“Don’t just act with your eyebrows, Siwonnie!  Use your whole body!”  Key tears at the tufts of bleached hair poking out from under his beanie as he waves at the fifth and sixth graders assembled on stage.  “Dear little reindeer, I know it’s hard without the props and antlers, but you need to delve deep down into your character!  Let those little red noses shine.”

“Excuse me, but I’m the only one with a red nose!”  The shortest reindeer raises his hand with a breezy wave. 

“What?”  Key blinks at him for a moment, rifling through the notes clamped to his clipboard. 

“Ryeowookie, it’s ok,” Amber yells from the orchestra pit.  Her knees are covered in the sea of red fur thrown across her lap, the makings of Yifan’s suit.  “You’ll be the only one on stage with a nose piece!  Don’t worry, sweetie!” 

Ryeowook gives a tight nod and steps back.  Key bounces on his heels, letting out a noisy breath as he waves the reindeer troupe down stage.

“Ok!  Time to block the sugar plum dance!  Mice?  Where are my mice?” 

“Ready!” Sunny calls, peeking her head out of the wings. 

“Ok!  On three, this backdrop will change, and that’s the cue for the micey munchkins to come out.  Let’s try it!  On one, two, three!”  Key waves his arm, loose papers flapping like a semaphore, and a drop painted with an abstract interpretation of a fireplace painted on it falls into place. 

Yifan jerks as the intro music slams through the speakers and feedback thunders through the monitors on stage. 

“Sorry!” Kyuhyun yells, sinking lower in his seat behind the sound booth as he adjusts the mixer.  Yifan relaxes against the wall as the music starts over.  This time the glassy staccato tones are at a bearable volume, but Kyungsoo keeps his hands pressed over his ears.  He’s in line between Lu Han and Jongdae at the front of the stage. 

“I’m hungry,” Baekhyun announces in a loud voice just as the line starts to form a shaky circle. 

“Shh!” Joonmyun shushes him.  The hiss gets picked up by the mikes hanging from the ceiling and Kyungsoo glares. 

“Ok, that’s it, keep circling!” Key calls, ignoring Baekhyun’s grumbles as he drags his feet behind Joonmyun.  Yifan is hungry too.  It is almost lunch time, only another twenty minutes til the youngest grades head to the cafeteria.  Twenty minutes is like an eternity for Baekhyun, though. 

Yifan sighs, pressing his shoulders flat against the padded acoustic paneling.  He has snacks in his bag stashed under the seat next to Amber, but he doubts Key would appreciate it if he started handing out cheese crackers mid-scene. 

“They’re getting antsy up there,” Yixing whispers loudly, fidgeting next to Yifan. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol huffs, not looking up from his phone.  “If I pull the fire alarm, think he’ll let us out early?” 

“Haha,” Yixing says evenly.  He kicks Chanyeol’s shin with his knee-high rubber boot.  “That stunt would be more amusing in May, when it’s not sleeting outside.” 

“Fine.”  Chanyeol’s tone is short.  His voice cracks like he’s not been drinking enough water in the dry theater.  Yixing doesn’t reply, just fills up the chinks in the ambience with soft hums of an off tune Christmas carol Yifan doesn’t remember the lyrics too. 

“Good!  Excellent!”  Key starts clapping as soon as the track cuts.  “Thank you, mice!  Take a seat over there.”  The circle dissolves into a surging amoeba that flows stage left.  Lu Han collapses face first across Joonmyun’s lap under the beam of a scoop light.  Ryeowook latches onto Kyungsoo, looping supportive arms around his waist as Jonghyun pushes a Christmas tree onto stage in a little red wagon. 

“Is it my turn yet?”  A skinny sixth sixth grader in a red stocking cap trips out from the wings. 

“Ok, Hyuk!”  Key waves him forward, adjusting a string of lights tangled in the wagon handle.  “You come out with the tree, but wait for Christmas Star before you start narrating.” 

“‘Kay!”  The kid skips forward, narrowly avoiding a faceplant into a pile of fake snow when he trips on the wire. 

“Jjong!”  Key drops his clipboard and rips the lights out from the extension cord taped to the edge of the dance floor.  “You gotta do something about these wires!  Hazardous!  Ankle breaking  wires of death!”  He breaks off into what sounds like Japanese before swooping down to retrieve his notes. 

“Ok, Kibummie!”  Jonghyun jogs back out with several rolls of electrical tape stacked like bracelets on his arm.

“Dancing snowflakes, where are you?  I need my--!  Ah, lovely, Jonginnie!”  Key flaps his arms, mirroring Jongin’s movements as he tiptoes out onto stage.  “Yes, float just like that, all the way center!”  His voice is starting to carry a hint of adrenaline, a discomfitting tremor that works its way up from the base of Yifan’s spine and he remembers why he always hated school rehearsals.   

“Gee, Amber wasn’t exaggerating when she said he takes this play seriously.”  Yifan shoves his fingers into the stiff press of his collar and undoes the first button. 

“Hm, yeah,” Yixing hums, “this is his event, and the kids have been working hard all semester.  I’m considering having them showcase a couple scenes at the open house next week.  You think they’ll be ready?” 

“Mm, I don’t know.”  Chanyeol’s voice is distracted, the same noncommittal flit of his eyes across the screen. 

“How’s the art display going, by the way?”  Yixing pushes off the wall, angling to face Chanyeol.  Yifan watches over his shoulder as Chanyeol finally glances up.

“Good, good I guess.”  His stupid glasses are slanted again and Yifan wishes with an irritated blink that Jonghyun would tape them straight on his face, correct his asymmetry once and for all.  “Some of the pieces are turning out more 3D than I anticipated, so storage might be a problem.”  Chanyeol scratches behind his ear, his frames nudging into place then dipping awry again.  “We’ll have to see.”   

“Did you talk to Yifan about that?”  Yixing shrugs his shoulder in Yifan’s direction but Chanyeol drops his gaze to his phone again.  “Maybe you can put some of the bigger sculptures in the back room.  No one would bother them there.”

“Mm, maybe.  I’ll let you know.”   

“Where is my other snowflake?”  Key is spinning in erratic circles as he flails for the missing dancer.  Yifan rolls his eyes, simultaneously grateful he’s not backstage in the gaggle of over hungry students, and dreading the run through of his scenes in Act II.  Unless the cafeteria feeds them some kind of miracle, he doubts the afternoon rehearsal will go any smoother.

“Sehunnie is always late,” Jongin whines, shoving the Christmas tree over to make room in the wagon bed.  He drops his lacey snow flurry fan and crawls in with a yawn.   

“Has anybody seen--?”

“Sehunnie, I told you to stay out of the empty spotlight cages!”  Donghae’s face twitches with a poorly concealed laugh as he pulls Jongin’s partner out from the other wing. 

“I’m hungry!”  Baekhyun’s plaintive yell is more of a forlorn public announcement than a demand for relief, and it echoes off the wooden overhang of the stage.  Not all the curtains are hung today, just two layers of the wings.

“Ok, I’d better go check on lunch,” Yixing says.  He slips through the side exit with a backwards wave to Yifan and Chanyeol, leaving a palpable crater between them. 

Yifan checks his phone.  Eleven minutes to go.  He swipes the password on the lockscreen to check notifications and opens a message from Henry:

so did you fix things 

Yifan blinks at the text.  The flashing cursor outlines Chanyeol’s profile in silhouette with each flicker.  If by fix you mean ruin, then yes

did you at least talk 2 him you oversized idiot

Chanyeol’s face twitches behind his glasses at the sound of Yifan’s groan.  Yifan turns his back in embarrassment to type out an answer.  The immediate response means Henry’s not safely sound asleep as he’d assumed.  

yes, he types quickly.  The simpler the better, right?  Anything you say can be used against you in a court of love.   

oh rly. about ~things~?

Yifan considers shutting off his phone and heading to lunch early, but if he does Henry will just swamp his inbox with a deluge of adolescent insults and motherly advice til he gives in.  

...no, he finally replies and hits send as Kyuhyun resets the music for one last runthrough of the circle dance. 

well fix it :P 

im going 2 sleep now fanfan eat a healthy lunch ok.

That’s what he can always depend on from Henry, practical yet ultimately useless advice.  If Yifan could fix his problems by developing his appetite he would be a wealthy and successful genius by now, not the stuttering janitor of a grade school who’s going to look awful in a baggy red suit. 

Chanyeol chuckles beside him, a deep rustle in his throat as he shifts against the paneling.  He’s smiling at a photo on his screen.  Maybe a selca from Zitao and Princess, Yifan can’t tell from this angle.  But the sliver of Chanyeol’s smile visible in the screen glow twists into the callouses of Yifan’s fingertips until he’s typing out a new message with a sigh. 

Hey, we need to talk.  He mumbles over it, wincing at the echo of Sica’s artless tone.  Too demanding.  He erases, tries again.  Chanyeol, I have things to tell you. Would you have time to come over?

Chanyeol looks up as the notification flashes on his screen, looks right at him.  Yifan bites his lip, unsure if he should smile.  Chanyeol rolls his head back as his thumbs tap across the screen. 

Sure.  When

You mean at ur place??  

Yifan catches his gaze, allowing the briefest smile this time as he nods in confirmation.  How is thursday?  Maybe dinner? 

ok. just txt me yr address.

Thursday, then.  Yifan nods resolutely at Chanyeol’s response.  That gives him two days to clean his kitchen, to organize ingredients for hot pot and an outline for his fears.  Yifan slips his phone in his back pocket and turns to ask if-- 

“Ok!” Key cheers as the music cuts halfway into the last phrase.  “Good work guys!  Good work!  See you after lunch!” 

The kids are already pouring down the stairs or hopping from the stage into the orchestra pit.  Amber ducks as makeshift props go flying and Chanyeol is already halfway up the center aisle to help Zhou Mi collect the baby mice out of the herd of reindeer.  

I’m expecting~! 

Yifan gets the last message as he’s walking back from the cafeteria, his gut a twist of spicy noodles and incubating dreams. 

******

It rains all day Thursday, no dry spots for a picnic, and really it’s getting too cold to sit outside.  Yifan stays in his office most of the day, only leaving to empty the bins of trash and leaking rain water.  He avoids the cafeteria, crunching through a box of expired soda crackers for lunch after inventorying the snack pantry for Amber.  Not even Henry bothers to spam him on snapchat, but when he gets back from draining the mop buckets after seventh period there is a string of unread kakao messages, all from Chanyeol. 

Heyy

sorry Fan but something came up I can’t make it tonite but

Maybe sat? sun? I swear Ill make it upp to yuo

sorry :’’((((((

Alright, Yifan types back, disappointment a slow seep of nausea welling in his gut.  Whats up?  everything ok?

Chanyeol responds with a thumbs up twenty minutes later but doesn’t bother to elaborate.  If Chanyeol says he’s busy, he probably has good reason.  It feels like more than a simple excuse though, somehow like a personal rejection, and as much as Yifan is dreading the discussion of things he just really wants to get it over with.  Have Chanyeol hum him to sleep again and not have to second guess every character he types into their chat room. 

Yifan waits another three minutes, refreshing the screen of his inbox for a message that isn’t coming.  Then he slips into his coat and jogs down to the bus stop.  He’s a little miffed Chanyeol didn’t come by to explain in person, vindicate his flakiness with his irresistible smile and plan a definite reschedule.  At least he texted, though.  Yifan folds his gloved fingers into the slits of his sidepockets and tries to come up with gratitude for that much. 

On Jess and Yifan's last date she stood him up.  She sent a short text after he'd been waiting thirty minutes to say she was sorry, it was over.  They hadn’t talked for a week beforehand, and they both knew they were only meeting to end things.  It was not a date Yifan was looking forward to, but it still felt sour in his stomach as his eyelids slid closed over the words on his phone screen. 

She even used the "Bye-bye" emoji, the animated kitty gif she always sent on mornings when she had to run out the door before he was awake.  Probably, she sent it out of habit.  Maybe out of spite.  Either way, he had left it in his inbox to fester beneath piles of game request links from Henry and the occasional update from his old roommate.  And, most recently, emoji littered replies from Chanyeol. 

Yifan steps into his kitchen.  His nose wrinkles at the stale scent hanging in the air like his limp curtains.  He’s been eating cup noodles in front of the TV every night this week and he’s not sure he can stomach another tiny dehydrated shrimp for at least a month.  He needs a break.  He needs…

He kneels on his low mattress to pry open the window above his bed but the air outside isn’t much fresher.  His fingers graze the pale blue hanky folded under an empty water glass on his night table and he recoils at the hint of dust collecting in the fine weave.  Yifan shoves it into the top drawer of his bureau and takes the glass to the sink, dialing on the way. 

“Hey, what are you up to?”  Yifan tries to keep his voice as even and detached as possible, but he’s pretty sure Zhou Mi will know something’s up just by his calling.  Yifan hasn’t called anyone from school besides Chanyeol (and maybe Yixing, if answering his chain texts counts). 

“Ah!  Hey, Yifan!  Nothing much really, Amber and Donghae are over.  It’s our night to catch up on Dancing.” 

“Oh.”  Yifan taps his pencil into the weave of the empty fruit basket.  Of course Zhou Mi would have plans, would have people around.  Yifan’s never seen him off alone by himself, and he seems to have a wide social circle if the constant updates on Kakao Story are any indication, weeknights and weekends alike. 

“You’re welcome to drop by!  There will be food.”

“Oh, thanks.”  Yifan crumples the cotton square in his fist.  He won’t be able to bring up any of the half composed confusion crowding his draft box if Zhou Mi has company over, but he’s not sure if he’s even ready to be listened to.  Maybe getting out of the house will...at least it would be a distraction.  “Well, if it’s not an inconvenience or any--”

“Of course not!  You don’t need to ask those kind of things among friends, right?  I can’t promise the house will be in perfect order, but my door’s always open to you.”  Yifan thinks of sweatshirts littered across the ondol and empty cabinets with only coupons and capers.

“Thanks.”  There’s a hard knot swelling in his throat, but somehow Yifan manages to ask directions to Zhou Mi’s place and promises he’ll be over soon. 

He’s not sure he’ll feel like coming back to his empty room as soon as he leaves Zhou Mi’s later, so without a plan more detailed than a vague thought of crashing in a love motel he throws his phone charger, an extra pair of socks, a clean toothbrush, and a few packs of his favorite instant coffee in his black shoulder bag.  He makes sure all the lights are off and jogs down to the curb, dialling a cab on the way. 

Zhou Mi’s place isn’t too far, less that twenty minutes in the car though by bus it’d probably take closer to an hour.  He hands the driver his card to pay and hauls the strap of his bag onto his shoulder for the quick run up a flight of concrete steps to Zhou Mi’s second story apartment. 

The front light is on, spotlighting some kind of potted shrub next to the doormat.  He wonders if Zhou Mi turned it on for him or if he always leaves the light on after dark.  Yifan pops three of the knuckles in his left hand and rings the bell.  He exhales, bouncing on his heels.

“Hey.”  Amber answers the door with a hand raised in greeting, a crinkly bag of potato chips dangling from the other. 

“Come on in!” Zhou Mi calls, his head appearing behind Amber’s in the doorway.  “We’re just about to make some jeon to go with the makgeolli Hae brought.”

“Hey man,” Donghae says as Zhou Mi ushers Yifan into the kitchen.  “Just in time!”  He’s peeling garlic with a short bladed paring knife.  A pile of green onions wrapped in cellophane rustles at his elbow. Everything inside the kitchen is sleek and minimalist, glossy black countertops and angular white chairs.  The room is still homey, though, with polka dot print curtains shirred on the rod over the sink. 

“Hey.”  Yifan takes a seat across from Donghae at the table.  Zhou Mi dribbles oil into the skillet heating on the stove while Amber lounges next to him against the counter. 

“So are you into Dancing too?” Donghae asks.

“Not particularly.”  Yifan sets his bag under his chair.  “I was just looking to hang out.  My usual Friday night plans got… shunted.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”  Amber tugs on the strings of Zhou Mi’s striped apron and he swats at her with the spatula.  Both of them match the kitchen.  Jess would approve.  Yifan wonders if Chanyeol has a cooking apron but decides probably not, unless his sister left one of those at his place too. 

The jeon fries up quickly and Amber piles the rounds onto a tray.  Yifan carries in the chopsticks and a shallow dish of soy sauce while Zhou Mi and Donghae set up a folding table in front of the TV.  Amber loads the show on DVR and the season 9 intro starts.

“Wait, wasn’t the finale like, a month ago?” Yifan asks, accepting a napkin from Zhou Mi.  The only reason he knows this is because Taemin, Sehun, and Jongin watch recaps on Sehun’s ipad during lunch break. 

“Yeah, but what’s the point of rushing?”  Donghae slumps to the floor, back against the sofa.  His head lolls onto Zhou Mi’s bony knee and Yifan’s scalp aches for the warmth of Chanyeol’s hands caressing his hair.  Amber flops onto the cushion next to Zhou Mi and crosses her ankles in his lap.

“Shh!  Or we’ll miss something!” she says, and holds down the volume button on the remote. 

Yifan leans back in the armchair, fingers digging into the cream velour seat cover.  The music is loud, vibrating through the television speakers.  If Zhou Mi’s sound system wasn’t high quality the noise would be a little painful.  He grits his teeth, trying to focus and failing.  He’s watched a few clips at school, sharing Sehun’s earbuds with Jongin, but he hasn’t been following the show closely enough to have an emotional connection to any of the contestants. 

The scenes wash by, dramatic lighting and shifting genres of sound, movement, fashion.  Dancers cry and rant and sweat and bow and Yifan feels restless, hungry.  His chopsticks keep the food moving to his mouth but the greasy strips of jeon Donghae piles on his plate won’t slide down his throat, even when washed down with a few rounds of rice wine.  Yifan’s skin is crawling with the need to move, to peel himself out of his chair, but he’s not about to get up and join Donghae freestyling around the table.  Yifan doesn’t dance in public.  If Chanyeol were here, though, maybe…

But he’s not.  Chanyeol is not here and that’s the whole reason Yifan feels suffocated by the sticky enjoyment filling the room as Zhou Mi hums along with the orchestra swells and Amber yells R-rated encouragement at the screen.  It’s the reason he’s here, being miserable on a doily covered armchair instead of spooned around Chanyeol, breathing in lemon and lavender with Chanyeol’s stupid feathery hair ruffling under his chin and Chanyeol’s stupid mismatched sock feet kicking the blanket off their legs and--

“Hey, Fan?  You ok?”  Donghae leans into his breathing space as he spins by.  He pauses in front of the armchair to pant, shoulders heaving as he grips the armrests just below Yifan’s hands.  “You look flushed.” 

“‘M fine.”  Yifan tugs at the hem of his shirt bunched at his waistband and hopes Donghae’s sweat doesn’t drip.

“You want some water?”  Zhou Mi makes to get up but Yifan waves him back to his seat. 

“I’ll just--”  he points down the hallway in question.  Donghae slides back to give him room to stand. 

“First door on your left,” Amber says.  “Do you want us to pause it?”

“It’s ok,” Yifan says with a head shake that makes his ears hum, and Amber sets down the remote. 

The bathroom is cold, enough to make him shiver when he presses his forehead into the tile above the towel rack.  This room hasn’t been remodeled as recently as the kitchen, if the tarnished brass fixtures and the grainy finish apricot tiles are any indication.

The light switch looks new though, Yifan notices as he comes up from the sink for a breath of air, water running down his face in clear outlines.  The polished steel plate looks almost blue against the tawny brass of the doorknob and there’s a margin around the corners where the tile is pale peach, untouched by cigarette smoke and grime, a lighter shade than everything else. 

Yifan squints at it as he drags his palms across a white hand towel.  A little face stares back from the corner of the tile, a black smudge and an empty screw hole for eyes.  A crack curves sideways in a comfortable upturn beneath them, the same benign warmth of a Baekje smile on a Silla roof tile.  Yifan pats the crack with his fingers and fumbles for the doorknob.  He finds comfort in noticing patterns, even if they’re coincidental.  Even things that weren’t intentionally placed with a message; he can find meaning in them, a personal resonance. 

He tried to explain that to Sica once, over coffee.  He’s never tried with Chanyeol. It’s hard to talk about philosophical stuff on a coffee date without coming off as a pretentious bastard, or someone inclined to believe in pop science and conspiracy theories.  Chanyeol’s too straightforward to make assumptions about him, though.  He’d probably just doodle maltese puppies on a napkin while he listened to Yifan try to analyze how:

Yifan’s bathroom ceiling has a water stain with borders that shift like a melanoma.  Zhou Mi’s bathroom wall has a smile.  Chanyeol’s bathroom has too many towels that--

“Here, coffee.”  Donghae shoves a mug at him as soon as he rounds the corner.  The plain white porcelain burns his palms and Yifan almost drops it. 

“Is it over already?”  The TV screen is blank, the Samsung logo bouncing across the blue display. 

“Yup.  You up for another one?”  Zhou Mi hands him another paper napkin.  Yifan slides it between the mug and his palm with a grateful sigh.  Henry calls him a wimp but he can’t help that he’s sensitive.  

“Three eps to go before the season finale!” Amber calls from the couch.  She’s taken over all three cushions now, both monochrome ikat throw pillows sandwiched between her knees.  Yifan squints into his coffee, trying to calculate in his head.  It’s ten o’clock now.  Three more episodes plus the feature length finale would be… a mind numbing exercise in social torture.

“I should probably head home.”  Yifan hands the mug back to Donghae and thanks Zhou Mi with his smile.  If he leaves now he can still catch the bus. Or maybe he should take a long walk. 

Yifan takes the 12 bus and takes his time walking back.  The average twenty minutes stretches closer to an hour as he drags his feet up the sloping sidewalk and around his building.  He skirts around the dumpster to the very back where the mail pick-up is and spots a lone figure slumped on the bottom of the rickety fire escape a few feet away.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, lifting his chin from the turned up collar of his jacket.  “Sorry, I just got back from the hospital and assumed you’d be home but you weren’t--”

“Hospital?”  Yifan drops his bag at his feet.  “Are you--did Tao--”

“Stop, it’s ok, everything’s fine now.”  Chanyeol holds up an arm, bare fingers flexing tense.  “Just--don’t tell Amber I told you, but we had to take Baekhyunnie to the ER.  He slipped and cut a gash in his knee and his aunt doesn’t get off work til 11:00.”

“Is he home now?  Is he ok?”

“Yup.  Just two stitches, and he was really brave.”  Chanyeol smiles, half proud and half wistful as he tucks his hands into his armpits, hunching forward. He doesn’t have his warm coat on, just a down vest over his denim jacket.  “You had something to tell me?” 

“Oh yeah,” Yifan says.  “Yeah.  Stuff.”

“Have a seat.”  Chanyeol pats the cold metal rung next to him and Yifan sits, a calculated distance several centimeters away, his hands folded on his pulled up knees. 

They talk about stuff, mostly Yifan’s stuff, but Chanyeol says things too, meaning pooling in the dimple of his forehead when he frowns and in the dark spaces between his teeth when he breaths.  Yifan still feels restless, shifting his hips on the hard cold seat, but the pattern of Chanyeol’s breath matches the frequency of Yifan’s internal noise and that makes it easier to let it all spill out. 

When Yifan runs out of words there is silence for a moment.  He looks down with a nod to confirm that he’s really done, and waits.  He’s half expecting Chanyeol to get up, wave goodbye, and leave him on the rusty metal steps. 

“Ok,” Chanyeol says, and his lips are muffled in the frizz of Yifan’s hair.  It will rain soon, if the haze around the moon is any indication.

“Ok?”  That’s it?  “You mean you understand why...”  It’s not that he quit out of fear.  Yifan’s not running away from his muse like it’s some shapeless and metaphorical blob of gouache-dripping papier mache.  Henry’s never accused him of anything, and Yifan thinks his mother never really meant it when she did.  But he needs more from Chanyeol.  Not just reticence and jars of pickled plums, Yifan wants Chanyeol to understand.  Needs him to. 

“Yeah, I get that.”  Chanyeol’s sigh is quiet but just as sincere as his booming playground voice.  “I get burnt out too, you know.  Things get stressful and sometimes I think about walking away.  Maybe everyone does.”

“Even your sister?”  Did Kihyun feel burnt out when he--?  Yifan always brushed it off as a sick ploy for attention because--

“Haha!”  Chanyeol’s laugh catches him off guard.  The deep velvet sinking in his ears pulls him into Chanyeol’s chest like the band of a heavy blanket, wrapping him tight.  “Yeah.  Even her, I think.”

“Ok.”  Yifan relaxes into Chanyeol’s solid warmth with every whisper that sings through his hair. 

“But that doesn’t mean I think you can just give up on yourself.”

“Not again with the cryptic stuff, Yeol.”  Yifan muffles his groan into the squish of Chanyeol’s down-padded stomach.  “I have two shelves of inspirational literature for when I feel like being metaphorical and confused.”

“I’m not being…”  Chanyeol’s thumb catches on a tangle behind Yifan’s ear as he sighs.  “I just think your work, your life, should be meaningful.” 

“Meaningful,” Yifan grunts, and tries to swallow his grin at the jump of Chanyeol’s abdominals.  “Like more than rent and bus fare?” 

“Fan, do you like your job?”  Chanyeol tugs on his hair until he tips his face up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m tired of answering that question whe--”

“Yes or no?”  Chanyeol yanks harder this time. 

“Uh… yes?”  Yifan tries to sit up, his elbow digging into Chanyeol’s thigh until he grunts.  “Most of the time.  ‘Cause I get to take care of you guys, I guess.  You, Baek, Sehunnie, Amber, Yixing, all of you.”  Chanyeol nods, satisfied.

“It means a lot to us too.  How you’re only a page away and you’ll come running with the towels and a smile whenever we need you.” 

Yifan bites his lip.  His bleary eyes struggle to focus in the strains of street lamp light, on the shape of Chanyeol’s lips as they swallow air and spit out breath.  Is Chanyeol calling him dependable?  Because Yifan has spent years flinching under the weight of not good enough.

“And that’s enough?”  He forces his gaze straight.  “Even if I never go back to finish--”  He thinks of the canvases tenderly swaddled in blankets stacked in the climate controlled storage unit near campus he stills pays for every month.  The draft of his thesis is in an old backpack with a broken zipper, tucked behind the rain boots he never wears.   

“That’s up to you.  But I don’t think you have to pick up your art again, if that’s what you’re asking.”  Chanyeol’s cold fingers at his temples dull the ache behind Yifan’s eyes.  “Unless you think it’s something important you should do.”

“And everyone’s expectations?”  Yifan traces the ragged tear in the leg of his jeans.   

“Do you really still care about them?”

“Oh,” Yifan says.  “No, I guess not.”  Maybe he locked those up too, left them on the balcony of his suffocating one room in Seoul, in his drafty studio, in the office with too many filing drawers.  He quit art because he has nothing more to say through it, at least for now. 

“Thanks for sharing, Fan.” 

Yifan shakes his head, his hair a web of static against Chanyeol’s vest. He’s the one with a lot of thanking to do.  He might as well start now. 

“So are you coming up, or…”  He twists his head in Chanyeol’s lap to find pursed lips and a thoughtful frown.  A gentle finger traces the points of the star shaped stud in Yifan’s lobe, teasing around the piercing.   

“I don’t know, dude.  We have to get to the theater really early tomorrow.”

“Yeol.”

“Key will dropkick me through the plywood sets if I’m late with the props!” 

“I really don’t think--”

“And I’m not appropriately attired for the honor of finally meeting your apartment and what if--”

“Chanyeol.”

“--I forgot my toothbrush and--”

“Park Chan-ing-yeol.”  Yifan grabs his collar, tugging him lower to press a finger across his lips.  Chanyeol shudders at the cold touch but his mouth turns up in a tiny, heated smile.  “I have lots of toothbrushes, don’t worry.”  Yifan pinches Chanyeol’s half dimple with his nails, digging in til his lips part with a satisfying gasp.  “I keep buying packs of them on sale lately, because for some reason they remind me of someone I really like.”

“Oh yeah?”  Chanyeol arches forward, pawing through the ped duffle at his feet.  “Sorry to disappoint you then, because--”  He holds open the bag for Yifan to see.  Green Tsingtao cans, a neatly rolled T-shirt, and a pack of Pororo and Friends toothbrushes are jumbled in the bottom.

“So--” Yifan breathes, “you were planning all along to--”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says.  “Last minute I kind of… changed my mind.  I mean I really did end up at the hospital with Baekhyunnie but--”

“Stupid,” Yifan coughs.  “You brought a shirt but forgot your underwear?”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says.  His lips slide up in a dangerous smirk.  “No, I just figured I could borrow yours?”

“Ok,” Yifan laughs, the cold air fresh in his lungs.  He stretches up to kiss the tip of Chanyeol’s nose, and pulls him up the stairs. 

******

“So you actually finished sewing all those mouse ears together?  I’m impressed!”  Chanyeol tweaks the felt layers of Minseok’s felt ears as Amber dots freckles on his cheek with an eyeliner pencil. 

“Yeah, no thanks to Yixing,” she snorts.  “I was up all night.  It’s not fair he decided to add this drama showcase last minute and then insisted on full costumes!”  She looks exhausted, with smudges the color of smeared kohl under her eyes. 

“We gave up sewing around 3:00 and broke out the glue gun,” Zhou Mi says through a thick yawn.  “Not as sturdy, but it should hold.” 

“Unless someone tries to eat their headband,” Donghae teases.   

“Don’t even say that!” Amber moans.  She gives Minseok a pat and shoos him into line by the side of the makeshift stage.  “Don’t go planting ideas in innocent little minds!” 

“Well anyway, you did great with Yifan’s costume!”  Chanyeol smoothes the bands of white fur trim that run parallel down the lapels.  “And wow, we got a full house tonight!  I thought we set up too many chairs but I think we’re gonna need them all.” 

Yifan scans audience as Chanyeol fusses with the pillow tied to his waist.  Besides the parents, there are also some grandparents present, and nearly every other adult’s lap is full of someone’s little brother or sister.  He already feels self conscious in his cardinal suit and he hasn’t even stepped on stage.  

“Can I go home now,” Yifan says to no one in particular, and it earns him a smack from Amber. 

“Too late for that now,” she says, and Yifan’s sad-eyed pout doesn’t soften her glare at all.  “Hey, shut up guys, I think it’s starting!”

Chanyeol lays his cheek on Yifan’s chest, swinging the matching red hat by the ball of fur at the tip.  The audience sits up straighter in their squeaky folding chairs as Yixing steps up to the microphone.   

“Dear students, parents, staff, and friends of our beloved school!  Let me welcome you all to an exciting evening of prodigious and pandemic performance pizzazz!” 

“Pizzazz?” Yifan coughs out as Yixing pauses to inhale.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Amber says.  Chanyeol’s arm around his hips tightens as she leans up to whisper.  “His speeches are a little… well, 4D, let’s be honest.  So don’t feel bad if you can’t follow.”  Yifan nods into Chanyeol’s messy hair, trying to focus on Yixing.  

“...can be fun, simultaneously developing discipline and character.  At EXO International Academy we believe the arts are an essential ingredient of a well balanced education, along with the sciences and humanities.  Artistic expression invokes creativity, a valuable human resource whether applied to entrepreneurship,” he pauses to smile benevolently at Baekhyun and Jongdae on the front row, who are sandwiched on one folding chair between Donghae and Jonghyun. 

“Such a good principal!”  Zhou Mi winks at Yifan across Amber’s shoulder.  “He practically has the brochure memorized!”

“I think that’s ‘cause he wrote it,” Amber says just as Song Qian turns to silence them with a zipping motion across her glossy red lips. 

“...or to heighten an innate sensitivity to pathos and precedence.”  Yixing winks at Soojung and gives a solemn nod to Kyungsoo, who sits up straighter on his mom’s lap and gravely nods back. 

“But most of all, I’d like to welcome you all here tonight as family!”  Yixing’s gaze skims the back, where the teachers and staff are clustered behind the rows of chairs.  Chanyeol’s fingers lace through his as Yifan squeezes their palms together.  

“He means it,” Zhou Mi mouths around a wide grin.  His grip is warm on Yifan’s shoulder.  Yifan nods, forcing down a dry swallow as Amber crushes his toes under her boot heel with a wink. 

“We value community and relationships as essential to development.  I’m incredibly proud of every school member in this room!  You have struggled and faced numerous challenges this semester and grown as a result, adults and kiddos alike!”

“I’m so flattered, Yixing, thanks for that,” Amber mutters as he beams behind the microphone, waiting for titters from the audience to die down.

“Anyway, I hope you take tonight as a chance to enjoy the hard work the kids have prepared for us, but also a chance for reflection.  I challenge you to search for inspiration as you continuously cultivate your character!”

“Oh god,” Chanyeol moans, knocking his forehead into Yifan’s faux fur ruff, “not the Confucius speech, please don’t start with the philosophy!”  

“Just hang in there,” Yifan says, and rubs his palm across the continents of Chanyeol’s back, the rises and valleys.

“So without further ado, we’ll start with some scenes from our original production of The Night Before Christmas, so get excited!  You won’t want to miss the full performance this weekend!”  Chanyeol relaxes in his slump against Yifan’s side as Yixing steps to the side of the podium.  The crisp material of his dark slacks creases as he bows.  

“Alright, EXO Academy!” Amber whoops, her voice meshing with Donghae’s earsplitting whistle above the applause. 

“Go, go!” Jonghyun hisses, pushing through the crowd at the back to shove Yifan towards the platform.  “You’re on in three!”

“Mr. Fan!”  Tiny fingers tug at Yifan’s belt, which is actually Song Qian’s wide purple cumberband covered in black foil.  “Can you fix my costume?”  Baekhyun mouths the words with a lisp when he tries to whisper.  His front tooth is halfway grown in now and the shrinking gap makes his sighs whistle. 

“Here.”  Yifan gently lifts the crooked headband, adjusting the press of the ends against his scalp until the felt ears align.  “All set!”  Baekhyun wriggles back into line with a grin as Sehun and Jongin step on stage.  Taemin is positioned center stage, balancing on a step stool wrapped in plastic holly sprigs.  He holds the Christmas star aloft and his skinny arms only wobble a bit. 

Taeyeon and Hyukjae, the two sixth graders starring in the production, are lying on a blanket under the star’s glow.  They try not to fidget in their matching stocking caps and nightgowns as the mice skip across the stage.  Jongdae only trips once, on a reindeer’s shoelace and not the Christmas lights. 

The snowflakes close the final scene with a fan dance.  Jongin and Sehun sprinkle silver glitter across the front rows as Yifan delivers the last line with a wave, “And to all a good night!”  The kids rush forward into the thunder of applause, bowing and waving all out of order before hopping down into the audience to find their families.  

“Wow, I’m actually feeling ok about the real performance now,” Yifan says, leaning into Chanyeol as someone’s grandmother pushes past with an armful of cellophane swaddled roses.  “Now that we made it through some of the scenes without electrical fires or other mishap.”

“Yeah, but the worse the dress rehearsal, the better the performance,” Key cuts in with a frown.  He shoulders past Amber, his pinky finger worrying incessantly at his tiny hoop earring.  “So don’t get ahead of yourself, Santa.” 

“Lucky for us, the dress rehearsal’s not til this weekend,” Amber says flatly.  “We have three whole days to glue sequins and freak out about Jongdae leaving teeth marks on the styrofoam sugar plums.  Woo hoo!”  Key laughs weakly and punches her shoulder before wandering off to inventory the sound cables, or maybe the styrofoam sugar plums. 

“Hey, you were great!”  Zhou Mi’s chest squashes the air from the pillow belted inside Yifan’s pants as he hugs him.  “And don’t worry, you’ll do awesome this weekend too!” 

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it,” Yifan says, and he means it.  “I’m going to go to strip now before this pillowcase welds to my--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Amber growls, already pushing him towards the men’s room with a coat hanger.  “And hang it up neatly, or you’re ironing the fur yourself!”           

Once he’s changed, Chanyeol takes him around the perimeter of the gym to see the displays.  There are photo boards from all of the classes, with collages of pancake experiments and baking soda volcanoes.  But the main attraction is the sculpture gallery from Chanyeol’s class.

“Mr. Fan!  Did you see my robot yet?”  Baekhyun, still in his mouse ears, runs up to twist his fingers in Yifan’s trouser leg.  “We built it all by myselves!  Me and Jongdae did it.” 

“You built it yourselves?” 

“Uh huh!”  Baekhyun tugs him through the maze of chairs and visitors, all the way to the back corner.   

“Whoa, Baek!  You built that?”  The robot is taller than Baekhyun.  A heart assembled from jigsaw slices of an empty gochujang tub is red through the bubble wrap chest.  The inner wires of an LAN cable stripped of the casing lead from the limbs to the heart, a tangled rainbow of chakra points.  The face is drawn on the side of a bleach bottle.  The eyes are scribbled in red, on either side of the handle that protrudes like a proboscis.

“Did I do good?”  Baekhyun stretches the hem of his red wool sweater with balls of his fists.   

“You did awesome!  High five!”  He giggles and smacks Yifan’s hand, then both of Chanyeol’s.  “Where’s Jong--”

“Excuse me but,” a thin woman in a pale pink sweater interrupts Yifan shyly as she steps up to them.  “Would you mind taking our picture?”  Her hand cups Baekhyun’s shoulder as she holds out a small digital camera. 

“Not at all!”  Chanyeol accepts it and Baekhyun encircles the woman’s leg with his short arms.  Her face relaxes in a rectangular smile and she giggles as his eyelashes snag on her pantyhose.

“Get off, Baek!  That tickles!”  She pushes him gently away and straightens the cuffs of his sweater before moving to pose on the other side of Baekhyun’s creation. 

“Say cheese!”  Chanyeol snaps three shots for each pose.  The squints get tighter and the dimples deepen with every flash as Baekhyun unleashes all his aegyo under the spotlight.  His aunt makes a pretty cute peace sign, too.   

The reception doesn’t last long.  The older kids are going out for ice cream with Key and Jonghyun, and younger ones have fast approaching bedtimes.  There isn’t much cleanup to do either, just the trash since the displays will stay up until after the play.    

“Just leave the chairs for now,” Yixing says, patting Chanyeol’s forehead as he passes.  “You guys can go on home, I’ll lock up tonight.” 

“Thanks, Yixing!” Chanyeol calls after him, and tosses Yifan his coat.  They’re at the back of gym, just to the side of traffic as parents and students trickle out to the parking lot. 

“Bye bye, Mr. Fan!”  Jongin waves to them across the room, his other hand tangled in his hair.  His dark waves are a hair sprayed, teased up mess and Yifan chuckles at the sparkly pink clip clamped on top.  Jongin shoved it in his bangs as soon as the performance ended.  His stitches are long gone but he still wears it nearly every day. 

“Bye, Jongin!  Have a safe trip home!”  Yifan bows to his parents. 

“So cute!” Chanyeol coos as soon as they disappear out the door.  “Aw, and I can’t believe the semester is almost over!  Jongin’ll be a kindergartner come spring.” 

“Mmhm.”  Yifan tucks a wayward curl off Chanyeol’s forehead under the band of his cap. 

“And Baek and Jongdae will be first graders!”

“That’s slightly terrifying,” Yifan says, thinking of the boys let loose in the big kids’ science lab.

“Nah, they’ll take it as it comes,” Chanyeol says, grabbing Yifan’s hand in his gloved fingers.  “As we all will.  Let’s go home.”

******

“Happy Birthday!” 

There are twenty-five candles on the cake.  The thicket of wax is smoking like a forest fire.  The whip cream didn’t set up right so it’s sliding down the layers, but Chanyeol leans over to kiss him appreciatively, square on the mouth.  “Thanks, Fan!” 

“Hurry up and wish.”  Yifan cups the back of Chanyeol’s neck, pushing his face towards the flames to blow. 

“Ok,” Chanyeol says, and promptly sneezes from all the smoke.  Yifan yelps as the cream spatters his chin and the inside of his collar.  “Sorry!” Chanyeol says, but his delighted grin isn’t sorry at all.  Yifan wipes his face with his hand and the cream feels gross between his fingers but he can’t stop smiling back. 

u look like idiots ^^ kkk is all Tao replies to their selca of the two of them in pointy party hats behind the messy cake. Yifan texts back a smiley because they kind of do, because they both look so, so happy. 

You look so ~fine youd think it was your bday and not your bfs is what Henry texts, and yeah, Yifan has to agree with him too. 

“You are the best!”  Chanyeol’s mouth is full of cake and his lips are thick with smears of cream.  “This cake is the best!”  Yifan takes a pic of his chipmunk cheeks before handing him a napkin. 

“You know what would make this even better?”  Chanyeol squirms on the edge of his seat, swallowing down his mouthful.  Yifan sets down his phone to link their fingers.  “And don’t say alcohol, because we are not getting drunk tonight.” 

Yifan wants to forget a lot of things, but these days there are more that he wants to remember.  The thick blanket of warmth in Chanyeol’s eyes when he’s all groggy in the morning, rolling over to shut off the alarm and drape himself across Yifan’s back.  Baekhyun’s slender fingers caught in his as they race Jongdae down to the playground.

“What?” Chanyeol asks, his mouth finally clear. 

“Never mind.”  Yifan scoops up a chunk of strawberry and pokes the spoon at Chanyeol.    

“No, what?  I wanna know!”  Chanyeol pricks him with the tines of his fork.

“Ok!  I’ll tell you.”  Yifan secures his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.  “But promise you won’t laugh.”  Chanyeol’s eyes are the perfect shade of melting darkness, jochung syrup laid thick over fresh bread. 

“Promise!”  Chanyeol crosses his heart with a caramel sticky finger. 

“Ok,” Yifan breathes out, “I wish the kids could be here, to celebrate with us.  Kyungsoo would be handing out napkins while Soojung supervised Joonmyun’s cutting so all the cake slices came out even and Jongdae would try to eat the candles but--”  

“You!” Chanyeol crows, and Yifan gasps as a quaking shoulder slams into his chest, “are a huge sap, Mr. Fan!  But I love you anyway.” 

“You love me because of it,” Yifan growls, shoving him back into his own seat. 

“Mmhm!” Chanyeol laughs.  He swipes a trace of cream from Yifan’s cheek and kisses it from his fingertip.  “I only share cake with special people.”   

As soon as their empty plates hit the trash, Chanyeol pulls the largest fuzzy blanket off Yifan’s stack of extra bedding and tugs him onto the balcony.

“What are we doing out here,” Yifan groans as Chanyeol eases the sliding door closed behind them.  “It’s so cold.”  It’s really crowded, too.  The laundry rack takes up more than half the space and the view is nothing like the scene from Chanyeol’s high rise. 

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, and holds Yifan closer.  His arms hook beneath Yifan’s and he rests his head against the glass door as Yifan leans into him, aligning temple and cheek and breath.  “We’ll go in soon, so just enjoy this.  We’re looking at the stars.”

“There are no stars,” Yifan says in confusion, because he’s staring up at the sky and all he can see is a haze of light pollution, vaguely mauve against the cloud cover.  

“Oh, there are.  Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

Yifan twists out of the embrace to stare at him.

“That is the most disgusting thing you have ever said.  Seriously, Chanyeol.  Are you going to buy us matching mood rings for Christmas?” 

“I could,”  Chanyeol mumbles, and tucks his chin back onto Yifan’s shoulder.  “If you want.”  He sighs, a slow exhale of quiet contentment.  “Mm, I don’t get you completely to myself nearly often enough.”

“We could fix that,” Yifan whispers. 

“Mmhm,” Chanyeol nods.  “So!  Winter break--picture this.  You, me, a couple of sleeping bags, we could go somewhere with plenty of stars.”

“How about we wait til spring when it’s not freezing.  My toes feel like little ice cubes in someone’s mocha frappucino, can we go in?”

“I said shut up!” Chanyeol groans, swaying them side to side.  “I’m your personal blanket, remember?” 

“Oh yeah,” Yifan says, grinning at the memory.  Chanyeol is a lot of things to him: blanket, best friend, home.  He can’t wait to see how the list will grow.

******

It’s Saturday, and he just wants to lay in bed with Chanyeol wrapped around him, the lemur to his tree trunk.  It’s Saturday and Yifan doesn’t want to be up this early, but they have dress rehearsal in a few hours.  Today is the final costume fitting, and Amber promised she’d make his beard extra itchy on purpose if he forgets any of his entrances. 

Chanyeol is coming along to the theater, for moral support and back rubs between scenes.  Yifan will probably bribe him with popsicles into running lines with him later, but before that he has one more dialogue to practice. 

“Hey, um,” Yifan says, matching gazes with the pair of tiny yellow eyes in front of him.  “Um, hi, we, um--”  His voice echoes shakily against the walls of Chanyeol’s empty kitchen and he counts to three before trying again.  He knows the words he wants to say, finally.  Now he just has to practice getting them unstuck from his tongue.    

“H-hey, mom, I wanted to let you know I got your package, and thank you.”  He picks up his spoon, grips the cold handle, and continues.  “How have you been?” 

There, that time was better.  Tony the Tiger grins back in approval as Yifan picks up his phone.  He gives the cereal in his bowl a determined stir and dials. 

******