So... this is sort of a filler chapter. I do apologize for having you endure it, but it's important for uhm... further development. /bricked O_O

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Yixing, oh Yixing… where are you hiding from me now?


It isn’t fair, I swear it isn’t.

Just when I finally dare to hope that everything is falling into places, that I can, for a while, forget about the entire my brother’s gay and so he sort of indirectly got kicked out of home thing and just for once concentrate on my own issues; this unnaturally clingy Chinese Hyung of mine goes and confuses the life out of me.


Have I mentioned that it isn’t fair?


Okay, so it was probably one of those one-night-stand types of things he’d been after, which in our case wasn’t even a proper one, and so he might be trying to forget yesterday’s party ever happened; but it’s not like anyone’s forcing him to act repulsed by me either… especially not in public.


And most especially, not in front of Kyungsoo.


Which brings me to the dreaded subject of do I even like Do Kyungsoo anymore?  

He’s hot, yes.

 
Or more like ‘the perfect combination between cute, y and unaware of it’, he should be used to people hitting on him left and right, but it’s not like I plan on losing my long-overdue ity to him next time we end up one on one, no thanks, and otherwise – from what I have observed so far – we’re pretty incompatible.

Genders aside, I think what Kyungsoo is in need of is somebody to take great care of him. Not necessarily financially, even though I doubt he would mind too much had the person expressed the sudden need to court and woo him with expensive presents and candlelit dinners somewhere other than a street market.

But what I mean is… he just needs someone to help him make decisions when he can’t, because I may not be an expert, but I’m pretty sure he tends to get a little lost inside that pretty and indecisive… ahem, that pretty indecisive head of his. So why not allow his other half be the much needed search party coming to his rescue?

Do I consider myself fit for this role?
 

Hell no. Absolutely not.
 

Because last time I looked in the mirror, I was definitely not one of them overprotective Hyungs or Noonas, straight out of a variety show or some second rate drama. Somebody who is patient, mature and understanding to the point of dental caries and a seizure, all at once.
 

As for Yixing, at this rate he might have as well fled the country and is back in China, spitting upon innocent passerby from the Great Wall, or whatever it is Chinese people do for fun.
 

I’ve searched for him around the house for what felt like three hours, only to draw a blank, which brings me here to where I’ve abandoned my favorite, cozy couch in favor of the kitchen table.
 

I lay, or more like smack my head against the wooden surface, squeezing my eyes shut in what is probably despair. But it’s not like I can help it. I’m not even sure why I’m getting myself this worked-up over him, seeing as I know all but nothing about the guy.
 

I only know he’s gay, Chinese, is part of an untitled garage (or more like basement) band that may not ever get signed up by any major label, and that as a guitarist, he should possess extremely agile fingers.
 

Which are quite possibly also good for something other than the NC-17 material I’ve just envisioned, too bad I can’t seem to pull my mind out of the gutter ever since he’d managed to vacuum a hicky the size of his homeland onto my neck.
 

So yes… no substantial information on Yixing, such as what does he search for in a partner, other than a ? On other hand, why should it even matter? It isn’t as if I consider applying for the position, right?
 

I don’t even know anymore.
 

“Oooh my… shrooms! DAEBAK!!!” a voice I’m beginning to dread snaps me out of my self-pity, by squealing - nonetheless.
 

In case you haven’t noticed -- I had been sitting neck-deep in self-pity, while also talking to myself. It was fun (it wasn’t), and I wanted it to stay that way (not really), but you can get no privacy at all around this stupid Dracula Mansion. I cautiously crack one eye open, enough to spot Kyungsoo shuffling through the open refrigerator. Guess I better play dead, so he might think I’m… well, dead. Or asleep.
 

Not that him thinking I’m asleep had stopped him last time, but at this point I am willing to try anything in order to avoid further contact with the guy, which apparently includes attempting to melt into the scenery.
 

I shut both eyes and will my breath to slow down; concentrating on anything but the vividly imagery my brain feels like supplying me at the moment. It happens to involve yours truly throwing Kyungsoo on top of this very handy table, then climbing on top and proceeding to map his entire body by both hands and mouth, just so I could watch him writhe beneath me as he lets out all kinds of pretty sounds and high notes.
 

That’s right, I seem to have forgotten how, not five minutes ago, I had promised myself not to jump him next time we’re alone in a room. Please do spare me the ‘raging, teenage hormones’ lecture; I already feel bad enough as it is.
 

I better find something else to think about and fast, something safer, before I go ahead and make a fool out of myself. What was he saying about ‘shrooms? I think I may have finally figured out why Suho’s so damn rich – he must be a drug dealer, keeping all kinds of illegal plants and substances inside his fridge.
 

Although, had he been Kyungsoo’s dealer, it would have been considered pretty dumb of him to leave the merchandise where practically anyone could lay their grabby fingers on it…
 

Oh well, there goes another theory.
 

I hear a thump as something heavy drops onto the table, rolling a bit so that it stops right in front of my forehead. Squinting, I notice something orange, elongated and most likely edible … a carrot? It’s kind of wet too, judging by the shine of water droplets, which means I’ve missed the sound of the tap as it’s been washed.
 

What I’ve also missed is Kyungsoo approaching the table, a dripping, plastic box of common mushrooms in one hand, a knife in the other.
 

What is this guy, a serial killer? Or possibly a ghost, because he moves like one.
 

“Yah! I know you aren’t sleeping, so move your head before I chop it off.” he demands, which is a pretty serious threat coming from someone in possession of a sharp object, and so it leaves me with no choice but to obey.   
 

I sit up