The line rings four times before the other end finally picks up.

“Mrphrgh”

“Hello? Yeol?”

“Jongin? It’s-” the sounds of fumbling and the rustling of sheets carry across the line, “-7am. On a Saturday...”

“I know, I’m sorry, but uh...I’m at my new place and I was wondering if maybe you could come over? I could really use a hand…”

Jongin trails off hopefully, his free hand jammed in his jeans pocket as he rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

-

Chanyeol shows up on Jongin’s doorstep in fifteen minutes, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a black tank he threw on quickly. He hadn’t had have much luck in smoothing his bedhead and there’s still the faint pillow lines crisscrossing along his face, but his eyes are alert and filled with their usual energy, shining as brightly as his easy smile.

“Morning,” his voice is still a bit gravelly from sleep, a deeper timbre to it.

Jongin grins at him gratefully, stepping aside from the doorway to beckon him inside. Closing the door behind him quickly, Jongin moves to kick aside the cardboard boxes lying around all over the floor, trying to make more space in the already cramped apartment for them to move.

“Seems like a nice place,” Chanyeol comments, grinning as Jongin scrambles around to push suitcases and stray articles of clothing strewn around out of the way.

“It’s gonna take me ages to clean up,” Jongin grunts, lifting a particularly heavy box off the floor to set it down on another stack of piled up boxes, “and I don’t even have a bed yet, probably won’t for a while but…”

He straightens up, dusting his hands off on his pants as he surveys his quick work with a satisfied nod. Then he looks back at Chanyeol and a content smile blooms on his face, “I guess this is home!”

Offering a smile back, Chanyeol runs a hand through his tousled hair and sets his other one on his hip, looking at Jongin expectantly.

“So, what do you need me to do?”

Nodding, as though suddenly remembering the reason he’d called Chanyeol over in the first place, Jongin rummages through one of the countless cardboard boxes to pull out a ratty old shirt, the whiteness yellowing with age. He tosses it to Chanyeol and busies himself again for a moment to pull out another one, throwing it on and rolling up the sleeves that are long enough to fall past his knuckles. He makes his way to a room just around the corner, beckoning Chanyeol to follow him.

The room itself is completely bare save for the three buckets of paint set in the middle next to a couple of paint trays. The entire floor is sheathed in plastic with countless pieces of cardboard and newspaper bordering the areas where the floor meets the wall. Jongin hands him a paint roll, picking up his own and grins sheepishly at Chanyeol.

“I haven’t gotten any of the furniture yet so I’ve got no chairs or anything and uh–” he scratches the back of his head, throwing a quick glance around the room before bringing his eyes back to Chanyeol, “I can’t really reach the higher bits of the walls, like the corners and stuff…I was hoping maybe you could help me with them?”

He sounds unsure of himself, hesitant in his request, almost shy even, as always. His eyes are wide and beseeching in a way that Chanyeol could never possibly refuse, not that he’d want to. He doesn’t drag himself out of bed at 7am on a Saturday for just anyone, after all.

Chanyeol takes a deep breath, studying the colourless walls for a moment before turning to look at Jongin with a wide grin.

“Alright then! So what colour are you going for?”

Jongin visibly sighs with relief, face breaking into a delighted smile as he moves to remove the lids of red and orange paint buckets. He takes the orange for himself, planning to take the lower three quarters of the wall while Chanyeol covers the upper halves in red.

“This is the best I could do for a makeshift stool,” Jongin says apologetically, indicating towards a grand total of ten books piled on top of each other; “They weren’t enough for me but I figured with your extra height, it might just be enough.”

Chanyeol chuckles at Jongin’s rueful but earnest explanation, setting down his paint tray by the books and takes a tentative step onto the pile.

“Seems good enough,” he says, giving Jongin a reassuring thumbs up.

They get to work, starting off on opposite sides of the room not to get in each other’s way. Conversation is easy, effortless as always, leaving no space for silence as they chatter about anything and everything that comes to mind from video games to theories about extraterrestrial life.

They gradually work their way through their respective walls, switching sides to finish off the alternate halves. Chanyeol frowns before stepping onto the pile of books again, trying to figure out a more efficient way of doing this rather than the inconvenient chore of continuously going up and down to dip his paint roll into the tray. After another moment of debate, he decides to just bring the tray up with him, balancing it in one hand while he paints with the other. It goes much more smoothly this way, and he smirks, pleased with himself as he paints row after row of neat red stripes.

“Hey Yeol, what do you think?”

“Hmm?”

He twists around to look at Jongin but the books holding him up suddenly turn and slip off from the pile under his feet making him lose his balance.

“!” he hisses, reaching out blindly to find something to latch onto but, of course, finds nothing and he falls backwards, landing heavily on his back as he collides with the hard ground.

Chanyeol groans in pain, eyes screwed shut tightly as the pain ricochets up his spine, thundering in his skull. His chest feels tight, finding it hard to breathe after having the air knocked out of him.

“Holy , Chanyeol are you okay? Yeol? Yeol look at me!”

Chanyeol feels a hand palming his cheek gently, fingers brushing his hair aside from his sweaty forehead. He cracks his eyes open when the white spots behind his eyelids have faded away enough and he finds Jongin’s worried face hovering above his own.

“Yeol?”

Jongin rakes his eyes all over his face, cupping both his cheeks as he stares at him in distress, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Chanyeol coughs out a laugh as Jongin brandishes three fingers an inch from his eyes. He shifts a bit where he’s lying flat on the ground, the shock of the pain wearing off, leaving behind a dull ache that’ll probably bruise horribly. He’s got an awful headache though. And his chest feels wet.

“What the-” He twists his neck, hissing at the throbbing in his head and peers down at his front, confused. His chest is completely soaked in red and he nearly has a heart attack before he realizes he’d tipped the entire paint tray on himself during the fall. Groaning again, he lets his head thunk back against the floor, whining when he remembers belatedly that he’s still got a pounding headache.

“Careful!” Jongin frets, lifting Chanyeol’s head up gently to pillow it in his hand instead.

“Are you okay, do you need a doctor?” his eyes are swimming with concern, still scanning Chanyeol’s face and body like he’s expecting a broken bone to sprout out at any moment.

Chanyeol chuckles, “I’m fine Jongin, I’m just a bit battered up.”

“Right, well…” Jongin still doesn’t look convinced, setting his free hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder to stop him from sitting up, “Just lay down a little while longer.”

Content to let his aching back settle down some more, Chanyeol complies, grateful for the massage Jongin has started with his fingers on the back of his skull.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault,” Jongin mumbles, “I didn’t realize how hazardous Harry Potter was.”

Chanyeol snorts at that, shaking his head from side to side, “It was an accident, I should’ve been more careful anyway.”

The soothing massage goes on and Chanyeol feels his eyelids drooping, almost drifting off until Jongin’s voice suddenly breaks his stupor.

“Hey Yeol,” he’s grinning widely now, mischief in his eyes. Chanyeol barely has time to register what’s happening before Jongin swipes his thumb along the front of his stained shirt and drags a line of red paint across Chanyeol’s forehead.

“Simba,” he whispers dramatically, unable to contain the bout of giggles that take him over.

Chanyeol stares up at him incredulously, mouth falling open. “Did you seriously just–”

Jongin laughs harder, eyes crinkling up into crescents and he looks incredibly pleased with himself.

Chanyeol pushes himself up on his elbows, testing his head. When the world doesn’t spin, he lunges for the paint roll he’d dropped earlier and takes a swipe at Jongin, just managing to land a red patch on his chin before the other dodges backwards with a yell. Chanyeol watches as Jongin gets to his feet, making for his own bucket of orange paint and he follows suit, ignoring the throb in his back in favour of dipping his brush in the remaining red paint still in his bucket. Jongin leaps forward, roaring with laughter when he drags his roll right up Chanyeol’s cheek. The latter retaliates quickly, matting Jongin’s hair to his forehead with red, sniggering at the displeased expression on his face.

Soon enough, they throw the paint rolls aside in favour of dipping their hands in the liquid instead, flicking drops of paint at each other and wiping their fingers off on each other’s skin whenever they get the chance. They end up chasing one another around the room, dodging, yelling and laughing breathlessly, occasionally slipping on the plastic which grants the other a golden opportunity to smatter them with a hefty dollop of paint to the face.

Chanyeol finds himself on his when he slips on a loose piece of plastic and Jongin leaps at the chance to advance towards him, fingers dripping with paint. Just as he’s about to make his attack, Chanyeol darts a hand out, latching onto Jongin’s wrist and pulls him down, effectively tripping Jongin up with his feet so that he falls right into his chest where the patch of red paint is still wet and fresh. He locks his arms around Jongin’s waist even as the other yells, wriggling in his grip as he tries to escape. Chanyeol can’t stop laughing, half wheezing as Jongin shrieks at the paint sticking to his own front. His cries bleed into breathless laughter, frame quaking in Chanyeol’s hold and he slumps against him, panting. They lay on their sides in a tangled heap on the floor, Chanyeol’s arms still wrapped around Jongin as they try to catch their breath through their giggling.

Their faces are inches from each other, the tips of their noses almost brushing. Unable to help himself, Chanyeol drops a tiny kiss on Jongin’s nose, cringing a bit at the taste of paint. He pulls back quickly though, scanning Jongin’s expression to gauge his reaction. Jongin, however, lets out another giggle, dropping his eyes so that his eyelashes fan across his painted cheeks even as a hand curls into Chanyeol’s shirt. When he looks up again, his eyes focus on a spot above Chanyeol’s shoulder and he sighs.

“, we totally messed up the walls,” he laments, eyeing the flecks and spots of paint splashed all over the walls.

“Guess we’ll have to do them again then,” Chanyeol says brightly, reveling in the way Jongin lights up. His arm is still around his waist, a hand settled in the dip of his back. They’ve done close contact before but this…this is new. It feels comfortable, more than he’d ever dared to allow himself to imagine, like Jongin molds against him perfectly.

“You do know paint rolls come with an extension pole, right?” Chanyeol says suddenly, peering down at Jongin’s face.

“Oh yeah; guess I forgot to unpack it,” Jongin shrugs nonchalantly though the obvious flush that dusts over his cheeks and spreads down his neck gives him away.

Chanyeol smiles fondly and brings a hand up to lift Jongin’s chin, dipping down to meet his lips halfway.

-

The line rings five times before the other end finally picks up.

“Mrphrghh”

“Jongin?”

“Yeol? , what time is it even–” the sounds of fumbling and the rustling of sheets carry across the line.

Chanyeol laughs, “I know, I’m sorry; can you come over? Really need your help here.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Chanyeol tucks the phone back into his pocket and stares at the blank walls before him, twirling the paint roll in his hands. The paint trays are ready to be filled with the blue and teal paint he’d gotten earlier that week.

The door behind him opens moments later and a sleepy, bleary eyed Jongin shuffles in, rubbing at his eyes. Chanyeol snorts at the way his hair sticks out wildly, ever untamable. Jongin gives him the best glare he can muster in his half-asleep state and plods over, snatching up a paintbrush from the floor, nearly tripping over his own feet before stopping next to Chanyeol to stare at the blank walls too.

“I can’t believe you actually called me on my phone, I’m literally in the next room. That’s supposed to be one of the perks of moving in together,” Jongin grumbles, voice husky with sleep, “it’s like o’clock in the morning… hyung, it’s a Saturday!”

Chanyeol chuckles at Jongin’s sleepy whines, snaking an arm around his waist to tug him closer and pecks him on the cheek, “7am actually. Had to stick to our yearly tradition,” he says brightly and laughs when Jongin shoves him off, grumbling under his breath. Chanyeol can still hear the fondness in his undertone though and it makes him grin wider as he dips his brush into the paint bucket and makes the first on the wall.