Chanyeol starts planning his year-end holiday as early as June. Video games, sappy Korean dramas, lounging in his PJs all day long, eating nothing but ramyun and takeout. Embracing his inner slob. It sounds perfect. He might even compose some new tunes on his guitar for his own music library. None of it includes taking more than two steps out of his house.

And they definitely do not include dressing up and sitting in Bel Cibo with a girl he hasn’t met before–who is fluttering her eyelashes at him—sitting right opposite him.

Chanyeol presses the screen on his phone furiously under the table, typing out a message while smiling politely at the girl with hair an alarming shade of a firetruck red. He should be sitting at home, in his pyjamas with day old stubble littering his chin while scribbling music notes onto blank sheets of paper. He should not be here, in a quaint Italian restaurant, having a blind date.

The girl–Hyomin—sitting opposite Chanyeol is still ordering from the menu, unable to choose a single dish even though she has already spent a solid 15 minutes on it.

Chanyeol tightens his grip on the classy leather-bound menu, eyes almost flickering with fire the way he stares at his date. His stomach growls.  The waiter serving their table gives him a sympathetic glance just as the girl tells him to cancel the order for cheese baked rice and continues to hum in contemplation.

Chanyeol is more willing to stare at the waiter’s serious expression and the way his uniform clings nicely to the fine specimen of a male body than he is to stare his date. The waiter's silver nametag reads “Yifan.” Chanyeol repeats it over and over again in his mind while he traces the person’s figure with his eyes. Long legs, long torso,  long arms, long fingers—long ing fingers; goddamn… Chanyeol wonders if he can assume the waiter has a long di—then Yifan just has to glance his way, meeting eyes and making Chanyeol’s blood rush to the wrong places at an alarming pace.

Act normal, his mind reminds so he carefully crosses one leg over the other, successfully bumping the table but managing not to spill anything. Lucky for him, his date saves the day by saying something about salads, shifting the waiter’s attention back to her and far away from Chanyeol. Okay, think salad, think green veggies, Chanyeol meditates to divert his attention away from the kind of meat Yifan could possibly serve him in the restaurant’s bathroom.

“I don’t think we are suitable for each other, sorry,” Hyomin says not even half an hour into their supposed date, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Chanyeol just nods, the corner of his lips lifting the slightest to from a tight-lipped smile. She grabs her purse and stands, bowing a fraction towards Chanyeol. “I’ve gotta go now. Thank you for the lunch.”

Chanyeol gives her another stiff nod and whips out his phone to text his mom as soon as the girl disappears out of his sight.

Chanyeol groans in defeat, flags down the waiter, and places an order for 2 large pizzas laden in extra cheese and pepperoni to munch on, while he waits for his second date of the day. When Yifan gives him a gummy smile and asks him “Is that all for you, sir?” Chanyeol’s mood brightens a little bit, feeling like he has infinite energy to deal with the nonsensical blind dates.

(However, Chanyeol is still exhausted by the end of the day. His cheeks are undeniably sore from all the fake smiles, and his body is stiff from maintaining his posture for nearly 10 hours.)

After going on 7 blind dates back-to-back on the first day, Chanyeol thinks he would be free from his mother’s matchmaking clutches.

He is wrong.

The proof is solid and unwavering right in front of his eyes as his mother turns up right at his doorstep on the second day, not a single wrinkle on her tailor made dress, prim and stiff like always. Chanyeol lets out a groan, not caring about his morning breath or bed hair or how he is only dressed in his boxers. All he cares about at that moment is that he should be acquainted with his warm bed and fluffy pillows. His mom doesn’t even bat an eyelash at his lack of personal hygiene and self-management.

“Park Chanyeol. As the only male child of our family, I am deeply disappointed in you and your actions,” his mother lectures while tugging on his ear. (It’s an image that was should to be funny because his mother barely reaches his shoulders but the way she pulls on his ear, he is forced to bend in half. And Chanyeol can’t find it in him to laugh, because, honestly, his mother has iron fingernails manicured to perfection that are great for ear pulling.)

She bodily shoves him into the bathroom and henpecks him until he is dressed to her standards in a deep maroon polo and a pair of dark-washed jeans. Then, she shoves him headfirst into his first blind date of the day, forcing him to sit down on the cushioned chair at same the Italian restaurant, and threatens to disown him if he doesn’t behave.

Therefore, the second day of his holiday ends up just like the first.

So does his third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

And sixth.

There are a few good reasons why Chanyeol insists for his blind dates to be held at this specific restaurant, Bel Cibo. First, it has a very good atmosphere, not too posh, not too cheap. Secondly, the food is good, or rather their pepperoni pizza is good. Sadly, most of his dates do not share the sentiment. They don’t know what they are missing out on, Chanyeol’s conscience grumbles. Thirdly, there is a devastatingly charming waiter who goes by the name of Yifan, who Chanyeol knows each and every one of his shifts from visiting so frequently.  (10 A.M.-5 P.M. Mondays to Wednesdays, and 3 P.M. -9 P.M. Thursdays to Saturdays. Yifan doesn’t work on Sundays, so that is the day that Chanyeol suffers through his blind dates while longing for a glimpse of the tall handsome waiter.)

Chanyeol takes a hurried gulp of his soda when Yifan meets his eyes from across the restaurant, hoping that he hadn’t been staring too noticeably. But he knows that he had definitely been found out when Yifan grins knowingly, showing pink gums and straight teeth, left hand holding a menu raised in greeting. Chanyeol holds out a hand, too, before realizing belatedly that he is holding a slice of half-eaten pizza in it. Heat spreads across Chanyeol's cheeks. Oh gosh, how much more embarrassing can I get?

His phone buzzes on the lacquered table top just as a girl with straight brown hair pushes into the restaurant, a smug-looking white Persian cat cradled in her arms. Chanyeol presses his lips into a straight line and angrily texts his mother, the screen a hairbreadth away from breaking under the pressure of his fingers. The reply comes quickly, and Chanyeol has to fight the urge to stomp on his phone.

Chanyeol leans as far as possible from the girl seated across him, uttering a squeak of “I’m allergic,” before his eyes starts to water and his nose kicks up a fit of sneezes that turns him from handsome blind date worthy oppa to soggy tissue in 0.23 seconds. To his relief, the girl just gives him an incredulous look, huffing about liars before sliding out of her seat, her cat giving an innocent mew at the sudden movement. The reaction only goes away after the sound of her clacking high heels stops ringing in his ears.

“Drink up.” There is a glass half-full of ice water—perspiration beading on the surface of the glass—right in front of his face, offered to him like salvation from damnation. Chanyeol grabs it and gulps it down greedily, hoping to wash away the last of the tickles from the back of his throat. It works.

He slouches, boneless, empty glass clutched weakly in his fingers, ready slide out of his grasp to hit the floor as he catches his breath, the red blotches in his face fading away slowly but surely.

“Better?” It’s Yifan, Chanyeol realizes belatedly. Great impression indeed. Chanyeol nods, fingers flexing around the glass out of nervousness, his eyes fixed on the way Yifan looks at him expectantly. Say something to him dimwit, his brain prods.

“T-thanks. Uh—for the water,” Chanyeol his lips, aware of the stutter.

Yifan doesn’t seem to notice however, a genuine smile blossoming across his face, hands clasped behind his back and rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Ah…It’s nothing.” Yifan scratches the back of his not-itching head to cover the thud of his heart. “I guess I’ll be going back to my work now that you are...”

He makes some odd gestures with his hands before noticing that Chanyeol might not understand. “Yeah. Um…tell me if you need anything else.”

Chanyeol doesn’t have a witty remark, so he just watches as Yifan spins away like he always does, the ribbons on his apron fluttering at his wake. Suddenly, he wishes for the Min-something girl to come back with a dozen cats so that Yifan will give him more attention.

Chanyeol groans and presses the cool glass to his cheek. His infatuation is getting out of hand. Should I do something about it, he thinks it over for a few minutes before  deciding that yes, he should.

(Later, when Chanyeol pays the bill, Yifan asks him if he feels okay and reminds him to take care of himself. Chanyeol floats around with a silly grin for the rest of the day.)

It’s him again, Yifan notes when a girl dashes past him to get out of restaurant, face streaked with tears and nearly crashing into the tray he was holding. It could be someone else, he tries to reason with himself, but he does not expect anyone other than the lanky guy who has been visited 11 days in a row. He laughs to himself when he spots Chanyeol, dressed nicely in a black button down, ironed slacks, and a pair of red sneakers that somehow fit his outfit.

The only thing that is glaringly wrong about Chanyeol is that his hair is plastered rather unattractively to his forehead, littered with crushed bits of lemon and an ice cube sitting on the crown of his head. Lemonade drips off Chanyeol’s fringe. Some lands on the bridge of his nose and some slide off the curve of his cheeks, and Chanyeol pouts forlornly.

 “You should clean it up at the bathroom,” Yifan suggests, handing the other man a clean napkin to wipe off what he can. He picks up the used cutlery, while sneaking glances at Chanyeol, noting how much Chanyeol looks like a kicked puppy as he picks at the darkened spot on his shirt, soaked through with lemonade. “I can lend you something to wear for a while if you want.” The sentence escapes before Yifan has the chance to kick himself in the face. It’s too late though, because Chanyeol is looking at him, eyes shining as if Yifan is a saint.

“Really?”  Chanyeol asks, and that is how he ends up wearing Yifan’s spare hoodie through the rest of his dates.

Yifan pretends that he doesn’t see Chanyeol keeps burying his nose into the collar for some odd reason and smiling goofily after.

(“You don’t even know him,” Yifan’s co-worker, Zitao, hisses his voice low as if he is sharing some national top secret. “He could be a serial killer, targeting you as his next victim.”

“Yeah, right,” Yifan deadpans, drying a steak plate with a dish towel, wiping the fabric in circles until the plate is perfectly dry. “He would kill me and sell my organs at the black market. Totally legit, Taozi.”

The younger huffs and folds a napkin into a perfect triangle, using more force than he needs. “I’m just saying, but you’ll never know nowadays.”

Yifan puts the heavy porcelain plate in its respective place before pointing at Chanyeol’s direction. Zitao narrows his eyes. The man seems to be shrinking in his seat as the lady talks about something loudly, garnering glares from approximately half of the diners.

“Serial killer material,” Yifan mocks with a smirk. “Definitely dangerous.”

Chanyeol cowers and nods weakly as the woman gets agitated with whatever she is talking about, smacking her palm on the table with each word. Zitao rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

The taller man smiles and gives Zitao a pat on the head before heading off to ask Chanyeol’s date to lower her voice and that she is disturbing the other patrons. )

Chanyeol finds himself in a rather awkward situation exactly two days after being poured on with a pitcher of lemonade. The date started out fine and relatively normal, the girl talking about some new movie they could watch later and Chanyeol making up an extra solid excuse to reject her, but then out of the blue she starts to baby-talk him and offers to cut his pizza into little pieces for him.

Chanyeol freakes, just like anyone would and excuses himself to the bathroom.

Yifan finds him sitting on the toilet bowl with the cover down, head in his hands as he racks his brain to come up with a plan to ditch her.

“I saw your date put a pacifier on you plate and asked for your pizza to be replaced with the kiddies meal,” Yifan explains, a mop in one hand and a pail of dirty water in another. “Need help?”

Chanyeol nods quickly and lets Yifan lead him to the staff only entrance. They worm their way through the bustling kitchen and the fully stocked pantry before getting outside to the back alley. Chanyeol has never felt more relieved when he sees the pale blue sky over head.

“Do you have paper?” Chanyeol asks, speaking as fast as he could afraid that his date from God-knows-where will notice that he is missing and come looking for him. Yifan, unsure what Chanyeol wants to do, hands him the stack of note paper he uses to jot down orders. Chanyeol scribbles down something quickly and hands it to Yifan.

“Here. Thanks for everything. I’ll be going now,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll come by to get my stuffs say, tomorrow?”

Yifan nods, and Chanyeol waves good bye before leaving. He stands there for a few moments reading the note Chanyeol hastily written.

“Thanks for everything I really mean it. Let me pay you back sometime, someplace without weird people with baby es, or women who pour lemonade over my head, or cats. Here is my number. Please text me when you are free.”

(Yifan happily deals with Chanyeol’s date while making a mental note to send Chanyeol a text—or two, or three.)

“I’ve been waiting for you!” Chanyeol announces right into Yifan’s face when the other man pops out from the employees only exit. Yifan nearly slams the heel of his palm onto Chanyeol’s jaw on instinct but catches himself before he does and settles for an awkward wave. Chanyeol’s smile grows a few million watts brighter.

 “I’ve got the perfect place to go. You’ll love it!” Yifan’s jaw unhinges, his mind going offline. To be frank, it is a of an atmosphere to ask someone out -or ask someone anything really- because this is a back lane, the fading streetlamp flickers off too often and the smell of dumpsters is threatening to poison Yifan’s lungs.

He stares at Chanyeol’s earnest face in disbelief, ‘Are you ing serious?’ almost making its way out of his mouth along with a nicely put together response of  ‘No, thank you for asking, I have other plans for the night.’ However, it is all discarded prematurely, when Chanyeol wraps his fingers around Yifan’s wrist, his smile never wavering and he says, “Let’s go, it’s gonna be fun.”

Usually, when Yifan gets off work in Saturday night, he goes home, checks on the few stocks he invests in, and goes to bed before the clock blips 2230 hours.  However, this particular Saturday, he ends up strolling down the streets of the always bustling Hongdae with Chanyeol’s hand brushing against his every few seconds. Fraternizing with a stranger you barely know, Zitao’s voice rings in his ear. You’re gonna get yourself killed by your crush.

“Fun” in Chanyeol’s context turns out to be visiting the dog café two streets down to enjoy overpriced patbingsu and pet a hoard of man’s best friends at the same time. Yifan lets his guard down once he steps into the café, scratching a Labrador that had came up to sniff curiously at his fingers behind the ears.

Chanyeol pets every single pooch that dares to step up for a sniff, running his hands in a way that makes the bunch of feisty Pomskies turn into puddles of cuteness. He also coos and talk to the litter of puppies that are kept in a cardboard box near the counter, telling them to eat a lot and grow up healthily, as if the puppies are little children. The image is oddly endearing, and Yifan feels his heart swelling with warmth.

“What am I gonna do…” Yifan sighs, raking his hand through the blonde fur of an older Golden Retriever that is curled around his feet, head propped on his lap. Chanyeol chases a coffee coloured poodle around at a further corner in the café and promptly trips over his own feet. “I can’t possibly like a person just out of the blue. Can I? ”

The dog gives a happy bark and Yifan takes it as an affirmation that yes, Yifan can like someone, anyone out of the blue. He groans as he catches himself smiling when he looks in Chanyeol’s direction.

“Yours looks tasty,” Chanyeol comments when their patbingsu are served, pointing at Yifan’s bowl. “Which one did you get?”

“Green tea,” Yifan replies, scooping a huge spoonful of the cold treat after stirring it evenly and shoving it into his mouth. The green tea fragrance blooms on his palate together with the sugary sweetness as the ice melts slowly. He can’t keep his eyes from crinkling into crescents at the taste. He is definitely coming back next time, with Chanyeol or without.

“I want some!” Chanyeol exclaims, looking at the elder man with puppy eyes. Yifan obligingly scoops up another spoonful, ready to dump it into Chanyeol’s bowl, but the man eats it right off Yifan’s spoon instead. Yifan gapes at the sudden action, his heart giving a weird stutter.

Chanyeol’s lips glides smoothly over the metal, not leaving even a single drop of the patbingsu when he is done. “It’s very nice. I should’ve gotten that, too,” he remarks, unaware that Yifan is still staring, although his spoon is now placed on the napkin beside his bowl.

“I’ll go get another spoon.” Yifan excuses himself, nearly stumbling over a German Shepard that is sprawled on the floor. His mind replaying that few seconds over and over again, focused on how plump Chanyeol’s lips had looked when they were wrapped around the spoon, how his eyes flutter shut when as he samples the flavour.

Yifan pats his cheeks, trying and failing to stop thinking about Chanyeol that way. He might not feel the same, Yifan reasons with himself, picking out a spoon from their basket by the counter. He likes girls right?

And that is the question that Yifan clings to the whole time he is with Chanyeol.

By the time the clock ticks 11.30 PM Chanyeol is walking Yifan home, chatting about nonsensical things and making hilarious impersonations of gag artists he knows. Yifan laughs along, gummy smile never really receding even when the cold winter gusts threaten to sweep him off his feet.

“I guess this is it.” Chanyeol fixes Yifan’s scarf, nimble fingers arranging the woollen material while he mutters just loud enough for both of them to hear. “Thank you for your time, Yifan. I really enjoyed myself today.”

For some reason, Yifan’s heart drops at the words. Silly me anticipating something more, he chastises himself in his mind, why would there be anything more?

“Hey, Chanyeol. I have a question.” Live without regrets, that’s Yifan’s motto. “Was that a date?”

At the question Chanyeol’s face lights up, a cheeky grin on his face when he replies, fingers still knitted in the scarf. “It could be if you want it to.”

Yifan gapes, his mind short-circuiting. Chanyeol takes the chance to land a swift peck at the pair of rather dry and chapped lips before back peddling down the empty street with a silly grin on his face. “I’ll text you!” he hollers and turns around, running off.  

Yifan holds his cheeks in his hands. They feel oddly warm despite the chilling weather, just like his heart.

(He also belatedly notices that Chanyeol is wearing the hoodie he had loaned him the other day.)

Yifan wriggles in his seat, uncomfortable under the stare from Chanyeol’s mom. He had been unsuspecting and lets Chanyeol drag him into a private room at the Gangnam restaurant until he notices that there is another person seated in the table. He panics, eyes blown wide when Chanyeol introduces the woman as his mother.

They had only dated for 5 days, not even a week yet. It’s too soon to meet the parents. Yifan clenches the starched cloth napkin  in his clammy fists under the table.

The only sentence Chanyeol’s mom utters is, “So, you are Yifan.” There isn't a trace of malice in her tone, but it isn't warm and pleasant, either.

They eat in silence, enjoying the numerous plates of traditional Korean dishes—Chanyeol occasionally placing bits of banchan in Yifan’s bowl, knees bumping with Yifan’s to keep some kind of contact while Chanyeol’s mom stares from across the table.

“So tell me, Yifan, how do you feel about my  Chanyeol?” the older woman asked, dabbing her lips with the napkin after setting down her spoon and chopsticks. “Is he treating you well?”

Yifan is taken aback by the question; nevertheless, he gives a sincere answer, saying that they haven’t been together for long, but Chanyeol is treating him very well and Yifan appreciates it very much. Most of the time, Chanyeol needs to be looked after, as he is rather clueless, but other than that, Yifan would like to be given the chance to know Chanyeol more as a person.

Chanyeol’s hand finds its way to Yifan’s thigh at one point, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb over the material of Yifan’s jeans. It’s a comforting gesture, and Yifan loses a bit of his nerves.

Chanyeol’s mother’s face is expressionless when he finishes. She sips on her tea slowly, calmly, which made Yifan even more nervous.

“Mom, I really like Yifan,” Chanyeol states, unnerved by the nonchalant way his mother is acting. “I feel happy when I’m with Yifan, unlike when I’m with the girls you introduced me to. I still like girls, but I think I like guys, too, Mom. Would you just please give us a chance?”

The woman looks at her own son with an eyebrow arched. “Why are you both so panicky?” Then she turned to Yifan, a smile wide on her lips, making her look less formidable. “I approve.” 

“What.” Chanyeol blurted out, eyes wide.

Yifan thanks Chanyeol’s mom and insists on paying the bill but is shot down with an “Elders should pay. Are you trying to make me look bad, potential-future-son-in-law?” Yifan shuts up but carefully leads the woman out of the restaurant, making sure that she is in a cab safely before heading back inside to fetch his boyfriend.

 Chanyeol attacks the taller man in a hug as soon as he steps back into the private room, mumbling against his neck, “Well, that went well.”

“Yes, that went well,” Yifan confirms and places a chaste kiss on Chanyeol’s cheek. “She called me her potential-future-son-in-law.”

“Oh my God,” Chanyeol squeaks. “She didn’t.”

“She did.” Yifan laughs and gathers their things, guiding Chanyeol out of the restaurant with their hands firmly linked. “I like how much confidence she has in us,” Yifan states, fixing the scarf—his scarf—around Chanyeol’s neck when they are halfway down the street and heading towards the subway. Chanyeol hides his blushing face in the woollen material.

-THE END-