That time when Yifan caught Chanyeol singing.

It was just Yifan and Chanyeol at home that day when Yifan heard it - a faint hum, a melody, from their living room as he works in the bedroom, tablet in hand with reading glasses atop his nose bridge and the tip of his pen in his mouth.

Looking up from his work, he blinks, scrunching up his nose in concentration to listen - a tone, a musical sound that's so soothing, so gentle, it almost felt like silk against his skin. It's only when he closes his eyes and listens further that he realizes it's a voice. He sits upright and cranes his neck to listen to where the sound was coming from.

It's a bit soft to be from the radio speakers and there doesn't seem to be any accompanying music along with it. He smiles, noticing the subtle change of melodic humming to lyrical singing.

"Love," The voice sings, like a gentle key from the piano, "Love the stars,"

Yifan finds himself taking his glasses off, standing from the bed and trailing after the voice - Chanyeol's voice. He smiles wider.

His Chanyeol is singing!

It's not something that happens often but when it does, it must mean how good of a mood Chanyeol is in. Yifan has a step in his walk as he approaches the bedroom door, not wanting to interrupt the singing by barging in the scene. Instead, he carefully opens the door slowly and not fully, just enough for him to peek through to see what his husband was doing.

Chanyeol is in the living room, his black apron on with a sky blue bandana on his hair to protect him from the dust as he wipes some furniture down. Yifan blinks before a cheeky smile creeps up his face, noticing what else Chanyeol was wearing. The loose off-white polo shirt with its sleeves rolled up till they reached his elbows were Yifan's. The elder's eyes trail down to Chanyeol's black sweats that reach all the way up to his heels. Chanyeol had always been fond of bigger, loose-fitting clothes - even if it meant raiding Yifan's part of the closet. It gives him a feeling of security somehow. Well, Yifan isn't complaining. Seeing his husband wearing his clothes is just as y as seeing him without any on.

Yifan quietly clears his throat, trying to keep his desires at bay. So his husband was cleaning the room, Yifan chuckles softly as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in admiration, appreciating the beautiful singing of his equally beautiful husband.

"Love, love the moon," Chanyeol sings freely, a pleasant tone in his voice, so relaxed and unhinged that it makes Yifan smile further, "Nothing's really different / it's the same air / it's the same bed, looking at the same ceiling,"

He hums the tune for the rest of the lyrics as he shifts, with nothing but the slight tinkling of glass figurines and wooden crafts accompanying him and his singing as he cleans. He moves then, reaching over to the window to open it and a gentle breeze courses through the room, swaying the translucent, white laced curtains, creating a sort of angelic imagery for Yifan as Chanyeol stands by the opened framework, smiling at nothing in particular while humming the song, wiping the window frame.

Then, he resumes singing somewhere in the middle of the song, "Nothing comes even close / To half of you / It can't fill me / It doesn't fill me up, yeah / Just half / If only I had just half of you / Then I wouldn't feel like this,"

And Yifan feels a faint blush creeping up his cheeks for some reason, believing the song to be meant for him and that's really sweet... or just plain ridiculous of him. He shakes his head as he stays put, trying to be quiet and unnoticeable as much as possible. He wants to make this moment last for as long as it can.

Chanyeol's voice and tone shifts, a hint of blues and RnB subtly coating his melody, "On a night without you / Even when the moon is up / I can't see it / It's hidden by thoughts of you, yeah,"

Chanyeol's hand raises and casually takes hold of the curtains to steady them from the gentle breeze and Yifan thinks it's the most sensual thing ever in this world - seeing those long fingers the translucent cloth like it was a cloud.

Now Yifan wants to have those hands on his face, carressing him gently and tenderly enough to lull him to sleep. Yifan tilts his head till it rests against the doorframe, admiring the humble figure of his husband by the window, a tender breeze brushing through his soft, brown bangs with his hair neatly tucked beneath the bandana, the polo shirt resting comfortably on his body, revealing a bit