The thing with Baekhyun and Jongdae is they’re very demonstrative. Baekhyun more than Jongdae, but some of that touchiness has rubbed off on Jongdae. For the most part, Chanyeol doesn’t mind. He hates being alone, and he adores his friends. He loves being with them.

It’s hard to not feel like a third wheel, though.

Baekhyun and Jongdae have been sort of dating for a while. Sort of meaning Chanyeol’s not exactly sure if they are or not, because they have both approached him with honest intentions—Baekhyun’s being dirty intentions; he has a thing for tall men and sometimes looks at Chanyeol like he’s a mountain to conquer. Comes by it honestly, though.

Maybe it’s flattering, but Chanyeol just feels bad. He knows he can’t give them what they’ll eventually will probably want. What any normal, healthy relationship involves. With Chanyeol, however, physical intimacy can only go so far before it gets gross and leaves a greasy, creepy crawly feeling over his flesh.

Biology is just gross, and he envies most girls that don’t have to live with a single-minded creature between their legs.

It’s hard to explain.

So he doesn’t.

He lets them down in a wishy washy sort of way. Not wanting to hurt their feelings, he leaves his responses open-ended. Room to hope for the future.

But that leaves a question: If they’re dating, why even come to him? They haven’t been fighting, when they approach Chanyeol. Not that he knows, anyway, so it’s probably not some revenge scheme. It’s not convenience—they both have lots of friends and now each other.

It’s frustrating.

Sometimes, Chanyeol wishes they’d just leave him alone, so he can get rid of the guilt and anxiety.

Most times, he wishes he was normal and could laugh about capades and boast about plans for hooking up with someone without wanting to throw up at the very idea.

Something must be wrong with him. Maybe his primal animal brain is underdeveloped.

 

They meet up to make plans for New Year’s Eve. Baekhyun is always ready to try and drink everyone under the table.

For some reason, he thinks every year will be different.

Jongdae’s leaning against Baekhyun, bouncing with the other man’s enthusiastic gestures. It can’t be easy to type, getting jostled so much, but he doesn’t look willing to move. “Yixing hyung’s not coming out. Shrine Sickness again.”

“Again?” Baekhyun groans, slouching against the sofa and finally still. “That’s, what, three times this year?”

“Not as bad as your Forest Sores—five times in the same couple weeks of vacation?”

Chanyeol grimaces. That was bad. They’d gone as a big group with some other friends to Jeju Island to try forest bathing. It’s popular with the older population, because it’s supposed to really help Rheumatic Rose Disease and is said to reduce blood pressure and stress as well as improve the overall wellbeing of the bather, thanks to something emitted by plants and trees. It was a beautiful place; Chanyeol loved the sound of the waterfalls and being surrounded by green. He did feel at peace there.

“It was only four!” They all have vivid memories of the sticky sap burning in the sunlight and trying to keep Baekhyun covered at all times. In a past life, Chanyeol may have been an umbrella holder for royalty.

“You wouldn’t have gotten them at all, if you’d been wearing clothes.” There are set paths to the water, and Baekhyun did not always follow them. The water did help heal the sores, but he’d go right out into the forest again, accumulate the offending sap, and develop more sores.

“I wasn’t about to bathe with clothes on…”

“You weren’t doing those aunties any favors by raising their blood pressure so much, either.”

“C’mon, the area was pretty, but I’m prettier, right?” Baekhyun wraps himself around Jongdae and nuzzles him with soft kisses until they’re both laughing.

They don’t seem to mind that they’re not entirely alone. Maybe they prefer that; some people like an audience.

Chanyeol gets up and says he’ll be ready to go after changing his shirt.

In the few minutes he shuffles around his room, arranging and rearranging his things to waste time, Baekhyun and Jongdae get restless. Baekhyun knocks loudly and says if he’s not coming out, they’re coming in. It’s not something Chanyeol is sure to be proud of, but Baekhyun’s a talented lockpicker.

He saves his friend the trouble.

Jongdae’s waiting at the door. There’s a bruise on his neck that hadn’t been there earlier; he notices Chanyeol looking and covers it with his hand, smiling. His embarrassed cough turns into a coughing fit that leaves him teary-eyed and with a fistful of gross tissues, but he says he’s alright and pulls his sleeve over his hand to wipe his eyes.

The place they decide on isn’t far. It’s cold, but it’s winter, so it’s expected. Baekhyun still whines and huddles close to Chanyeol.

“Hey, Yeol.” He grabs Chanyeol’s arm with both of his gloved hands, hugging it and not allowing any potential escape. “Wanna go out with me after new year’s?”

“Out where?”

“Anywhere!” His eyes shine brightly. Chanyeol’s wondered how they do that. It’s something out of a shoujo anime. “Just go out with me,” he adds, softer.

Jongdae’s on Chanyeol’s other side, shoulders hunched and scarf hiding most of his face. “Uh...Lemme see if I have anything planned…” The hold on his arm loosens. “Okay?”

Baekhyun’s lost his enthusiasm, holding onto just Chanyeol’s sleeve. “Yeah, okay.”

He feels bad, and he also feels he shouldn’t, because it takes two to date, considering two hearts and two people’s individual feelings. If he doesn’t want to do something, he shouldn’t feel bad about it, but he feels bad about denying things from people he cares about.

And he does care for Baekhyun. He cares for Jongdae, too. He’ll readily say he loves them both—maybe not when anyone’s around to hear it, but he knows his own heart. They’ve been friends for a long time and have gone through a lot.

But there is a limit to how much of himself Chanyeol is willing to give. The one time he dated, because he did like the guy and got along well with him, some sort of mood built up, and they ended up in the other guy’s bedroom. Chanyeol did not want to be there—not for what his date evidently thought was logical or mutual or whatever—and he got so worked up he cried until he threw up.

And he apologized, because he felt bad. He couldn’t explain how or why anything. Was he sick? Not that he knew; he didn’t have a fever or anything. Was he anxious? Definitely, but he’s been anxious before and felt okay-ish. Was it his date? No; he was handsome and kind, and Chanyeol loved his singing voice.

He’s just...weird.

Chanyeol’s brought out of his head by someone taking his hand. Jongdae’s smiling, still hidden in his scarf, and Chanyeol smiles back.

“We should keep a closer eye on Baekhyun,” he remarks, pulling his scarf down a little. “Trick him with soda or something; I hate having to carry him home.”

“You’re part of the problem, teasing him so much.” Baekhyun has a very low tolerance for alcohol. Jongdae claims his high tolerance comes from genetics, admitting to having a couple alcoholic relatives. He’s careful to drink water and eat as he drinks.

Chanyeol’s tolerance depends on his mood, what he’s drinking, and the position of Mars or something. Sometimes, he can go all night; other times, he has a glass of soju and is ready for bed.

Tonight, he’s told himself he’ll play the role of designated chaperon, because he just knows Baekhyun is going to try and make up some competition that Jongdae will of course accept and make some remark to get a rise out of their friend…

The usual.

It takes a few minutes to get inside; the holidays always draw a big crowd. The club is crowded and hot. Streamers drip from the ceiling; some are stuck on light fixtures after being blown by the rising body heat.

As soon as there’s an empty table, they claim it and dump their jackets in a corner of the bench seat. An employee expertly weaves among the crowd and stacks the used glasses with dirty napkins on top like a poorly made bouquet. A rag whips over the top, just to dry it, and they’re gone.

Baekhyun disappears and reappears with drinks that he passes around without explanation or preamble. A couple shots and a glass of something later, and he’s flushed and giggling fuzzily.

Jongdae follows Baekhyun to dance. Regardless of inevitable sweat and sticky skin, they wrap around one another and don’t seem to mind the pressing crowd.

Chanyeol’s animal instincts pick up the stench of hormones and pheromones and even hears some moans coming from the booth behind him. He downs his drink—and whatever pink thing Baekhyun ordered; it was melting—and vaguely thinks it might have been a mistake when he stands up to join the festive partiers.

Parties and gatherings are sometimes sources of energy for Chanyeol. He’s social and likes meeting people and talking or whatever. He has no problem asking to join a basketball game at the park or giving directions when asked on the street. Some of his friendships started by total happenstance like that, and he’s usually okay.

But then something will remind him that humans are a uniquely ual animal. Intimacy is a necessity, not just something seasonal for the sake of offspring. Those times, he worries about his own behavior. Is he being too friendly? Maybe he’s smiling too much. Should he take their hand or just touch their shoulder? How does he appear to someone else, and what will he do if they misinterpret his friendliness and sociability as something else?

The music changes to something with heavier bass.

It pounds between his ears and makes his sinuses and temples throb, vibrating his ribcage and making him move.

He meets someone but doesn’t catch their name. They’re about his height and built, with a small waist that’s bare beneath a cropped top. Something shimmers across his cheeks and eyelids. Chanyeol drunkenly discovers that it’s glitter and happily rubs the transferred sparkles over his hands.

With the bitter spice of alcohol and sweet aftertaste of syrup keeping his thoughts simple and foggy, he enjoys the close company of the man, laughing as his skin twinkles beneath the changing lights and kissing him back in the middle of a song he thinks he recognizes.

He follows him like he’s chasing the new year, ignorant of any consequences—

 

—namely the inevitable hangover.

He did not hydrate properly, and the little snacky foods were not enough to make a meal.

Someone’s sitting beside him, legs pulled up and a book open against their thighs. “Morning.”

“Ugh…”Chanyeol grunts and gently cradles his head.

They lower their legs and lean over to a nearby side table. The blankets stretch and pull a little from beneath Chanyeol. If he shifted, the blankets would probably let loose and send the other person hurtling to the floor.

Although, if they’re quick enough, their wings could catch them.

Then they’re back, sitting cross-legged and offering a bottle of water and little crystallized things. “Here. You probably feel kinda gross.”

“Just a little.” He tries to swallow the yellow crystals, chokes, coughs them up to chew properly and nearly spits them out at the peppery taste. He’s better after chugging half the water. “Thanks.” He takes in the man’s pajamas—very worn, the cartoon characters faded from years of washing—and then the translucent wings just barely fluttering and catching the light. The glitter Chanyeol remembers is fairy dust. “I...I don’t remember…”

“We made out; you said you were tired, and then you fell asleep.” He smiles, showing dimples, and his wings twitch. “You’re very cuddly.”

Heat creeps up Chanyeol’s neck and vents out his ears. “I am so sorry.” A feeling of spider legs crawls along his arms, drawing out goosebumps and making the hairs rise.

“Don’t be. It’s fine. Nothing happened, and I wasn’t about to throw you out because you’re tired.” He tugs the blankets a little. “I didn’t want to move you once you passed out on my bed, so I covered you up and used the sheets myself.” It’s true. They’re together but separated by cotton bedsheets and a thick comforter.

Chanyeol’s watch beeps, his usual back-up alarm.

He finishes the water and pats his body, even where he has no pockets. “Did my phone fall out during the night?” Jongdae and Baekhyun are probably freaking out. Chanyeol never leaves them without saying something, and even then, he practically nags them via texts and phone calls to not stay out so late and go home.

“I raided your pockets so that wouldn’t happen. An easy thing to forget when drunk. I’ll get it for you.” He stands with far too much grace for so early in the morning. There’s a woven bowl on the desk across from the bed, and he hands it to Chanyeol. His wallet, keys, phone, and whatever loose things he leaves in his pockets are piled inside. “My name’s Jongin, by the way. Kim Jongin.”

“Thank you. I’m Park Chanyeol.” His phone has glitter on the screen. Chanyeol brushes it off and unlocks the phone to face a series of texts from Baekhyun and Jongdae and even Joonmyun, who’s not even in the country right now. Chanyeol doesn’t bother reading them all; he gets the gist and lets them know he’s alive with a selfie to show off his ferocious bedhead and bleary eyes. “I am sorry about this. I don’t usually, you know…” His hands flutter in indistinguishable sign language, but Jongin seems to understand.

“It’s fine. I don’t usually pick guys up from the bar, either.” Chanyeol wonders where his usual haunt is, then, because he could dazzle a person without eyes just by his kind personality. “It’s kind of nice to not wake up alone.”

It really is. “I can’t think of the last time I slept with anyone.” Literally. It’s kind of sad. He loved sleepovers as a kid.

Jongin scoffs. “Boys are notoriously allergic to sharing beds. My friends like me because I’m warm.” A tinny jingle draws their attention to the partly open doorway. Something brushes against the wall, pauses, and then the door opens more to allow a large, gray and white winged cat to saunter into the room. “Hey, Tan,” Jongin greets warmly. “I’m cat-sitting for my brother. She’s very friendly.”

“I’m allergic,” Chanyeol woefully states. If he had some allergy medication, he’d be all over the fluffy feline, but he tells himself it’s a trial in restraint.

“Oh, I’m sorry. She’s only in here because she’s hungry; I’ll feed her, and she’ll be too preoccupied to bother you.”

“It’s no bother!” She looks so soft and fluffy. He itches to stuff his face in her fur and rubs his nose. “I just like breathing.”

“A good habit.” Jongin smiles, scooting off the bed to scoop up the cat with a grunt and mumble of how heavy she is, but she relaxes happily against his shoulder.

Chanyeol follows after filling his pockets with his stuff. He doesn’t feel good, but he can move without wanting to throw up. “I should get going. My friends are worried, and it’s best to just face their judgement than try to come up with the clearest way to tell the truth.”

“Truth about what?”

“Why I left the bar last night and where I went.” He rubs the back of his neck, not entirely sure why he feels the need to explain. “We’re kind of...like, I dunno. The two guys I was with last night are my best friends. And they’re sort of dating, I guess, and would be really great together, but they’ve kind of been hitting on me and ask me out every once in a while?”

Jongin looks confused. Chanyeol can’t blame him. He’d be pretty weirded out by a stranger talking about their friends sort of maybe cheating on each other or both flirting with them. It’s like something out of a comic.

Chanyeol would be an awful harem protagonist.

He throws his hands up and shrugs. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry; it has nothing to do with you, and I don’t want to unload my friends’ loose lifestyles or morals or whatever on you.”

“It’s okay.” Jongin’s grin turns lopsided. “I mean—” he lifts a shoulder and flips Tan’s tail with his foot. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.” Glancing at the digital clock on the stove, he even suggests breakfast.

Unsure how to gracefully leave and also unwilling to face Baekhyun and/or Jongdae just yet, Chanyeol agrees. He takes command of the food once Jongin acknowledges his superior cooking abilities, and Jongin sits on the counter to point out pans and utensils when asked and otherwise asks non-invasive questions to keep Chanyeol talking.

Tan supervises from the back of the sofa, eyes wide and curious.

After eating and talking, Chanyeol actually does feel good. Tan respected Chanyeol’s allergies and just sat beneath his chair. Jongin’s a good listener and doesn’t judge Chanyeol’s hard-to-put-into-words weirdness.

As they say their goodbyes, Jongin says, “You’re lucky to be loved by your friends. Even if it’s not the same love, let them know. Even if they don’t understand right away, you can talk about it, like you did with me. They won’t think any less of you.”

Chanyeol smiles and hopes he’s right, but that ugly nervousness is sizzling in his gut again.

When Chanyeol finally goes home, Baekhyun is beside himself. By how he carries on and clings to Chanyeol, one would think he just returned from a war, but Chanyeol’s known him long enough to recognize the anxious energy. Their home is also the cleanest it’s been since they moved in.

While Baekhyun takes out his feelings in video games, Jongdae cleans. Even if he doesn’t feel better in the end, his room is clean or the refrigerator no longer smells like old takeout.

They don’t ask where he went, surprisingly. Once they bully him out of his jacket and shoes and into the bathroom to shower, they wait impatiently for him to reemerge and then bully him onto their couch that’s a bit too small for three grown men.

But it’s nice. He feels bad for worrying his friends; that’s not how he wanted to celebrate a new year, but he did make a new friend.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t talk to either Jongdae or Baekhyun about he and Jongin talked about. He tells himself he’s waiting for the right time. Things go on like usual, until the morning after Baekhyun tries to kiss Chanyeol. They’d laughed it off like a joke, but Baekhyun had slunk to his room for the night at what—for him—was very early.

Of course Chanyeol feels bad. That may have been the time he’s telling himself he’s waiting for, but talking to Jongin and talking to such an old friend is too different. a sees an envelope and sheets of paper on the table. They’re not his, but he recognizes the printed logo on the letterhead as a hospital’s. He’s not heard of anyone being admitted to any hospital recently, whether friend or family.

Curious, he picks up the paper.

A bedroom door opens down the hall, and Baekhyun shuffles behind Chanyeol. He’s half-dressed and half-awake, but Chanyeol grips his arm and shakes him, holding up the paper. “What is this?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It’s an appointment for surgery, Baekhyun! Your surgery!” He flips the page around so he can read it. “‘Hanahaki Disease is a potentially life-threatening condition in which plants grow in the patient’s lungs. Coughing is caused by the resulting blossoms, and irritation can occur as well as trouble breathing, dizziness, nausea,’ whatever… I didn’t know you were even sick! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wouldn’t change anything. You don’t care that I’m sick, even though it’s your fault!”

Previously unnoticed, Jongdae slips between them and removes Chanyeol’s hand from Baekhyun’s arm. “Yelling won’t help, guys.”

“Like you’re any better off, Jongdae. I’m sick and tired of feeling like this. I’d rather not feel anything than have this stupid piercing...clawing...thing in my chest all the time!”

“It , Baekhyun. I know. Yelling at each other,” Jongdae coughs into his shoulder, “isn’t going to...help.” He wheezes and coughs again, doubling over as a fit takes over his body.

At first, neither Baekhyun nor Chanyeol notice, too caught up in yelling back and forth and throwing more violent gestures, but a particularly croaky heave cuts through the veil of injustice and anger, and Baekhyun immediately deflates.

“Dae?! What’s wrong?!”

He can’t catch his breath and hiccups around a gasp, retching into his hand. Bile runs down his wrist, but Chanyeol notices the wet petals in his palm.

They each catch an arm as Jongdae collapses.

As Baekhyun tries to keep Jongdae awake, Chanyeol calls an ambulance.

At the hospital, Chanyeol again faces the shock of the common-but-treatable Hanahaki Disease. When the staff wheels Jongdae into surgery, he asks Baekhyun how long Jongdae’s shown symptoms but doesn’t get an answer.

Somehow, he just knows it’s his fault. All those times he brushed off Jongdae or treated his affectionate comments as a joke, a flower bloomed.

He begs Jongdae’s family to not have the thorns removed from his lungs. Petals can be cleared out, so he can breathe, but taking out the thorns and roots will remove his feelings for Chanyeol, as well.

It’s selfish, but Chanyeol doesn’t want that.

He wants it to be Jongdae’s own, conscious decision to love him or not.

The Kim family accepts before he gets on his knees to plead with them, and he nearly cries from relief until he recognizes the icy anxiety in his gut at the idea of surgery. It may be routine, but it’s not without risk.

If he waits with the family, he’s sure they’ll figure out he’s to blame and start to hate him. Baekhyun’s better at consoling people, anyway. He sits with Jongdae’s mom and holds her hand, sitting remarkably still.

Chanyeol takes his self-loathing pity party on the road and walks circuits around the floor until he gets a text saying Jongdae’s out of surgery. It went well. He’s in recovery and can’t be seen except by immediate family.

Baekhyun transfers himself from Mrs. Kim to Chanyeol, forcing him to sit. Chanyeol has long fingers; they aid in his guitar playing. They’re kind of knobby, like his joints are swollen. Baekhyun has pretty hands. If he wasn’t playing with Chanyeol’s hand, he’d be biting his fingers, a habit he’s been trying to break for years.

“They said he’ll be okay,” he mumbles, more to himself than Chanyeol. “He’ll be fine. Healers know what they’re talking about.” Chanyeol squeezes his fingers.

Mrs. Kim finds them and says she’s told the nurse both Baekhyun and Chanyeol are her sons, so they can see Jongdae. “I don’t think she believed me, but too bad. You should be with him, too.”

Chanyeol’s somewhat surprised to see the sky is orange; it’s been that long. Hospitals function in their own time.

Jongdae’s asleep when they enter his room. His brother and dad acknowledge them wordlessly and join Mrs. Kim in the hall.

While not small, Jongdae’s an unassuming size. He’s dwarfed by the hospital bed, that has extensions and arms and buttons until it only vaguely resembles a bed. Chanyeol sits by his knee; Baekhyun lies along Jongdae’s other side.

The room offers faux comforts in the soft colors of the furniture and framed paintings of dreamy flowerscapes. Porous tiles form a high ceiling, white like the walls and floor. A clock is mounted beside a flat-screen television, ticking noisily—two ticks for every heartbeat.

“You’ve been quiet,” Baekhyun comments. He looks as tired as Chanyeol feels.

“So have you. It’s unusual.” His attempt at humor falls flat.

“This is an unusual time.” His hand flattens over Jongdae’s chest, maybe feeling for the beat of his heart. “I thought he had more time, but he’d been getting worse. He always felt more than he let on, even to me.”

Jongdae shifts, and Baekhyun sits up on an elbow. When he doesn’t wake up, Baekhyun doesn’t hide his disappointment and lies down again.

“He’s probably gonna have a gnarly scar.”

Chanyeol tries to catch his laugh, but it blows a raspberry between his lips. “Are you seriously worried about that?”

“Not worried, no. Kind of disappointed. He has such a pretty chest.” He touches his own chest. “I like to think we both do. I didn’t think about that when I looked into this surgery. Even if the feelings were gone, we’d still see the scars and remember...”

“I really am so sorry, Baek. I should’ve said something a long time ago, but it’s just weird to me. I don’t want people touching me, but at the same time, I do. Just—differently.”

“Like hugs and hand-holding but not s.”

Chanyeol feels himself flinch. “Y-Yeah…” Not exactly how he’d put it, but Baekhyun is blunt and laughs at him.

“That’s totally fine. I can’t speak for Jongdae,” he brushes Jongdae’s hair from his forehead, “but I just want to be with you and be acknowledged. Even with Jongdae, we’re not together because of or whatever; that’s just something that came after getting together because it felt right to us. Him and me. What’s good to us isn’t what’s good to everyone, and that’s fine.”

“I didn’t know you could be with more than one person without hurting one or the other.” Chanyeol stares at the wrinkles of the blanket over Jongdae. It should be smooth; he tugs it a little and pats it down. “I thought it was one or another, not and.”

“Or belongs on car titles, Chanyeol, not in relationships.” He rests his head on Jongdae’s shoulder, shimmying and shifting until he’s more comfortably spooning his side. “There’s no ulterior agenda, liking one more than the other. We really should have been more clear and not just assumed you’d understand.” In a perfect world, no one would have to say anything and would still be perfectly clear. “Although—sorry to bruise your ego, but your looks are more a perk than the reason we’re attracted. Okay, well, mostly, but whatever. We know this isn’t...conventional. It’s not bad, though, and it’s not erse or anything. We both really do love you, and we have for a while.

“You’re kinda the reason we even got interested in each other, too.” That’s unexpected news. "We discovered we valued the same qualities in people...and each other."

Baekhyun makes a face suddenly, something between a frown and the expression of smelling something unpleasant. “You know they actually ask if you want to keep the flowers they remove? That’s apparently a thing some people do.”

“That’s...gross…”

“Kinda romantic, I think.” Baekhyun jumps as Jongdae speaks, sitting upright and reaching for the remote to lift the head of the bed. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, and even if the feeling is gone, you remember them.” He smiles a little dreamily, still partly asleep. “I’m glad you’re here, Chanyeol.”

“Of course. I’m—” He’s the cause of the trouble. All the times Jongdae and Baekhyun cleared their throats or coughed for seemingly no reason—they were choking on petals, a disease brought on by one-sided emotions. Apologizing isn’t enough, and it feels like it would reduce the severity of the ordeal to something mundane.

But his friend nearly died. Jongdae isn’t as demonstrative or open with his feelings; Baekhyun throws his affection around freely. If Jongdae’s condition was so dire, Baekhyun cannot be far behind.

“I love you. Even if it’s not the same love, I love you both. You’re my best friends but more, and I’m sorry I couldn’t realize that sooner. You guys were hurting, and I barely realized it, because I thought you’d be happier together than with someone like me.”

Jongdae leans forward, grimacing but ignoring the soreness of his chest to take Chanyeol’s hand. “We may not understand right away, Yeol, but talk to us. We won’t think any less of you.”

“After everything we’ve been through, it’d take a lot more than this for us to think less of you,” Baekhyun adds. “Seriously, like—we know you’re a furry and still feel the way we do.”

“I’m already having regrets,” Chanyeol mutters. Jongdae clutches his chest, whining that they can’t make him laugh, because it hurts, but trying to not laugh makes them all laugh more.

A nurse sweeps inside, declaring that her patient needs to rest. As she checks his vitals, she keeps an eye on Chanyeol and Baekhyun as they say goodbye.

“...Would it be tacky to get him flowers?”

“As long as they’re not daffodils.” Baekhyun nudges Chanyeol with his elbow. “Don’t worry about it. We’re better than a bouquet; if he wants, we can spray some perfume sit still, so he can stare at us tomorrow.”

A little girl with a large stuffed bear and balloon cuts between them, followed closely by her mother, who bows and apologizes before running to catch up. They watch the duo enter a room with another child in the middle of the hospital bed. He smiles and opens his arms when he sees them, immediately enveloped in hugs.

They continue to the parking lot quietly. For a place of rehabilitation, the hospital is noisy, but the elevator is nearly silent. Not even forgettable music plays.

Baekhyun leans against the wall opposite the doors. Chanyeol stands beside him. The silence feels fuzzy in his ears. “How are you?”

His friend shrugs. “I think I’ll be okay, now.” He tilts his head to a shoulder. “How are you?”

Miserable, scared, relieved, a little happy… “Better than I was. I’ll be better once Jongdae is home, and we can figure out whatever it is we are or want to be.”

“That sounds good. In the meantime, I think I’ll feel better after a nap.”

Chanyeol raises an arm, a soundless invitation that Baekhyun hesitantly accepts. He relaxes against Chanyeol’s side once his arm tucks around him. “A nap sounds good, too.”

The elevator dings, and the doors open. It’s not easy walking so close, but they manage.

Chanyeol likes the warmth against his side, although it makes his other side feel cold.

Soon—the healers and nurses predict within a couple days—Jongdae will be home and hopefully accept a place under Chanyeol’s other arm.

---

a/n: Written for Unrestricted Love Poly Fest. (prompt no.au009 Hanahaki AU. Chanyeol is aseuxal and feels like he doesn’t deserve to be loved because he wouldn’t be able to give his partner what they want. The two boys pining after him think differently. He’s stubborn and sad and individually tries to make them see that he wouldn’t be good for them. Baek and Dae end up bonding when they get sick, they bond over their love for the dumb giant puppy boy and try to make him see that he’s deserving of love. And it’s only when they’re about to die that he realizes he can love them both and maybe he does deserve to be loved himself.)

The mods are saints of patience. ♡

This turned out different than anticipated, more Chanyeol-focused than the whole trio. It was difficult not just because it's my first poly fic that I can think of but also because it tried to put into words what I can't really explain myself. Chanyeol's facing the double-whammy of potentially dating more than one person at a time but also being ace. All I can say is I tried, and I think I got them to a hopeful conclusion.

Jongin gets the role of fortune cookie: the wise, uninvolved person who offers surprisingly accurate insight. Sometimes, it really is easy to talk to a stranger.