“Who took a in your Cheerios this morning?”

Oftentimes, Lu Han believes he has a spectacular group of friends. They’re fun and entertaining to be around, and he never feels awkward with them. For the most part. Unless he’s alone with Sehun and Baekhyun and then he feels like he’s intruding on the set of a cheap adult film. There is nothing more uncomfortable than that. Not even that one time last year when Lay dared him to run around his neighborhood .

But there are also moments, like now, where he thinks they’re good-for-nothing, insensitive jerks. What if his puppy was run over by a truck this morning? (Not that he has a puppy but still…) Asking who defecated in his breakfast cereal would be totally inappropriate. He didn’t even eat cereal this morning. He doesn't even buy American branded food products.

Slumped over, Lu Han doesn’t lift his face off the table. He does, however, raise his hand to give his ert best friend the finger. All three of them snicker overhead but this isn’t comical to Lu Han. He’s in the middle of an almost quarter-life crisis and his friends are mocking him. Maybe he should find new friends. That Jinki kid in his vocal lesson seems to be an okay guy, maybe Lu Han’ll go hang out with him from now on.

Dropping his hand, he groans at the sting that shoots from his fingertips up through his elbow.

“I’m an idiot,” he mumbles into the table surface.

One of those s he calls his friend claps. He’s too distressed to figure out which one it is.

“That’s great, Lu. The first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

That, is Sehun.

“But I don’t think there is a cure for idiocy.”

And that, is Baekhyun.

He makes a mental note to put them both on his black list.

“Be nice, you two,” Lay pipes up.

Caught by surprise, Lu Han flinches when hands massage at the base of his neck. Any other time he would turn to smile at Lay for being the good person but he refuses to peel his cheek off the unsanitary surface. Maybe if his face stays on it long enough, he’ll start to dissolve into it and then he’ll be a part of the table and he won’t have to deal with life.

“It’s not our fault Lu Han wants to mope and not tell us why. What do you want me to do? I can throw the brat a lollipop and tell him to it up and get over what’s making him upset.”

Flipping Sehun off again, the singer sighs. “I think I like someone, you guys.”

There is a sudden clang and, letting curiosity get the better of him, Lu Han looks up to see an upturned food tray, Sehun crossing his arms, and Baekhyun staring at the youngest dancer like he’s lost his mind.

“This is exactly why I offer him no sympathy.”

Baekhyun slaps the back of his head. “That’s no reason to flip over my tray.”

Sehun rolls his eyes. “There wasn’t anything on it, Apples. Control yourself.”

Lu Han wonders if this is going to be a regular thing for them, righting the tray as Baekhyun pushes away his salad and leans in close to Sehun’s face.

“I bet you would know all about control, hm?”

“Okay,” Lu Han cuts off Sehun before he has a chance to reply. “Topic change before you two start ripping each other’s clothes off in public.”

“Is it that really short SIPA boy you like?”

Just now realizing the hands on his shoulders are gone, he finds Lay sitting on the table next to his untouched bottle of water.

“Why can’t any of you remember his name? It’s —”

Filing through memories from a few days back, Lu Han suddenly turns to Lay, eyes narrowed so thin he can see the reflection of light against his eyelashes.

“We need to talk,” he says, Chinese slipping off his tongue faster than he remembers Korean.

Lay drops his head and slips off the table, motioning for the two of them to continue this conversation elsewhere. At least he’s being serious this time.

After adopting Sehun into their original duo, they decided to refrain from using their native tongue, the both of them too lazy to bother with translating when they could function fine in Korean. Since then, Chinese become the language to signify when gets real and one of them is either depressed or pissed beyond belief.

“Care to explain to me what happened on Friday? Because I remember asking you to look out for him in case he arrived early, not to upset him. I would have expected that of Sehun but not you, Yixing," Lu Han interrogrates as soon as they're out in the near empty hallway.

“My intent for speaking with him was not to put him on edge. Especially not when I knew I would have upset you as well.”

Lu Han easily picks up on the lie, momentary austerity canceling out his characteristic obliviousness. Lay's always been a decent liar as he's come to learn over the years.

“At least try to fib better next time, Yixing.” His smirk only lasts for a second before his lips thin once more. “Why don’t you approve of our friendship?”

“It’s not that I don’t approve, Lu Han. I —”

“Don’t approve.”

“Something about him is strange. Think about it, Han. He gives you coffee one day, you see him in random places around the city, and then suddenly he’s like some major part of your life. Neither of you really know anything about each other, from what you tell me about him, and now you’re saying you like him.”

Lu Han stares at the other blankly, both understanding his concern and finding it to be the funniest thing he’s heard come from Yixing’s mouth.

“And where was all of this skepticism months ago? When all of you were making fun of me about having a crush on him?”

“It was a joke,” the dancer says. “At least for me it was. I didn’t think you would actually develop feelings for the guy.”

“But since I have, you should show some respect. You’re a very good friend of mine, Yixing, but it isn’t your place to lecture me about my decisions."

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes it out, dismissing the five minute alarm. “I have to go to class before I’m late. We’re not having this conversation again, Yixing.”

He’s in the middle of shoving his key into the knob but the door is pulled open before he pushes it in completely. The initial wave of terror that courses through him stuns him, leaves him paralyzed and short of breath. Kris stares down at him, face twisted into something caught between amusement and worry.

“Back from Tao’s place already?” Kris asks, widening the angle of the door to let Xiumin scamper in.

Nodding his head, the small Korean slips off his shoes before worming around Kris’ grand stature to walk to their bedroom. He awoke just an hour ago — wrapped in Tao’s blankets and much too close to a snoring, hungover Kai, with no recollection of how he ended up there (and confused as to why Tao didn’t make either him or Jongin sleep on the couch) — but now he’s all too ready to go back to sleep. His head is pounding, but this isn’t a headache he can relieve by swallowing an over-the-counter pain killer.

“I didn’t expect you to be home so early.”

On a wavering exhale, Xiumin peeks at Kris leaning against the door frame with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

“What are you doing after your classes end tomorrow?”

He shrugs.

“We should go out, do something,” Kris suggests.

Xiumin’s breath catches and he waits for his other half to make a snide comment, insist he decline, but it never comes. He nods his head. Peeling back the light ash grey fleece blanket they use in the spring and autumn when the weather temperature is unpredictable, he climbs in and arranges two pillows behind him.

“A movie?”

He hums in acknowledgment, settling and making himself comfortable in bed.

“Can I lay with you?”

Kris pads further into the room and slips into the other side of the bed without Xiumin’s consent. The latter shifts toward the edge of the bed when his boyfriend joins him on top of the sheets, rolling over to his side.

Despite his prominent memory gap over the last few days, he’s reminded of a similar situation when Kris wraps his arm around his waist, dragging him back from the edge of the bed and to the latter's front. He vaguely remembers a light fragrance of vanilla and incomprehensible Chinese spoken against the back of his neck in a voice much sweeter than Kris’, but when he tries to place the memory, the area behind his eye pulses and he gives up. He shouldn’t be as invested in Minseok’s life as he tries to be. He trusts the other with their body. (Kind of. Not really).

“I’m sorry. I got carried away. You left and didn’t tell me where you were going and —”

“Kris.”

“Or should I say Minseok left?”

“Yifan. I don’t often interrupt or backtalk you, but I would appreciate it if you stopped talking. Please.”

“Am I bothering you? Do you want me to leave?”

Kris caresses his side, icy fingers crawling underneath the black shirt Xiumin borrowed from Tao because apparently Chanyeol accidentally left his clothes in the hospital — though he doesn’t know why Chanyeol would have his clothes in the first place. He shakes his head and removes the oversized giant’s hand from his skin, twining their fingers together.

“No, no, I want you to stay,” he assures.

“You’re not going to leave me right?” Kris asks after the pass of a couple minutes.

Xiumin doesn’t bother to answer, feigning sleep. It’s a prized skill of his, the ability to slow his breathing to a calm, comfortable pace and render his body limp enough to fake slumbering.

Kris nudges him twice before giving up with a sigh.

Walking into the doors of his apartment building, he’s caught off guard when a hand clasps around his wrist.

In his mind, surprises are the most logical reason for committing a murder so when Baekhyun turns on his heel and his palm connects with flesh, he is less than apologetic.

His assailant (or is he the assailant?) staggers back from the hit but otherwise displays no indication of being slapping across the face. In fact, the other laughs.

“You would be the type to slap.”

“What do you want, Kyungsoo?”

The handsome yet aggravating Kyungsoo breaks out into a wide grin. Baekhyun glares. Stupid Kangaroo.

“I saw you walk in and I wanted to say ‘hi’. Is that a problem?” Kyungsoo mock-pouts. “As a former classmate, you’re awfully mean to me.”

Later Baekhyun will probably scold himself for zoning in on this one irrelevant thing but he responds with, “We were never classmates.”

Kyungsoo follows him into the elevator and, pushing the button for the fifth floor, Baekhyun pretends to be busy with his cell phone, scrolling through many unread texts from Sehun.

His attempts at ignoring the other are for naught when the light in the elevator flickers, the box shuttering to a stop. He looks at the floor numbers above the heavy doors. The fourth floor. As always.

“Why didn’t I take the stairs?” Baekhyun sighs, taking a seat in his corner. It’ll take a while for someone to come to get the elevator up and running again.

“On the bright side, we get to spend more time together,” Kyungsoo offers, sitting down himself.

Face twisted in disgust, the artist faces the other man. “How is spending more time together a good thing?”

Kyungsoo’s lip twitch and his eyes glint with mirth. “I get to see your pretty face —”

“Please refrain from using the word pretty to describe anything about me.”

“ — and you get to bask in my amazing presence.”

Baekhyun considers risking his manicure and prying open the doors with his bare hands. That’s the only way out of this.

Massaging his temple, he curses his life, muttering, “Why is it that every semi-handsome guy I run into is completely full of himself? Maybe I should give up and submit myself to the church. A life of purity in exchange for not having to deal with pompous s.”

“Pompwhat? Why are you talking about Pompeii?”

Switch s with idiots, Baekhyun thinks to himself. “Nevermind, Kyungsoo, nevermind,” he says.

The quiet that follows is free of the awkward aura that lingered before and they sit in comfortable silence until Kyungsoo breaks it with a sudden clearing of his throat.

“Why did you leave the Institute?” he asks, scooting closer.

Baekhyun shrugs. “I didn’t like it. I mean, I like singing but it’s more a hobby. It doesn’t give me fulfillment like sculpting, or even drawing, does. And since the Institute is only for performance arts, I transfered.”

“I was sort of upset to hear that you left a year and a half ago,” Kyungsoo admits, leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “I never got to hear your voice in person. Do you know what I wanted to do most back then?”

“Considering I didn’t know you, no.”

A light smile cracks on Kyungsoo face. “I wanted to have a competition. Or a duet, I guess. To see how our tones would mesh.”

There’s another stretch of silence before Baekhyun whispers, “I haven’t sung seriously since then. My vibrato’s probably .” He chuckles. For a second he wonders what his life would be like if he didn’t leave, if he spent hours in a vocal studio instead of an artistic one.

(There would be no traumatic experiences of his artwork breaking, that’s for sure).

“If the rumors from back then were true, it can’t be any worse than your falsetto.”

Baekhyun laughs then, heartily and until his cheeks sting. “Yeah,” he breathes after he’s calmed. “That was never my strong point.”

Kyungsoo looks at the ceiling of the box, puckering his lips. “If you want, I could reteach you a few things. Since we live in the same building and all.”

“You know, for a pompous bastard, you’re not so bad.” Baekhyun tilts his head back as well.

“Excuse me? Why are you talking about pom-poms all of a sudden?”

Baekhyun doesn’t bother to correct the other and explain the meaning of the word. He’s not a high school teacher or a walking dictionary. Plus, he rather likes that Kyungsoo isn’t the smartest person to share his breathing space. It makes for good entertainment.

They sit there in silence again, Kyungsoo playing a game on his cell phone and Baekhyun checking the time every forty-five seconds. Good thing neither of them are claustrophobic.

His own phone jingles, alerting a new text message. Tampering with the device to open the text, he rolls his eyes at the lovely message of 'i miss your face' from Sehun. Deleting it, he sets the phone by his leg again.

Kyungsoo curses under his breath and Baekhyun leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing.

“What are you playing?”

“I have to pee.”

Placing a bit of space between them, Baekhyun pulls a face. “That can’t be the name of the game.”

“It isn’t. I seriously need to piss. How long have we been stuck here?”

“About forty minutes.”

Kyungsoo nods nonchalant, not taking his eyes off his phone. “Cool. You wouldn’t happen to have something I could pee into, would you? Like a bottle?”

“No. And if you think you’re going to pee yourself, I suggest you do it on the other side of the elevator.”

i wrote a poem for you guys. it goes:

roses are red, violets are not blue
all my readers are precious, sweet angels
and turn my heart into goo
they put a smile on my face
i love them so much
and maybe it's because i'm awkward
but this poem really

i'm going to write you guys a better one some other time i promise

about the story: we introduce exo member #11 next chapter and from this point on, i'll specify xiumin and minseok's personalities