Dear Mr. Cho, 

Life has changed rather quickly for me. It seems as though Park Chanyeol, the performer I penned a letter about and sent a drawing of once before, wants me to assist him in his act along with my current piano position. I am not quite qualified for this yet, but I will do my best. Everything is changing, and I fear that I might be too busy to write regularly; forgive me if my letters are farther apart, but, hopefully, I will have more stories to fill them with. 

I cannot wait for both you and Yerim to meet him in the future -- he is special, certainly. I cannot put it into words. (Sometimes, I am afraid to try.) 

Please let Yerim know that I miss our lessons dearly. I have set aside a pair of amethyst earrings for her, gifted to me by the contortionist named Song Qian. I hope this piece of the circus will sparkle as brightly as the future you have granted me. 

Forever grateful, 

Byun Baekhyun

-- 

Red had never been a color he’d gravitated toward, normally favoring pastels that remind him of art he’d stared at on parlor walls, of watercolor tea cups he’d held delicately on plush chaises. But now crimson and ruby and scarlet fill his horizon, blooming roses and droplets of blood staining his every belonging. His wardrobe -- the new one, in his new tent, far from the noise of the parties and directly across from Chanyeol’s own -- is carefully curated with only the most fiery of shades, with the hottest pinks and brightest oranges, too.

This new tent is nice, just as nice as the other lavish things that had been thrown to him -- the rubies and diamonds amongst his favorites, closely followed by the bottles of cologne and makeup. He basks in the luxury of it all, in the foreignness of this pampering, even if he knows the truth of his new act, lodging, and possessions. 

Chanyeol is bribing him, clearly. There is no threat that would work better on Baekhyun, after all -- a grasp at wealth, proximity to the lights and fame, security in this unstable world sparkle brighter than most anything else. He longs for affection and happiness in this life more than he’s longed for anything before, and Chanyeol knows it, knows his fears and dreams and thoughts; he sees through Baekhyun as though he’s glass. 

And Baekhyun accepts the new things he must learn to do, the new responsibilities he faces -- Chanyeol will give him anything he so desires, backed by the ringmaster financially, and he will keep his promise as long as Baekhyun keeps his silence. It’s odd, he thinks, for all of this to be his -- Chanyeol could’ve just denied that meeting in the pouring rain had ever happened. 

As he paints his lips a burnt orange, he wonders if the taller had wanted someone to know a secret about him, even if the consequences outweigh all logic, even if Baekhyun is the last person he’d hoped to run into that night. He looks into his own eyes, trying to imagine what Chanyeol had seen reflected in them -- a flash of lightning, or fear, or hope? -- and sees only charcoal covered eyelashes and shimmering cheekbones. 

Despite all the fears about Chanyeol’s hands and eyes and the fire that lives in them both, Baekhyun wants to think he can read him like a page out of his own journal, and he hopes that Chanyeol is just lonely, too -- he hopes that Chanyeol’s secret can become his own, that deep down, he’d wanted to share it all along. It’s the only reason Baekhyun can think of for his remaining here, for Junmyeon refraining from kicking him out the second he’d learned anything that could bring the downfall of his precious circus, of the world he’s built around it. 

He remains in this circus because Chanyeol hadn’t forced him out, even when he had reason to, even when it wouldn’t be hard for him to do -- he remains here because, as unfortunate as it may seem, Baekhyun is the only other person who knows this side of him. 

And he thinks back to that first night when Chanyeol’s eyes saw through him so easily, when his heart had leapt to capture that glance for his own. Sighing to himself and surrounded by newfound splendor, he watches the faint light in his eyes turn to flames with each fingertip of gold he paints across his eyelids.

-- 

Ringmaster Junmyeon and his office are both as unusually plain as the first time he’d visited, his clothes ragged and mind racing with only a note in his pocket. Both are beautiful, though Junmyeon’s bare face and simple walls don’t compare with the silken grandeur the rest of the circus holds, with the exotic scents and sights that greet his every sense with each step. Here, it feels like a metropolitan room, crammed and in need of windows, aching for new textures. It’s the same, and Baekhyun wishes it wasn’t, wishes that a sliver of the tapestries and color schemes could slither their way into the ringmaster’s world.

Except this time, he enters with tinted nails and plump lips, his pale yellow shirt resting, rather ed, comfortably across his shoulders -- it’s far too large for him, but Sehun likes when his shoulders are out, when sunshine pools in the hollows of his collarbones. And he likes the way Jongin stares at the fading bruises on his neck, the way Minseok purses his lips and tries to cover them in vain, his parental concern warming Baekhyun’s cheeks. 

Instead of only the charming, proud ringmaster waiting for him, there is another, taller boy here today, leaning down to whisper heatedly with Junmyeon. Baekhyun counts the rubies that line his fingers, giving up at the sixth, instead trying to read his expression -- but he gives up on that, too, because Chanyeol looks back at him so suddenly that he jumps and averts his eyes. 

“Ah, Baekhyun, you’ve arrived.” 

He bows to the ringmaster, fully aware of why he’s been called in, pleasantly surprised at the calm in his chest. He can’t fully understand why there is a lack of fear, but then he looks up to meet Chanyeol’s wide-eyed gaze once again, and it hits him easily: he holds something over Chanyeol’s head, a secret that he still can’t quite believe, a story he’s kept from sharing, a future he could’ve only dreamed of. 

“Hello, sir, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he shakes hands with Junmyeon, and he notices a new poster pinned up behind the shorter man, advertising the Elyxion Circus in gold letters against a dark violet background, the same colors as the suit he wears currently. Royal colors suit him. “I hope you’ve been well, and that I’ve done my job up to your standards.” 

“Of course. But that’s not why you’re here today.” 

The air is heavy when Baekhyun takes a breath, electrified with Junmyeon’s focused gaze and Chanyeol’s intimidating stature. He wades through it anyway, nodding and smiling at the tallest performer -- and flinches when Chanyeol doesn’t reciprocate the action, a minor chip in the confidence he’d been so protected by recently.

“I assume you’ve settled into your new accomodations well? Everything is comfortable?” Junmyeon asks this of Baekhyun, though his eyes focus only on Chanyeol, something unsaid boiling between them, threatening to engulf Baekhyun if he lets it. He decides he doesn’t want to be pulled under by their gazes, and treads against their tide wholeheartedly, deciding to act as clueless as possible for the next few minutes of his life, if only to save himself from another potential conflict. Dripping wet Chanyeol in an empty kitchen holds far fewer cards than Chanyeol slouching next to the ringmaster, acting as though he owns this office, and Baekhyun wants to keep his head above the water, would do most anything to keep what’s been given to him.

“Of course, it’s much more than I need,” he ignores Chanyeol’s presence, even as he glitters in the corner of Baekhyun’s vision, a remnant of sunshine trapped in his eyes. “It all is, to be frank. I am not sure what the cause of the sudden change is, but I appreciate it greatly. I will do my best to make this circus gain an even more exquisite reputation.” 

Chanyeol laughs, and Baekhyun can’t help from looking over to see his lips curl over those pretty teeth, even if he knows the smile is at his expense, aimed toward his innocent act. He wants to find it humorous, too, but he can’t, not when his throat closes up at the thought of what might come next -- the tallest performer is never this pleased unless he’s on stage, getting the gratification he so desires. 

Suddenly, he sees, vision clear of all the dazzling rubies and metallic shine -- to these men, this meeting is all a performance: meant to be watched, meant to be judged, meant to be entertaining.

“There’s no need to play coy, Baekhyun. Chanyeol has informed me of how well you are fit to be his assistant, and I could never deny him, especially when he begs me to pamper you so. I hope you will return his kindness with hard work.” 

Baekhyun knows well what this hard work is -- he understands that he is only to keep his mouth shut, to enjoy the things he would never have before, to bask in the attention he will garner from audience and fellow performers alike. And he also knows that Chanyeol’s eyes avoiding his only makes him want to press further into the issue, makes him want to ask Junmyeon what it all means.

He wants the truth, but he receives only a probing look from Chanyeol and a pat on the back from the ringmaster, the weight of both crushing him gently. 

They leave the meeting together, shoulders uncomfortably close for a moment as they squeeze through the door, neither wanting the other to lead -- everything feels like a competition, and Baekhyun is sure he’ll be defeated soon, if Chanyeol’s hard eyes and tensed fists have any say. Back in the vivid world of the circus, Baekhyun breathes hard, practically inhaling the now-familiar scent of peanuts and alcohol, comfortable in the permeating heat from the popcorn machines and dangling chandeliers. 

Chanyeol stills next to him, and Baekhyun watches his face for a moment too long, noticing a plethora of details for his brain to process, mind associating his glossy eyes to the shining fireworks that dance across the sky each night, unconsciously comparing the natural pink of the taller’s lips to his own, satisfied when he imagines how beautiful they’d look covered in a pink salve, how soft they’d be against Baekhyun’s fingertips. He wonders if, somehow, he could pry his way into Chanyeol’s chest and burrow, experienced hands playing the melody to Chanyeol’s favorite song on his heartstrings -- the same way he plays the piano. Maybe, he could own a part of Chanyeol’s mind and forget about any threats the taller may pose, assured with adoration. With these calloused hands, he could soothe Chanyeol’s loneliness the same way he’s captured Sehun’s imagination, the same way he thinks he might’ve enthralled Jongin’s curiosity, too. 

“Meet me tomorrow morning outside of your tent,” Chanyeol’s voice is as deep as ever, and it shocks Baekhyun just as much as it always has, lighting a fire in his cheeks when he realizes he’s startled visibly. “Right after breakfast. We need to train. You need a lot of work.” 

The circus has taught Baekhyun many things, and how to feel is top of the list -- his desires drive his every movement now, so he smiles back at Chanyeol, determined to ensure his own future in exchange for a captive heart. 

“I look forward to it.” 

--

Baekhyun, 

I suppose you possess other talents than piano, if you are to be working with the most well-known performer at the circus! Good for you, my dear boy. I do wonder if the rumors of his poor attitude and exceptional -- almost unbelievable, I am told -- talent are true? I would love to hear more before I am to meet the boy, as I wouldn’t want him being rude to Yerim. Wouldn’t want our flower being burned, would we?
She is doing well, as always, only complaining when her head hurts in the evenings and there is no Baekhyun to talk her ear off about growing up in filth, about sleeping with only the stars above -- she so adored your stories, no matter how sad the matter. Speaking of, she will bring you some fantastical books, just as you’ve asked, in exchange for those earrings. 

We will see you before you know it,
Cho Kyuhyun

--

Minseok’s hand holding his is much appreciated, especially when it’s paired with Jongdae’s lilting voice singing a folk song a few feet away, the pair as soothing and comforting as ever. Jongdae’s hips swing gently to his own melody, laughing when Minseok shoos him away from Baekhyun’s shaking figure. 

“You’re not helping,” the oldest chastises softly, fondly. “You’ll only make him more nervous.” 

“No, I’m distracting him. It’s more useful than babying him.” 

Song Qian’s nails are long and pointed, tinted a dark green color (which matches her eyeshadow and burgundy lips rather well, Baekhyun thinks) and they dig into his earlobe and shoulder simultaneously, both hands gripping him tightly. It’s about to happen, he realizes, and he tenses up involuntarily, trying to find amusement in Jongdae’s performance for him. 

“It’s almost over, Baekhyun,” she promises sweetly, and her nails are working a needle through his lobe, ripping his ear as carefully as she possibly could, tiny and quick but filled with white-hot pain. “See? Not too bad. Like a kitten scratching you.” 

The only kittens Baekhyun can remember had all been ugly little things, brought up on the streets by their alley-cat mothers, and they’d avoided him no matter how he cooed at them, no matter what piece of his own meal he’d dangled in front of them. He’d never even gotten close enough to one to get scratched, but he nods along to the comparison anyway, focusing on the way Minseok’s fingers wrap around his instead. 

“Hand me the earring, Jongin. Please.” 

Said boy barely turns around, his head shaking in desperation as he s his hand forward, a diamond stud between his pointer finger and thumb. He holds it like it’s infected, and avoids Baekhyun as though he is, too -- too afraid of both needles and blood to be of any help during this procedure. Song Qian takes it with the hand that doesn’t rest on Baekhyun’s throbbing ear, and Jongdae giggles at their interaction. 

“Am I bleeding?” Baekhyun asks quietly, only slightly afraid of the answer; he’s mostly amused by the face Jongin pulls at the words, horrified and nauseous. 

“Don’t answer him!” his palms cover his entire face now, and Baekhyun spots the second sparkling earring sitting on the dancer’s thigh. Cute, he muses to himself -- Jongin is very cute. “I do not want to know the answer!” 

“Only a little blood. One more ear, darling.”

Baekhyun gets used to the stinging in his left ear rather quickly, focusing on the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he prepares himself to feel that same jolt of pain in his right.

“This doesn’t hurt much, Jongin. You should try it.” 

He wants them all to think he’s brave and funny -- teasing Jongin even as his ears are pierced, laughing even as his heart hammers through his chest, charming Chanyeol even as he doubts his own sanity. He also wants to look good when it’s all done -- he wants dangling pearls and emeralds in due time, wants to be a glimmering gem in the sea of silk tapestries and colorful patterns, a beacon of light in a flood of personalities and voices. 

“Don’t joke about it. I would never. I can’t believe you are,” Jongin is pouting, he can tell, even if the majority of his facial features are covered by tanned hands and an amethyst ring. “Did Chanyeol make you do this? Is he trying to stake his claim by maiming you?” 

It suddenly grows far too silent for Baekhyun’s liking, and he knows that Jongin has mentioned the one thing everyone had been avoiding, the topic that he’d kept locked away for the moment. He doesn’t know what to tell others who ask about his and Chanyeol’s odd relationship, about their new partnership -- he doesn’t know how to explain his sudden rise in the ranks, or the way he secretly likes all this attention. 

“No, I wanted this. If I’m to be his assistant, I want to stand out as much as he does, after all.” 

The hand in his tightens its grip, and Baekhyun looks up to Minseok’s dandelion yellow cheeks, to the dots of white, yellow, and green he’s painted across his eyelids -- tulips dancing in the breeze, he’d explained. He looks concerned, scared even, and Baekhyun smiles back, ignoring the sharp pinch of Song Qian’s nails on his right earlobe, on the way the needle settles into his plush skin so easily, no doubt drawing a drop of blood to match his new wardrobe, his new life. 

“Why are you his assistant?” Minseok almost whispers it. Jongin’s expressive brown eyes peek from behind his fingers, rolling back when he sees the scene in front of him, and then he’s gone again, hidden behind feelings that Baekhyun wants to explore. 

“I’m curious too. Chanyeol is either completely smitten with you, or he owes you.”

Jongdae has no doubt in his voice as he says it. Baekhyun wishes he wasn’t so sure of himself, wasn’t so close to getting him to spill it all, even if it gets him kicked out of the circus, even if it threatens his safety. He wishes he had it in him to joke about the possibility of Chanyeol owing him, but then there’s fire flashing in his mind, burning hands against his lips, and he’s not sure he should discuss this at all. 

“Which is it, Baekhyun?” Minseok prods his side with tiny fingers in perfect time with the needle kissing his skin, both acts making him squirm with discomfort, a whine slipping from his mouth. 

Song Qian kisses the crown of his head softly, a gentle apology, and everything is forgiven. 

“I know as much as you do. I have no reason to believe he’s infatuated with me, but I also know he owes me nothing. I think he simply wanted an assistant, and the ringmaster suggested me.”

Jongin scoffs loudly, hand outstretched with the second earring and eyes looking somewhere above Baekhyun, as to avoid any incidents with losing his consciousness. 

“What?” 

“Chanyeol doesn’t need an assistant. He never will. His act is set in stone, and he’s beloved by everyone -- why would he want to throw a new face into that? He wants to control you, somehow, I’m sure.” 

He’s right, and Baekhyun doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t like the uncomfortable pain in his ears or the thought of what Sehun will say when he sees him next. Even more, he doesn’t like the thought of losing this makeshift family and new life, of going back to playing for scraps each day, of dull clothes and lonely nights. 

“I don’t know why I’m suddenly in his life or his act, but I will not fight a chance to make a name for myself,” Baekhyun is resolute to make his point, to cast away any doubts, even when Jongin shakes his head in disbelief once again, even when Minseok tilts his head in worry. “It’s what we all came here to do.”

Song Qian steps away, smiling as though there is no tense air clouding the tent, as though the Chanyeol conversation had never occurred. “All done!” 

He squeezes Minseok’s hand in thanks, grateful for the way Song Qian cards her long fingernails through his hair, inspecting the length and health of it through long eyelashes. 

“Jongin, he obviously doesn’t know why Chanyeol has singled him out. You are just jealous because you think he’s after Baekhyun’s heart, and you wish you had acted sooner. Don’t be childish.” 

There’s no composure left in this tent, not when Jongin’s yelling back awful things at her, angry and embarrassed and definitely, definitely childish. Jongdae and Minseok curl in on each other, laughing into each other’s shoulders and necks, and Baekhyun downs the last remains of whiskey in his glass. It feels like home, even as his head rings with pain and 

“Probably should’ve drank that before you pierced your ears,” Song Qian giggles, her hands untangling from Baekhyun’s hair to cup his chin softly. “Now, what were you saying earlier? You want to dye your hair?” 

-- 

The morning dew is cold against Baekhyun’s ankles, as frigid as late-spring rain against his back in a crowded alleyway, as cold as Sehun’s gaze when he’d seen the diamonds in Baekhyun’s ears and the flaming red hair atop his head. 

It’d been quiet, too silent to be considered normal, and Sehun’s eyes flickered with an unspoken question, with tiny flickers of fear that light up his face with the words did you kiss Chanyeol, too? It was obvious to the shorter what Sehun’s first thought had been when he’d heard the news, and it was understandable, but it didn’t make the betrayal in both their eyes dim. 

They hadn’t fought, but a switch had been turned off in Baekhyun, leaving him listless against the lips on top of his -- the hands running up and down his sides softly felt more like unwelcome grazes in the crowds of the circus, not the velvet touch of someone he hopes to hold close. He’d closed his eyes against the light of the oil lamp in his tent, lulled himself into a stupor of warmth and familiarity, felt Sehun’s each and every move as if he was watching from outside his own body, a passerby in this exchange of passion.

He’d kissed the taller goodnight before it was time for him to sneak out of Baekhyun’s tent, as secretive and sweet as always. Alone, with only his journal and a confused mind, Baekhyun had curled into himself, concerned with the lack of heat in his cheeks, in his chest. At first, being with Sehun felt like discovering a hidden door inside his own mind, like figuring out the source of a patterned wallpaper after so many hours of staring, like his first sip of champagne in a glittering world. But the night before, he’d discovered he wanted something else that he can’t describe, something that sends him tunneling into an abyss of questions and self-doubt.

He’d turned back into that desperate, clawing boy who wanted nothing more than an ounce of affection to make him bloom, to fill the loneliness that ate away at his mornings and evenings without fail. With cold sheets against his bare skin and darkness clouding his eyes, he’d felt as though he’d used Sehun, as though Sehun had used him too, and he’d wanted nothing more than to cry -- so he did, face buried in his pillow, truly seeing himself for the first time in far too long. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep the night before -- only moments of snotty tears and gasping breaths -- but he does remember waking up this morning, eyes crusted over and pillow stained a light pink from his newly-dyed hair. Now, in the early morning light, he doesn’t know what to do besides shun Sehun from his mind and focus on the fact that Chanyeol will be here soon, that he must train today, no matter how much he wants to feast on breakfast and sit in the grass out front of the tent all afternoon, sketching the sky and singing old songs with Jongdae before the chaos and festivities arrive with nightfall.

But that can’t happen, not when Chanyeol is stepping outside of his tent, black hair shiny in the sunlight, collarbones and shoulders visible under the mesh of his charcoal shirt. He’s always been pretty, Baekhyun knows -- he’s seen him perform many times, watched him command an audience’s attention as if it’s simple, glowing from the embers surrounding him, eyes and hair darker than the night’s sky. But it feels different when he sees him this time, all sharp angles and dark colors against an early morning backdrop, and Baekhyun realizes why very quickly: Chanyeol is staring straight back at him, studying his features carefully, intensely, and Baekhyun feels as though his wine-colored shirt was the right choice, feels as though there is a power in his every movement with this man staring so obviously.

“Good morning,” Baekhyun’s voice is far from smooth this early, but it doesn’t matter to the taller, doesn’t affect the way his eyes devour each inch of Baekhyun’s with interest. “Training day?” 

Chanyeol coughs away his evident shock, and Baekhyun knows he was right about Chanyeol keeping him around despite his best judgement -- he wants someone to talk to, uses this guise of blackmail and babysitting to keep from showing how he longs for a confidant, for Baekhyun to make him smile that pretty smile. He wants to try. 

“First of many,” his head tilts to the side slightly after he says it, almost friendly, and Baekhyun thinks he looks much younger like this, an ink splot spilled over the canvas of this dawn, a fire trying its best to stay contained.

“Do you like my hair? I dyed it just for you and your performance.” 

Charm is the best way to go -- Chanyeol is far removed from the other performers, though Baekhyun has a feeling he truly wears his heart on his sleeve, that a loose shirt and fluttering eyes will erase their first meeting from Chanyeol’s mind, and those burning hands against his would obliterate any doubt in the taller’s mind. He’s always wanted the taller’s attention on him, and now he sees nothing but those eyes on his, and it’s exhilarating. 

“I made it look like fire,” he smiles, watching Chanyeol’s eyes bulge out, face hard with disbelief, still handsome. “I might blend in with the flames, so please take care. I’m flammable.” 

Baekhyun laughs, letting his eyes crinkle, letting his hand move to tuck a piece of red hair behind his ear, earrings and neck both on full display, both fully decorated for Chanyeol to observe. 

The taller doesn’t outwardly react, only turns on his heel and continues away from their tents, a wisp of smoke disappearing from Baekhyun’s grasp. 

“We have a lot to learn.” 

And Baekhyun follows him, ignoring the ugly feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach, the dejection that stains his cheeks pink and clouds his sleepy vision, the worry that settles in his mind no matter how hard he tries to suppress it. 

--

hey! i updated!! sorry for any grammatical errors, i'm very tired lol. i'll edit it again in the morning, so wait til then to read if a typo will hurt you 

byeybey i hope you like it 

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