You kept saying stuff to me and I couldn’t tell if you were just flirting or joking or --” 

Baekhyun can only move his lips in response, effectively cutting the younger off, a desperate sound slipping out when Chanyeol’s hands move from his cheeks to rest on his nape. 

“I thought the same thing,” they pull apart, lips red and breaths erratic, a sight that leaves them scrambling closer together again. “I guess we’re both stupid.” 

-- 

Baekhyun wakes up to tangled arms and messy hair and gross morning breath. He wakes up with a tall boy next to him, soft cheeks and stubbly chin against his back, weathered hands thrown across him. He wakes up with a guitar case placed in the corner of his room, leaving him feeling complete and treasured, leaving him smiling into his sheets.  

The peace is interrupted when he checks his phone, four messages from Junmyeon waiting for him. With bleary eyes he opens them, mouth falling open in shock at a video of his and Chanyeol’s duet yesterday, at the messages his friend sends along with it. 

eat your vegetables (;¬_¬)

this came up on my insta explore page?

that song is good as

also.... isn’t this you? lol 

--

once again, happy birthday!

i hope this attempt at fluff and comedy was ? good?

( i really liked the idea of a flirty relationship where baekhyun teases him but wants more, where chanyeol is egging him on but avoiding comitting, where they end up realizing that they make each other laugh and that they should just give it a shot after all)

ANYWAYS feedback is always appreciated guys! if you'd like more of this au, i'd be happy to write more for you (as always)!!! I hope you liked it!!! thanks for reading bye bye ❣️

ao3: baekyall
twitter: baekyalls
other: curiouscat.me/baekyall