Chapter 2
Life à la Mode
A/N: I had to literally stop myself from typing before this chapter got any longer. It's almost double the length of the previous chapter, and way more obnoxious, I guess. You'll see. As usual, more A/N at the end of the chapter.
`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*
When Yifan stepped out of the private elevator–exclusively for his use and the only means to access his 72nd floor penthouse–two of his escorts were already standing on guard in the secluded 1st floor hallway, tall and still as statues in their standard Men in Black inspired uniforms. It was this year’s theme (last year’s was Slenderman), and Yifan’s ingenious idea. Whoever said that billionaire businessmen were uptight as and had 10-foot poles shoved up their asses clearly hadn’t met Kris Wu Yifan.
The two men quickly fell into step with him, flanking the 34-year-old heir on either side as they strode towards the main lobby of Trump World Tower–Yifan’s official place of residence in New York City.
“The Wei Long is already waiting for you outside, sir,” said Dennis, head of Yifan’s personal security who had been in the Wu family’s service for over a decade and counting. The man was nearly as tall as Yifan was, and looked like he could be a model.
In fact, most of his bodyguards could pass as models, and it wasn’t the first time Yifan had ever wondered if his dear stepmother had set some sort of ‘visual’ requirement in addition to the minimum height and build that all hired protection should physically possess. Even Adrien, the other ‘bodyguard’ and Dennis’ second-in-command, looked like he just stepped out of a GQ or Esquire cover. They were certainly not to be messed with, though, for both were Special Agents of the USSS and as such, were professionally trained in both armed and hand-to-hand combat, among many other things.
Yifan only gave a short nod of approval.
“And the painting?” he asked, referring to the Klimt masterpiece he had recently acquired for a staggering $200 million. But it wasn’t for his personal pleasure.
“It will be delivered at exactly 2100 hours*, just as you’ve instructed,” was Adrien’s reply; prompt, simple, and to-the-point.
“Good. Who did you leave in charge of it?” Yifan directed the question to Dennis–delegating certain tasks to the rest of the team was a part of the man’s job description.
“Viktor and Sergei. They left exactly 15 minutes ago to pick it up.”
Yifan smirked. Viktor Rubashkin and Sergei Alexandrov. The Russian duo were his father’s henchmen (equipped with very specific skill sets, but they were only there just in case the need arises for them to put their real expertise into good use), former members of the Russian mafia who had sworn loyalty to Wu Jianhao, his father, a couple of years ago.
The exact details regarding their severance from their old employer were quite unclear (to everyone in the family except for his old man), but Yifan had no doubt they could protect the painting and deliver it to its destination with little trouble, if any at all.
Satisfied with the answer he’d been given, Yifan said nothing further and slightly picked up his pace so he was walking at least half-a-meter ahead of his men.
The staff politely (and more enthusiastically than what was necessary, he noted) greeted him as he went, whilst the guests openly ogled him, recognition and awe evidently expressed by their widened eyes and slackened jaws.
Their stares hardly affected Yifan anymore. He’s had years upon years of practice ignoring them, and thus expertly pretended they didn’t exist as he made his way to the main entrance, where he could see his baby parked rather majestically right in front of the building. The view, however, was being obstructed by a crowd of reporters, journalists, cameramen, paparazzi, and random onlookers that had gathered around the magnificent special edition roadster–the only one in existence.
The media had already caught wind of his arrival, it seemed, but it didn’t surprise Yifan anymore, for this was New York City. He even found it quite impressive–the time that it took for them to sense that the Kris Wu Yifan was once again on American soil, considering he had just landed in Teterboro Airport* not two hours ago.
The remaining EP’s Yifan had brought back with him to Manhattan (there were 10 of them in total), along with Trump World Tower’s security personnel, were lined up on both sides of one of the revolving glass doors all the way down the steps, and formed a human shield to prevent the throng of faceless, nameless people from mobbing him.
Chaos erupted amongst the crowd gathered as soon as they caught sight of the man they had come to see exit the luxurious residential skyscraper, throwing rapid fire questions his way all at the same time that it blurred into one big nonsense, and snapping pictures of the Chinese-Canadian multi-billionaire who had been out of the country for one whole year, and had mysteriously reappeared for reasons yet unknown to most of the world.
Yifan scoffed inwardly. He had absolutely no intention of indulging them. They could keep wondering as to the reason behind his sudden and unprecedented comeback.
Yifan was only a few steps away from the Wei Long when one question stood out from the rest, and caused him to momentarily freeze in his tracks.
“Is it true that you’re back in New York because Wu senior is pressuring you to look for a bride and get married due to his fast-declining health?”
Thanks to his quick thinking, however, Yifan was able to cleverly play it off as him checking the time, raising his left arm to look down at his $5 million Hublot wristwatch to add to the effect, although the current hour didn’t really register to him. How the media managed to acquire that private piece of information was beyond him, but Yifan would neither confirm nor deny it. It would be up to them to figure out the meaning of his silence for themselves.
In three long strides, Yifan closed the remaining distance between himself and the precious car waiting for him, engine already ignited and rumbling smoothly, ready for its owner to once again take it for a ride around the city after a whole year of hibernation and disuse.
And Yifan was more than happy to, hopping into the Wei Long as soon as Dennis moved to hold the door to the driver’s seat open for him.
With both hands, Yifan gripped the red leather encased steering wheel, whose center porcelain cap had the Chinese characters for the word ‘Dragon’ engraved into it to match the ones embroidered onto the headrests and the skillfully hand-crafted silk floor mats. Between the seats was yet another porcelain center plate which depicted a classic Chinese dragon, embossed so that it gave a more 3-D impression to the fierce mythical creature. Finally, the interior was done in a rich carmine color (for fortune and good luck, not that Yifan needed any more of those), which contrasted beautifully with the pearl white exterior.
The one-off car was created to honor the year of the Dragon, and, of course, its owner, the one and only Kris Wu Yifan, the same man who now resembled a kid in the candy store after being reunited with his dearly-missed automobile, his personal favorite among all the other luxury cars he had in his collection. It crushed Yifan when he had to leave the then week-old Wei Long to go back to his hometown of Vancouver under his father’s request. But now that they were back together, Yifan would make sure to use the car at every possible chance, starting tonight–his first night back in the Big Apple; the only city in the world that Yifan deemed worthy of his precious. And yes, Yifan did just whisper that in his mind Gollum-style.
Adrien handed over the keys to his boss before ordering everyone around to stand back if they didn’t want to get run over and pay an untimely visit to the ER. Knowing Yifan, the blonde billionaire’s inner daredevil would prompt him to push the limits of his favorite toy’s acceleration of 0-60 in less than 3 seconds.
“We’ll be right behind you, sir,” were the last words Dennis managed to say before Yifan was off, speeding into the brightly lit streets of Midtown Manhattan as if the cops were hot on his heels.
The long-suffering bodyguards shook their heads as they stared after their charge, before walking over to one of the two Mercedes Benz E-class sedans parked right behind where the Wei Long sat pretty just a few moments ago.
“Show’s over, people. Go home,” Dennis told the dumbstruck crowd still stupidly hanging around, and entered the car to go after their boss before they lose him.
Meanwhile, Yifan was having the time of his life, savoring the feel of the wind blowing against his face as he zoomed past everyone and everything, going at 150 mph (he wasn’t reckless enough to go 250 because, unfortunately, not even multi-billionaires were above the law and Yifan wasn’t planning on getting arrested and creating a scandal so soon), confident that all the other vehicles would part like the Red Sea for him.
And they did, especially since Yifan soon had an entourage of two black Mercedes Benzes brandishing the Wu family crest on the surface of the hoods, forged using pure Platinum, trailing after him.
In no time at all (what in all actuality was a 10-minute drive, 5 minutes shorter than it normally would have been if not for the Moses act Yifan pulled on the streets), they arrived at their destination, the Visual Shock building on 5th Avenue – one of the most easily distinguished buildings in New York City. Its curtain wall façade was done in deep purple tinted glass, and a gigantic Mitsubishi Electric Diamond Vision screen was perched right at the very top, soundlessly playing videos of their beautiful models during fashion weeks, brand endorsements, and photo shoots for magazine covers and whatnot.
At that moment, it was showing the most recent ad of who Yifan recognized as the doll-like supermodel Xi Luhan for MAC cosmetics.
Yifan had met Luhan on a few occasions in the past and had to admit that the unbelievably youthful bi-racial model rivaled even Jaejoong in terms of androgyny and overall ‘china doll’ quality. It was no wonder that many of the world’s major beauty and cosmetic companies favored Luhan over any other model represented by Visual Shock. That face could sell anything.
Another ad came on after Luhan’s, this time a fragrance campaign from DKNY with a model Yifan hadn’t seen before, just as he turned a corner to get into the entrance of the building’s underground parking lot.
All he saw of the pretty model were curly, light auburn hair, pouty pink lips, and the loveliest pair of hazel eyes – features which, for whatever reason, imprinted themselves in Yifan’s mind, and that he would later on recognize on a certain bubbly individual.
The gatekeeper saluted him as he was immediately granted entry, and from the rearview mirror Yifan could see that the man had picked up a cordless phone he assumed was connected directly to the Jung couple’s residence right up top. He didn’t mind, though, since Yunho was actually expecting him, having informed his longtime friend and mentor of his return to New York a week prior when he had called to confirm his attendance at Jaejoong’s party (Yifan had actually received an RSVP invitation in the mail which could only be a prank considering he was all the way in Vancouver, so during the first few minutes of their conversation, Yunho was under the impression that Yifan was only ting him to get back at them for said prank). His presence would only be a surprise to the rest of their circle of friends.
Or not.
At the far end of the parking area, there were three unoccupied spaces in between a red Porsche Cayenne Turbo SUV and a black Aston Martin One-77 coupe.
Yifan let out a low, amused chuckle.
Apparently, Yunho had taken the liberty of telling Yoochun and Daniel, too, because they couldn’t have just decided to park three spaces away from each other for the heck of it. Yifan knew it was meant for him and the two Benzes that accompanied him everywhere he went.
So much for wanting to surprise everybody else, Yifan thought.
All three vehicles easily maneuvered into the vacant areas intended for them and soon, Yifan was out of his baby and in the lift that would take him to the 31st floor.
Although technically, the building had 33 stories in total, the highest floor that the common elevator had access to was only until the 31st –the first floor of the multi-level penthouse and the Jung couple’s residence.
Yifan glanced down at his wristwatch, for real this time, and saw that it was five minutes to 9 in the evening.
The party started two hours ago, as the invitation, perfumed with Jaejoong’s signature scent (Dior’s Midnight Poison), had indicated that it would kick off at 7PM sharp.
Yifan doubted the raven haired beauty would mind his lateness, though. Especially not once Yifan’s ‘present’ arrived.
Which reminded him…
Yifan fished his Blackberry Porsche out of the inside pocket of his suit and immediately unlocked the screen and pressed speed dial D for Dennis.
“Sir.”
“Where are Viktor and Sergei?
“They had just arrived, sir. Should I send them up?”
“In thirty minutes.”
“Understood.”
Then he promptly hung up. Left with nothing to occupy his time in the elevator, Yifan glanced at the floor count above.
20, 21, 22, 23…
Despite living in one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, Yifan wasn’t a fan of long elevator rides and thus considered it a small mercy that the trip to Yunho and Jaejoong’s penthouse wasn’t as lengthy as it took him reach his own. It proved to be really inconvenient after a day filled with boring-as- board meetings, overseas video conferences, and endless paperwork, when all Yifan wanted to do was collapse on top of his heavenly mattress and sleep his exhaustion off.
…Preferably for an entire week or two. Yes, billionaires, even ones worth as much as Yifan was, had to work, too. How else would they get to maintain their ridiculous, superfluously extravagant lifestyles?
A loud DING! signaled his arrival to the 31st floor, followed by the doors opening.
Yifan quickly schooled his expression into his patented I-don’t-have-time-for-bull look–the only face he ever allowed the public to see.
Why would he be using it on his friends, you ask? Well, the look helped Yifan mask how much a certain hauntingly beautiful CEO actually affected him.
As expected, the Jung couple was already awaiting Yifan by the foyer with warm, welcoming smiles on their faces.
And then Jaejoong’s lovely face fell.
“Why is it that I see nothing of particular value in your person? Where are you hiding my present? Or did you actually have the audacity to show up here without bothering to get me one? If that’s the case then you can go home now. Or better yet, fly back to Vancouver. You are officially uninvited.”
“I missed you, too, Jae,” Yifan replied, unable to hide the fondness in his tone.
The faux frown marring Jaejoong’s otherwise flawless visage caused by his overly dramatic display of mock displeasure instantaneously transformed into a bright, disarming smile; big doe eyes glimmering with pure, unadulterated happiness.
Yifan’s heart wavered at the sight. It was an automatic reaction, and one he wouldn’t have been able to control even if he tried.
Even after all their years of friendship, Kim (formally Jung) Jaejoong’s otherworldly beauty still, unfailingly, knocked the breath out of Yifan better than even the strongest blow to the gut ever could.
Indeed, this was what the look was for.
Long ago, in a time buried in the past, Yifan might have once wanted to claim the man for his own, not because he was in love with him, but because he was aware of the value that a rare jewel like Jaejoong had–something Yifan knew he would never find anywhere else, or in anybody else.
But that was ancient history, and Yifan had long since come to accept that Jaejoong had always belonged to Yunho and vice versa. They were soul mates, if those things ever existed for real.
Yifan let out an ‘oomph!’ and nearly stumbled back into the elevator when Jaejoong, without any forewarning whatsoever, glomped him, wrapping both arms and legs around Yifan like a koala would to a tree. Well, with Yifan’s impressive height, he actually did make for an awesome tree substitute–something that Jaejoong often too happily took advantage of in the past, asking Yifan to lift him up to reach for stuff, or simply asking Yifan to lift him up just because.
“Careful, your outfit might get ruined,” Yifan warned, but in reality he was more concerned of his bespoke suit than anything. It had just arrived together with 19 others a day before his scheduled flight to New York, straight from his tailor in Italy.
“Shut up and let me hug you,” was Jaejoong’s muffled reply, as his entire face was buried in Yifan’s neck.
Yifan made a pained expression towards Yunho–who had been simply chuckling at his wife’s antics the entire time–silently asking for help.
Sometimes, Yunho indulged Jaejoong way too much. Just like that giant screen on top of the building. It was only added four years ago, when Jaejoong decided that the Visual Shock headquarters didn’t stand out enough (to which Changmin argued that “The building is friggin’ purple, Jae”), therefore tremendously lacking in splendeur vestimentaire, and insisted on putting one.
“Boo, come on, let him go. The others are waiting,” Yunho coaxed, finally pitying Yifan, but to no avail as Jaejoong just clung even tighter.
“No! This is equivalent to a year’s worth of hugs,” Jaejoong replied indignantly, and even adjusted himself so that he was settled higher on Yifan’s long torso, legs wrapped around his tapered waist.
“If you let him go I’ll get you that Marie Antoinette necklace you’ve been telling me about.”
“Nope.”
“How ‘bout a new Lamborghini? I could ask them to make another Veneno just for you.”
“Nuh uh.”
“A private island somewhere in the Caribbean?”
“Non. Absolument pas.”
Yunho threw his hands up in surrender, crossing his strong arms in front of his chest and once again leaving Yifan to his own devices. When a stubborn Jaejoong finally resorted to using French, you would have better luck trying to get a rock to listen to you.
Yifan sighed.
“You will not be getting your present if you don’t release me this instant.”
That got Jaejoong to loosen his hold somewhat.
“You mean you got me a present?” he asked in a small, wonder-filled voice, eyes wide like a little child who had been told that yes, Santa Claus was real, and yes, he was going down their chimney tonight. Yifan would think it was cute if he wasn’t more annoyed that his half-a-hundred-thousand dollar Kiton K-50 suit was getting wrinkled.
“Of course, I did, mon chéri. Did you truly believe that I didn’t?”
“What is it, then? Is it something I’m going to like?”
“Have I ever given you anything you didn’t?”
Jaejoong paused as if to think, trapping his full bottom lip between his teeth, before shaking his head no.
“Exactly. And the sooner you let me go, the sooner I can give it to you.”
That did the trick. Jaejoong quickly detached himself from the older man as if he’d been scorched and returned to his husband’s side, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.
With an amused, dignified snort (yes, because Yifan was awesome enough to make even an unattractive a sound as a snort dignified) directed to Jaejoong, Yifan brushed invisible lint of off the collar and lapels of his suit and straightened it, although it actually didn’t have any crease at all.
This time, it was Yunho who came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze because their manly Tarzan asses were too… well… manly even for ‘bro hugs’.
“I’m really glad you’re back, Kris,” Yunho began, using Yifan’s preferred nickname out of the ton of other soubriquets and bynames he had acquired and became associated with through the years. “New York hasn’t been the same without you,” he said with sincerity, smiling at his former ‘student’, who was now not only taller and broader, but more successful than he was.
Yifan returned the smile and shrugged elegantly (even his shrugs were elegant). “Then I hope New York is ready for me,” he said only half-jokingly, causing Yunho to chuckle, knowing exactly what Yifan meant by the seemingly playful statement. They had discussed his reasons for returning during that last phone call a week ago.
“Good luck with that,” replied the older, patting Yifan on the shoulder for good measure.
Then Yunho suddenly leaned into Yifan, close to his ear, and, in a low voice so Jaejoong wouldn’t hear, asked, “Did you get him what I think you got him?”
At that, Yifan lifted one prominent eyebrow and smirked. “Ah, you’ll see.”
Yunho nodded in understanding, stood back at a respectable distance, and cleared his throat. “So. Shall we head inside?”
“Lead the way.” Yifan gestured for the couple to walk ahead of him before following them, taking in the lavish foyer that he hadn’t seen for a whole year, and noted that everything was in the exact same place as they were before he left for Vancouver.
“I’m surprised you didn’t redecorate,” remarked the Chinese-Canadian, looking to Jaejoong, who simply glanced over his shoulder with a gentle smile and said, “I did that on purpose so you’ll feel right at home when you return.”
Yifan ignored how that filled him with warmth and went on to admire the glittering gold décor of the grandiose place Yunho and Jaejoong called their home, no matter if he had seen it numerous times in the past and could probably tell which piece of furniture was where.
Just as the guards who were stationed outside the giant double doors that led to the drawing room moved to let them in, Yifan held up a hand.
“Wait. Who else knows?”
Yunho didn’t have to ask to know what he was referring to. “Daniel and Micky, of course. C’mon, Kris, you couldn’t have seriously expected to be able to keep this a secret from them.”
“So you didn’t tell them.”
“I didn’t have to.”
Touché, Yifan thought.
And with a snap of Yunho’s fingers, the heavy doors were being pushed open, effectively halting the activities going on inside.
Even the string quartet paused from their playing of a rather impressive interpretation of Beethoven’s infamously famous Große Fuge.
Yifan allowed his steely, charcoal gaze to sweep across the expanse of the penthouse’s massive parlor, not particularly making eye contact with the guests present but instead doing a quick mental approximation of the number of people, and how many of them he actually knew personally.
To his satisfaction, most of them were figures he’d met and interacted with a couple of times before.
All except for one.
Amongst the sea of blondes and brunettes, one lone redhead stood; whose vaguely familiar light auburn curls stole Yifan’s attention and curiosity. Why, Yifan didn’t really know, and that was what he’d like to find out.
Yifan couldn’t see the person’s face because the girl (?) was standing at an angle that partly showed her side profile and mostly her back.
And what a gorgeous back it was, Yifan judged, for she was wearing a lacey midnight blue open-backed, long-sleeved dress of sorts that showcased her milky skin and slightly broad shoulders. Ms. Ginger head seemed to be another model if her slim figure and tall stature, which Yifan measured to be around 6” (if she wasn’t wearing heels), was anything to go by.
Her height alone, a perfect complement to Yifan’s own 6”4, made her an instant candidate for –
“Kris, my friend! Long time no see!”
Of course Yoochun had to break off his train of thought.
Even way back in their high school and university years, Micky ing Park Yoochun always chose the worst possible moment to interrupt and bother Yifan, whether it was during a wank session or in the middle of Yifan’s nightly reading marathons (the latter Yifan took very seriously). Yoochun had always seemed to have this internal radar that went off whenever it sensed that Yifan was in full concentration mode, and then minutes later, Yoochun would be knocking on his dorm room, either with two shot glasses and a bottle of expensive vodka in hand that he had somehow managed to smuggle in right under their dorm head’s nose, or proposing an idiotic plan to sneak out and crash a frat party outside of their university and then sneak back in the next morning. Or worse, both.
It was immediately followed by Junsu’s unique squeaky voice (which Yifan secretly found cute) saying, “What a great surprise!”
Yifan had a bit of a struggle tearing his eyes off of the mystery girl but he eventually managed to, turning his full attention to his friends who were now approaching him.
Stepping from behind Yunho and Jaejoong, Yifan plastered a smirk on his handsome face and said, “I’m back.”
_____________
“Oh.”
Chanyeol’s stupidly unenthusiastic response gained him a rather nasty glower from Luhan. Chanyeol liked to believe that he was already immune to it considering how often he received the exact same look from the older model (and Sehun, occasionally), but who was he kidding?
Luhan, despite his sweet, angelic exterior, was actually Satan’s Mistress; a perfect, living example of the idiomatic phrase ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothing’. Chanyeol had never met anyone so deceptively innocent and harmless it deserved to be written in history as ‘the face that minded the entire world’.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I tell you that THE Kris Wu Yifan is right here and is looking for a bride and all you say is ing OH?” Luhan was starting to get red in the face but this time it wasn’t a side effect of champagne over-consumption.
Chanyeol flinched. “I don’t know what you were expecting me to say, Lu. That I wanna line up for the auditions? I haven’t even heard of the guy.”
Luhan gave him a dead look. “What planet are you from that you’ve never heard of Kris Wu Yifan? Or did you actually live under a rock prior to becoming a model?”
“Hey! I’ll have you know that my aunt and I lived in a very decent flat in Brooklyn,” Chanyeol huffed, crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest.
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
Chanyeol’s eyes widened when Luhan’s implication finally registered in his brain and let out an exaggerated offended gasp. “What is it with you and your prejudice against Brooklyn? I’m sorry if not all of us were privileged enough to be born in the Upper East Side.” Chanyeol said that last part in an exaggerated tone mocking the narrator in Gossip Girl–which happened to be one of Luhan’s favorite shows. Too bad the series ended before Luhan got the chance to be cast.
Luhan rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly the point, Yeol.”
“I know, but do you really have to insult my beloved Brooklyn every chance that you get?”
Luhan placed both hands on his hips akimbo. “Are we seriously going to argue about Brooklyn for the rest of the night and ignore the fact that you don’t know who Wu Yifan is?”
Chanyeol groaned. “What is the big deal? Is it blasphemy? Am I gonna get smited now?” Chanyeol then looked up to the heavens (coincidentally, the penthouse’s ceiling depicted baroque-style angels), as if waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him.
“It might as well be. He’s a god.” Luhan’s eyes actually sparkled more than they already did, his hands clasped together in front of his chest as he stared dreamily into the air.
“Wow, Lu. Didn’t know you were so religious,” Chanyeol deadpanned sarcastically, clearly unimpressed.
Luhan shot him a withering look. “Shut up. Getting smart with me isn’t going to cure you of your ignorance.”
Chanyeol sighed, exasperated. “I still don’t get why he’s so important. I mean, this is New York City. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re surrounded by billionaires.”
“But Kris isn’t just any billionaire. Have you even seen him?”
“Nope, and I doubt seeing him would make any difference.”
It was Luhan’s turn to gasp, clutching at his heart as if he was in actual physical pain. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Take that back.”
“Make me.”
Luhan narrowed his eyes at the younger, and, in a threatening tone, said, “You’re going to regret saying that. Just you wait. It’ll sooner or later bite you in the . Mark my words.”
Unconvinced, Chanyeol waved a hand dismissively. “Ha! We’ll see about that.”
The two best friends stood facing each other in the hallway, and to anyone who would pass by it would appear as if they were having a glaring contest of some sort. Which they were.
The first to break their stare was Chanyeol, and it was only because he was beginning to tear up from not blinking for an extended period of time. It was actually less than a minute but diva- glare contests were Luhan’s and Sehun’s specialty, not Chanyeol’s. Chanyeol would rather smile, and in fact, held the record for the longest sustained smile which lasted for exactly 5 minutes and 8 seconds. He could’ve gone for much longer if Sehun hadn’t slapped him, saying that he looked creepy as and that he didn’t want to get nightmares starring Chanyeol’s weird- smile for the rest of his life…
…Which then caused Chanyeol to pout, and ultimately set a new record for the longest sustained pout.
The first to break the silence, however, was Luhan. “So you don’t wanna touch up with me?”
“I don’t see how it’s necessary,” was Chanyeol’s nonchalant reply, shrugging.
“Fine, suit yourself.”
And with that Luhan dramatically his heel and walked away, no, more like stomped away to continue his journey to the guest restroom sans Chanyeol this time.
Chanyeol watched as he went, snickering when Luhan accidentally bumped into reality TV star and socialite Jessica Jung (Yunho’s niece, unfortunately, so there was no way to get rid of her), who just came out of the restroom, and sent her sprawling ungracefully onto the nearest potted plant face first.
Pretending that he didn’t see anything, Chanyeol spun around to return to the party, and didn’t witness whether or not Luhan apologized and helped her get back up.
Chanyeol wouldn’t be surprised if Luhan didn’t, though, because those two never did quite get along with each other.
The current ‘girlfriend’ and the ex-girlfriend.
Jessica had a grudge against Luhan because she believed that Luhan was the reason why Taecyeon dumped her. She was under the delusion that they were already secretly having an affair behind her back way before she and Taecyeon ended their pathetic 3-month relationship (if it even lasted that long), and so when pap-taken photos of Taecyeon and Luhan holding hands in public first surfaced, she was quick to claim that ‘ty Luhan’ had seduced and stolen her man. Naturally, nobody believed her because there was never any evidence that Taecyeon and Luhan were seeing each other prior to her and Taecyeon’s break up, and those photos were first printed on magazines and newspapers 2 months after Taecyeon had confirmed in an interview that it was ‘splitsville’ for both him and Jessica.
Luhan, of course, hated Jessica just as much, if not more, but, unlike Jessica who expressed her hatred by being scandalous, Luhan preferred being subtle. The ‘accidental’ bumping in the hallway was a prime example.
When Chanyeol finally reached the main parlor, the celebration that had been momentarily interrupted by the arrival of Kris-what’s-his-name had already resumed, and the final notes of Große Fuge was just starting to fade.
From where Chanyeol was standing by a near-perfect replica of the Venus de Milo (because Jaejoong failed to convince the Louvre Museum to sell the real one to him), he could see that a small crowd had gathered around this Kris guy, who was currently almost bent down in half as he was being smothered in a tight embrace by Victoria.
If Chanyeol were to be completely honest, he was more than just a bit intrigued by this man, and Luhan was to blame for that. He really just didn't want to give Luhan the satisfaction of knowing that he managed to make Chanyeol curious, because first and foremost, Chanyeol wasn't supposed to be interested in anyone.
Not that he was interested in this Kris, per se, but he was, at the very least, curious. Yeah, that was it.
Luhan, despite his fanboy-ish tendencies, was never quite that gaga over someone (not even for Lady Gaga herself, and God knows how big a fan of her Luhan was). It only made sense that Chanyeol would be piqued as well.
Before Chanyeol realized what he was doing, he was only a few feet away from the ‘billionaire circle’ and moving closer still.
If it weren’t for little Inhwan, who had come up to him and asked if ‘Yeollie noona could help him go potty’, Chanyeol would’ve bulldozed straight into them and made a complete fool of himself.
In complete horror, Chanyeol grabbed Inhwan’s hand without thinking and hastily pulled the 4-year-old along back to the direction of the guest wash rooms, not caring that he was practically being treated like a nanny.
Chanyeol didn’t even think of correcting Inhwan that he was a ‘hyung’, not a ‘noona’, although technically he could be both*. And Chanyeol couldn’t fault the little boy for he was wearing a dress (which, again, was Luhan's fault).
What just happened?
_____________
“Dressed smart like a London bloke, before he speak his suit bespoke,” Yoochun said, eyeing Yifan’s outfit, no doubt the most expensive ensemble worn that evening.
Yifan cocked an eyebrow at his contemporary. “Did you just quote a Kanye West verse on me?”
The music executive only laughed his trademark boisterous laughter in response, giving Yifan a firm slap on the shoulder as he did so.
Yoochun then excused himself, saying something about getting the both of them a glass of Armand de Brignac, because 'Yunho had popped the Midas just for you, bro.'
Yifan was now left alone with the 'ladies', seeing as both Daniel and Kyuhyun were busy with their respective phone calls, and Yunho was nowhere to be found.
By this time, Yifan had already succeeded in putting Ms. Anonymous at the back of his mind for the most part, and was focused on his reunion with his friends.
And Yifan was man enough to admit that he had missed them terribly. Life in Vancouver was nothing compared to life in New York City, especially since the former didn’t have these people in it. If only it were up to him, Yifan never would’ve left in the first place.
But Yifan had duties as an heir, and technically, regardless if he had already established himself as an entrepreneur and made his own fortune, he still answered to his father.
Those same duties were what brought him back to New York.
‘Yifan, I want some good news from you as soon as possible. Don’t disappoint me.’
'Yifan, I do not have much time left. I can’t leave this world without making sure that our line will continue.’
'Yifan, I heard Zitao is pregnant with Yevtushenkov’s heir. If only you had listened to me and married him a long time ago…'
His phone vibrating snapped Yifan back into attention, completely unaware that his thoughts had wandered leagues away from the here and now. Damn.
Yifan took the device out and pressed the green receiver icon before bringing it to his ear.
“Kris speaking,” he said in his customary greeting when answering a call, cold and business-like.
“Sir, I just sent Viktor and Sergei up not a minute ago.”
“I see. Thank you, Dennis.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Who was that?” Jaejoong asked as soon as the call ended, apparently listening in from where he stood on Yifan’s right.
“Dennis, head of my personal security, if you remember,” Yifan replied, placing his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit.
Jaejoong’s eyes widened in recognition and something else that Yifan wasn’t sure he liked. “Oh, bien sûr! How are they?”
“Jae, I swear if this is about them becoming mo–”
“You can tell them that my offer still stands. If they ever get tired of working for an like you, I’ll be more than happy to take them in,” Jaejoong chirped, smiling cheekily.
Yifan frowned, but let the insult go.
“Who?” asked Changmin, one hand on his bump continuously rubbing soothing circles to calm the baby down.
Changmin had complained earlier that it had suddenly started kicking relentlessly when Yifan arrived; perhaps sensing its mother’s combined shock and surprise.
Daniel hadn’t told his wife, and neither did Yoochun tell Junsu, while both Kyuhyun and Victoria were absolutely in the dark, hence the power hug Yifan had received from the beautiful Chinese woman, who Yifan thought of as an older sister. At least not all of them were aware of Yifan returning prior to his actual return.
“You remember his ridiculously good looking bodyguards?”
“Ah…” was Changmin’s thoughtful answer, nodding his head. “Why? Were you planning on recruiting them?”
“Oui. Pourquoi pas? Ils sont magnifiques.”
Yifan massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Ce sont mes gardes du corps, Jae,” he replied, switching to French effortlessly (Jaejoong wasn’t the only one who spoke the language fluently). That Jaejoong was serious about wanting to recruit Yifan’s personal security team and turn them into models for his company was migraine-inducing.
“Je m'en fous.”
“Bambayyyaaa*~” Junsu chanted from out of nowhere, causing the other three plus Victoria who had been silently listening to the ongoing conversation up to that point to furrow their eyebrows at him.
“What the hell, Su?” Changmin asked; face set in a unique expression that meant he found something or someone ridiculous. Changmin was one of those people who had complete control over their facial muscles, and was capable of utilizing only them to express his thoughts and feelings, as well as disguise them as he pleased.
“I don’t understand what you guys are saying,” the Broadway star whined, lips forming a small pout. It was quite hard to believe that Junsu was the first to have children out of all of them, especially since Junsu was nothing more than a child himself.
“And that’s Kenyan, by the way, in case any of you are wondering,” Junsu explained, looking far too proud of himself.
Yoochun, who had just returned with two glasses of champagne, one of which he handed over to Yifan, wrapped an arm around his wife’s slim waist and dropped a kiss onto Junsu’s head.
“Babe, you know I love you no matter what, but you gotta stop pretending you can speak Kenyan,” Yoochun told the younger male seriously, earning an even bigger pout from Junsu.
“Or any other foreign language for that matter,” he added as an afterthought.
The rest of them all burst into chuckles at Junsu’s expense, shaking their heads at their group’s baby. Changmin was the youngest age-wise, but Junsu was definitely the baby, and they had established that long ago, before any of them were what they were at present.
“Jae,” Yunho called his wife’s attention as he was walking back to the group from wherever he came from.
Jaejoong turned his head towards the sound of his husband’s voice. “Yes, my love?”
Yunho shared a knowing glance with Yifan before replying, “A package just arrived. It wasn’t addressed to anyone but I’m assuming that it’s for you. There’s no return address either. You might wanna check it out before I order the guards to get rid of it.”
The now 33-year-old scrunched his nose up. “What do you think it is?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I want you to come out and see it for yourself.”
Jaejoong then excused himself, albeit a bit reluctantly, and went out to the foyer with Yunho.
Yoochun glanced over at Yifan just in time to catch the smirk playing on the other’s lips. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together.
“That was your present, wasn’t it?”
Yifan just shrugged and refused to comment.
“Aw, c’mon man, what is it?”
“Yeah, you’re known to lavish Jae with rare gifts whose price tags could feed an entire 3rd world country*,” Victoria added rather bitterly, curiosity and a bit of envy shining in her eyes. The most expensive gift Yifan, her so-called didi, had ever gotten for her was a $1 million pen, and that wasn’t even 1/100th of the cost of some of the stuff he had given to Jaejoong.
“Let me guess,” Kyuhyun piped in as he stood right behind Victoria, having just finished with the urgent business call. “It’s a painting, isn’t it?”
Yifan’s face must have unconsciously shown his surprise at the lucky guess, for Changmin soon called him on it.
“Aha! It is a painting.”
“Really? That was a total guess,” Kyuhyun said, eyes wide in awe.
“We know, Kyu,” Victoria deadpanned at her husband, even bitterer than she was a few seconds ago. Hormones.
“That’s wonderful! Jaejoongie would love that!” Junsu was bouncing on his toes and clapping his hands, accidentally hitting Yoochun’s glass and causing some of it to spill onto the carpeted floor.
When Jaejoong returned and saw the stain now marring his previously pristine white carpet, Yifan had no doubt the CEO would be screaming bloody murder.
“Oops! Sorry, Chunnie. I’m just so happy for Jae hyung.” The Korean honorific just injected itself into Junsu’s speech in his excitement, although it normally wasn’t used at all.
The Kim siblings had been in the United States all their lives, but they could both speak the language fluently. Just like how Yifan was quite competent in using Chinese, on top of English, French, and Russian–the latter two being his birth mother’s influence–for Yifan, just like everybody else in their clique, was the product of an union, with a Chinese father and a Russian-French Canadian mother.
Yifan didn’t have to confirm whether or not they guessed right, for soon enough, Jaejoong’s high-pitched squeals could be heard above the music.
“The Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer*!”
_____________
“The Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer!”
Chanyeol jumped in surprise when Jaejoong’s voice reached all the way through to the kids’ Finding Nemo-themed wash room (Jaejoong must have had it done on purpose for his nephews), where both he and Inhwan had been for the past ten minutes or so.
‘What was that all about?’ Chanyeol thought, raising a well-defined eyebrow at his own reflection in the starfish-shaped mirror.
Jaejoong’s temporary insanity (or whatever it was that caused the CEO to scream like a banshee), however, was the least of Chanyeol’s concerns.
The 21-year-old model still couldn’t get over what he had almost done earlier back in the parlor, and all because of his inexplicable fascination with that Kris.
Chanyeol didn’t get to see what Luhan was fussing about with Kris’ apparent god-like physical appearance, but he did manage to catch a glimpse of the man’s height and build, and he was, indeed, impressive.
It wasn’t everyday that Chanyeol came across someone with that stature, not even in the modeling world. That kind of height belonged to the NBA.
“Yeollie noona I’m done~” Inhwan’s babyish voice yelled from within the cubicle, and Chanyeol had to suppress a groan of misery. Why was he doing this again?
Oh, yeah. To avoid the inevitable shame that he would’ve brought upon himself if not for Inhwan’s impeccable timing. The boy was actually a lifesaver.
But now he had to… Chanyeol didn’t even want to think about it or else he would really chicken out and leave the kid in there.
Chanyeol took a deep breath and braced himself for what he was about to do.
On the upside, he could perhaps consider this as practice for the future, if ever he had children of his own someday.
Yeah. Practice.
Five minutes later saw Chanyeol rubbing his hands furiously under the automatic tap, whilst Inhwan was happily playing with one of the rubber toys by the tub.
After soaping his hands for the third time, Chanyeol finally deemed it clean and disinfected enough, before grabbing some bubble-printed paper towels to dry them off.
“Inhwan, let’s go,” Chanyeol called out to the younger of the Park children, who immediately let go of the rubber Dory he was bouncing along the edge of the tub and ran to him as fast as his short legs could go.
As Chanyeol closed the door behind him, he saw Luhan leaving the adults’ restroom right across the hall at the same time, looking almost as fresh as he did when they arrived earlier that evening.
“Lu!”
Luhan turned his head and immediately lifted a questioning eyebrow at Chanyeol’s harried, haggard state.
Some of his fiery red hair had escaped from the pretty side ponytail French braid that Luhan himself had done, and he had tiny splotches of water on his dress which Luhan, again, had picked out for him.
“Lulu noona!” Inhwan exclaimed cheerfully from beside Chanyeol, waving a hand at Luhan.
Luhan looked from Inhwan, to Chanyeol, then back to Inhwan, then to Chanyeol again, and then to the kids’ wash room right behind Chanyeol, before finally asking, “Did you just do what I think you just did?”
Chanyeol grimaced. “It’s a long story.”
“Indeed.”
“Apple! There you are!”
“Mommy!”
The little boy ran to meet his mother halfway, who crouched down to envelop Inhwan into his embrace.
Junsu then looked up and saw both Luhan and Chanyeol standing awkwardly in the middle of the hallway.
“Oh! I apologize if Inhwan gave you guys a lot of trouble. He can be quite a handful sometimes,” Junsu said as he stood back up with little Inhwan in his arms.
Before Chanyeol could reply that ‘No, not at all’, Inhwan had beat him to it.
“Yeollie noona helped Inhwannie go potty, mommy!”
Chanyeol reddened, Luhan snorted, and Junsu looked scandalized.
“Oh, dear. I am so, so sorry, Chanyeol darling. Inhwan, you should’ve called for me or your nanny!” Junsu chastised his son, poking one chubby cheek with his index finger.
“But Inhwan not find nanny, and mommy was wif Unca’ Kwis!”
At the mention of Kris’ name, Luhan perked up.
“Speaking of Kris, how is he?” Luhan was trying to sound casual, but Chanyeol could see right through him.
“Still pretty much the same as he was a year ago, I would say, although I swear he just grew an inch taller. Well, either that or I just shrunk.” Junsu giggled, completely forgetting about the potty incident and that he was in the midst of lecturing his 4-year-old.
“Actually,” Junsu continued, “Why don’t we all go back together? You should see the painting he got for Jaejoong. It’s marvelous. Jaejoong nearly had a heart attack, as I’m sure you all must’ve heard.”
Chanyeol’s eyes widened. No. He wasn’t yet prepared to face Kris. He didn’t even know why he was dreading it so much. He just was, for whatever reason.
Chanyeol cleared his all of a sudden clogged throat and began weakly, “No, I was just about to –”
“You know what, that’s a great idea,” Luhan said, steamrolling right past Chanyeol’s worries.
“Yeollie here is dying to meet him.”
“I-I’m really not,” Chanyeol stammered, but Junsu was already turning around to head back to the party.
“Well, in that case, what are we waiting for? I’ll go ahead and introduce you to him. He’ll love you.”
At that time, Chanyeol wouldn’t have guessed just how much, or how true Junsu’s words would soon become.
`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*
A/N: ICUTITOFFAGAINJUSTASKRISYEOLWASABOUTTOGETINTRODUCEDTOEACHOTHERDONTKILLME. Next chapter will be their official meeting, I promise.
This chapter was mostly focused on Kris' relationship with Jaejoong and co. and I tried to make it as insightful as possible without giving away too much. If some of you have caught on to it, I just mentioned Tao for the first time. I did include it in the description that there will be some (past) Kris/Tao, didn't I?
Also, this chapter hinted that Kris might've sort of had a thing for Jaejoong way back in ancient history. Yeah. I'll leave it at that.
Now for the asterisks*:
2100 hours - for those of you who are unfamiliar with military time, this is the equivalent of 9PM.
Teterboro Airport - it's an airport in New Jersey that caters to private jet planes. If some of you are curious, Kris owns 3 of them in this story (because billionaire), and the one he used is a Gulfstream G650, or more commonly known as the G6. Yannoe, from that Far East Movement song.
3rd world country - this wasn't meant to be an insult or anything so before some of you get a heart attack and accuse me all kinds of ed up , I wanna clear this up. I was just trying to emphasize the fact that Kris has bought Jaejoong some really expensive stuff in the past. That's it. No offense intended whatsoever.
Jaejoong and Kris' French convo - Excuse my French. Literally. It's a bit rusty, so if any of you is a native speaker of the French language, feel free to correct me. xD Their conversation was basically this => JJ: Yes. Why not? They're gorgeous. K: They're my bodyguards, Jae. JJ: I don't care.
Bambaya - Junsu's 'Kenyan'. TVXQ fans would know what this is. LOL
Chanyeol being both hyung and noona - well, this is mpreg, isn't it? Chanyeol is among a 3rd gender classification along with the rest of the 'ladies', including Luhan and Sehun. It'll be explained eventually.
The Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer - this is the first one since there are two. It's the most famous work of Austrian symbolist painter Gustav Klimt, and is in real life owned by billionaire Ronald Lauder. It's on display in the Neue Galerie in NYC.
So I guess that's it?
Oh, and BIG thanks those of you who always leave comments, as well as to those who subscribed. Really appreciate it. :)
See you next chapter. ～(^з^)-☆
I might pick this up again, but I'm making no promises. I'll be more candid about the things that happened over the last 2 years IF I decide to continue where I left off. It's pretty much 50/50 at this moment. The only thing that I can tell you for sure is that Chapter 11 exists in my drafts.
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