Title: Magic Chanyeol

Pairing/s: Kaiyeol

Genre/s: Slice of Life, Angst

Rating: M (for ~magic)

Length: [3/4] 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: Motion Picture Soundtrack)

“I’ve always hated the way it made the ocean look. You see them attacking each other and it’s like a natural ing Armageddon,” Jongin said one day while Chanyeol had him over. The week’s third downpour had just begun pelting needle-sharp droplets against Chanyeol’s window, and it was only Tuesday. “And the thunder. It makes me so jumpy.”

Jongin had just finished his delivery shift some hours back. He then arrived at Chanyeol’s to eat his pretzels because Baekhyun hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet. There was nothing good on TV by the time he finished them so Chanyeol walked into the kitchen only to complain, “I just bought those.” Now they were on Chanyeol’s living room floor playing cards.

“You’re always jumpy.” Chanyeol poked him on the stomach. Jongin flinched, then slapped Chanyeol’s hand away.

“I hope Baek-hyung was able to bring the laundry in before this,” Jongin said, paying no heed to Chanyeol’s previous comment. “The rain’s been making him about it for the past month.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine,” Chanyeol said. He moved his head side to side to try and catch Jongin’s eye. “Here’s an idea, though.”

Jongin returned his gaze blandly. “What now?”

“How about you stay over and I make you hot chocolate like my mom used to on rainy afternoons, to change your mind?”

The expression Jongin put on painted his features bright and the tips of Chanyeol’s ears warm. Key had just dyed Jongin's hair platinum blonde days ago and Chanyeol forgot how well it suited him and especially lit up his face. It made Chanyeol so flustered after he knocked Jongin’s mug from his hands as he got up to fix them more cocoa.

“That’s enough sugar for you,” Jongin said, frowning at the newly-formed sticky stain on his shirt. “Honestly, hyung.”

Chanyeol didn’t have to argue and tell Jongin twice to help himself to a fresh shirt from his closet. He occupied himself with the dishes as Jongin went off to change. When Jongin came back in Chanyeol’s favorite baseball jersey hanging centimetres too long off him, there was only so much he could do to not accidentally drop what he was doing.

Moments later they were in Chanyeol’s room, the jersey off faster than it had been on Jongin. It now lay forgotten along a pile of the other clothes they had shed and/or tore off each other as they knelt on Chanyeol’s bed, kissing heatedly. Chanyeol felt his own rub against Jongin’s, and this only made him twist and hook his thumbs further into the latter’s boxers.

“I don’t think it’s me, really,” Chanyeol admitted in between smacks, “it’s the hair.”

The smirk was still audible in Jongin’s voice. “What, so you’re into blondes now?”

Chanyeol ran his fingers across the pale strands that still smelled like his shampoo, and maybe an inkling of kimchi rice. Jongin was partially right. He was still into Jongin, in general.

“So,” Jongin tugged on the garter of Chanyeol’s boxers, “say Key-hyung gave me rainbow dreadlocks, would you still let me bang you?”

Chanyeol could tell the brat was already halfway there without even asking as his underwear was now pooled around his knees. “Oh, shut up.” He pushed Jongin down. “And who said it was your turn today?”

Jongin rolled his eyes. He propped himself up on one elbow. “We talked about this. I said, whoever gets more tips last Saturday wins topping privileges next time, and you said—" he did his best impression of Chanyeol's voice "—'okay, deal, but don’t come crying to me if you can’t sit properly again.'”

“You only made that deal because you knew that doctor noona who fancied you so much was going to be there that night,” Chanyeol pointed out, taking his boxers off the rest of the way. “Anyway—“ he saved the Jongin the effort by pulling down his own for him “—deal’s off. You finished my food this morning and you totally just made me sound like Darth Vader, which I don’t.”

Jongin clasped both hands around the back of Chanyeol’s neck and brought Chanyeol’s head down so suddenly his face was a breath away from Jongin’s in a matter of seconds. Jongin’s eyes burned. “That’s hardly fair, hyung.”

 Chanyeol swallowed thickly. His ached hard shoved against Jongin’s thigh. “And what would be enough to settle things?”

“Gawi Bawi Bo*,” Jongin stated firmly.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Jongin definitely wasn’t. He won best two out of three, then before flipping them over, flicked Chanyeol on the forehead.

“Bloody ing ow,” Chanyeol growled. “What was that for?”

“For almost going back on your word,” Jongin said matter-of-factly, forcing Chanyeol’s legs apart. “And for forgetting it really is my turn today.”

Jongin loosened Chanyeol with three fingers, and in one fell swoop, pushed inside of him. The pain knocked the sense right out of him—not that there was much to start with—and he gave a loud, strangled cry. Jongin lapped at the sweat forming on his temples, shoulders shaking with clear amusement as he easily established his own slow, agonizing rhythm. Soon enough it worked its way into turning Chanyeol’s discomfort to pleasure. Screwing him mindless was just like a dance to Jongin, like simple choreography, and Chanyeol swore he did it just to bug him.

By reflex, his hand wedged between them, grabbing Jongin’s , to repay the favor. He matched his own pumps to the pace Jongin set, just to bug him, too.

“You could be such a brat sometimes, you know that?” Chanyeol said, his exhales hot against Jongin’s flushed collarbones. Some of the sweat collecting there trickled down to Chanyeol’s chin, and Jongin away at that too.

“I know,” he said. His tongue trailed from Chanyeol’s jaw to the corner of his mouth, and stayed there. “So, last one there gets privileges again?”

“Again? What do you mean, a—“

A loud thunderclap outside made Jongin jerk too abruptly he accidentally into Chanyeol at that angle. Chanyeol yelped, so Jongin took him in one hand to apologize. “Sorry,” he huffed into his ear. “Jumpy, remember?”

“No.” Chanyeol almost felt like laughing. “I like—“ shiver “—jumpy.” He came all over their torsos, pleasure surging through him. His fingernails savagely dug into Jongin’s as he did. 

“Ah, hyung, that hurts!”

“Sorry, I didn’t— Wow, listen to us, we sound like ing teenagers.”

“Aren’t we—“

Chanyeol reached up to cut Jongin off with a quick kiss. “You’re the teenager, Jongin.”

Jongin’s teeth grazed Chanyeol’s lips as he burst into laughter. “Point taken.” They kind of hurt, so Chanyeol bit back Jongin’s in retaliation. He withdrew as he came all over them, the white hot spurts mixing with what Chanyeol had already released earlier. A final series of vibrations wracked through their spines, and Chanyeol came again.

“Hmm, guess I win this time.” He took that as the cue to enter a digit into Jongin, who had collapsed, panting and unguarded, on top of him. Jongin winced, his toes curling and his entire body tensing.

He disclosed defeat into the pillow, on the curve of Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t get too cocky.”

 “Ha ha, no promises.”

~*~

The Shakespearean collars were anything but debonair, Chanyeol decided, as he squatted to give Jongin head an hour to a show one night. Key didn’t think so when he practically pranced in backstage two days ago, waving them around like they were the greatest things to happen since Velcro and their light-up reindeer briefs last December. Chanyeol had lost another bet the Friday before (“First one to finish Jongdae’s Jeju Island Juice gets two s!”), and his wardrobe was putting him through particularly difficult time sticking it out. Whoever designed them probably never had to worry about giving a proper while wearing the things, but Key strictly said not to take them off till their actual set because they were much harder to place back on, and none of them knew how to except for the Prada-wearing devil himself.

He had wagged a disparaging, Moschino-adorned finger at them before disappearing from backstage. “The idea is you’re supposed to be Renaissance men, so act like it!” And he was right. They were bound by contract not only to Kris’ working terms, but also Key’s fashion choices, sound or not.

Chanyeol had just figured out how much he had to tilt his head to the right so he could lean in without hurting Jongin’s legs with his collar when Heechul’s voice floated by outside the door calling for him.

“Ah, this is probably important,” Chanyeol said, standing up. “Kris never bothers Heechul unless it is.”  

“It’s cool, hyung. Later!” Jongin replied. Then in bad English, “’Pahting is such shwit sollow—‘” Chanyeol shut the door before he could hear any more.

Galaxy didn’t open to customers until ten minutes later, but Chanyeol spotted an individual seated alone on a table at a lone corner of the floor where Kris had directed him.

“Act decent,” their manager had ordered on his way out. “That’s very important clientele, there.”

Chanyeol assumed it to be another noona, but walking closer realized it was a man—a very feminine-looking one, at that. The man smiled as Chanyeol neared him, rising gracefully from his chair to shake Chanyeol’s hand with both of his. His fine, delicate features were spelled out in a cordial greeting. “Hello there, Mr. Park. I don’t believe we have met.”

“No, we haven’t,” Chanyeol confirmed, slowly retracting his hand. The man’s hands were colder and smoother than a girl’s—Nana’s, to be exact—and it kind of crept Chanyeol out. They were like stone.

“The name’s Luhan,” the man said, sitting back down.

“Luhan,” Chanyeol repeated. “Erm, why’d you want to talk again, Luhan?” It was stupid because he felt like he was blushing now, standing in front of him and never having felt so ugly his entire life.

“By all means, Mr. Park—“

“Chanyeol. It’s Chanyeol.”

“Mr. Park, have a seat."

"Right, yes,” Chanyeol said, following suit. Luhan had on a royal blue suede blazer and patent leather shoes, it made Chanyeol look down on his own chucks and Macbeth collar in shame.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to meet the whole crew myself, you know, vis-à-vis,” Luhan said. Chanyeol went for an appreciative chuckle because he had no idea what the last thing he said just meant. Luhan showed him another small smile as if wryly fascinated by Chanyeol’s pathetic attempts at dignified conversation. “I’m quite excited to be working with your promising enterprise for that Gangnam deal, after all.”

Chanyeol, of course, had missed that part. No wonder his Korean sounded too formal and accented for a native speaker. He eased up a bit. “Right, right! You’re that pretty Chinese investor dude Jongin’s brought up once.”                  

Luhan’s finely etched brows rose. “Pretty? Jongin’s quite the specimen himself,” he remarked, clearly pleased. His large, deer eyes were tracing a line towards the stage now. “Lovely boy, Jongin.”

Chanyeol tracked his gaze fixed at Jongin whose head was poking out from the drapes. Upon seeing Chanyeol glance over, he waved energetically and gave him a thumbs up. “He is,” Chanyeol said, distracted.

“And I understand you were the one who brought our lovely Jongin-ah to Galaxy a year ago, if I am not mistaken?”

Chanyeol didn’t really like the way Luhan had called theirs, like he was somebody to be claimed. Nobody had to own anybody here. “Yeah, I introduced him to the guys,” Chanyeol said when he had recovered, though he was still slightly irked for some unknown reason.

Luhan nodded. “I see. He was a good pick of yours, Mr. Park. I must commend you for having an ardent eye for such raw talent and potential.”

“Uh yeah, listen, can I leave?” Chanyeol grew more and more uncomfortable by the second, being around Luhan. He was already making to leave his seat. “We’re about to open.”

“Certainly, Mr. Park,” Luhan obliged. “I will see you soon, as I have other matters to attend to as well.” His parting smile was too prettily out-of-place.

He addressed Jongdae, who had been at the bar behind them the whole time, with a polite bob of the head. After Luhan left, Chanyeol walked up to him for his pre-show dose of go-go juice. 

“You okay?” Jongdae asked. “You looked like you were about to yourself there, but I don’t know, it’s probably just Luhan. He has that effect on people.”

Chanyeol downed his shot in agreement, but he was no longer listening to Jongdae go on about Luhan’s tailored three-piece suits and poreless skin. He was still trying to shake off the heavy feeling that was starting to lodge itself in the pit of his stomach again. He hardly got nervous before shows anymore, but now he just couldn’t tell why he was.

~*~

“Cuffs?”

“Check.”

“Whip?”

“Check.”

“Gun? Flashlight? ?”

“Check, check, and— What?” Chanyeol did a double-take. He didn’t remember packing that. “Should we go back for that one?”

Jongin snickered lightly. “Kidding. I was kidding.”

“Hmm,” Chanyeol replied. He tossed the duffel behind them again. “You seem relaxed for your first time.”

They were on their way to a sorority house at the nearby suburban area skirting Yonsei. The client was a sister of Krystal’s who had hired them for another sister’s 20^th birthday. Needless to say, Chanyeol was feeling pleased with himself. It was just as he predicted at that bar with her and Jongin so many months ago.

Jongin had offered to drive, so he kept his eyes on the road. But profiled in the orange streetlight glow, Chanyeol glimpsed the tiny, excited smile playing on his features. Jongin’s fingers drummed a formless beat on the steering wheel.

“Huh, guess I’m not,” Chanyeol concluded. “We don’t get home calls like this often, you know. But I’m glad I can do this with you.”

“Me too, hyung.”

Chanyeol sniffed. “You’re probably just stoked about hitting it big with Krystal Jung again.” Jongin opened his mouth to protest, but Chanyeol cut him off with a small laugh of his own. “Kidding. I was kidding.”

The rest of the way, they sang to the song playing on the random station they were tuned in to. That early Saturday night was bursting with life and color, each street corner and window vibrant with the district’s trademark energy. It all seemed so promising of a great handful of hours ahead.

Funny enough, Chanyeol considered he and Jongin could stay like this for a while. They were on their way to giving a bunch of strangers s for money, and he was just fine with that. Once they had talked about how what they made seducing other women—or men, on occasion—could one day be enough to produce more of Chanyeol’s music (or send Jongin back to school, Chanyeol secretly thought). Then there was the bigger flat for themselves, and maybe even the pet Beagle if they had extra. As long as the both of them were happy enough with what they did, it worked. The prospect of Krystal Jung being involved hadn’t even bothered him for months since.

“Krystal's taking up summer units, actually,” Jongin supplied though Chanyeol hadn’t asked. Chanyeol didn’t even notice they were already pulled up a block away from their client’s house. “She’s at her sister’s now, studying for an important test, she told me. She wished me luck though.”

“And you’re on good terms?”

Jongin rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you of all people don’t have much of an idea about this, hyung,” he said. He shrugged in a non-committal manner. “Flings happen, they end, life goes on. We know that.”

Chanyeol fiddled with the badge on his pseudo-cop outfit. There was still the possibility this was a fling that would happen and end too, after all. He was sure he wouldn’t like that. “You’re right.”

Jongin got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve their props for the night. “So are we ready for this or not?”

Chanyeol followed him out and stopped in front of him. The need to stave off the anxiety gnawing at his insides was still present. He grinned at Jongin and kissed him full on the mouth. After that he gave him a playful push onto the backseat. “Just a sec. The girls could wait.”

—

The girls had naturally been terrified and thoroughly rattled when Chanyeol and Jongin turned up in their police costumes at their door.

“We’ve been receiving some complaints about noise and underage drinking,” Chanyeol said officially as he stepped in. Jongin wordlessly trailed behind, mask of pretend-authority now fully adapted. “You do know both are illegal in a residential area, no less?”

A slightly drunk girl who had wandered into the hallway just then turned redder when she saw them. She was almost about to make a pass at Jongin until she took in the handcuffs and prop gun hanging from his hip. Sputtering on her small bottle of vodka, she skittered back into the room where most of the other sorority members were gathered.

The girl who had answered the door stumbled after them on the way there. “M-mister,” she stammered, “we could, like, explain, or s-something.”

Jongin shone his flashlight and most lethal, lady-killing smirk at her. “Could you now, miss?”

Chanyeol swore she could have almost fainted from the shock then and there if she hadn’t held on to a nearby sofa for support. All eyes were on them as they entered the room. Someone had stopped the music and everyone was still. They both directed their flashlights at the girl wearing a tiara sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor. Her mascara-d eyes grew wide and her glossy mouth fell agape.

They waited for the mild hysteria to set in with their presence. At the most precise moment, they announced: “You’re all under arrest…for starting the party without us!”

The girls went crazy as soon as they made their declaration and ripped off their pants. Jongin set up their iPod to the sound system. The music blared loud and energetic again on the speakers, and it mixed in the air with the crowds’ high-pitched giggles and squeals.

Chanyeol pulled the birthday girl, Bomi, out of her seat, cuffing her as he did. Jongin took her place, and invited her back on his lap. He let her his top. Though reluctant at first, Jongin urged her on by kissing her bound hands as she worked. By the time she finished, Jongin rewarded her by removing her cuffs. As he did, she was whooped and waved Jongin’s shirt over her head. Everyone cheered and raised their glasses.

Some boys who were in a different part of the house dropped in to check what was going on, but rushed out as soon as they knew. Jongin oozed boyish seduction tonight, and it was only fitting since he was among girls his age. No wonder he had been so pumped for this earlier.

Meanwhile Chanyeol attended to the crowd. Having already stripped down to his NYPD blue briefs, he did some exhibitions on the carpet. He let one of the girls clamber on top of him as he did push-ups. The girl slapped his like she had done this before, and that was perfectly fine with Chanyeol. It fired him up more, even.

What didn’t sit well with him was what he witnessed next. From below, he saw Jongin take Bomi’s face in his hands and kiss her. She complied, and soon Jongin was ling hickeys into her neck. The scene made Chanyeol almost collapse underneath the girl he had been carrying, suddenly aware of her weight. He looked away and paused in a plank long enough for her to take it as a hint to climb off him.

When he stood, he quickly looked to Jongin, but Bomi was already off him and he was approaching another girl standing at the side. He grabbed her by the waist as they met. Chanyeol took this as a cue to go solo using the vacated seat to Justin Timberlake’s “y Back.” He was effortlessly successful, and it made him busy enough to avoid fully seeing what was going on between Jongin and his friend in their corner of the room. A small group that had formed around them blocked his view. So much for a dual performance. He kept his act up anyway as the next track started playing.  

—

A million different things could have went on that night without Chanyeol knowing. First he was doing his set, the next Jongin was leaving the room with the girl he was with. Chanyeol finished a song, then five, but Jongin still wan't there. He redirected his gaze instead to a pretty, made-up face, then Jongin was back whipped cream off another one’s face. The screams from the bathroom followed not long after.

All at once, the girls streamed out of the room to find out why, putting all activity on an abrupt hold. Jongin and Chanyeol were the only ones left, suddenly forgotten. They were both still panting. Nobody spoke.

The hallway outside was in commotion now. More screams and shouts followed. Slowly, and without regarding each other, Jongin and Chanyeol walked towards where the people were gathered.

“Where’s the bastard? WHERE IS HE?!” somebody was bellowing over the crowd now. “WHERE?!”

Jongin’s step faltered, and he slowed to a stop. Almost immediately after, a furious guy broke through the crowd. His nostrils flared as his eyes landed on Jongin, whom he grabbed and dragged back into the crowd. Chanyeol’s reaction was delayed—it had happened so fast—but still he followed. 

There was loud, cracking noise, then a thud and lots of cursing. By the time Chanyeol managed to make it to the center of the crowd, Jongin was already on the floor, sporting a bloody nose. Beside him was the girl he was just with after Bomi. Chanyeol realized with a start that she was unconscious and deathly pale.

“Jongi—“ He stopped, remembering he wasn’t supposed to say his real name out loud at a place like this. “What did you do?”

The boy kicked Jongin in the stomach, who curled up further in on himself. “You did this to her didn’t you? Gave her drugs. Left her like this.” He kicked Jongin again. “Didn’t you?!”

Chanyeol could only watch as Jongin writhed helplessly on the ground, trying to get on his knees. But the boy wouldn’t leave him alone, and Chanyeol couldn’t even will himself to move and do something. Nobody else in the crowd was doing anything either. Concerned frat brothers who looked like they didn’t want any trouble stood paralyzed at the sidelines, and so did the girls who had been with Jongin earlier. The music was still on in the living room, but it sounded faint and distant. Everything and everyone else was silent besides Jongin and the boy.

“Na—“ Jongin, who hadn’t been saying anything until now, managed a strangled whisper. His head was still bent low, and he was on his calves. This took the boy aback enough to make his fist freeze mid-air. Jongin gulped down the remaining spit and blood dribbling out of his mouth, taking his time. “Naeun.  She asked for it.”

The boy’s eyes went large, and he delivered one last blow to the side of Jongin’s head. Jongin crashed to the ground again, but was no longer greeted by any more attacks. The boy was heaving angry, shallow breaths in and out, his stare now only on the girl on the floor. Soon Jongin was on his feet, albeit shakily. His knees bucked under his weight, but this time Chanyeol caught him.

“I’m gonna say it again,” Jongin began, voice surprisingly calm and steady for someone who just got beaten up. He was even smiling, for God’s sake. Chanyeol was alarmed. It was the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes, the kind that only tugged the corners of his lips into a nasty curl. It conveyed that something in Jongin may have just snapped. He shook off Chanyeol’s hold on him roughly. “She enjoyed it.”

This made the boy tear his attention away from the girl again. “Piss poor. yourself out just to make a living. You’re a worthless piece of , and that’s all you’ll ever be,” he snarled. His hot breath smelled like beer and cigarettes on Chanyeol’s face. He had Jongin behind him now, though the younger boy didn’t look the least bit daunted. “Remember that, and you can swear I am going to get back at you for it.”

Chanyeol felt the rage bristle through Jongin. “Why? Upset Naeun hasn’t been putting out for months as much as she has tonight?”

“Shut your dirty mouth, you—“

Jongin wasn’t letting either. “What? I didn’t even let her pay for any of it.”

Two guys held the boy back at the moment. From what they were muttering at him, Chanyeol had identified him to be named Taemin. Taemin thrashed against his brothers’ muscular grips, seething.

“Jealous your girl’s got the hots for a tramp over you now?”

“Kai!” Chanyeol exclaimed, still careful not to say his real name. The whole house was still. The music was finally gone, their playlist for that night over. Taemin fell back into his restraints as well.

Then, under his breath: “This isn’t your fight, hyung.”  

“It shouldn’t be yours either.” Chanyeol seized Jongin by the arm, not looking at him. The crowd parted for them, allowing Chanyeol to stride briskly for the door straight ahead with Jongin in tow.

Nobody made to stop them, not even Taemin. The night air was cold on their bare bodies, but Taemin’s last words were even more chilling: “Jail won’t cut it, you son of a . Don’t forget.”

—

The dead lull of the drive home wasn’t from an excess of quiet—both were simply too tired to speak. Still, it said more than any of them were willing to say. Jongin didn’t even need to tell him about anyone and anything. Chanyeol had already reached a conclusion to all this. 

Jongin had had his head rested against the passenger side window the whole ride so far. It wasn’t until they drove past the second to the last intersection away from his apartment when he suddenly jolted upright in his seat.

“…!” Chanyeol spared a distracted glance in his direction. “The pills— I left behind the pills!”

“I’m sorry, but is dealing an in thing now?” Pause. “Where’d you get those drugs anyway?”

Jongin took a moment to respond too. “Luhan.”

“Luhan? That angel-faced bastard’s a ing supplier?!” Chanyeol slammed his fist down on the steering wheel. “I knew it!”

“Listen, hyung, the pay was good and—“

“What were you thinking, Jongin? What were you thinking?!” Chanyeol didn’t want to have any of it. He had finally found his voice again. “Who gives a ing damn if the pay’s good? Drugs are drugs. How are you going to shell out for all that you lost anyway?”

“It wasn’t that many. And I’ll think of something,” Jongin said.

“Sure,” Chanyeol retorted derisively. “Pay off that drug money with even more drug money. Genius, really.”

“I just— I don’t know, okay—“

“Like hell you know,” Chanyeol said. “Seriously, for once—once—in your life, when are you going to get your together?!”

An oppressive silence engulfed them, threatening to choke a regretful apology out of Chanyeol right away. Cruel, it stretched beyond them and out into the empty roads. So it went for what seemed like a lifetime before Jongin, who had been intent on holding their entire conversation with the windshield until now, really looked at Chanyeol for the first time that night.

“I should be asking you the same question.”

Chanyeol stomped on the brakes. “What did you say?”

Jongin leaned back on his seat, turning away again. “I said, that makes two of us, then.”

There was no answer Chanyeol could’ve conjured up for that. He let the idle roar of the engine do the talking for him. Resentment, he thought, best thrived here, in the streetlit stillness of 1 AM. He couldn’t have wished for a better setting.

But the thought was also enough to bring him to press down on the accelerator. He sped away in hopes of shaking it off and leaving it behind in their wake.

~*~

Chanyeol found he all but fell into routine again.

At his level, the dances and routines were as grueling. It was almost insulting to see the rest breeze through them with so much ease, Jongin especially. Nana was still accommodating on Friday nights, and he still dropped by the studio three times a week.

Some things stayed just as others went.

Kris congratulated Chanyeol less and less during shows, and Luhan only started appearing more and more after them. Nana cancelled more dates than she attended, and recording fees did not show any signs of letting up any time soon.

Mostly, he just could hardly stand being around Jongin anymore. The only times they regarded each other were onstage. There were the group acts, their frequent duo performances, and more often than not, the staged, crowd-pleasing acts of intimacy peppered in between. The fondness was gone. Now it seemed that all he could do was hate him.

Still, Chanyeol never remembered 1 AMs driving home alone being so lonely.

~*~

Kris got that call everyone had been waiting for from his contractor some weeks later. The three-year Gangnam deal was sealed, and everyone couldn’t have been more ecstatic. With it the six-year extension was a shoe-in given just half a year of smooth operations, and Key had already done a good job of reeling in expectant clients there. Chanyeol had never even seen Amber hug Jongdae as tightly as she did anyone, let alone initiate any physical contact with anyone ever.

Arrangements for a celebratory night-out on Kris were immediately underway, just so he could get everyone to show up. Amber and BeatBurger were already busy making other calls, while Minho took over the counter to serve martinis for everyone.  In the midst of it, Minseok found Chanyeol who had been sitting by himself in an isolated table the entire time.

 “So have you thought about it yet?” Minseok asked, settling himself beside Chanyeol.

Chanyeol shrugged. He had no idea. “And you, hyung?”

“Bigger pond, bigger fish,” Minseok said simply, “might as well try my luck, right? I’m always game for the experience.”

Because he was feeling a little braver now, Chanyeol said: “The thing is, I don’t think I am anymore.”

From the bar, Jaejoong called, “Drinks are up!”

“That’s fine too, you know.” As Minseok rose, he said, “Chanyeol, whatever your decision…I trust you not to mess it up.”

Chanyeol wished he could say the same for himself as well.

—

It was during the show later on when Chanyeol made up his mind. 

A number of instances could have incited it, such as when he held eye contact with Jongin onstage for a moment too long, or looked out to the audience and came up with none of the same faces he had seen four years ago when he started. But ultimately, it was when he overheard Jaejoong and Heechul complaining about recurring back pains that it hit him.

He loved the attention, the satisfaction of nailing the choreography, and the fast cash. He enjoyed everyone’s company. What surpassed those, however, was the fear that one day, he would wake up not feeling the same way anymore. In the end, it wasn’t about running away too early. Now it was about stepping down before it was too late.

Regardless of his choice, Chanyeol decided to go along with later night’s plans to put on a good face. The rest of the crew had already left excitedly and Chanyeol opted to stay behind so he could think about how he was going to break it to them later on.

Not realizing he wasn’t alone, he was shocked to hear the door to the backstage bathroom opening. Luhan had been busy buckling his belt with Jongin trailing after him when they emerged from it.

At the sight of them, he stiffened. “Jongin, what are you still doing here?”

Jongin didn’t reply. Luhan spoke for him. “Just dealt with some business, is all.”

Chanyeol watched as Luhan stopped in front of a nearby mirror to suavely fix his hair and straighten his tie.

“You should thank me, Mr. Park,” he said. Coat slung over his shoulder and posture erect, Luhan was the picture of any dignified gentleman. Except he wasn’t. He strode over to where Chanyeol stood rooted to the spot to pat him on the shoulder and into his ear whisper, “Already warmed him up for you.” 

They were silent for a while after Luhan left. It took some time for Chanyeol to remember how to speak. 

"Business?" He advanced on Jongin.  “What, so you’re Luhan’s now? Is that how it is?” He knew it was already too late to take any of those words back the moment they left him. The damage they had just inflicted was clear on Jongin’s expression.

“I need the time, hyung,” Jongin replied in a dangerously unperturbed tone, his last word dripping with mock reverence.  “I’m doing what I have to do. That’s how it is.”

Chanyeol should have stopped at that, but for some reason he couldn’t. “So how does it work, then? You give him two s, he gives you another week? In what, the bathroom, no less, after all of us are gone?”

“Shut the up, hyung.”

“Speaking of ups,” he went on unbridled, “have you let him do you up the for like, a month’s allowance? Or are you two taking it slow—“

Jongin slapped him hard before he could continue. He walked over to his table before Chanyeol could so much as lift a finger. As he slouched against his mirror, he seemed to fold in on himself. The harsh glow of the backstage fluorescent lamps made him appear awfully worn and exhausted for someone barely twenty.

There it was again—the fire in Chanyeol's chest and head that just wouldn't sputter out. Staring Jongin down, now his whole body felt like it was ablaze. Like there was only so much Chanyeol could do before he lashed out at him. He could never tell what the hell could've been going on in that stubborn head of his, and it infuriated Chanyeol more than anything now.

Unfortunately, unlike him, Jongin had already become too disarmingly skilled at reading him on point. "Hyung." And he locked his gaze up at Chanyeol.

They were so close now, too close. It barely registered that Chanyeol had already backed Jongin against the mirror. Still, Jongin sat, unflinching, on the vanity and in between Chanyeol's arms planted at his sides. Chanyeol was able to catch a glimpse of his reflection, all burnt out and frustrated, before Jongin spoke.

"If you want to kiss me, then just do."

Pressing his hand down on Jongin's knee, he did.

Anger bubbled like bile in the pit of his stomach as Jongin's hands rested on it. He tasted it, tasted Luhan, viscious and bitter in the nooks and crevices of his teeth as Jongin's tongue slid over his. He held Jongin by the back of the head, tilting his own down with it, swallowing more resentment down like a poison. Product toppled off the vanity in a cascade of bouncing plastic and clinking glass, and the sounds mixed with hands rummaging and lips colliding and breaths huffing grated against his eardrums like a loud and blaring wake-up call.

That he had to pull away and go. As he did, his eyes met Jongin's. Then he up and left, because they looked almost apologetic.

—

The first thing Chanyeol did when he woke up the next morning was switch on the television. He had no particular channel or program in mind, let the moving images seep through his corneas and calm him down. He sat like that for an immeasurable amount of time as he waited for numbness to settle. The news was on but muted, and he took it all in like a silent film without really watching any of it.

When at last he was finished and no longer receptive of anything else, he entered his shower. He still left the television on, though. At the very least, it made him feel like he wasn’t so alone in this.

~*~

The week that followed, Luhan made it apparent that he was far from done. A party to officially celebrate their signing, arranged and hosted by His Royal Disgrace at his fancy- penthouse suite, no less, was what he just needed to cap off all the blows. At the moment, it left Chanyeol on the verge of showing them all how much he didn’t care, and running the beautiful son of a over with his truck.

Chanyeol shouldn’t have went there, out for blood, only to end up looking for Jongin. He was better off in his head without having to do both. For the majority of the time, he hardly knew what was good for him anymore.

He shouldn’t have read those texts from Minseok either, or paid attention to the sad smileys interjected between the please go’s and only for a little while’s. He shouldn’t have gotten on his truck, driven to that lux high-rise condominium specified in the address Minseok provided, and pressed on that shiny, top-right elevator button. He shouldn’t have asked the nearest cocktail swirl of faces where the boy whose name was the first thing to come to mind was, push past them, to the last room down the hall, on your left. He should’ve have opened that door.

The last time Chanyeol saw Jongin offstage had seemed so long ago, on different terms. Now what he was seeing could have been an entirely different person—Kai, or a manifestation of him, perhaps—altogether, draped in nothing but the best Egyptian cotton sheets and pink-haired party vixen money—Luhan’s, most probably—could buy. His hand was splayed against her bare to hug her tighter against his flush body. Chanyeol couldn’t tell whether he was awake or not. He immediately shut the door.

This was Luhan’s own final hand, he realized, maneuvering mechanically through the room full of even more alcoholic anonymities. Chanyeol’s tongue was wrought with the taste of something dry and bitter. The lethal little pill he had been dealt was hard to choke down. He headed to the kitchen for a glass of water that could hopefully fix it, somewhat. Even it tasted like alkaline in his mouth, but it was still better than the bile threatening to surge out of it.

To hell with the bare minimum. He had already been at his limit long before he even arrived. He wasn’t sorry leaving would be against his hyungs’ wishes for him to stay at least an hour. Not anymore. 

The kitchen door swung lightly just as Chanyeol drained another. He didn’t even need to turn around to tell who it was.

“What, Jongin? What do you want me to do about it?”

Chanyeol could hear Jongin shifting his weight from one foot to the other—a habit of his when he was unsure. “I don’t know, just— Something.”

When Chanyeol faced him, Jongin was still barefoot and topless, but at least he had his pants on. Then his gaze zeroed in on the fine dusting of white smeared along the underside of Jongin’s nose. Chanyeol briefly remembered when Jongin had told him how much he loved snow. He had said it was so clean and white, Chanyeol scoffed at the memory.

Jongin’s brows furrowed at this, confused at Chanyeol’s reaction. Major plot twist. The glass he held trembled in his grip. “Where is he? Where’s Luhan?”

Jongin stiffened and crossed his arms across his exposed chest, as if he suddenly felt in front of Chanyeol. He didn’t look him in the eye. “He’s not here.”

“I’m going to assume you just helped yourself to his and his drugs, since he wasn’t around?”

Jongin’s gaze lifted to meet Chanyeol’s. “It’s not like that.” The way he stared implied he intended to say a lot more about it, and so Chanyeol waited.

They stayed like that for minutes. Despite the cold bouncing off the marble walls, it was stifling. Chanyeol sensed in himself the same kind of unrelenting force he had felt that night backstage with Luhan and Jongin. Then, plainly: “You’re pathetic.”

Jongin bowed his head again, his hair covering his face. “You don’t mean that.”

There was already a smirk, too uncharacteristic for Chanyeol’s taste, playing on his lips. “But I do.”

It happened fast. But Chanyeol detected the twitch of Jongin’s eyebrow, even expected him to be held up the way he was now—back pressed against the counter and Jongin on him with his shirt clenched in his fists. Were the circumstances any more different, Chanyeol would have already been antsy and hard. Now, he could barely contain the disdain on his face.

Jongin’s hair was a mess, one side sticking out more than the other the way it always did when he rolled out of bed. His bare chest, bony-looking now, rose and fell rapidly in uneven intervals. The pupils in his fever bright eyes appeared blown up in the gaunt lighting.

This was Jongin at gunpoint—disheveled, distraught, and at a loss for anything else. He both had nothing and everything to lose. He looked like a very troubled boy for once, and for a moment Chanyeol almost felt sorry for him.

When someone entered the kitchen Jongin shoved Chanyeol away. It was apparently Kris. He squared the two of them up, expression stony. This made the tension hang at a standstill, as if he had them both at gunpoint now. They were frozen to the spot. The next move was their boss' call now. "You have to leave. Now."

Neither of them said anything.

"This is a set-up," Kris told them. Jongin's eyes widened, his jaw going rigid. Kris took his visible shock into account, but continued with his report in the same terse manner. "I overheard two of his men talking about it. He's arriving soon."

Kris withdrew a steady plume of breath, his eyes cast downward. “For reasons beyond me, he wants you cornered here, tonight, at his own house. They can't touch you while you're at Galaxy, but they can certainly do more than that here. Luhan prefers indoor jobs." His expression was indeterminable now. "He's got plans for you."

There was the connotation that anything Luhan had ever planned for anyone never turned out good. It took everything of Chanyeol not to pull an outburst on Jongin. This after being carried away into thinking things couldn't get any worse from a number of ual favors in compensation.

Chanyeol didn't dare look his way. "Jongin." He called him out with a grim finality more lifeless than the interior chill glaring back at all of them. "What is this?"

"I don't know."

"You said you had this under control. What happened?"

"I said I don't know, hyung."

“Don’t you give me that—“

“Chanyeol,” Kris cut in lowly. He stepped in directly between them two. “Worry about fixing this later. Just get the kid and your goddamn hero complex out of here now.”

Chanyeol didn’t bother answering back. He stared straight at the scalp his side of Kris’ head, centimeters away from him. Sizing Kris up was possible standing six feet tall, but Kris always has been an inch higher. “Now, Chanyeol,” he repeated.

Chanyeol watched Kris leave and continued to through the gaps in the kitchen door. Kris strode across the people-strewn space as if he were walking through the floor at Galaxy, purposeful. He stopped at the mini bar, where a small gaggle of spectators watched Jongdae serve drinks. "Go home, Jongdae."

It was an order, not a jibe, nor request. Jongdae met Kris' eye and he understood. The shaker seemed to suspend itself midair a second too long before landing in Jongdae's nimble hand. It was too minute a hitch. It could have been barely noticed by anyone who didn't spend enough time around him tending opening through closing hours, but Chanyeol knew it was there. He heard Jongin's breath catch from behind him too at the realization.

One by one, Kris walked up to the members of the crew. One by one, with a uniform sort of obedience, they set down unfinished cocktails, politely excused themselves, broke away from company.

A tap on a shoulder. “Go home, Minho.”

A tilt of the head. “Go home, Amber.”

A beckon. “Go home, Minseok.”

A furtive glance. “Go home, Key.”

A short, inconspicuous whisper. “Go home, Jaejoong, Heechul.”

There must have been a science to being manager, Chanyeol thought. Finally, it was Chanyeol’s turn to face the boy standing behind him. He grit his teeth as he braced himself for what he was about to do. He shrugged off the ed polo he had over his tank top and handed it to him. Jongin seemed to think thrice before taking it. “Let’s drive you home, Jongin.”

—

It wasn’t until they arrived in front of #88 that Chanyeol managed to say something to Jongin.

“I can’t let you go to Gangnam like this, Jongin,” he said. “Not like this.”

“Since when,” Jongin murmured, “did anyone ever give you the right?”

Chanyeol pushed this aside. “And since when did you plan on keeping this up for the next ten years?”

There was something malicious to the way Jongin chuckled at this. “I don’t know, I just got here, but you’re one to talk—“

“Hey—“

“You were already down that ing road anyway!”

This led him to punching Jongin right across the face. Jongin yelped, landing a cursing, fuming heap at their doorstep.

“— YOU, PARK!”

Chanyeol turned away without any thought or parting remark. Baekhyun was going to get the door for him anyway. This time, Chanyeol was really going to walk away.

—

Chanyeol called up Nana not long after he arrived to his flat. The sudden call had obviously been something immensely surprising to her, but it was a Friday night, and he was out of ideas.

Nonetheless, she showed up at his doorstep 45 minutes later, groggy and confused, but still as accommodating. It must have been the way he sounded over the phone that made her come over and him, slightly more desperate. In how his lips hungrily caught hers the moment she stepped inside his flat that convinced her that she kiss back as aggressively and him that this was all a good idea.

Nana was just as Chanyeol remembered. He, himself, wasn’t. It was the same slim arms and slim legs that wrapped around him. His hands ran over the same soft curves, felt the same smooth, cold skin. There were the same plains and dips, tender neck and long hair. She still smelled like her sweet pea perfume.

- Gawi Bawi Bo = Korean rock, paper, scissors.