Chapter One: Your Answer

"Bold" indicates Chinese
"Normal" indicate Korean
Translations at the bottom

He blinked awake, amidst the noise around him. As he reoriented himself, he blinked the spots of lights out of his eyes before realizing that they came from the buildings in front of him. Where was he? Where was this? Who was he?

The first thing he noticed was how uncomfortable he was, which was easily explained by the way and where he was sitting- a park bench, with his back slumped against the hard wood. He gripped his head, at the pain. Standing up, he brushed the dust off his pants as he looked around. A wave of pain hit him.

Park Chanyeol. His name was, is Park Chanyeol. The headache gradually subsided and his vision focused, the foggy film on top his sight that he didn’t even notice clearing. He staggered a few steps, grabbing a random passerby by the elbow.

It turned out to be a young teenage girl with her group of friends. They giggled as they took in his appearance, and the girl blushed. “Where am I?” Chanyeol asked, voice hoarse. The girl in front of him frowned, and replied something that he couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry, what?” Chanyeol cleared his throat and tried again. The girl shook her head and disentangled her arm from his, moving on with her friends, occasionally sending concerned glances back at him.

Chanyeol lifted a hand to his face to rub it. What was he supposed to do? He was stuck in a place he didn’t know, and the people around him were of no help. Chanyeol soon found himself stumbling out of the park and onto the dark, streetlamps-lit streets, where he looked around, hoping to find another person.

Spotting a man shadowed by the dark cover that the alley provided not far from where he was, Chanyeol lurched over while asking, “Sorry, could you tell me where I am?”

The other person, a middle-aged man that appeared as though he has not shaved for a period of time, looked over his body and leered at him appreciatively. Uncomfortable, Chanyeol looked over his shoulder and retraced his steps hesitantly. When he turned back, the man was far too close for his liking.
Panic struck him like lightning. What is he going to do? Chanyeol bit his lip, determined to not let his discomfort show. He continued backing up, until he couldn’t do so anymore.

He had hit a wall, and he didn’t even notice.

The man in front of him grinned lecherously and continued advancing, but a shadow fell before the both of them as someone stood in between them, shielding Chanyeol from the man.

“Sorry, did I make you wait?” the man in front of him asked, but to Chanyeol, it just sounded like a chain of unintelligible sounds. He then turned to address the other man. “Look, he’s with me. Back off, or you’ll know what hell looks like soon.” The threat was accompanied by a cracking of knuckles.

After the man shuffled away, the person in front of him whirled around to assess him. Chanyeol pressed himself against the wall, willing himself not to shrink. Whoever he was, he screamed danger.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol bit out, and watched as recognition lit up the other’s eyes. Now that the light wasn’t being blocked by the middle-aged man, he could now properly take a look at his saviour. Chanyeol’s eyes widened as adrenaline from his encounter left him, causing him to sink into the arms of the person in front of him.

The last things he remembered before being enveloped in darkness were a dark pair of brown eyes and dark blond hair.

. . .

Yifan looked at the brunet in front of him in curiosity and a smidgen of suspicion. After all, it wasn’t everyday you picked up a Korean on the streets of China.

Could he be one of them? Yifan pondered quietly. There has been more and more Koreans popping up on the streets, and any one of them could pose a danger to the country’s security. Of course, there were those who truly sought asylum and they believed that it was easy to hide, considering China’s size. But he looks so...dorky, Yifan snorted mentally. If this is what Korea has to offer, well, it should be easy.

He was also somewhat adorable, if you could call it so. Yifan wasn’t one to use cuddly or fluffy words frequently, so the word ‘adorable’ left a bad taste in his mind. The brown hair framing his face was messy, but in a deliberate way. Now that the morning sun had risen, Yifan could finally take a proper look at the brunet’s face. It was just a tad chubby, and could be considered slightly cute, in the way a defenseless puppy looks.

I guess I’ll just give him the benefit of the doubt. He made a mental note to check with Yixing, and to see whether Luhan can get any background information on this guy out of his newest boyfriend. God knows the last one had been useless. This new one, however, seems promising.

The brunet suddenly let out a whimper, and his eyes slowly, gradually opened. Yifan swiveled towards him, hand ready to reach out for the nearest tool at any sign of danger. He waited until those brown eyes were fully alert and aware of his surroundings before pouncing.

“Who are you?”

. . .

Chanyeol was terrified. He wakes up in an unfamiliar room he has never seen before (not like he would remember, anyway) and glaring at him was a blond he has only seen for about 20 seconds before he had passed out. In an instinctual defensive motion, he had moved towards the innermost corner of the bed, which was conveniently placed against the wall, insuring that he wouldn’t fall off even if he retreated all the way to the edge.

He took in his surroundings. It was a nicely furnished room, honestly, if not bare and just a tad impersonal. Cream wallpaper covered the walls, and the white, immaculate desk faced the windows, where sunlight was streaming in from. The comforter was warm and thick, a shade of tan that matched the color scheme of the room.

“Who are you?” The blond asked, tone indicating that he was not trusting Chanyeol at all, despite having left him to sleep through the night. Well, two can play that game. It’s not like I trust you either, snooty pants, Chanyeol sniffled childishly.

“Park Chanyeol, who are you?” Chanyeol winced at how much it hurt to even use his voice. It almost felt like sandpaper rubbing against his windpipe, not like he would know how that feels like of course.

The blond (he still didn’t give his name!) gave a long-suffering sigh and left the room, only to come back with a pitcher of cold water and a glass. Pouring a glass of water, he passed it to Chanyeol who downed it eagerly, who returned it with a muted ‘thanks’.

The blond looked at him steadily as though appraising Chanyeol’s value for a few heartbeats, before starting to speak, “My name is Wu Yifan. Do you realize where you are?”

Chanyeol mutely shook his head, biting back the retort threatening to slip out of his mouth. If I knew, do you think I’d be here?

“You’re currently in China, does that hold any significance to you?” Upon seeing Chanyeol’s lack of reaction, Yifan continued, possible reasons forming in his head, “You’re probably a Korean, if your usage of the language is an indication. China and Korea are currently at war, and you being here in itself is a mystery. Rarely is there any interaction between the two countries anymore, logical considering the turbulent times, and that brings us to the main issue. Are you a spy, or are you one of those seeking safety from our country?”

Chanyeol didn’t overlook the way Yifan’s eyes hardened and fists clench as he asked the question, and chose to tell the blond everything he could remember, which wasn’t much, in hopes to soothe the tension. “I don’t know. I woke up in the park last night, and had no idea where I was. The only thing I could, and can remember is my name. And I could hardly ask the people around me, considering that there’s this huge, opaque language barrier between us, if you haven’t noticed. Then you found me in the alley with that man,” Chanyeol shivered and clutched the comforter closer to him. “Other than the events that transpired the day before? I have no recollection. When I try to remember, I sort of have this huge headache, like I’m trying to press my head against this...invisible wall, or something.”

Yifan had adopted an expression of serious concentration as Chanyeol rambled on, as he picked apart and analyzed everything he said, trying to draw connections. His mind came up with a blank, however.

Chanyeol watched as the blond rose to his full height, blinking owlishly as he finally registered how tall the other man was. He knew he was at a respectable height himself, but still, Yifan was probably taller. He didn’t actually manage to take a proper look the night before. Now that he could however, he noticed how sharp and chiseled the other man’s face was, and how the blond hair was styled relatively fashionably. It also didn’t escape his notice how Yifan was clothed in a white button-up shirt and dark tailored trousers. Office worker? Chanyeol guessed uncertainly.

He continued watching as Yifan walked to the door, and then paused.

“Just...get some sleep, or wash up. Take-out’s menu is on the living room table, and the money is in the drawer. Just don’t snoop around. I’ll see if I can find out anything for you,” the Chinese instructed in a gravelly tone. “Thank you,” Chanyeol thanked hurriedly, before he lost the opportunity to. Yifan gave a sharp nod before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Maybe he did say earlier he wouldn’t ever trust the blond , but perhaps Chanyeol was more willing to give it a try than he thought.

. . .

It took another week before Yifan could get to Yixing. Within that one week. Chanyeol and he had faced four heated arguments (half of which involved use over Yifan’s kitchen, which Chanyeol had won eventually) and he was more than ready to kick the Korean out of his house.

"Wu Yifan, reporting for duty," he said monotonously to the machine and waited impatiently for the machine to churn out the golden name tag he was used to receiving every single time he came to work. He didn't even understand why the government insisted on these stupid name tags when everyone knew everyone here, additional to the fact that these name tags were supposed to be for visitors (and there were never any).

Stepping into the well-lit and spacious atrium, Yifan looked around for the familiar head of light brown hair.

"Kriiiiiiiis," a chirpy voice yelled as the owner slung an arm over his shoulder. It was quite uncomfortable actually, considering that said owner was at least a few inches shorter than him. Yifan sighed but quirked a small smile.

"Luhan," he greeted. Luhan was one of the rare few that chose to keep his real name as his alias, not like it really mattered, considering that most of his job consisted staying indoors. Kris was a nickname given to him by his circle of friends, and since then, he had adopted it as his alias. He was originally going to go with 'Ace', but Yixing had wrinkled his nose at him and said it was too showy. Therefore, Kris.

Speaking of Yixing, he could spot the ditzy young man walking over to him. "Laaaaay," Luhan detached himself and rushed to the brunet, wrapping himself the slightly taller male. Yixing gave him a wry smile and Yifan responded with a brusque nod, cocking his head up, a gesture familiar to the both of them.

Yixing's face smoothed into one of indifferent professionalism and they walked towards the elevator together, while Luhan chattered about random events and gossip that he had heard during the past week.

They were a funny sight, actually. Yifan had on his usual -face, glaring at random victims. Yixing was an enigma on his own; most usually had no idea what he was thinking about, and sometimes, even Yifan couldn't decipher what his expression meant. Luhan, on the other hand, looked cute, sporting bright red hair (probably to match with his newest beau), but behind that angelic smile, hid someone far more dangerous than he let on.

When Yifan felt certain and safe enough behind the four walls of the office that no one unnecessary would overhear their conversation, he began to speak. "Okay, so about one week ago, I picked up this Korean guy near the park. Park Chanyeol, do you recognize the name?"

He gave a pointed look at Luhan. The other frowned, tapping a finger against his chin. "Not really, but I could ask. Give me a description?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes. He may have had his hair colour changed. Just a bit chubby around the cheeks, only slightly shorter than me. I'd say a distinctive feature would be that his ears are larger than average. Could you get me some intel?" Yifan directed the question to the red-haired male, who responded with a cheery 'okay!'.

Yixing who had been silent throughout the entire exchange suddenly piped up, "A Korean? Why haven't you sent him here yet? What if he was..." he trailed off, the innuendo behind the silence clear as glass.

Yifan raked a hand through his hair, glaring at nothing in particular. "That's the problem. We all know that the interrogation methods they use are...not very friendly," Luhan snorted at that, "Thing is, he doesn't remember anything. He woke up with a blank slate that night, he can't remember anything but his name."

The brunet lifted his eyebrows. "Can't remember anything, you say?"

"Yeah, it's quite a pain actually. I'm hoping that he can remember something, anything, before I bring him here. But it's been a week and he still can't remember anything."

"Does he know? About your...work." Yixing questioned quietly.

Yifan shook his head, "No, I left him to form his own conclusions. He doesn't seem to suspect, even. I don't think he even knows there's such a line of work. He seems too...cute and innocent for it."

"Amnesia, huh. This entire thing seems too fishy, but I suppose we can't do anything about it as of yet. Just keep an eye out, if anything happens, you know the number to call," Yixing's eyebrows furrowed, before sporting a mischievous grin. "Besides..."

"What?" Yifan watched the brunet warily.

"This got to be the first time you called someone cute! If he's cute even to you, he's gotta be like an adorable little puppy!" The other squealed, eyes bright and glistening with mirth.

Yifan spluttered, "What? No! I mean, look at Luhan," he gestured to the male in question, "he's cute too, but he's downright dangerous!"

Luhan agreed passionately, "Yeah! I'm more than this face, okay? I'm like a, a wolf in lamb's clothing!"

Yixing waved their claims off dismissively, sending a cheeky wink to Yifan, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't fall too hard, okay?" Yifan glared back. "So, wolfie, what news do you have for us?"

Luhan huffed, "Don't call me that! It's so not manly! Anyways, I was playing around a few days ago and I picked up on something called Operation PathCode. I couldn't really get much out of the person- he was drunk halfway to unconsciousness- but I managed to get some things out of him. Basically it’s this new group of elite Koreans they’re planting around the country. And they’re targeting the ones that they know pose the most threat to them.”

At this, the red-haired male looked at him anxiously. Yifan’s eyes narrowed, “Continue.”

“I’m not very sure of the details, but it seems that there are at least six of them. I don’t know how they’re infiltrating our country, but if what the person from the pub said is true; they are supposed to be really well-trained. I wouldn’t put it past them to be able to eliminate people on the sly and without trace. And well, I’d say that you would probably be at the top of their list,” a hint of worry could be heard in Luhan’s voice.

Yixing looked at him, the serious demeanour on his face seemingly out-of-place, a far cry from what Yifan was used to seeing. “Are you sure it is still best for the Korean- Chanyeol, was it?- to stay at your place?”

Yifan kept quiet for a few moments, before nodding resolutely. Yixing looked at him, before sighing. “Then so be it. I suppose it is best for you to teach him some Chinese so that he can get by during daily activities. I do hope he is worth it. You do realize this means that you need to keep him safe as well, right? It’s not only you, anymore.” The brunet warned cautiously, being sure to make Yifan aware of how high the stakes were.

“Yes,” the blond confirmed tersely, before turning his face the other way, already formulating plans to ensure his and Chanyeol’s safety.

After checking with the higher-ups whether he had any assignments to fulfill, Yifan made his way back home. As he unlocked the main door and stepped in to the apartment, he reflected how much his life has changed for the past week.

"Chanyeol?" Yifan called out as he took off his coat. There wasn't a response. "Yah, Park Chanyeol," he tried again, trying to stop his mind from veering towards the worst-case scenario.

There still wasn't a response.

Panic set in and he all but ran towards Chanyeol's room, flinging the door open in his haste, ignoring the bang that resulted. He wasn't there. His eyes darted frantically while his mind whirled. Where was he?

The pitter patter of footsteps made him turn around, hand quickly reaching to his belt. Yifan dropped his hand immediately when he saw that the person rushing towards him was no other than the person he had been looking for. Crossing the distance between them in less than two strides, he watched as Chanyeol faltered in his footsteps upon seeing the angry glare decorating his face.

Yifan placed both his hands on Chanyeol's shoulders, forcing the latter to stay exactly where he was, until Yifan was done with him. "Where were you?" he bit out, careful to keep his anger just simmering under the surface.

Chanyeol flinched at his question, and replied uncertainly, "In the kitchen? I was trying to make us dinner. It's just that, you've been allowing me to stay here for nothing, and since it's unhealthy to eat take-out everyday, I was thinking of at least making dinner to thank you for everything you've done."

Yifan exhaled and the grip on Chanyeol's shoulders relaxed, causing him to let out a relieved sigh. "It's a health hazard to leave you at home alone. the language barriers, you need to survive. And I will make sure of it. If I have to teach you Chinese myself, I will."

He wasn't sure how Chanyeol managed to hear what he said, considering Yifan didn't really mean it for him, but Chanyeol grinned in response, conveying a thousand emotions in that small action.

And Yifan found himself falling, and falling. Falling, without the expected parachute to break his fall and soften the impact.

. . .

They were out one day when Yifan slipped. He was supposed to be out (alone, mind you, not with an oversized puppy trailing behind him) buying groceries but Chanyeol just had to insist on going out to prove that the Chinese lessons were working. Indeed, Chanyeol did prove that he was getting better by being able to buy drinks for the two of them but Yifan was still being a grumpy-cat.

But you can't blame Chanyeol for needing some fresh air, right?

Currently the two of them were skipping (Yifan begs to differ; he does not skip) back home.

"我喜欢你。^[1]” Yifan muttered to Chanyeol out of the blue, tone blasé as usual, without a single twitch or flinch in his face.

Chanyeol tilted his head questioningly, catching the statement even though it had been said very softly, "Sorry, but what did you say?"

"Nothing," the blond next to him replied in a hoarse undertone, lowering his head to signify the end of the conversation. Chanyeol stared at Yifan with a weird expression on his face.

Boom. Crackle. Whoosh.

", why is it raining? I forgot to check the weather forecast, oh my God, why am I such a moron?" Yifan cursed as he grabbed Chanyeol's hand and broke into a sprint to the nearest shelter, hoping that the both of them would not get too wet.

Chanyeol hastened his footsteps to prevent being dragged like a puppy, trying not to focus on the warm hand that was enveloping his own at the moment.

Yifan starts brushing off the water droplets on their clothes once they reach the convenience store, ignoring the dirty look of the employee there as he gets the floor wet. Not like he gives a damn, anyway. Chanyeol glances at him and looks away as Yifan fusses over him while cursing. He can take a bit of rain, he sniffled to himself, but it’s not like he really minds.

"Are you okay?" Yifan asked. Chanyeol looks at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before understanding the foreign Chinese syllables. He's asking me if I'm okay...right? Hoping that he had interpreted the query correctly and won't lead the other male to conclude that the Chinese lessons he has been taking were all for naught (ruining his stellar performance that day), he nods hastily and grins back at Yifan. Yifan nods brusquely and turns away, looking out of the convenience store to check on the heavy rain.

Chanyeol stared at him for a moment, debating whether he should ask the question brooding on his mind or would he seem too much of a creep. He takes in a deep breath, and speaks, "Eh, Yifan?"

The blond turns and looks at him, and the brunet faltered for a second as his eyes meet the intense gaze. Oh my God, this is so embarrassing- "Why were your palms so sweaty? Like, I mean, oh my, what did I just say, I just meant that your palms-"

"我不知道。^[2]” Yifan answered quietly.

Chanyeol's eyebrows furrow and he replies in hushed Korean, "I'm sorry, but I don't know-"

Yifan cuts him off, replying in the same language, "See, you just translated it." He then turned away, and walked out of the shop, and Chanyeol notices that the rain has already stopped.

Chanyeol hurried after Yifan, nearly tripping in the process. The taller male watches and facepalms, but then stalked off, probably so that he wouldn't be associated with the clumsy idiot. Chanyeol smiles after him. Sometimes, Yifan speaks in riddles and disconnected phrases, but that's why Chanyeol loves him all the same.

. . .

"Okay, so this phrase, 为什么^[3], is used when you're asking someone 'why'. Take note of the pronunciation, and give it a go," Yifan instructed as he underlined the corresponding words on the textbook, pushing up his spectacles in exasperation.

It wasn't that Chanyeol was a terrible student. He was actually an eager and enthusiastic one on most days, always willing to give everything a shot. Unfortunately, today wasn't like 'most days', and Yifan has just moved on after teaching a particular phrase for the past 20 minutes. It wasn't like he could skip it either, considering it was one of the more important and common lines of Chinese used.

Chanyeol repeated the three syllables. Yifan tried not to groan in frustration. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes to reassert himself. "You're getting the intonations wrong; it's not the 3rd, it's the 4th for the first syllable. Are you getting anything today?"

There wasn't a response.

Yifan sighed and opened his eyes, tilting Chanyeol's chin so that he could look the other straight in the eye. "Are you feeling okay today?" he asked, noting that the brunet had an uncharacteristically flushed face.

Chanyeol stared at him blankly for a few moments, before nodding, movements sluggish. He then swayed forward, face coming in dangerously close to Yifan's.

"Yifaaaan," Chanyeol drawled, leaning forward. The other gulped, leaning backwards defensively, cold beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Too close, too close, Yifan screamed in his head.

"Uh...yes?"

And then Chanyeol promptly fell unconscious in Yifan's lap.

To say Yifan panicked would be the understatement of the year. He went into full blown crisis mode, dragging Chanyeol back into bed, staring at his face for a moment, then pacing around the room muttering nonsense to himself and running his hands through his hair and then back to staring at the brunet's sleeping face again.

Currently, he was pacing around the room, mumbling warbled phrases to himself. Okay, breathe, Yifan, breathe. What could have happened? You're smart, you can figure it out. But they called me BenBen when I was younger, how smart could I have been. Focus, Yifan. Flushed face, drowsiness, leading to unconsciousness.

"Fever?" Yifan came to an abrupt stop as his thoughts halted as well. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Chanyeol must be sick.

He retrieved a thermometer and stuck it in Chanyeol's mouth. 39°C, that's high...right? Yifan blinked to himself, before using Baidu to confirm his suspicions. Pulling himself together and rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed a towel and filled a basin with cold water, rinsing out the excess from the towel after dipping it. Placing the damp towel on Chanyeol's forehead, Yifan sat back in his chair.

Now what do I do? What did Ma do last time when I was sick? Yifan pondered, before realising the answer was actually so simple. He could have just called his mother from the get-go, how could he have forgotten?

He pulled out his phone and dialed his mother’s number, waiting for the line to get through.

“Hello?” A sweet, polite voice greeted.

Yifan cleared his throat, “Ma, this is Yifan.”

“Fanfan ah! It’s been such a long time since you called back; you usually never do!” his mother’s voice was delighted, causing Yifan to feel slightly guilty. He did tend to not call back home for long periods of times, unless it was an emergency.

“Why did you call? Did something happen? Did you get hurt? I always told you to take care of yourself-”

Yifan hastily cut her off, “No, just that, uh, how do you usually take care of me when I’m sick? When I’m having a fever, actually.”

“Wu Yifan, are you sick? You always forget to eat proper food, now this is what happens! That’s it, I’m coming over, you stay exactly where you are,” he heard the clatter of items being thrown haphazardly into a bag, and he nearly facepalmed.

“Ma, no! My uh, roommate is sick. That’s why. So, how do you usually take care of a sick person?” he quickly explained before his mother decided to take the nearest train over.

“...you have a roommate?” her voice was oddly quiet and calm.

Yifan’s reply was timid, “Uh, yes-”

“Oh my! My Fanfan has grown up!” Yifan winced as the squeal came through, “Who is she? Who is he? Oh my, Yifan, you finally learnt to take care of someone! Do I need to meet him in person? What kind of person is he? Oh Yifan, you always seemed so aloof and quiet alone! To think you now have someone! Don’t tell me, he or she must be the reason you forgot to call back, right?”

Yifan’s interruption was firm, “Ma, he’s nobody special. Just a roommate, okay? And I have to take care of him, it’s a duty. So how do you help someone who’s sick? What do I even feed him?”

His mother giggled. “Whatever you say, son. Do you not even remember what you used to eat when you were sick? Porridge, silly!”

“Oh,” Yifan replied intelligently.

“But Yifan, do you even know how to cook?” his mother laughed airily.

Embarrassed silence ensued. That was the one major flaw that he had, really. Despite having lived alone for nearly four years, he still had no idea how to make a simple meal for himself. He could literally hear the grin in his mother’s voice as she continued, “Thought so. It’s sweet though, how you’re trying. Look, I’ll just give you the simplest recipe ever that even you, BenBen, can’t mess up.”

As Yifan took down the instructions his mother rattled off over the phone on making porridge, he tried to ignore the niggling sensation that her previous words had caused.

After giving reassurance to his mother that he was in fact, contrary to popular opinion back at home, eating well (only because of Chanyeol, but he omitted that from his mother, of course) and letting the porridge boil, he went back to check on said brunet in his room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yifan quietly dabbed the sweat away from Chanyeol’s forehead, and moved to change out the water in the basin. As he returned back to the bed, he was surprised to see Chanyeol already awake, though still a bit drowsy and out-of-it.

Resuming his position on the bed, Yifan took the towel from Chanyeol’s hand. Tired eyes blinked back at him. “Sorry for troubling you like this,” the brunet intoned softly.

Yifan brushed brown locks away from Chanyeol’s forehead and placed the towel back down, muttering a quick “it’s okay”. Chanyeol closed his eyes before exhaling, features smoothing as the damp and cool towel did its job.

When suddenly, those brown eyes flew open in alarm, and a hand instinctively moved up to cover his mouth before Chanyeol emptied his stomach’s contents on Yifan’s shirt.

Yifan quickly stood up, groaning at the turn of events as the smell and sight of sick wafted up to his nose. He hastily stormed to the toilet, ing his shirt as his mouth produced colorful phrases that his mother probably didn’t know he even knew the existence of.

Chanyeol padded behind him, and stood at the doorway, as though unsure of whether he should even enter. Yifan gave him a glare warningly as he dumped the shirt in the hamper, wordlessly telling the other to go back before he caused another mess.

The brunet mouthed another '对不起^[4]' and then stumbled back to his room, occasionally holding the wall for support.

Yifan sighed and cleaned himself up, changing into a new shirt. He then went to check on the porridge, noting that it was ready to be served.

Perhaps I should poison it, considering what he just did, Yifan mused, with just a tinge of dark amusement. Nah, he finally settled, God knows how many times I probably puked on Ma.

Yifan scooped the porridge into a large bowl and set it in a tray, bringing another smaller bowl for good measure. Knocking on the now-closed door, Yifan entered the room, and the dread finally settled in his stomach.

Oh my God, what if he criticizes the food? I've never cooked for him, but he probably knows that it'll be y anyway. Why did I choose to do this again?

To make matters worse, he caught Chanyeol staring at the bowl with a dubious expression. Feeling irate and embarrassed, Yifan slammed the tray on the table, causing Chanyeol to jump and then face him with a sheepish smile on his face. "It's just that, you know, you never really ever cooked before?" the brunet offered him an explanation, coupled with a rub at the back of his neck. Yifan gave a curt nod and proceeded to fill the smaller bowl, before holding it (and a spoon) out for Chanyeol to take.

He immediately noticed the shaky hands and withdrew the items, choosing to drag a chair over and seating himself in it. "You're shaking. I'll feed you," he said, hoping that his face didn't divulge how embarrassed he actually was.

Chanyeol, on the other hand, was blushing madly and he shook his head vehemently. "I can do it," he insisted, "Let me." His arms were already reaching out for the bowl.

Yifan locked him in place with a glare, channeling how his mother used to look at him when he was being obstinate. "This," he seethed, "is porcelain. I refuse to let you break my bowls because you won't let me feed you."

Chanyeol brought his hands back to his sides with a petulant frown. "Fine," he huffed. Yifan brought the spoon to Chanyeol's lips, and tried not to focus on how weird it was feeding someone.

He watched as Chanyeol tasted the first bite, and how his face went through a rollercoaster of expressions, before settling into one of forced neutrality, a wary smile as he looked at Yifan.

Yifan sighed, putting the bowl down. "It's really bad, isn't it? I'll go and order some takeout." He was just standing up when Chanyeol grabbed his wrist, pulling him down.

"No! I mean, it's not some gourmet meal but it's decent. It was just too hot just now, the taste is fine!" Chanyeol protested, pushing the bowl back into Yifan's hands.

Yifan stared at Chanyeol's over-eager eyes suspiciously, before deciding that it couldn't be that bad, or the brunet wouldn't have been fine with continuing. Taking care to blow on the food to cool it, he gave Chanyeol the next spoonful. And continued to feed him until the entire bowl was empty.

Yifan then tucked Chanyeol back into bed, ignoring the latter's whines of how he did not need someone tucking him into bed, and then retired into his own room, collapsing on his bed immediately, a proof of how draining the day had been.

Placing a hand on his forehead, Yifan vowed that the next time someone fell sick, would rather much choose to quarantine himself than to take care of him. But as Chanyeol shuffled into his room, bundled in way too many layers of clothes and blankets (effectively looking like an overstuffed penguin), struggling to get across a croaky "谢谢^[5]”, Yifan decided that maybe he should revise the vow whilst chasing the stubborn Korean who insisted that he needed to express his gratitude back into bed.

Of course, if Yifan saw Chanyeol cleaning the shirt that he vomited on the next day, he chose not to comment as well.

. . .

"I'm back," Chanyeol heard Yifan mutter as he stepped through the door and into the hallway from the kitchen. He had no idea why Yifan only came back so late, but he left the kitchen island to return the greeting anyway.

Leaning against the doorway, he pulled his eyes away from the phone that Yifan gifted him (you need to know more Chinese, he had said, to which Chanyeol replied with a blank stare, and Yifan had let out a suffering sigh and translated it into his native language) and turned to the older male who was rummaging through his shelves of never-ending folders (Yifan once smacked his hand when it cautiously inched closer and closer, maybe it was his secret stash?).

The older male who was also sporting a rather unattractive bruise and split lip.

Chanyeol couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips, and nearly dropped the delicate little device in his hands as his mouth fell open. Yifan noticed and paused for a second, before continuing on with his searching and flipping.

"Your eye! And your lip! Oh my God, Yifan, stop what you're doing and sit down!" Chanyeol shouted, not even embarrassed in the slightest at how his voice had adopted the pitch of a squeal of a fangirl as he articulated the last few words. The blond man hummed non-committedly and shrugged, loosening his tie as he turned to make his way to his room.

Chanyeol crossed the distance in a few long, angry strides, catching Yifan by the arm and dragging him to the sofa, mildly surprised at how pliable and easygoing Yifan was today. At least, that was only until he noticed the slight wince that Yifan had, and the discomfort indicated by his twitching eyebrows. Furrowing his own eyebrows, Chanyeol rolled up the sleeve of Yifan's shirt, narrowing his eyes when he saw the pattern of purplish-blue decorating the otherwise flawless skin.

Digging the first aid kit out from under the table, Chanyeol reached to clean the wound on Yifan's lips as the other moved away from his hand, turning his face the other way.

"I don't need your help. Go away," the statement was gruff and callous. Chanyeol withdrew his hand in disbelief.

"Excuse me?" his tone was incredulous.

Yifan did that sigh, the one that made you feel like you were the most worthless human being in the world. "You know what I said, I spoke Korean."

Anger prickled in Chanyeol's heart. "All I wanted was to patch you up a bit, okay? I'm not expecting your gratitude or anything. You might think I'm being annoying or a burden or something-"

"You're not a burden, okay? Cut it out; you're being immature," Yifan laid his forearm on his eyes and leaned back.

Chanyeol's eyes widened further. "Oh wait, so now, I'm immature? How about you, then? Perfect-"

He was cut off by a phone's ringtone. Yifan checked the caller ID and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't have the time nor patience to engage in petty bicker with you right now, okay? Just go back to your room and revise some Chinese, alright?"

Without even waiting for Chanyeol's reply, Yifan walked to the open balcony through the French doors.

Chanyeol kept his eyes fixed on Yifan's back. How dare that, that, that guy insult him? And how dare he deem a phone call more important than him, his roommate? Yifan had literally abandoned him to talk to someone through a phone. Who is this person anyway? A guy? A girl? Why is he being so concerned anyway? Chanyeol tore at his hair, questions swarming his brain.

Suddenly, he looked up with a gleam in his eye. Well, if Yifan says he's immature, he shall be immature. Maybe, if he listened in to his and mystery-man-woman-hybrid's conversation, he might pick up some juicy details that he could use against his blond, perfect roommate in the future. Ignoring the sudden stab of pain in his heart (what was that all about, anyway?) Chanyeol made his way to the patio, hiding behind the wall that separated the exterior and interior of the house.

"Hey, Sehun," Yifan greeted, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. Chanyeol found himself frowning at that. Why was he so happy to see this ‘Sehun’ guy? Wasn’t he just quarreling with him only a few minutes ago? Something itched at his heart, tempting him to just march over and grab the phone from Yifan’s grasp and if possible, stab the man on the other line. But he just kept quiet, thoughts continuing to stream. Sehun, Chanyeol mouthed. The name left a bad taste in his mouth, even though the syllables sounded closer to his own language than the one belonging to the foreign land that he was currently residing on. His mind involuntarily conjured up the visage of a tall, thin lad, who sported bright pink hair, a tuft popping out just under his beanie. Why did Chanyeol feel that he was supposed to know the teenager?

Yifan's deep voice pulled him out of his reverie. "Look, if what you're saying is true, assuming you're correct for once, do you know how detrimental the situation is for me? How do you expect me to- hold on, don't even answer that question. There has to be another path-"

This was when Chanyeol's head exploded in pain, and he collapsed against the wall he was leaning on. His hands flew up to grasp the sides of his head and he let out a sharp whine in agony. His eyes squeezed tight, and white spots danced in front of him, a stark contrast against the pitch black. He bit his lip, tasting the coppery blood on his tongue as he broke the skin, determined to not let out anymore pained groans.

Broken, disconnected images flashed through his mind, like a never-stopping, never-ending movie. Bright city lights, people brushing past each other on busy streets with familiar names. The cold glare of surgical light above his eyes, an all-white room. Aiming a gun at a target, hands steady, gaze focused, a singular shot. And people, so many people Chanyeol lost count, a sea of faces blur and familiar, but yet unfamiliar. Chanyeol gritted his teeth. What were these? Memories? Do I tell Yifan? Or are they private? I don't-

But as Chanyeol felt hands overlap his to tilt his head up, and his eyes peek open to meet concerned brown ones, he realized that he wouldn't be able to hide anything from Yifan, no matter how he tried.

"Hey."

. . .

The second he heard the thump that indicated someone falling, Yifan had hung up on Sehun to rush back into the apartment, only to find Chanyeol groaning on the floor next to the French doors.

Sure, whatever Sehun had been talking about was important. In fact, if he didn't take care of it properly, he might just be dead in the next 24 hours. Regardless, Chanyeol was priority. It was amazing how fast the Korean had climbed up the list of people who were important to him.

Yifan crouched down next to the brunet, holding the other's hands in his and prying them away from his face to try and identify what was affecting Chanyeol. Pained brown eyes opened to look at him, and as Chanyeol greeted him with a weak 'hey', Yifan resisted the urge to smack him, knowing it would only make his headache worse.

Sighing, he pulled Chanyeol closer to him, using his thumbs and forefingers to massage the other's temples. "What happened?" Yifan asked quietly, careful not to aggravate the headache. "I-I'm not sure actually, I was listening to you and Sehun talk and suddenly, it just hurt. And images. They came and went so fast, it was like flashes, bursts of lights."

"Images, that's strange. Did you recognize anything in them? Could they be memories?" Yifan's voice was low, but urgent.

"I... I don't know. Who's Sehun?" Chanyeol asked, keeping his voice void of unnecessary emotion.

Pulling Chanyeol away from him, Yifan carded a hand through his blond hair. "No one that you need to know," his reply was cordial, a terse indication for Chanyeol to not continue the interrogation.

To his surprise, tears sprung up in Chanyeol's eyes and he gave a muffled sniffle. Chanyeol looked away, cheeks burning, as though in shame. "Oh my God, look at me, I'm a mess," he gave a dry chuckle. "Why am I even crying? In front of you, no less. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen-" Chanyeol tried to get up but ended up swaying on his feet, falling into Yifan's lap.

Yifan grabbed Chanyeol's arm and pulled him in, massaging his back as to soothe him. "He's just a colleague," Yifan explained, without further elaboration. Only silence followed.

Chanyeol made a move to remove himself from Yifan's lap, looking at the blond with something that can only be termed determination. "Yifan, answer this question. Why do you even care so much?"

Yifan's eyebrows rose. "Why such a question?"

Chanyeol shook his head, determination shining in those otherwise-happy features. "Answer the question, Yifan. I was just a Korean, someone who does not belong in China in these insane times. You could have just surrendered me to the authorities, but instead you brought me here, into your home. You taught me the basic skills to survive, fussed over me, took care of me when I needed it, went an extra mile even. So why? Why do you even care so much?"

The scary thing was, it was a valid question. The exact same question has crossed his mind countless times, and what was scarier was the fact that he did not have the answer for it. And Yifan was afraid. It was on rare occasions that he did not have the answer to something.

And he was also afraid of how Chanyeol might, just might, be getting back his memories. He knew that he wasn't the best company, the best person to interact with, but he has never truly been concerned over the fact, until Chanyeol arrived and wormed his way into his heart and made himself matter. Chanyeol was like a butterfly, beautiful, with a free soul. But without his memories, stranded in a foreign land, his wings were broken, leaving him vulnerable, delicate. But Yifan was aware that one day, those wounded wings would patch themselves back together, and Chanyeol would fly off, escaping through his fingertips. And he was thoroughly afraid of the moment that would happen.

But for now, his wings were still broken, and Chanyeol as well.

"...I don't know," Yifan confessed quietly, but continued, "but you were in danger, Chanyeol. I couldn't leave you there. You were hurt."

. . .

Chanyeol's bright eyes opposite him softened, and one of his hands moved to rest on Yifan's face, tracing the outline of the bruise decorating his face. "You're hurt too," Chanyeol replied softly.

"We're both broken, aren't we?" Yifan asked rhetorically, before moving in to rest his lips on Chanyeol's. The other responded eagerly, soft lips melding against his. One of Yifan's arms pulled Chanyeol closer to him, and Chanyeol's hand s up to run through his hair. Their need for air eventually separated them, but Yifan rested his forehead against Chanyeol's, breaths mingled, brown eyes interlocked and a myriad of emotions sifting through them.

Yifan did not answer his question, but Chanyeol reasoned that as long as he was with the other, there was no need for answers.

a/n: the translations for the Chinese words:

[1] I like you

[2] I don’t know

[3] why?

[4] I’m sorry

[5] thank you

and can anyone figure out the harry potter (somewhat) easter egg i placed in the story? cookies for those who can!