Title: Magic Chanyeol

Pairing/s: Kaiyeol, side!Baekyeol

Genre/s: Humor, Slice of Life, Angst

Rating: M (for ~magic)

Length: [1/4] 7000+

Summary: [Magic Mike!au] Chanyeol is a male stripper and Jongin is his reluctant protégé.

Dislaimer: Magic Mike belongs to its respective owners. I do not own anything. And so on and so forth.

(Image courtesy: http://kaibility.tumblr.com/)

---

For the past four months, Saturday mornings, more often than not, smelled like sweet pea perfume and sunshine bouncing off Chanyeol’s freshly –laundered duvet.

“Yah, Chanyeol, have you seen my bra anywhere?”

Chanyeol smiled in his state of semi-consciousness, breathing in his sheets some more. Thank the high heavens the cleaning lady left just as he and Nana would stumble in, drunk and , every preceding Friday night.

“Dunno, you were the one waving it around like a red and lacy declaration of war last night,” he said, trying not to sound too smug. He peeked at her with one eye pried open. “Though I may have an idea.”

Nana, in all her glorious toplessness silhouetted by the morning sun, put her hands on her hips and raised an unamused eyebrow at him.

“It might have just ended up on Old Man Se Ho’s yard again, and why deny the poor, lonely ahjussi the only form of action he’ll ever get these days, right? Might as well just forget about it and come back to bed so we could—”

This elicited a none-too gentle hit to Chanyeol’s fully exposed bum. “Not a chance, you .”

Chanyeol pouted at her like a kicked puppy. “Sure, but I don’t recall you calling me that eight hours ago.”

Nana nudged his bottom with her foot again. “I have class today, Chanyeol.”

“In like, beauty school, yeah.”

“Anthropology masters, yeah,” Nana corrected, delivering her last blow before sauntering out the room in continued search of her red and lacy war banners.

That spot was definitely going to bruise.

—

After their morning coffee and pretzels routine, Nana finally left for class begrudgingly nagging at Chanyeol for always sabotaging her spotless attendance record. Nonetheless, she would drink from his pot and devour his soft-bakes like it was nobody’s business, and then head out with half an hour to spare, all according to schedule.

What did not fit into Chanyeol’s time table, however, was almost running over a kid on his skateboard later that day. He had just gotten off the phone with Key regarding stocking up on go-go juice and more concealer for his bruised rear when all of a sudden he found himself slamming on the brakes inches close to committing manslaughter.

When he scrambled out of his truck, he was relieved to find the kid sprawled on the concrete a meter away, otherwise unscathed. His skateboard was not lucky enough to share the same fate, as it lied crunched neatly in half under Chanyeol’s tire.

“ I’m so sorry kid I didn’t mean to run you over like that so suddenly I mean it was an accident and please just let me help you up.”

“Yeah well, you should probably apologize to that board—” the kid jabbed a thumb at the sidewalk behind him “—plus those eggs.”

As Chanyeol offered a hand, he was able to see the kid wasn’t much too younger than him. He was all worn Converses and holed jeans upon closer inspection, broody expression and droopy eyes like this frazzled six-foot-one man didn’t just almost unintentionally end his young life or horribly disfigure him were he to walk away from the ordeal alive. “Thank God you’re not like twelve or something but oh my God kid are you like really mad right now because I can’t tell if it’s just the face or—“

“Really, I’m fine,” the boy said, looking at Chanyeol like things were the other way around and he had just run over him. “So please.”

“Right, right, yes,” Chanyeol badgered on, now bent on vigorously bowing at the waist and shaking the boy’s arm up and down as if to disengage them from their respective sockets. “I can pay for your board, kid, of course, do something about your eggs—“

The boy cut him off with a curt, “Jongin,” and a shake of his head. “No need for that.”

“It’s Park Chanyeol, and my mother once taught me that I should always insist.” Bow, shake, shake, bow, shake.

Jongin smiled at him uneasily like Chanyeol’s good social graces were the last burden he wanted to carry. “And my aunt once told me I’ll just be needing the eggs, thanks, and could you please let go of my arm?”

—

 Jongin’s apartment was along Chanyeol’s route, which allowed Chanyeol to at least do something about his eggs. He dropped him off at the nearest grocery store with an excess of wons in compensation fees, three blocks and fifty apologies or so later.

“Buy all the eggs your dear aunt needs,” Chanyeol said as he threw Jongin a small confetti of bills. “God bless you, your family, and your health.” And he reached over to slam the passenger door shut before Jongin could protest.

—

Chanyeol arrived at the studio not too long after that. Knocking twice, he tightened his grip on his guitar case before entering.

“Good afternoon, Chanyeol.”

“Sorry for the delay, Junmyeon, I kinda almost ran over a kid with my truck along the way.” Chanyeol strode over to Junmyeon and shook his hand.

“Oh…oh my.”

“Nothing to worry about though,” Chanyeol dismissed, “took care of his eggs anyway.”

“That’s…great?”

Chanyeol looked around. “Anyway, is everyone here?”  

“They have been waiting,” Junmyeon said. “Right this way.”

He led Chanyeol to the recording booth. They were already rehearsing by the time Chanyeol entered.

“Hey, Yixing,” Chanyeol greeted the nearest of the three, setting his guitar down. “Are we all set on the key change right before the second to the last chorus?  I already pre-recorded the revised drums yesterday so you could adjust the bass in the seventh measure to that now, Jung-shin.”

“We’ve been working our way around it, and so far I think we could manage,” Yixing replied, busying himself with tuning his guitar. Chanyeol followed suit and took out his own guitar.

“So it goes F sharp,” Chanyeol explained, his fingers easily plucking the transitional tune, “to G.” The members nodded. “Jinki-hyung, a hand?”

Jinki played the riff on his keyboard, and the others joined along quickly. In the middle of the last chorus, Junmyeon poked his head in. “Chanyeol, a word?”

Chanyeol met him outside. “Yeah?”

“You realize you’re gonna have to add to that initial deposit, right? I mean, I know the guys have agreed to help you out for free now, but see, costs for the new equipment and…” Junmyeon trailed off.

 “It’s okay, I’ll make that deposit next week, I promise.” Chanyeol placed a hand on his shoulder. “Plus I’ve totally cleared things up with Jung-shin’s CNBLUE hyungs that I’m not holding their bandmate here against his will.”

Junmyeon fixed a square gaze up at Chanyeol. “We’re going to get you released, Park. Whatever happens.”

“I don’t call you Sudaddy for nothing, hyung.” 

~*~

Wednesday nights in Sinchon* were incredibly alive and neon-lit for a midweek day, but it wasn’t like anything could put a damper on the Sinchon district’s penchant to party all seven nights of the week. Gaggles of people, mostly students, would stream in and out of bars from eight to one like a fast-flowing stream high on energy drinks and the latest party cocktail. Here the district took on a whole new night life, where, in lieu of academic and corporate standings, velvet ropes were what defined the status quo.

Chanyeol was pleased to be in the midst of it all. He allowed himself to be moved freely with the buzzed, caffeinated torrent of hoppers looking for a good time from one club to the next. He inexplicably got off the electric vibe to it, not to mention the major ego boost that came with the privilege of cutting at the head of lines which s entire blocks.

He was en route to one of his frequents when he bumped into a hooded figure hurriedly walking away from the club entrance. His height gave him the winning advantage, and the boy toppled into the pavement in front of him.

“Sorry!” Chanyeol breathed. He took the stranger’s hand, and saw as his hood fell back that it was the kid he almost ran over with his pick-up last week. “Jongup! Was it?”

“Jongin,” Jongin supplied. “Sorry…sorry.” He started to move away, but Chanyeol blocked his path.

“Jongin-ah. Right.” Chanyeol made a mental note not to confuse his English prepositions next time. He also noted Jongin’s frayed jacket and lousy corduroys.  “What brings you here?”

Jongin looked like he’d rather Chanyeol not strike up any small talk with him. “Was actually just checking out their openings,” he said. Then he held up the bag cradled in his arms. “Bought some milk, but I’m actually headed home now anyway.”

Chanyeol glanced at the hot pink fluorescent Avex sign pulsing behind Jongin’s head, and remembered they were hiring new dancers. Female dancers, that was. Then he glanced down at Jongin, and noticed his shirt peeping from underneath his zipped-up jacket.

“Soo Man High Dance Varsity?” Chanyeol asked.

In response, Jongin zipped up his jacket further.

Call it a gut feeling, but something inclined Chanyeol to say, “Do you really want that job opening, kid?” In fact, he still did owe him for that skateboard.

Jongin cast a look around. “If those bouncers would let me in, sure.”

“Lucky for you,” Chanyeol began, throwing an arm around Jongin’s narrow shoulders and steering him back towards the club. “I know a gal.”

“Who?”

“Their head--in-charge— Yo, Hyeong-nim, how’s it going? We’re here to see The Queen.” They approached one of the bouncers at the front of the line. The beefy, middle-aged man gave Jongin a cynical once-over. Chanyeol grinned coolly. “Don’t worry, he’s a brother.”

The bouncer condescendingly eyed Jongin again before nodding and unhooking the barricade to let them in.

Inside, Jongin’s eyes widened visibly taking everything in. Chanyeol wove them through the crowd, throwing a number of greetings here and there to a couple of familiar faces.

“Siwon-hyung, what’s shaking, my man?”

Kangta-sunbaenim, I’ll take you out for drinks next Tuesday, okay?”

Aye, Taeyeon-noona, loving the G-string! Good work tonight!”

On the second floor, Chanyeol took them to a corner booth where a lady sat alone. “Boa-sunbaenim, this is Jongin and he’s interested in a position. What do you think?”

Chanyeol pushed Jongin forward towards Boa. “K-Kim Jongin, Miss Boa,” Jongin stammered.

 Boa dipped her head to the side and smiled up at Jongin coyly. “I’m sure the noonas would eat him right up, Yeollie.”

Chanyeol flashed a thousand-watt beam at her, then at Jongin, who, in turn, clutched his bag of milk closer to his chest.

“Tell me, Jongin-ah, what’s in the bag?”

“Uhm, some milk with 8G fat?”

Boa laughed delightedly. “How cute. Any experience with girls?”

“None—“

“Actually,” Chanyeol piped in, sliding into the booth with Jongin and effectively sandwiching him in between him and Boa, “those girls he crashed into at the store last week seemed interested, and particularly giggly.”

“…that I know of,” Jongin finished lamely.

Something told Chanyeol this was going to be fun.

—

 “Welcome—“ Chanyeol spun on his heels, then pushed the double-doors open with his behind “—to Galaxy.”

Jongin gave the place a moon-eyed skim as Chanyeol took him by the shoulders and walked him through the place.

“That’s Kim Jongdae, he bartends. Occasionally sings for open mic night too as Chen, during intermissions. Real noona pleaser.”

“Sup homies!”

“Jongdae, no.”

“Okay, cool.” Jongdae returned to polishing the glass in his hand.

Another guy emerged from the staff room. “Key, hey!” Chanyeol called as he approached them, waving excitedly. “This is Jongin.”

Key continued walking briskly, attention glued to his tablet. He regarded them with a flat, “Make those corduroys work, and then we’ll talk,” without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Clothes, make-up, and PR person,” Chanyeol said, still chipper. “Don’t worry, it’ll only be a matter of time before you make him fall for that impressive bone structure of yours.”

“I don’t really follow but—“

“Oi! Park! Have my 9000 won ready by Sunday, yeah?”

Chanyeol winced as a boyish girl sped past them to the stairs in the corner of the room, grabbing an energy drink on the counter as she went. “That was Amber. Regular DJ, Kris’ right hand, and straight-up hustler.”

Then they stopped near the front. Chanyeol gestured to a canary-haired man krumping by himself to some unheard track onstage, noting the way Jongin’s stare glazed over with raw admiration upon seeing him.

“That there’s BeatBurger Jae, our choreographer and occasional DJ,” Chanyeol said. Then, with a little bit of pride, he added, “When I first came in, I couldn’t dance for . Thanks to him, now am passable.”

“His name’s BeatBurger?”

“Chanyeol!” A voice boomed. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing over a friend before opening hours.”

“Kris-hyung! This is Jongin.”

Jongin offered a small greeting. “Uh, hi.”

Kris redirected his You’ve got some explaining to do, you turd glare at Chanyeol into a waxily cordial smile at Jongin. “You Chanyeol’s ‘brother’?”

“Dancer, actually,” Chanyeol readily answered, recovering abruptly from his withered stupor only a second ago. In one swift movement, he grabbed Jongin’s bag of groceries and ped his jacket to reveal the tell-tale proof of it on his shirt. “See?”

The shock didn’t even have any time to make its way to Jongin’s face. Kris’ thick eyebrows shot up at this. “Soo Man High? You a minor?”

“Well, I’m turning 20* mid-winter, actually,” Jongin provided.

Down those lush brows went again in their familiar furrow. “What happened to college?” Kris questioned. “But more importantly, until then, you’d be a teenaged liability, so—“

“He’d be willing to do anything, though,” Chanyeol said quickly. He turned to Jongin. “Isn’t that right, Jongin?”

“I don’t know I—“ Chanyeol elbowed him in the ribs. “Uh, yeah sure, I guess. I mean…okay, yeah.”

Chanyeol clapped his hands together. He beamed at Kris again. “Great! Props it is. C’mon Jongin-ah, let’s get going.” Away he carted Jongin to their joint destination for the nth time that night.

“Head of management, Wu Yifan, or Kris, as we all call him,” Chanyeol explained on the way. “Also known as Galaxy Ace to the clients, and Ben-Ben to the super special ones—but only because the big cha-ching makes up for the humiliation, not that Kris’ ego is prone to any of it. He’s cool just as long as you turn up—no pun intended—for work Wednesdays through Saturdays for when we have shows, and some extra days for rehearsals. Completely up to you.”

Backstage, he introduced him to the other members of the crew. Left to right, he recited their names. “Jongin, these are our hyungs. Minseok, Heechul, Jaejoong, and Minho—or, as the noonas would like to call them, Kim “Fun Buns” Minseok-slash-Xiumin—Baozi, for short—Milky Thigh Big Space Chul, Hero “Superman dat hoe” Jaejoong, and Flaming Charisma.”

They all stared at Jongin. “Hyungs, Jongin. He’s our newest maknae, and he’ll be working on props.”

“Yo,” four voices greeted in unison.

“Please take care of me!” Jongin said, bowing low.

“Though,” Chanyeol added, “I’m sure he won’t be much trouble.”

“Cool, cool,” Minseok murmured, stalking off to the clothes rack at the back of the room.

The others went back to attending to their own business. Heechul returned to his phone, Jaejoong to styling his hair, and Minho to flexing his bicep at his reflection.

“Chanyeol…hyung,” Jongin managed the last word out as if he had been heavily considering saying it this whole time, “are those sequined briefs?”

“Yes, why?”

~*~

“Fancy seeing you back here,” Jongdae remarked as Jongin showed up to Galaxy the next day.

“Uhm yes, because I kind of work here now?”

Jongdae shrugged and resumed to arranging the liquor on the shelves behind him. Jongin noticed BeatBurger dancing onstage to yet another frequency audible only to him. Jaejoong stood aside, trying to mimic his movements every now and then.

“Good stuff, huh?” Chanyeol commented. “We’re actually bringing in a live performer for this set, because the ladies love it when we dance to each other’s singing, apparently.”

Mid-routine, the obsolete ringtone of a Nokia cut through BeatBurger’s dance.

Jaejoong held up a hand. “Ah, that was mine, pardon— YOOCHUN, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SUNOVA. —Yes, you insufferable moron, I heard about you volunteering me to fill in for your shift tonight at the last minute. —No, I never thought our boss would put my job on the line as well because of it, so that makes two of us. Happy? And I have a solo tonight— No, don’t you dare bring Yunho’s sick mother into this, that in no way lessens my mortification towards you. —I don’t care if the obnoxious 10 PM preppies hack away at your already non-existent self-esteem, you have to grow a pair of flipping balls, you deluded man-child. —Of course tattoos are supposed to hurt, how would I know how you landed yourself one last night? —Yeah, you always keep the faith too, buddy. —You better get me that fifth floor apartment unit, because you owe me. —Don’t grovel, Yoochun, that’s just embarrassing. —Whatever, good luck navigating your way out of North Gyeongsang with that colossal hangover of yours, you complete dunderhead.”

“Great,” Jaejoong muttered as he ended the call, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he realized everyone had been gaping at him for the past three minutes, he snapped, “What? Would any of you know how I’m supposed to get here from my 10 to 10 shift in time for my 10:30 set?”

Jongdae opened his mouth as if to suggest something, but then closed it again as if it just dawned on him that it probably wasn’t going to be the most intelligent thing to come from him.

A tiny ding! went off in Chanyeol’s head. “Jongin! How fast of a learner are you?”

BeatBurger clambered off the stage to sit at its edge. He leaned towards Jongin. “Yeah, kid, how fast? The live act’s about to come in for rehearsals, and it would be great if we could kick off things with him right away.”

Jongin looked like he was too astounded at the fact that BeatBurger just acknowledged his lowly existence to form a coherent reply. “I— Maybe— Yes!“

 “Speak of the devil,” Jongdae said, “Kyungsoongie, over here!”

~*~

The sidelines were the real turning point of every performance. Before submitting to the spotlight centerstage, the velvet curtain that separated the wolves from the solace of backstage was the cliff’s edge before the crevice. This much, Chanyeol knew, and so took to leaving Jongin alone for a few as Kris started introducing him.

“Hey,” Jongin poked his head through the drapes, mildly startling Kyungsoo who had been standing in front of him. “Before anything else, I’d just like to thank you. For doing this with me, and stuff.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes widened, but blinked shortly as he offered Jongin an encouraging smile. “It’s my pleasure…plus my job. Kinda get paid by the gig, you know?”

This made Jongin snicker a bit.

“You’re relaxing, that’s good,” Kyungsoo said, still smiling. “And it’s pretty cool for me too, being the one to accompany you on your quote, ‘big debut*,’ unquote, like this.” He made a sweeping motion before him with his hand for emphasis a la Kris, to which Jongin responded with another appreciative giggle.

“Oi, Jongin! Have you taken your go-go juice yet?” Heechul called from backstage.

“Coming, mom!”

Minseok sidled up to him, fully made-up for his set after Jongin’s in what could only be an obscene amount of face paint. Jongin slightly jumped as he suddenly popped out of nowhere, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a Mexican Dia de los Muertos sugar skull.  “Drink up, kid, this part is going to be absolutely vital to the rest of your career.”

Jongin sniffed the shot glass Heechul gave him warily. “Sorry, but what’s in this?”

“Jongdae’s whey formula, Red Bull, grenadine—for flavor, etcetera,” Minho answered automatically from his vanity.

Heechul winked. “Trade secret. For balls.”

Chanyeol secured Jongin’s top hat on his head just as he fought down the go-go juice. “Come on Jongin, you’re up.”

As if on cue, the rest of the members walked up to him and gave him consecutive slaps on the . “Other trade secret,” Chanyeol helpfully said. He shrugged and flashed Jongin his best smile. “For luck.”

 “Ladies…and gentlemen,” Kris’ deep voice crooned the last words to his introduction, “without further ado, our newest member, Kai.”

A sole spotlight came on, and Chanyeol pushed Jongin into it.

—

“GUN-BAE!”

“Jongin, what are you doing?”

Jongin froze halfway through taking his drink, concealed modestly behind his hand, facing sideways.

“Quit making like a polite Asian businessman and empty your glass like you mean it!” Jongdae reprimanded. “Mama Jongdae will take no sober troopers tonight, you most specially.”

Jongin did as he was told, the occasion being his “coming out” party (as Kris had gesticulated off of his unseen theater sign, resulting in some unsolicited snorts and sniggers from the others), and all.

Currently he was being held captive in the club down the street, heavily guarded by the entirety of the Galaxy crew, with a minimum of two hours to serve in attendance. Amber and Jongdae had already manned the DJ’s booth and bar, respectively, like it was theirs to claim.

“We’re pretty up there, you know,” Kris had told him. “Being the most reputable ladies’ club in four districts, and all.”

Jongin was about to ask why he hadn’t heard of Galaxy till the night of his employment, but realized the logic staked on that wager. He still wasn’t taking it easy even after being paraded around to be introduced to Kris’ associates and slipped a Black Russian on the rocks (“With just the slightest infusion of chamomile, for the nerves,” Jongdae said) for courage. Chanyeol wished he would.

He had barely subtracted anything from his second drink of the night by the time Chanyeol spotted him again much later on seated alone at the counter. He dragged his companion along. “Come on Nana, let me introduce you to him.”

Jongin looked up, a faint glimmer of hope in his expression, upon seeing Chanyeol walk toward him with Nana in tow.

“Nana, this is Kim Jongin, alias Kai. Sorta my protégé now,” Chanyeol said.

“Hi,” Jongin shyly greeted. “You must be hyung’s girlfriend.”

“Ha ha, not really,” Nana deadpanned, quickly releasing her hold on Chanyeol’s arm as if to prove a point. She glanced down at her phone just as it buzzed, and scanned the crowd around them.

Chanyeol eyed her keenly. “You expecting some—“

“Minhyuk!” Nana squealed as another male wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I thought you’d never come!”

“I mean, why wouldn’t I if I knew you were gonna, sweetheart?” Minhyuk said, pointedly not paying any notice to Nana’s two other companions.

“And is Ren with you?”

“He got wind of your presence here tonight, so naturally.”

Chanyeol cleared his throat. Nana faced them again. “Oh, right! Chanyeol and Jongin, Minhyuk. He’ a very close friend from… He’s a very close friend.”

Chanyeol gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Charmed.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be seeing some friends,” Nana had already begun to skip away, now latched to Minhyuk’s arm, “Kthanksbyetextyoulater, Yeollie!”      

“You know, hyung,” Jongin said measuredly as Chanyeol watched them leave, “if you fancy her, you should probably tell her.”

“Shut up and pass me that drink, will you?”

~*~

The curves of Jongin’s thin white curtains shifting and swaying in the late morning breeze greeted Chanyeol from his sleep. The movement was somehow all too familiar, and he remembered Nana, flitting about from one man’s arms to another’s in her pale crepe dress. He also remembered passing out in the middle of a heated discussion with an equally drunk Minho about hair mousses, and an otherwise sober Jongin dragging him out of the bar and offering to drive him home.

Except Jongin had no idea where Chanyeol lived, the latter having been too hammered to say his address properly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His head throbbed from last night’s one too many bourbons.

Coffee. That was the answer, and he could sniff salvation from where he assumed would be the kitchen, to his left.

But no sooner than the moment he had struggled on his feet was the wind knocked out of him from a sudden and direct blow from behind. His face was smushed against the really rough carpet and it was getting seriously uncomfortable by the heartbeat, especially when all he wanted was some coffee.

“Ka—“

“Shut up,” his attacker hissed, pressing a bony knee deeper into Chanyeol’s nape. Chanyeol wriggled wildly to set himself loose so he could get a good look at the homicidal bastard’s face, but trapped in his death grip he was sure all it amounted to was a lot of awkward flopping.

“Mothering lowlives sneaking into other people’s homes on a perfectly fine Sunday morning,” the man grumbled. Chanyeol heard a ringback tone, and all he could do was flop like a helpless fish again. This only resulted in the hold on his painfully bent hand to tighten lethally. “Ah, really.”

 “I’m with Jo— “ His plea trailed off into a mangled whimper as his throat was jammed deeper to the floor.

“I said shut up!”  the man shouted. “Petty and rude, this thing! Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

 “K— J-Jongin,” he managed to choke out.

“Who now?”

“Jongin. J-Jongin…he…f-friend.”

“Jongin?” The man called overhead. “Would you happen to know what this strange tall person is doing in our living room?”

“Hyung, we’re out of eggs and— OH MY GOD!”

Chanyeol never would have thought he’d go from writhing for his life to offering a hand and his best, let’s start over and be friends, good friends smile because of the same person in a span of five minutes.

“I’m really sorry, Chanyeol-hyung,” Jongin apologized for the third time, head bowed and face still scrunched up in what Chanyeol had already recognized as his look of embarrassment. “Never got to tell you my roommate took up hapkido in elementary…or that I had a roommate. He’s currently a Stat major at Yonsei Uni*, actually.”

Jongin’s roommate, Baekhyun, tore his gaze from the linoleum to briefly meet Chanyeol’s eye as he hesitantly extended a hand back.

Breakfast was spent over cold cereal and excruciating silence.

Baekhyun was still glowering at the floor out of clear humiliation from earlier, most likely (although Chanyeol already had a growing feeling he hadn’t made the best first impression on him), when he spoke. “Jongin, you met Chanyeol from where?”

“Well, he almost ran me over with his—“

“What?” Baekhyun snapped.

“What?” Jongin returned, not missing a beat. He turned to Chanyeol. “Did he say anything, hyung?”

“I don’t know, did he?”

Baekhyun narrowed his eyes at them both. Jongin cleared his throat. “Met him from work, actually.”

At this, Baekhyun looked over wide-eyed at Jongin. “You have a job? Since when?”

“Last Wednesday.” Baekhyun raised an eyebrow at this. “Down at that club near that...place.”

It was to Chanyeol’s mild surprise when Baekhyun turned to him. “So you serve tables there, or something?”

Chanyeol felt the sudden urge to make eye contact with his coffee mug instead. “Sorta.”

—

The ladies were particularly shrill and rowdy that night with exhilaration, but it was easy enough for Chanyeol to spot Baekhyun walk in looking like it was the biggest mistake of his presumably straight and spotless twenty-something years of existence the moment he did, catching Chanyeol mid-hip . Onstage. In front of someone’s face.

Haha, .

“So, serving tables, huh?” Baekhyun said when Chanyeol came up to him right after his set. Baekhyun eyed Chanyeol’s bowtie, making Chanyeol remember it was all he had on plus a pair of tiny, red sequined briefs.

Chanyeol felt his ears grow hot. “Uh, yeah.”

The quiet was just as excruciating as that morning at Jongin’s three days ago, but Chanyeol knew Jongin needed to let Baekhyun know about things as soon as possible.  Even if that soon entailed Chanyeol being embarrassed outright in front of his roommate twice within the same week they met.

“Jongin, though, I mean, his, uh…set’s on next,” Chanyeol continued. Showing Baekhyun to a table right beside the entrance (in case he felt the need to exit the premises as soon as the need arose), Chanyeol immediately dashed backstage to throw on actual clothes before heading out again to Baekhyun.

Jongdae, who had been tending the bar directly behind Baekhyun, beckoned Chanyeol over as he was on his way back.

“Been struck dumb the moment Kai set a leather boot onstage like his straight, spotless twenty-something years of existence had been deized for the very first time,” he chuckled.

Baekhyun gratefully downed the daiquiri Chanyeol had brought over in one go, his bug-eyed gaze still glued to the front where Kai was already pirouetting in his cow-print knickers.

To their horror, the cowboy hat Kai frisbee-threw to the audience landed on top of Baekhyun’s drained daiquiri glass in hand.

~*~

Chanyeol didn’t see Jongin’s roommate for a while after that second, unfortunate meeting at Galaxy. This excluded the handful number of times he had driven Jongin home to see Baekhyun peering down at them from the window of their apartment, during which Chanyeol’s genial, please let’s still be friends goodnight waves emerged unreturned.

He could admit what he had gotten Jongin into wasn’t the most pristine of professions, but at the very least the kid was able to throw out his ratty Converses for a new pair, among other necessities he’d been deprived of the first few weeks Chanyeol had known him.

“You good for rent this month?” Chanyeol had asked him after a group act one night.

“Mm-hmm,” Jongin hummed in response as he rubbed at his face with a towel. “That birthday noona from last Thursday really liked that ‘feed me some cake, noona’ bit you suggested. Helped me cap off most of what I owed Baekhyun-hyung the first two months I moved in.”

Chanyeol let out an ‘ah’ in response and pretended to occupy himself by staring at his abs at the mirror to not give away the fact that he had obviously been thinking about Jongin’s roommate for quite some time now. Not that Nana had been on hold that period in between, because at the very least she had been accommodating to Chanyeol.

“Say, hyung, how do you get this glitter off your hair?” Jongin chimed in suddenly after a few moments, running a hand through the shimmering, hairsprayed ordeal which had been dyed a deep royal blue for the night (“Avant-garde spacemen,” Kris had announced a week earlier, proclaiming off of his invisible marquee again). He frowned at his dazzling, indigo-stained palm. “Like, do you use a special shampoo, or something?”

“Oh.” Chanyeol snapped out of it. “I go for vinegar most times. The acid just really neutralizes the goop, and, I mean, there’s the smell and fizzing at first and , but over-all it’s really great for the scalp. Then you just shampoo it all off and pray to God people will believe you’ve had kimchi rice the whole week because I swear that’s how it’s going to smell like.”

Realizing he’d just rambled out of diversion, he went back to arranging the products on his vanity and avoiding Jongin’s gaze.

The sound of Jongin’s laughter filled Chanyeol’s ears. He hadn’t seen the kid that genuinely amused and pleased in a long time (perhaps ever, considering the short amount of time he’s been with him). He had on that smile like Christmas morning, two crescent slits where eyes should be and beam wide and bright, Chanyeol couldn’t help but glow with a certain kind of adoration and pride. “Thanks, hyung! What would I do without you?”

“Probably mop away at the dingiest public men’s?”

Jongin laughed again.

~*~

On Friday nights Chanyeol blazed right out of Galaxy the moment he would finish wiping off all the stage grease off his body from the night’s set. Then he would meet up with Nana at that tavern a friend of a friend owned. Regulars would come up to him and ask him about work, and he’d say it’s spiffing and lucrative, as usual. They’d all swoon, say, man to be at the top of your game. And Chanyeol would just agree enthusiastically, careful not to switch any of their names up.

Hours later Nana would get frisky, so they would flag a taxi home, restraining themselves in the back seat and saving it later for his flat. From there it was all awesome, old-fashioned (or not-so) friends-with-benefits bonding (or , depending on their moods), and coffee and pretzels for breakfast the following morning.

Each time, it ensured the same set of people, the same cocktail lineup, the same make-out spot, and pretty much the same flow of events. Each time, it was all so routine Chanyeol couldn’t even imagine it playing out any other way.

But he found that, since meeting Kim Jongin, he needed to get used to unforeseen interruptions in his itineraries. Which was exactly why said foil to his plans ended up before him, drink in hand, when he saw him—already a far cry from coming out party-Jongin in a previous episode.

“Chanyeol-hyung! Fancy seeing you here,” he cried out, uncharacteristically peppy. He linked his arm with Chanyeol’s and walked them back to the bar, where Jongdae was already busy marking the territory as his own. “Can I buy you a drink?” He paused to hiccup. “On your tab, of course.”

“Just actually waiting for Nana and— What on earth are you doing here anyway? You never come along when I ask you! And you brought Jongdae?”

Jongin began to speak. “Ah— !” He abruptly ducked behind Chanyeol, almost spilling half his drink down the back of Chanyeol’s shirt.

“Yah! This thing!” Chanyeol cried. He tried twising around to lose Jongin’s desperate cling on him.

Jongin ignored him, whining, “Why here? Why now?”

His eyes followed Jongin’s line of vision and fell on a striking girl chatting with two other friends. “Well now,” he said teasingly. “Someone’s got a crush.”

 “Not a crush,” Jongin put up defensively. “Just Krystal Jung. Friend of a friend. I deliver milk to her house on my days off.”

Chanyeol whistled. “Real looker, great s (Jongin punched his arm none too lightly at this), ow, posh—most likely a sorority girl.”

“And out of my league,” Jongin sighed.

Chanyeol spun around, affronted. “What? Says who?” he said. “I mean, you were weeks ago—but now you’re on a completely different sphere, Kim Kai!”

“You think so?”

“I know so! And what’s so great about these college boppers are 20^th birthday parties. Meaning clients! PR! Moolah!” Chanyeol elaborated, to which Jongin nodded receptively.

“So should I go for it?” he asked.

“You’re A-league now, kid! Why the hell shouldn’t you?”

Chanyeol tucked Jongin’s shirt into his pants, then mussed his hair for good measure. His hands stilled a bit on Jongin’s collar when he popped it open, and they held eyes for a moment, but Chanyeol quickly rebuffed this by a thumb and wiping away at the imaginary grime on Jongin’s chin.

“Okay. Good to go.” He sent Jongin on the way with a slap on the . “For luck!” he called after him.

—

Three of Chanyeol's favorite things in the world were rum, coke, and Nana's sweet pea perfume. Put all three together in his mouth on a Friday night and he might as well just—

Nana broke away from their heated kiss and breathed into his cheek a Bacardi-scented "Enough of this," as she reached over him for her purse. She tugged on his belt, fingers ghosting a few seconds too long.

He might as well just.

Swallowing thickly, he stumbled after her to the exit. He had been waiting for this since way back when, and if the growing bulge in his nether regions told him anything, last Saturday’s Minhyuk incident was history.

After slurring out some goodbyes to the people at the tavern, he collided into Nana, who was already waiting for him outside. He easily caught her in his arms before she could fall over in her stilettos. They both doubled over in laughter and, as they did, noticed a figure slumped by the bushes.

"Poor little er, ain't he?" Nana tutted.

"Must be such a lightweight,” Chanyeol seconded. He craned his neck to get a better view of the unlucky anklebiter, only to realize it was actually Jongin. “Jongin-ah!”  He quickly let go of Nana to rush towards his junior.

“Chanyeol-ah!” Nana shrieked, catching herself before falling over a second time.

Jongin only groaned in response from his nook in the shrubbery. Chanyeol took him by the shoulders and flipped him over.

“Auurgh, hyung…?”

“Nonono,” Chanyeol chanted, “just how many of Jongdae’s North Korean poktanjus did you have?”

Jongin squinted at him, brows furrowing. “Five,” he replied carefully, “…teen?”

“Chanyeol-ah!” Nana pulled on Chanyeol’s elbow, whining, “C’mon!”

“Is this real life?”

He slapped Jongin lightly a few times. Whether as a precautionary measure or out of frustration, he wouldn’t know. “Jongin, you idiot, he doesn’t call it nuclear for nothing!”

 “He’ll come to again in an hour or so, let’s go!”

“Ok, up!” Chanyeol hoisted him up, leaning Jongin’s weight against his body. He ignored Nana’s protests as he said, “I’m bringing you home.”

He was only as tipsy as his one-and-a-half Cuba Libres allowed him to be, which made him confident enough to make the offer.  But at this, Jongin’s hand smacked him against the chest. “No. N-not to B-Baekhyun-hyung.”

“Baekhyun won’t— “

“Not. To. Baekhyun-hyung,” Jongin repeated with so much conviction for someone so drunk, it surprised Chanyeol. His gaze, albeit unfocused, was deadly serious.

“Alright, my couch for the night it is then,” Chanyeol decided.

—

Chanyeol drove all of them home to his flat. Just as he was about to dump Jongin on to his sofa, Jongin made a solid declaration:

“Hyung…I think I’m gonna be— “

Nana wrinkled her nose as she and Chanyeol watched Jongin decorate Chanyeol’s couch in a radioactive blend of Jongdae’s special black market liquor, gastric juices, and the bibimbap he had for lunch.

“Alright, not my couch,” Chanyeol re-decided.

As soon as Nana realized he was carrying Jongin over to the general direction of the bedroom, she balked. “Wait. You’re letting him sleep on your bed? Where am I supposed to…where are we supposed to— “  She stopped talking as if Chanyeol’s pointed look (or lack thereof) sent her the message. “You’re kidding.”

 “Sorry, uh…” Chanyeol offered in an almost half-assed fashion, hefting Jongin up for better support. “Wait. Nana, baby, don’t— “

The door slammed after her.

“…go.”

—

Getting Jongin to gargle mouthwash was probably the toughest part of the process.

“Bottom’s up, Jongin. You’ll thank me for this later,” Chanyeol said, handing him the cup.

“Like with Minho-hyung’s Shamrocked Shooter?”

“Yes— I mean no!”

It took Chanyeol some time to get both him and Jongin settled into his amply-sized queen bed. Usually it took none of it at all with Nana. Nonetheless, he had them both under the covers some moments later.

Chanyeol, tired as he was from the night’s events, couldn’t care about anything else but sleeping like the dead for the next 10 hours or so. A tiny part of him was even thankful he didn’t have to wake up early with Nana bugging him about beauty school or whatever first thing in the morning. Jongin remained knocked out beside him, which couldn’t bother him any less either. Prior to drifting off, he vaguely recalled Jongin copping a feel of his earlier when he deposited him in the back of his truck, but shortly resigned it to his imagination.

Some time had lapsed, however, before something moving under his duvet made his eyes fly open again. He sat up, because he swore he felt a hand ghost on his bare thigh just a second ago.

“Jongin?!” It was hard to see in his room what with all the lights turned off, but Jongin had definitely stirred beside him.

The regret of letting Jongin share the bed with him sunk in too soon as a hand found its way into his boxers and around his . It started moving up and down, and Chanyeol felt that same regret punch him hard back against the pillows enough to snap him out of his inebriated stupor.

“What…what are you d-doing?!” He tried in vain to slap away Jongin’s hands undoing him from below, but the sudden rush of pleasure had him fazed. Jongin had him held down across the shoulders with his free arm, face already nuzzled into the crook of Chanyeol’s neck.

He gritted his teeth at the ic ripple that coursed through him with the contact, growling, “You ing— “ A hiss escaped from Chanyeol as he involuntarily bucked against Jongin’s palm. To make matters worse, Jongin started doing off with the sensitive spot behind his ear, and it was bad enough that he was ticklish.

But still it took all of Chanyeol’s will to fend off the growing ball of want in the pit of his stomach. “Kai…Jongin, stop!”

And he did, immediately withdrawing himself from Chanyeol just as fast as he had sprung on him. He turned away from him as if nothing had happened, which was a good thing as Chanyeol’s was still visible beneath the sheets. Chanyeol tried to will it away, mopping at the sweat forming on his forehead as he did.

“The was that?!”

Jongin didn’t speak, so Chanyeol repeated, “The was that?!” He was met with silence again. “Answer me!”

“’cha think it was?” Jongin’s drowsy reply came moments later.

Chanyeol propped himself up on his elbow and seized Jongin by the shoulder so he could face him. “Properly,” he bit out.

Jongin’s eyes were closed. “Whatdya want me to say?”

Chanyeol felt the waves of heat roll off of him. He was enraged for having been violated, but more than that he was confused. “Why you got all handsy with me just now. What made you grow the balls to even thing you could ing get away with it. How…how you’re…you actually swing that—“ He paused, trying to speak around the lump forming itself in his throat. “—way.”

The predicament with that Krystal girl in the bar earlier was what duped him the most about Jongin’s apparent preferences. Imagining all that time he spent getting almost in front of him was enough to make him queasy. Hell, Heechul even walked around and let it all ‘hang loose’ from time to time.

But where Chanyeol would’ve normally felt revulsion towards the fact that an actual homo was warming his bed with him, he only had the lack of heart to chase him out of his house, let alone make him leave the room. He was surprised he couldn’t even find it in him to drive Jongin home to Baekhyun in the state they were both in. What he was looking at now was the very picture of someone who last needed that kind of rejection.

They stayed that way for a while until Jongin shook off Chanyeol’s hand to lie on his side again.

If Chanyeol could give him any credit though, he had already been leaking. This kid definitely needed to come with a warning label that read Drunken molester, approach with caution when within 50 meters or less of any alcoholic beverage. He fell back down, letting out the deep breath he had been unconsciously holding. “ it, or whatever.”

“You know,” Jongin said a few minutes later, “the idea is we’re supposed to be drawn to people, not their genders.”

“When did you get so smart?”

 Jongin’s free shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “Always was.”

Chanyeol did a double-take at this. “And sober?”

This time, only the steady rise and fall of Jongin’s frame reached him. His hand stretched towards the spot between Jongin’s shoulder blades he knew was chafed from the buckles in his outfit last routine, but recoiled at the last inch.  

He stared at shadows playing on his ceiling instead.

After some time, he asked, “What am I going to do with you, Kim Jongin?” as if there was anyone else in the dark who could’ve heard him.

—

In the space between dreaming and waking, daylight moved in easy, rhythmic fragments behind his eyelids, like an unchoreographed dance. When Chanyeol came to, his side was no longer warm. Where Nana’s skin was cool to the touch almost all the time, Jongin’s definitely wasn’t. He pressed the top of his hand to his eyes at the thought.

The late morning breeze blew in through the window, producing a kind of small ruffling noise from his nightstand. An old receipt, a message scrawled behind it, placed there gave it away:

This fictional work in no way encourages/promotes driving under the influence or male ion or any vulgar, illegal activity that may have been instigated in the storyline. Take note, kids, thanks! :-)

*Author’s notes:

- The legal age in Korea is 20 (or 19, in international age).

- Yonsei University, or Baek’s uni in the fic (fun fact: was actually where Luhan went to as an exchange student in his trainee days), is considered the top #6 uni in SK as of 2014 and located in Sinchon-dong, a district in Seoul.

- Sinchon’s “main attraction is its nightlife, with numerous bars of both western style and traditional Korean hofs, restaurants and other activities aimed at the area's student population,” according to Wikipedia.

- Kai's first debut clip was of him dancing to D.O. singing My Lady, a.k.a. Teaser #1!

- “Gun-bae” trans.: “Dry your glass!”

- Poktanju is the Korean term for “bomb drink,” or a very strong drink made by pouring whiskey/soju in a shot glass and dropping it into a mug of beer. Potent enough to have almost been government-banned in SK some years back.