Chanyeol tugged at the sleeves of his suit, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his armpits. He hated dressing up. It was so uncomfortable and conformist. Besides, suit jackets were the worst. So hot. But he had to today, Junmyeon was making him—something about dressing to impress. Chanyeol wasn’t excited about it, but he agreed. He looked different dressed up than he did in his normal dress, more responsible and adult. He glanced down at his phone. 10:03 am. Junmyeon was running late.

They’d flown into Redwood City the night before, crashing in a hotel for the night so that they could make it to their meeting in the morning. A gallery had expressed interest in Chanyeol’s portfolio. It was a smaller gallery, but a popular one, and Junmyeon had told Chanyeol it was a good opportunity. Chanyeol couldn’t have agreed more. Anything that got him out of ad photoshoots and into the actual art world was good enough for him. However, the gallery owner had requested to meet Chanyeol first before committing, so here Chanyeol found himself, standing alone string at himself in a mirror, dressed in an uncomfortable suit and waiting for Junmyeon to pick him up. His phone buzzed.

Joon (10:04 am): you ready?

PCY (10:04 am): have been for a while. eta?

Joon (10:06 am): just parked.

PCY (10:06 am): kk. I’m on my way down.

Joon (10:07 am): see you soon

Joon (10:07 am): don’t forget a hotel key

PCY (10:07 am): I’ll be right back

Chanyeol plopped into the passenger seat of the rental car, gratefully accepting the offered coffee. Junmyeon snorted at him, turning on the car. “You know you can take the suit off in a few hours, right?”

Chanyeol stared at him with puppy dog eyes. “That’s not soon enough. It’s uncomfortable,” he whined, “and my armpits are sweating.”

Junmyeon shook his head. “I don’t get how you’re such a baby about it. Suits are a part of life. You have to wear them for all sorts of things. Job interviews. Galas. Weddings.” He laughed, grinning briefly at Chanyeol before turning back to the road. “What are you going to wear to your wedding if you don’t want to wear a suit?”

“Sweatpants,” Chanyeol groused. Junmyeon snorted.

“ for your soulmate. You’re not your most attractive in sweatpants.”

An image of Minseok dressed in his suit flashed through Chanyeol’s mind. He’d been so uptight. So formal. So, attractive. Chanyeol shook his head, clearing away the thoughts. “My soulmate will survive,” he muttered.

Junmyeon raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you know who your soulmate is.”

Chanyeol coughed. He hadn’t told Junmyeon—he’d chew him out for the way he’d talked to Minseok, force Chanyeol to give him a second chance. He glanced at his friend. Junmyeon was looking at him with concern.

“You okay Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol nodded. “I’m um, I’m fine.” He pounded his chest. “Just nerves I think. But um, wouldn’t my soulmate love me no matter what? Like, even if I wore sweatpants to the wedding? I mean, even if I don’t know them, they’re like guaranteed to love me right?”

Junmyeon stayed silent for a while, his jaw set. For a moment Chanyeol didn’t think he bought it, but the Junmyeon spoke. “You know Chanyeol, you’re a cool guy, but you’re kind of selfish. Your soulmate isn’t going to magically fall in love with you or sacrifice everything for you. You have to work for it. Both of you. Not just them. If you make no effort, well,” Junmyeon shrugged, looking over at Chanyeol, “how long until you think they give up?” Chanyeol didn’t respond.

Buildings flew past, the scenery slowly shifting from touristy to local. Chanyeol watched out the window with interest as the buildings became shorter, more concrete and less stonework, graffiti on the sides of some, others freshly painted over. Finally, Junmyeon parked in front of a wildly colorful building, the entire front a mural. Chanyeol got out of the car with his mouth gaping, carefully taking in every detail, amazed at the talent of the artist. He looked at the door, noticing the flickering neon sign.

“Life is art?”

Junmyeon stepped up beside him, the car locking with a beep. “The extended name I presume. This is the Lia Gallery. The owner is named Kris. He’s the one that wants to meet you.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol subconsciously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Do I look okay?”

“You look fine,” Junmyeon nodded, reaching over to tug a bit at the base of Chanyeol’s suit jacket. “You’ll look better fi you just relax. You’ll be fine. Your portfolio is good. You’re willing to work with the gallery. You’re talented. Just don’t accidently be a and you’ll be perfect. Okay?”

Chanyeol gave him a flat look. “That was remarkably less inspiring than I think it was supposed to be.”

Junmyeon shrugged. “You’ll survive. Now come on. He opened the door, shoving Chanyeol through. “Let’s go.”

A strikingly handsome man looked up from the front desk as they entered. He was, like Chanyeol, dressed in a suit. However, unlike Chanyeol he seemed completely at home in his outfit, all clearly defined lines and black fabric. Chanyeol tried not to feel small. Junmyeon noticed the sudden shift in attitude, surreptitiously inserting himself between Chanyeol and the man.

“Hello,” he smiled. “My name is Junmyeon. This is my client C.Y. Park. We have a meeting with Mr. Kris Wu?”

The man stood, dusting off his pants and coming around out from behind the desk. “I’m Kris,” he replied, reaching out to shake first Junmyeon’s hand, then Chanyeol’s. Chanyeol shivered. , even the guy’s voice was deep, on top of already looking like a ing sculpture. “It’s nice to meet you both, Junmyeon and, C.Y.? Like C.J., just with a Y?”

Chanyeol nodded. “That’s me. It’s um, it’s really nice to meet you.”

Kris cracked a smile. “No need to be nervous. As it stands, I’m pretty much decided to host an exhibit of your work. I just like to meet my artists first.” He paused, tilting his head, looking at Chanyeol quizzically. “You look familiar. Have I met you before?”

Chanyeol stared at him, taken aback. He shook his head. “I don’t think so?”

“Huh, okay.” Kris turned around, reaching behind him to grab some papers. He looked back at Chanyeol again. “Yeah, I probably would’ve remembered you. Anyway, here’s some paperwork. It covers the potential dates of the exhibit, what I’d be paying you, what my commission is, how selling works here, etcetera. Read it over and bring it back by the end of the week if you can. I need it before we can hang any of your stuff on my walls. Next, take a look around. I’ve seen your portfolio and I think your work will fit in well here, but you still need to decide if you think what you’ve got meshes here. This is a two-way street. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

Chanyeol nodded, already turning to take in the room he stood in. The peacock sculpture in the middle was his favorite by far. So much color, and he loved the way it dappled the room in greens and blues.

“The Emperor,” he mused, staring at its placard. Junmyeon came up behind him.

“It’s pretty.” He commented, tone dry.

Chanyeol gave him a flat look. “I know sculpture isn’t your thing but let me enjoy this.”

Junmyeon laughed. “Fine. No need to be salty. I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

Chanyeol nodded, already distracted, staring back at the glass. He stepped closer, fascinated by the tiny sparkles he could see in the green. He didn’t even notice Kris walk up behind him.

“Dichro.”

“What?” Chanyeol jumped back, almost crashing into the gallery owner.

Kris chuckled. “Dichro. It’s the type of glass that the artist used to make it sparkle like that. You just seemed curious, so I figured I’d tell you.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol ducked his head. “Um, thanks. I uh, I think I’m going to go find Junmyeon.”

“Okay,” Kris stepped back smiling. He watched Chanyeol leave the room, yelling at him as he left, “I’m not that scary.” He didn’t get a response. But he could’ve sworn the tall photographer walked faster.

Chanyeol poked Junmyeon in the side, making his friend jump. “What the do you want Chanyeol?” he hissed.

“Kris is terrifying,” Chanyeol hissed back. “Couldn’t you have picked someone less attractive?”

“Aww,” Junmyeon cooed. “Do you see him as a challenge?”

“A challenge?” Chanyeol scoffed. “He’s a ing supermodel. I’m a two a.m. Walmart shopper next to him.”

Junmyeon shook his head. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it ing is.”

Junmyeon let out an unimpressed snort. “Fine. It is. But look at this.” He pressed a hand to Chanyeol’s back, pointing towards some paintings on the walls. Chanyeol followed his direction, finally noticing the paintings on the walls.

“Are these Yixing’s paintings?” he gasped, approaching the wall in amazement.

Junmyeon nodded. “I figured you’d like that.”

“Wait,” Chanyeol turned around to face his friend, “did you know about these ahead of time?”

“I may have already been to this gallery once. I checked it out earlier when I received the offer. Do you know what you’re thinking yet?”

“What I’m thinking?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon said, nodding toward the paperwork in Chanyeol’s hands. “Do you know if you’re going to sign that?”

“Oh,” Chanyeol said, looking down at the papers in his hands then back at Junmyeon. “Yes. I mean, yeah, I want to. But I want you to look at it first? Just to make sure everything is good? Is that okay?”

“Of course Chan,” Junmyeon grinned, pulling his friend into a hug. “That’s my job.”

Minseok slouched on Yifan’s couch, sick and tired of watching television. He missed work. Which was crazy. He never thought he’d miss something that terrible. Excel spreadsheets, really. Minseok had to be crazy to miss them. But still, the sentiment was the same. Everything was boring and he was sick and tired of sitting on his , especially now that he felt better.

Of course, Yifan was benefiting from Minseok’s boredom. His house had never been cleaner, ever since Minseok had gotten his tattoo covered up and started to be able to stay awake and move around for longer periods of time. Now Minseok spent most of his morning going through the rooms of Yifan’s apartment with a dust rag and a vacuum. He’d cleaned the toilet at least five times in the past week. So here he was, sitting on Yifan’s couch, staring at the TV, aimlessly scrolling though Netflix in a sad attempt to find something new to watch.

Yifan walked in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Minseok perked up automatically, ecstatic to no longer be alone. “What’s with the suit Yifan? You look fancy.”

Yifan huffed. “I had a new artist come in today. I wanted to meet him before I confirmed an exhibit.”

“Did you like him?”

“Yeah, he seemed nice.” Yifan shrugged. “He seemed a little awkward?” Minseok raised an eyebrow. “Anyway,” Yifan waved the thought away, “how was your day.”

“Ugh,” Minseok groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so bored Yifan. I need something to do. I miss work. Work! How bad is that?”

Yifan raised an eyebrow, giving Minseok an appraising look. “Do you want a job?”

Minseok brightened. “Do you have one you can give me?”

Yifan nodded. “I need an assistant. Someone to do paperwork and phone calls and stuff. And someone to deal with this artist. He’s so awkward. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“He’s that bad?” Minseok laughed, trying to imagine whoever this artist was that could make even the great Wu Yifan uncomfortable. Yifan grimaced.

“He’s worse. Be my assistant, please?” He gave Minseok the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

Minseok broke out laughing. “Fine. I’ll do it. What do you need?”

“Um, not much,” Yifan said, scrounging around in his briefcase—why he brought it with him downstairs just to bring it back up at the end of the day, Minseok didn’t know. “Uh here,” he said, handing Minseok a slightly crumpled paper with a number scrawled on it. “This is the artist’s number. His name is C.Y. Park. Um can you just coordinate with him? I need the paperwork back by Wednesday, I forgot to tell him that. Let him know for me?”

“Yeah,” Minseok nodded. “I can do that.”

“Perf,” Yifan grinned, walking down the hall to his room. “I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta change. Don’t forget to text him for me. Kay? Oh, and call me Kris, not Yifan when you text him.”

“Okay,” Minseok agreed again, pulling out his phone.

Chanyeol’s phone buzzed from where he’d set it on the hotel counter. He looked over at it from his spot on the bed. “Hey Joon?” he yelled, “can you grab my phone for me?”

“Sure,” Junmyeon said, emerging from the bathroom wiping his hands on his pants. “Here.” He handed over the phone. Chanyeol opened his messages.

Unknown (6:17 pm): Hi, this is Xiumin, Kris’ assistant. Kris wanted me to let you know that he needs the paperwork by Wednesday, not Friday. We hope to hear from you soon!

Chanyeol added the number into his phone under Xiumin. Junmyeon sat down next to him and flipped on the tv. “Who was it?” he asked.

“Just the gallery owner’s assistant. Apparently, it’s a guy named Xiumin? I think he’s going to be the one handling paperwork.”

“Ah.”  Junmyeon kept flipping through channels, looking unconcerned. “Sounds good to me. I was honestly kind of surprised the owner was manning the front desk. They’re usually too busy for that. Anyway. Yeah. We can text him later. Moving on. Did you bring leather pants?”

“What?” Chanyeol asked, a bit surprised. “Leather pants?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon replied, his lips twisting into a eating grin, the light in his eyes spelling trouble. “Leather pants. And a nice shirt, preferably flowy.”

“Um, maybe?” Chanyeol shifted himself on the bed so that he was sitting facing Junmyeon. “Uh, why?”

“Well,” Junmyeon grinned, “there are some really nice bars here. Wanna party?”

“Ah,” Chanyeol said, finally catching on. His own lips began to curl up at the edges. He loved to party, especially with Junmyeon. “I think I can find something like that in my suitcase.”

“Good,” Junmyeon said, jumping off the bed to rummage through his own suitcase. “Because I brought this mesh shirt and these jeans,” he held up a pair of jeans with more rips than fabric, “and I didn’t want to go get drunk on my own. We’re in a new city. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Ugh, fine,” Chanyeol gave in, rolling off the bed to go through his own suitcase, finding a pair of sinfully tight black jeans and a loose white shirt of his that he knew showed off his collarbones and neck. “It’s only six o’clock though. Are we really going this early?”

“Eh, I was thinking we could take extra time to get ready.”

“Extra time?” Chanyeol asked, not sure he was excited about where this was going.

“Oh yeah,” Junmyeon smirked, holding up a non-descript looking blue bag that Chanyeol knew held far too many makeup supplies. “We’re going to be hot tonight.”

In Junmyeon’s defense, both he and Chanyeol were very hot that night. Of course, that didn’t help Chanyeol much when his only friend in a strange city had disappeared into a bathroom somewhere to text his soulmate that he’d left back in LA. Hot men weren’t a target if they weren’t single, and Junmyeon was very obviously not single, and somehow people saw that and automatically assumed that Chanyeol was not single either. It was frustrating, to say the least.

So instead, he stood outside the bar in too tight pants and a too thin shirt, drunk off his and desperately wishing to be back in his hotel room bed for well-deserved rest. He looked down at his phone, the words a bit wavy in his vision. He thought he had a friend in Redwood City. Probably anyway. He was pretty sure Ken had moved to Redwood a while back. Or maybe he’d moved to Elk Grove. Chanyeol wasn’t sure. But either way it was worth a try. He scrolled through his contacts, finding a name. It looked right. Probably. Chanyeol clicked on it.

PCY (1:32 am): save me

No response. Chanyeol shivered where he stood, the wind biting and cold, but not quite cold enough to motivate him to reenter the crowded bar behind him. He started humming to himself, some Spanish song he’d heard around. Despacito maybe? He wasn’t sure about the title. His phone vibrated.

Xiumin (1:37 am): did you text the right person?”

PCY (1:38 am): fckoff Ken I’m not that drink I can read.

Again, no immediate response. Chanyeol bounced on the balls of his feet. Cursing his large-nosed friend in his head. If he didn’t need a ride back to his hotel he’d tear into him.

Xiumin (1:42 am): my bad. I forgot you were literate. Why do you need saving?

PCY (1:42 am): I’m a bar and Joon won’t stoptxting his sulmate and I want togo hooooome.

Xiumin (1:43 am): that sounds pretty surviveable to me.  

Xiumin (1:43 am): also you know I’m Xiumin, not Ken, right?

PCY (1:46 am): uuuuuughhhhghghghhighg

PCY (1:47 am): wait realy? Like the scarry galleryowner’s assistant person?

Xiumin (1:48 am): yes

Minseok’s phone stayed silent for longer than he thought it would. For a moment, he almost though that Yifan’s new artist—C.Y. was it?—had stopped texting him all together. Then his phone buzzed again.

PCY (1:50 am): I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.

Minseok giggled at the suddenly perfect grammar. He got out of bed to throw on an old college sweatshirt and move to Yifan’s living room to settle into the couch, typing out his response as he walked.

Xiumin (1:51 am): I don’t make that call, so you should be safe.

PCY (1:52 am): thank god look I’m rlly sorry really

Xiumin (1:53 am): It’s fine.

Xiumin (1:53 am): honestly this is more entertainment than I’ve had in a while.  

Xiumin (1:53 am): also are you able to get home safe?

PCY (1:54 am): still I’m sorry. And yeah probably I justneed to wait for Joon.

PCY (1:55 am): also why are you awake?

Xiumin (1:56 am): light sleeper. Where are you?

PCY (1:57 am): 3rd and main I think? Some place caelld bonnies.

Xiumin (1:57 am): do you mean bunny’s?

PCY (1:58 am): yeah t

Chanyeol didn’t get a response right away. He waited a few minutes. Still no buzz. He got cold and went back into the bar. Junmyeon was at the same table where Chanyeol had left him, drinking a new fruity-looking concoction while he smiled down at his phone. Chanyeol took one look and decided to go back outside.

As he stood, staring at the neon open sin blinking at him from across the street—another bar probably, thoug at this point his vision was too wavy for him to really tell—his mind drifted again to soulmates. In particular, his soulmate. Kim Minseok. Chanyeol rubbed an absent hand over the leather bracelet on his wrist. He couldn’t even remember his face anymore. Instead all he saw was a suit, and sad sad eyes as he said, again and again in his memory, “I’m not interested in being your soulmate.” For once, Chanyeol felt the timid stab of regret. He wondered briefly, what would Kim Minseok drink if they went to a bar together. Did he like to drink ty beer like all businessmen? Did he like wine? He stood there for a while, staring at the stars and wondering, for the first time, what he might have thrown away.

His phone buzzed twice—bzzt bzzt, bzzt bzzt—and the thoughts vanished.

Xiumin (2:13 am): sorry that took so long I was calling you a cab. You should have a ride in a couple minutes.

Xiumin (2:13 am): also I’m going to bed. Gnight :)

Chanyeol’s fingers hovered over his keyboard, the slightest hint of a smile creeping onto his face. The outside air had cleared his mind a bit, enough that he thought he was sobering up, even though he wasn’t in the slightest. This man—this Xiumin—he was nice. Chanyeol briefly wondered what it would have been like if this Xiumin—who worked in a gallery and called cabs for the drunk people that texted him—had been his soulmate. That would have been nice, Chanyeol thought.

PCY (2:15 am): thx Min. ur thebest :)

In the morning Chanyeol woke in his bed with a splitting headache, not sure how he got there.

------

we're back, with our favorite angsty pair. 

It's a bit of a shorter update, but in the spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday, I figured I'd post something. Besides, this chapter is the buildup for all the rest of the drama to come. 

I hope you all have a wonderful day (totally stuffing yourself if you're an american).

xoxo

Jay