Prompt: “Your voice sounds just like my phone operator’s voice.”

Pairing: Tao/Kris

Words: ~1500

It was supposed to be awkward, Tao thinks to himself bitterly. It was supposed to be awkward, because every single time Sehun tried to set Tao up with someone (and yes, it was mostly Sehun doing this whenever he got sick of Tao’s constant complaining at being single), the evening would always be racked with ridiculous questions Tao didn’t want to answer and brooding silence in which both he and his ‘partner’ sat uncomfortably in their chairs at opposite sides of the table, staring at the wall in different directions. Today, however, Tao knows it will be the worst, as Sehun drags him through the front door of their apartment, tugging at his coat as Tao tries (unsuccessfully) to simultaneously pull on his shoes and his super cute cat-shaped earmuffs.

It was always going to be awkward, but not this ing awkward.

Sehun smiles across the room and waves excitedly at Yixing, who has already claimed a four-seated booth in the far corner of the diner. Yixing stands and shakes Tao’s hand rather too enthusiastically for Tao’s tastes and pulls Sehun into a quick hug, then returns to his seat, introducing the one person that sits beside him in the corner of the booth, who ignores Tao by staring at the cheap imitation leather seat across from him seemingly contemplating the meaning of life. This ‘Yifan’ person (he hissed ‘Kris’ across at him when Yixing introduced them) does not seem at all excited to be meeting Tao on this blustery December evening, and honestly Tao can’t blame him.

He is a fine piece of eye candy though. Albeit obviously windswept with a wet patch present across the knees of his black skinny jeans (Tao assumes he probably face-planted in the snow on the way here) and hair all messed up (and not in that 'I-gelled-it-back-to-look-like-I-just-climbed-out-of-bed' way but in the 'I-was-chased-by-a-serial-killer-who-wanted-to-hack-my-head-off' kind of way), Kris was quite the looker. Tall, dark and mysterious; exactly Tao’s type. Sehun’s really outdone himself, Tao thinks, as Yixing presses a menu to his hands and decides now is the best time for some tonsil-hockey with his boyfriend.

That is, until he hears Kris’s voice.

“I’ll have a small garden salad with kale instead of lettuce and no tomato, all ingredients must have no pesticides from environmentally-sustainable sources,” Kris orders to the waiter, an air of superiority really emphasising his pretentiousness. His voice is deep and clear, with distinct gravel to it. It sounds like music to Tao’s ears… music that much more familiar with than he cares to admit.

A stream of cuss words flow endlessly across Tao’s consciousness as he stares at the man sitting across from him whilst trying not to vomit. He excuses himself from the table with a cough and makes a break for the bathroom, hiding himself in the stall furthest from the door. He hears Sehun come in, and the knock, and that evil knowing smile barely concealed beneath Sehun’s words.

“He’s totally your type, isn’t he?”

Tao growls at him, thinking to himself ‘more than you ing realise’, before running out of the cubicle. He splashes his face with water and notes that his minimalist eyeliner is running, and slaps his hands across his cheeks. Mortifying. This is it, he thinks to himself – the day I die. Sehun smirks at him in bemusement.

Tao knocks the whole table and drops his napkin as he clambers across to his seat. Kris stares across at him with inquisitive eyes, and Tao knows that this is probably the biggest hipster in existence. He totally falls into the ‘extended adolescent’ category, with those thick black-rimmed glasses hanging precariously out of his side pocket and that look of existential angst evident in his cool gaze. Totally his type, and totally with the voice he’s heard countless times before. Tao thinks he’ll buckle under the pressure of it so he drops his knife on purpose, excuses himself as he goes to get a replacement, and paces the diner looking at the black and white pictures from 1948 with stony-faced fascination. Sehun soon drags him back to his seat and boxes him in, like a cornered mouse.

“So, what do you do for a living, Tao?” Kris asks, and Tao pales, sweating nervously under the taller man’s scrupulous gaze. to the sound of your voice, maybe. Oh my God.

, .

Like a godsend their food comes, and Tao immediately digs in, using it as an excuse to avoid Kris’s constant bombardment of questions. He shovels lasagna into his mouth and almost stabs his lip in the process, munching away and gulping down water with every swallow. He knows that Sehun knows something is up. Yixing, however, is blissfully unaware and makes small talk across the table. Tao stabs his fork into the pasta again and again, and Kris watches him apparently fascinated by his intense feelings for tomato sauce and cheese. Tao excuses himself once again, and makes a break for the bathroom as soon as he finishes.

“What the is going on?” Sehun asks Yixing, who merely shrugs.

Tao hides himself again in the furthest cubicle from the door. He bashes his head against the tiled wall a couple of times, grunting and groaning at himself for acting so stupid. When he finally gathers enough courage to return to the table, he swings open the door and flushes the toilet, pretending he actually used it. He walks across to the basin and splashes himself in the face once again.

“!”

Tao jumps as Kris’s face fills the mirror behind him, and he swings around in surprise. Kris looks at him with amusement, poking him on the nose with a knowing look on his face.

“Nervous because of the date?” he asks, “Or nervous because I’m such a stud? I mean I am pretty ace.”

Tao melts at the sound of his voice, barely letting any of it compute in his brain. Yeah, he’s so nervous he thinks he’s going to throw up all over Kris’s (obviously) dry-cleaned vintage knit sweater and that stupid looking trigram necklace he’s got on. Tao can’t help it when his face reddens ten shades darker and his words come out in a jumble.

“Your voice is exactly like the voice of my phone operator. And I mean, exactly.”

Kris pales and grabs onto the basin, trying to steady himself from the shock. Sehun, apparently having made the last minute decision to come to Tao’s rescue, stands flabbergasted in the doorway to the bathroom. Yixing, being Yixing, stands behind him looking more than a little spaced out. Kris stares up at Tao in silence, his face reddening just as much as Tao’s.

“Why the do you have a phone operator?” Sehun asks inquisitively.

“Wait, Kris? You talk about on the phone to people?” Yixing says, more a statement than a question.

Tao capitulates. This is too much. He collapses to the bathroom floor and tugs himself into a ball, hiding himself under the basin, feeling the pipes press uncomfortably into the small of his back and he moans to himself, upset at his whole sorry predicament. He whines loudly as tears streak down the side of his face, knowing he’s being such a big baby about it but all he can think about his how awkward this whole situation is.

Tao doesn’t notice that Kris has kneeled down next to him until he places a ridiculously large hand on Tao’s shoulder. Tao squeaks a little as Kris tugs him into a hug, his cheeks, neck, and ears going beetroot red.

“You’re Panda Tao, I take it,” that annoyingly attractive, deep voice whispers sensually.

“Yes,” Tao breathes.

“You have a ing call name, Tao? Just how often do you ing ring this line up?” Sehun cuts in.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve had a crush on you for a while, my best customer,” Kris continues as if they weren’t interrupted, planting a kiss on Tao’s forehead.

There are many questions written across Sehun’s face, but Tao does his best to ignore him. He stares into Kris’s eyes and they share a look, electricity sparked between them. Maybe, Tao thinks, his whole infatuation with that voice on the other line wasn’t purely one-sided. Maybe, he thinks, Kris is just as lonely as he is too. Kris tugs him up to his feet, dusts him off, and takes his hand, leading Tao back to their booth with Kris’s unfinished salad still sitting there. He takes his fork, stabs it, and talks to Tao easily the rest of the evening. Tao feels himself warming up to him, and he leaves the diner with a peck on the cheek and a phone number scrawled neatly on a left over napkin.

“ phone operator?” Sehun repeats incredulously, as they step into the taxi home.