Hey lovely readers<3 Sorry this update is short, but hopefully you guys like it *^.^* Please please please comment and let me know what you think!!

Also, before I forget, I wanted to post a quick shout-out to my beautiful friends J, N, and Taryn for reaching 1,000 subscribers on their story "Mischief Managed (Or, sorta...) \(*^.^*)/ I highly encourage all of you to go read it, especially if you like Harry Potter<3 Their Asianfanfics username is BbuingBbuingBoba, and I've posted the link to the story below:

http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/625050/mischief-managed-or-sorta-exo-hunhan-taoris-baekyeol-kaisoo-xiuchen-sulay

Anyways, thanks again for reading, subscribing, and commenting<3 *Hugs and runs away*

*Spoilers ahead*

PSA - Please don't ever run out into a blizzard like Kai does in this scene... -_-

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Kris burns his tongue on his coffee, wincing a little, and then cursing inwardly.

    It's the third time already.
    

    But he tends to do things too quickly when he's nervous, anxious, guilty, whatever you want to call this ache in his stomach.

    Chanyeol doesn't notice however, too focused on his own cup of coffee, brow furrowing as he stares down into the cup.

    "Is it okay?" Kris asks without thinking about it because Chanyeol is too quiet, like he's deep in thought.

    Chanyeol glances up quickly, but then flashes Kris a bright smile.

    "It's fine," he assures him, taking another sip and then beaming as if to fully convince Kris.

    And then it's quiet again, like it's been for the past fifteen minutes.

    Kris drums his fingers against his thigh, sitting uncomfortably in the plastic chair at the small table he had had put in the staff room a few years ago because Kai had kept complaining about how there was nowhere to actually take a break from standing on his feet all day.

    Kris smiles a little thinking about eighteen year-old Kai, remembering the late nights they had spent hunched over one of the tables in the front, long after the store had closed, practicing English until both of them were ready to scream.

    Kris sighs and shifts a little, trying to find a more comfortable position.

    Chanyeol doesn't look too much better, long legs tucked under his chair, but unless they want to sit on the floor, there's really no other option.

    It's silent for another two, unbearable minutes.

    And then the power goes out.

    "Well," Kris hears Chanyeol say in the pitch dark, his own eyes blinking rapidly and trying to adjust, "this is interesting."
 

Sehun throws his frozen waffle at the wall.

    "Really?" he mutters, stretching a hand out in the dark, trying to feel for the freezer door that he had just closed.

    Of course the power would go out when he was trying to fix something quick for dinner.

    Not that one waffle and a half-box of Cookie Crisp could really count for dinner, but Sehun is too tired to care.

    Sehun sighs and leaves the kitchen to find the flashlight he keeps stored for emergencies.

    He makes it to his bedroom with only a few minor stumbles in the dark, and fishes the flashlight out from under his bed, flipping it on.

    The light lands on his bed, the covers still unmade and messy since the last time he had slept in his own apartment, and then on his nightstand.

    Sehun pauses in the process of getting up from where he's kneeling on the floor, his free hand reaching out to pick up the picture that's lying on the table.

    He had moved most of his photographs to Kai's apartment after staying there became a normal thing to do, hanging them all over Kai's fridge and leaving his portfolios scattered across the living room table.

    But he’s left a few here, some taped to his window, others stacked on the kitchen counter.

    Sehun stares down at the photo in his hand.

    Kai grins back at him, soaked and standing in the rain that continues to pour down around him, the street a blur of color and lights behind him.

    Sehun had made a copy that day, before he had given Kai the original photograph, had made one despite feeling horribly embarrassed about it.

    Now he’s glad he did.

Yixing trips over a blanket on the floor, yelping in surprise as he tumbles forward.

    Thankfully, his body comes into contact with the couch, both arms stretched out in front of him to break the fall.

    There’s the sound of a door opening somewhere behind Yixing, and then he hears Jongdae’s voice through the dark.

    “Yixing?” he asks, sounding concerned.

    “I’m fine,” Yixing huffs, pushing himself back up. “I guess the power’s down.”

    “Yeah, one second,” Jongdae responds, his voice fading away.

    Yixing gingerly turns around and sits down, deciding to stay still until he can see.

    He can’t afford to injure himself, not when he has to dance for work and for the competition.

    While he waits for Jongdae to come back from wherever he’s disappeared to, Yixing’s mind wanders back to when Jongdae had kissed him, and he feels his face warm at the memory, simultaneously flustered by the event and embarrassed at how he had reacted.

    Jongdae hadn’t kissed him again, even though Yixing hadn’t shown any signs of pushing him away.

    Instead, he’d gotten up, untangling himself from Yixing, smiling just as warmly as he always did, had asked Yixing if he wanted to stay the night, and Yixing couldn’t say no for several reasons, heart caught in his throat.

    So now he’s here, ready to stretch out on the couch, still conflicted but hoping that sleep will help.

    A light suddenly appears in front of Yixing, and Jongdae appears, a flashlight grasped in one hand.

    “One second,” he says, shining the light towards Yixing, and squinting through the dark, before he opens the other door and disappears again.

    He’s back faster this time, another flashlight in his other hand, and makes his way over, stepping carefully over the blankets still all over the floor.

    “Here,” Jongdae says, handing Yixing the other flashlight. 

    “Chanyeol and I both have one in case of emergencies.”

    “Thanks,” Yixing says, fingers wrapping around the cold metal handle, registering that the too-large shoes in the front must be Chanyeol’s.

    “And you can sleep in my bed,” Jongdae says next, and Yixing’s heart misses a beat, but Jongdae is sitting down on the couch, dragging a blanket from the floor with him.

    “I’ll be fine here,” he says, looking at Yixing, changed into a pair of boxers and a loose black t-shirt.

    Yixing avoids looking at Jongdae’s legs, avoids looking at the way the t-shirt displays sharp clavicles, and Yixing’s fingers twitch at his sides.

    Yixing pulls at his own new clothes, twisting his fingers into the fabric, remembering how Jongdae had insisted that Yixing couldn’t sleep in his jeans.

    They’re about the same size, Jongdae’s hoodie fitting comfortably along with a pair of his sweatpants, and Yixing curls his fingers into the sleeves, wondering how he got here after he had tried to be so careful.

    He blinks, trying to push back the image of bracelets around a slender wrist and dark hair falling into darker eyes out of his head.

    “No, Jongdae, seriously,” Yixing protests, shaking his head, “I can sleep on the couch. You keep the bed.”

    But Jongdae is already snuggling down under the blanket, pushing at Yixing with his feet gently and forcing him to get up.

    “Uh-uh,” Jongdae responds, grinning over the blanket. “You’re the guest. You get the bed. Besides, I should probably be close to the door in case Chanyeol’s lost his key again.”

    A sudden thought hits Yixing.

    “Where is Chanyeol?” he asks, still able to hear the storm outside. 

    Jongdae’s grin gets wider, and now Yixing is confused.

    “He’s with Kris,” Jongdae says, sounding somewhat smug about the information.

    Yixing blinks once, twice, processing the information.

    Chanyeol and Kris.

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