“Zip me up.”

Chanyeol’s just walked into his apartment and immediately drops all his things as the door glides closed behind him. There is a stranger. There is a stranger in his home and she is wearing a dress.

“Chanyeol,” the slightly husky voice whines, “help me out here.”

The brunet gapes. No way. “Kris?”

*

It was love at first sight. That’s the only way Chanyeol can explain it. Anything else sounds downright crazy.

He was playing basketball with a few friends from work when a trio had walked up, challenging them to a game. No bets, no ultimatums, just a friendly match. Chanyeol and his buddies would be crazy to decline, except–

“You have a girl on your team,” Chanyeol points out, unable to tear his eyes away from the tall blonde. She straightens a bit and turns away and he feels bad.

The two men in front of her nod. “Yeah, she’s our best player. Why,” the black-haired man narrows his eyes, “is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all, just,” and since Chanyeol is unable to shut up, he winks at the girl and says, “good luck.”

And then he watches with adoring eyes as his team is murdered by the tall girl with determined eyes and endless legs.

He doesn’t mean to overhear the personification of Athena–her name is Kris–complain about homework and how much she wants an Americano. It’s totally accidental.

It’s also accidental how he shows up outside her class the next day with a steaming Americano and a giant grin. When she sees him, she runs. He chases her.

It’s a horrible start to a beautiful relationship.

*

And since Chanyeol is so used to seeing his girlfriend in flannel and jeans, or in a too-big jersery and basketball shorts–or in Chanyeol’s clothes, which are a little too short though she swims in his shirts and sweats, and Chanyeol has to stop himself from cooing at her because she looks downright adorable cuddled up in one of his winter jackets–it’s no wonder why he doesn’t believe it’s her until she turns around.

Kris is wearing a dress.

Dress.

Kris.

Chanyeol lets out an unintelligible string of words. “Where did you get that?” He finally asks, pointing to the strapless–STRAPLESS–piece of fabric that fits her like a glove, ending mid-thigh.

“I’ve had it in my closet forever. It looked longer on the mannequin than it does on me,” she complains, tugging on the lace hem. Then she takes a closer look at Chanyeol. “Is that what you’re wearing? I told you my mother was having a dinner party for her birthday tonight, did you forget?”

Honestly, he did. But nothing is computing right now because Kris. Is in a dress. He abandons his jacket and shoes by the door and steps closer. And blinks. “Are you… wearing make up?”

Kris blushes and turns back to the hall mirror, messing with her blonde hair that cascades down her back in waves, usually kept up in a messy bun or tight ponytail.

Chanyeol wishes he could stop talking sometimes. “No! I didn’t mean–” he tries, groaning. “.. are you?”

“Well, yeah,” she admits finally. “My mom’s always complaining so I thought I’d just,” she trails off with a shrug.

“I didn’t think you had any.”

“Back of the wardrobe. You wouldn’t find it if you weren’t looking.”

Chanyeol nods slowly and then marches forward, sweeping Kris into his arms.

She shrieks and flails, struggling to hold the top of her dress up. “Chanyeol, my dress!”

Oh, right. He sets her down for a second to tug the zipper up on her back, frowning when it sticks a couple times. Then he knocks her legs out from under her and hefts her back up, grinning when she grudgingly wraps her arms around his neck. He walks them into the living room and sets her on the couch, grinning up at her to find she’s looking at her bare feet, wiggling her toes.

“I was going to try heels but–”

“Where?” Chanyeol interrupts because Kris. In heels.

Kris lifts a penciled brow. “Back of my closet. They’re kind of silver and strappy and slow down or you’ll trip!” She shouts after him. Seconds later Chanyeol returns, out of breath, holding a pair of heels. Kris grabs them and slips them on, standing and frowning at the fact that she can see right over Chanyeol’s head. “I’m too tall. I’ll just wear flats.”

“No!” Chanyeol shouts. The heels are perfect. They make Kris’ calves look slender and muscular and add to the length of her legs. “No. The heels are good.”

Kris huffs and crosses her arms, ordering Chanyeol away to change. He returns, hair disheveled, in a suit that’s too big at his waist and too small at his shoulders. The slacks don’t even reach the floor. Kris rolls her eyes at him and dusts off the shoulders, tugging at the jacket and combing his hair to the side with her fingers. She steps back and hides a laugh behind her hand. He looks like an overgrown child.

Chanyeol shrugs. He wouldn’t be able to compete with Kris anyway. He leans against the counter as Kris plays with her hair, asking him if she should leave it down or pin it up. He steps forward and plays around with the bleached stands, face serious. Kris laughs as he holds it up, lets it go, and then repeats. Finally he steps back and tells her it looks better left alone. She smiles and taps him on the cheek, turning to rifle through her bag.

“What are you looking for?”

“Metro passes.”

Chanyeol freezes. No way. No way he’s letting Kris go on–he stifles a gasp–public transport. He’s having a hard time even contemplating letting her go outside. He throws her bag across the room, ignores her judgemental look and calls a cab.

Kris refuses Chanyeol’s orders to jump into his arms so that her feet won’t touch the floor. “You’re being weird,” she shoots over her shoulder as Chanyeol pouts and locks the door. Chanyeol stops and watches as her hips sway when she walks, the hem of the dress brushes against the backs of her thighs, and they way her hair glints in the sunshine.

Kris is a girl.

Chanyeol is dating a girl.

All caught up between the fact that Kris is of the opposite gender and, if she looks this good in a basic sheath, how beautiful she would look in something more elaborate, Chanyeol almost misses the elevator.

As they walk, side by side, down the lobby and out the front door, Chanyeol wraps an arms around Kris’s waist and pulls her against his side. He leans over to whisper in her ear, and she leans into him to hear better. “You look absolutely, positively, completely,” Chanyeol states, each word earning a dubious look from Kris, “gorgeous. You look gorgeous.”

Kris scoffs. “Shut up.”

Chanyeol grins and pecks her on the cheek, loving the way her glossed lips quirk into a smile as the taxi pulls up.