It’s not every day Kris wakes up to a dozen messages from his manager and his friends, and a hundred more casual mentions from fans and news sources on weibo, all telling him the same thing: 

 

Chanyeol took the offer.

 

It’s been a while since he’s heard that name. 

 

--

 

“Read it again, but in the original Chinese,” Chanyeol says.

 

There’s an audible groan at the other end of the line. “Famous Korean idol, Park Chanyeol, has been cast in the leading male role of the highly anticipated film, All of You—”

 

Chanyeol is beaming even though he doesn’t understand all the words Zitao is reading. “Okay, now skip down to the part where—”

 

“—The role had been previously offered to Park Chanyeol’s ex-bandmate, Wu Yifan, otherwise known as Kris, but in an abrupt casting change, Park Chanyeol was offered the role instead. It is said Park Chanyeol was thought to be more suited for the role, and, as he has yet to challenge the Chinese movie industry before this role, would be a fresh change.“ Zitao stops, switching back to Korean. “Satisfied?”

 

“Very,” Chanyeol chirps.

 

“You’re getting some weird, masochistic glee from all of this, I’m noticing.”

 

“Masochistic? I call this the feeling of winning,” Chanyeol answers.

 

“Since you’re such a winner, hopefully you’ll be able to pay for my international calls on my phone bill with your new, winning lead actor salary,” Zitao says drily. “I swear, Chanyeol, if this is some weird way of you getting back even with Kris or to — I don’t know — meet him again, you’re messed up, you know that? Stay away from him if you know what’s good for you.”

 

“Do you think I need you to tell me that?” Chanyeol frowns. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I can handle him. Besides, I’m not here for him, I’m here for me. And the movie.” 

 

“Yeah, okay,” Zitao says, not sounding very convinced. “Say hello to Kris for me, and also tell him to go to hell.” 

 

“Gladly,” Chanyeol replies. 

 

--

 

One week before, Chanyeol was still in Korea and the war hadn’t started yet.

 

Chanyeol arrives first, picking a table in one partially hidden corner of the cafe. Kyungsoo arrives five minutes later, dressed in all black with a cap tugged low over his face.

 

“I already ordered your usual,” Chanyeol says when he sees Kyungsoo weaving his way between the tables towards him. “How’s Korea’s favorite actor doing?”

 

Only when Kyungsoo is seated across from him can Chanyeol see that under the cap, Kyungsoo’s face is scowling. Chanyeol is delighted. “Don’t call me that,” Kyungsoo says, but gratefully takes the cup of black coffee (no cream, no sugar) Chanyeol’s pushed to his side of the table.

 

“What else am I supposed to call you when you are always off filming somewhere, too busy for our coffee dates?” Chanyeol teases lightly. “I can’t even keep track of which drama you’re filming now.”

 

“It’ll wrap up in two months or so,” Kyungsoo says, sounding a little guilty. Chanyeol watches him give their surroundings a quick glance and then decide it’s okay to take off his cap. The dim ambient lighting of the cafe does nothing but accentuate the dark bags under Kyungsoo’s eyes. “What about you? What’s going on with your album?”

 

Deflecting. A classic Kyungsoo tactic when he doesn’t want to talk about himself; that is to say, all the time. Chanyeol smiles a little to himself, happy to see that some things about his friend never changes despite how infrequently he sees him, even though this time the deflection is not very welcomed. Playing around with his coffee cup (hazelnut latte, extra sugar please), Chanyeol hedges, “Ah, well, you know. It’s coming along.”

 

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow over the rim of his coffee cup. “I think you’ve said that the past three times I’ve asked about it,” he says. “Something you want to talk about?”

 

Chanyeol sighs. No, he doesn’t really want to talk about it. What is there really to talk about, anyway? “The inspiration’s just not there. Yet,” he adds hurriedly.

 

“You’ve always wanted to release your own album, and when management finally gives you one, you’re saying you have no fuel for it? What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong!” But that’s the problem. Nothing’s wrong but nothing’s coming out either. “It’ll come to me. Eventually,” Chanyeol says. Under Kyungsoo’s blunt stare, he’s withering. “Hopefully?” He chews his bottom lip.

 

“Aren’t you afraid management’s going to get impatient and pull the plug on you?”

 

Chanyeol grimaces. Kyungsoo is never one to mince words. “Of course I am,” Chanyeol says. “But luckily I think they’re too busy planning out the subunit to worry about me.”

 

Kyungsoo takes the bait, to Chanyeol’s relief. “Oh, yeah, about that. How’s that going?”

 

Chanyeol and the maknaes are the only ones still actually living in the dorms nowadays, so he sees the trio almost every day, although lately they’ve been spending more time at the company building than at home. Chanyeol often gets woken up at three or four in the morning (usually slumped over his laptop from another unsuccessful night of attempting to write songs) to the sound of Jongin, Sehun, and Zitao noisily unlocking the front door with hushed whispers as they stumble in the dark. Morning sometimes finds Chanyeol heading to the kitchen to make breakfast, only to discover the three youngest EXO members passed out on the living room couch (and floor), too exhausted from a long day of recording and dance practice to be bothered to wash up and climb into bed.

 

So all Chanyeol can really tell Kyungsoo is that the three are preparing hard for their subunit’s debut, but not much else. Sehun made the other two fiercely promise that nobody will tell Chanyeol, or any of the other hyungs, what’s going on with the debut preparations. “I want it to be a surprise. I want you to be proud of us,” Sehun had explained, and Chanyeol stopped his wheedling and whining after he saw the determined glint in Sehun’s eyes.

 

It’s the glint that he’s missing from his own eyes, Chanyeol had realized, although he doesn’t tell Kyungsoo that part of the story. He also doesn’t tell Kyungsoo that he’s, well, kind of jealous. Jealous that Sehun, Jongin, and Zitao have a goal they’re working tirelessly every day towards, while Chanyeol stays stagnant, rooted to the same spot. He’s been feeling more and more like this recently, especially when all the other members have grown more distant, too busy with work to catch up with him.

 

Chanyeol does tell Kyungsoo, however, that the maknaes’ subunit has been scheduled to start promotions by the end of the year, provided Jongin actually ever becomes happy enough with the dance he’s choreographing for their title song.

 

“I’m glad,” Kyungsoo says when Chanyeol finishes. “I was beginning to worry about those three.”

 

“The maknaes? Nah,” Chanyeol says. “They’ve always planned to debut a subunit. It was only a matter of when.”

 

“Still, it’s nice to see them get off the ground running, what with the rest of the members off elsewhere doing their own thing. Including me,” Kyungsoo adds, looking a tiny bit sheepish. “Did you hear about Yixing?”

 

“Yeah, part of the production team now at the company’s Beijing office,” Chanyeol nods.

 

“I’m happy for him, he’s always liked the production side of things,” Kyungsoo says, softly, as if lost in thought. “And Baekhyun is up to his neck in musicals, as usual. Have you heard from him recently?”

 

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No, but I talked to Jongdae just last week. About to finish his college degree. He wants us to come to his graduation ceremony, by the way.”

 

“I should call him up,” Kyungsoo says, more to himself than to Chanyeol. He seems lost in thought. “It’s kinda—” Kyungsoo pauses, playing around with his nearly empty coffee cup. “Ah. Never mind.”

 

“It’s kinda sad how we’ve all drifted apart?” Chanyeol guesses, smiling wryly.

 

Kyungsoo glances at him. “Yeah, that.” Back to his coffee cup. “Do you ever wonder—?”

 

Chanyeol somehow automatically knows what Kyungsoo wants to talk about, and he’s caught off guard. Their coffee dates usually end up like this, going through a run-down of the members and catching each other up what they’ve heard of each member. Filling in the gaps of time and memories, so to speak. Alleviating the guilt of not keeping up with each other by gaining secondhand information. Still, in their run-downs of the members, they’ve always just stopped short of talking about the ex-members.

 

So Chanyeol plays dumb. “Wonder what?”

 

“You know what I mean,” Kyungsoo frowns, showing a brief flit of annoyance. “Sometimes I wonder how they’re doing, too. Kris and Luhan.”

 

“I don’t,” Chanyeol says resolutely. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, but then immediately uncrosses them again when he sees Kyungsoo noticing the body language.

 

“You’re not still angry, are you?”

 

“Me? No!” He scoffs loudly. “I’m over it. What is there to wonder, anyway? They’re no doubt happy, now that they’re free of us.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a funny look he can’t read. “Sometimes I read some stuff about them in the news.”

 

Chanyeol goes for a neutral, “Oh, really.”

 

“The Chinese news, of course. They’ve both just finished wrapping up filming for some movies.”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“Is that all you really have to say?”

 

“I— Stop looking at me like that!” Chanyeol grunts. “I don’t care what they do. Good for them that they’re doing well, I guess, but whatever. I just want to forget the whole thing happened, really.”

 

“It’s been three years, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says softly. 

 

“Yeah, three years of peace and quiet without Kris smashing up the whole place because he trips over everything in the dorm.”

 

“Okay, you don’t want to talk about it, I got it. Maybe in another three years, then.” Kyungsoo drains the last of his coffee. “I just think it’s a shame, you know? To just cut ties like that. Especially Kris, you knew him for— what? Seven years before he left?”

 

“Yeah, before he left. He cut the ties, not me.” He can feel how deep the scowl is on his face; he hates feeling this way, but how else is he supposed to feel about this? He’s not Kyungsoo, who lets little faze him emotionally. But Chanyeol musters a smile and a joke for now. “C’mon, ‘Soo, I thought our coffee dates were chances for me to talk all about myself, not about some guy we knew three years ago.”

 

Kyungsoo snorts, but he’s smiling. “Is that how we’re referring to him nowadays?”

 

Chanyeol smiles a real smile this time, glad to lighten up the mood, doing what he loves doing best. 

 

--

 

When Chanyeol gets the call from his manager, he’s in the middle of playing Super Mario Brothers on the dorm’s Wii. Something about a movie offer. They’re looking for a recognizable name for the lead male role — young, somebody popular with the female crowd. Probably an idol. “That’s where you come in,” his manager is saying on the other end of the phone.

 

Chanyeol’s only half listening. Partly because he’s too busy smashing the hell out of his opponents on the game, and partly because he’s dabbled in movies before, but they weren’t really to his liking. Just last year, he did a movie, just to be able to tell the others that he’d been doing something. But he was born to do music, not to act in movies and dramas. The solo album is hanging in the back of his head, a constant weight on his mind. He’s just waiting for a good break in the conversation for him to tell his manager that the answer is no.

 

“We’ve got some pressure from top management to take the role,” his manager is saying. “It’s a Chinese production, first of all, so great for exposure.”

 

Chanyeol mentally sighs a little. The company hasn’t given up the Chinese Dream, apparently.

 

“And, an old friend of ours was also offered the role.”

 

Despite himself, Chanyeol’s curious. “Old friend?”

 

“You know. Kris.”

 

There’s a loud clatter as Chanyeol’s game controller lands on the floor, GAME OVER flashing on the t.v. screen.

 

--

 

The official version of the story that’s pushed out in a press release (meticulously groomed by the company, of course) is that Chanyeol was looking for a new challenge and would gladly accept the movie offer — which actually isn’t too far from the truth. The coincidental possible casting of an ex-bandmate for the same role was just that, “a pleasant coincidence.” Korean and Chinese media alike snap the story up like piranhas smelling blood, playing up nationalistic lines and talking about the story from all angles. Reporters and journalists talked about the story of Kris and Chanyeol — “former teammates, current rivals” made for catchy headlines — in break rooms and on coffee runs, but nobody anticipated the fun to be had in the coming months.

 

--

 

It’s from weibo a few months later that Kris learns that filming for All of You has started on-site in Beijing. Chanyeol’s fans trend the hashtag #WelcomeBackCanLie and photos of Chanyeol’s arrival at Beijing Capital International Airport flood the social networks; some overzealous fans even send them directly to Kris’ mentions. Kris scrolls through them quickly and then gives up trying to wade out of them, all the while wondering if the city was big enough for both of them to still never meet by chance.

 

Whether they were in different countries separated by a sea or within the same city, Kris knew there was no practical difference. The Chanyeol he knew would never agree to meet him after what he did, and Kris wasn’t so sure that he could face Chanyeol either.

 

--

 

All of You turns out to be a box office hit, with a simultaneous release across mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. This is in no small part thanks to EXO fans, who turn out in droves despite the fact EXO hasn’t been active for a couple of years. The fans, of course, rave about Chanyeol and his new direction in career. The critics were more cautiously optimistic, calling Chanyeol’s acting “stiff and unnatural,” yet still somehow “charming.”

 

Opening weekend, Chanyeol reads all the articles and comments he could find to monitor the reaction. There’s one in particular that he found and loved so much, he printed it out and pinned it to his fridge in his Beijing apartment for prosperity’s sake. It’s a Naver article, with one of the comments highlighted in yellow: Beat Kris at his own game, Chanyeol.

 

--

 

The Wu Yifan baidu bar is chattier than usual in the morning, fans discussing a written account by a person claiming to have seen Kris going to the movies alone late at night, dressed all in black.

 

As for the movie he watched, the fanaccount reads, There is no need to point out the obvious, right?

 

--

 

“Number one at the box office for the third week in a row,” Liu-ge says by way of good morning when Kris opens his apartment door and lets him in. He makes his way to the dining room table and dumps the newest copy of the Beijing Daily on the table in front of Kris. Kris takes one look at it and groans. It’s Chanyeol’s face gracing the front page of the entertainment section.

 

“Ddeokbokki so early in the morning?” Liu-ge asks with a raised eyebrow, after taking in the state of the breakfast on the table Kris had been in the middle of eating when Liu-ge knocked.

 

Kris shrugs. “There’s a street vendor on the next block.”

 

“But ddeokbokki?”

 

“I know what you’re getting at, and, no, I wasn’t craving ddeokbokki because of anybody, I just wanted something fast and spicy, okay,” Kris says, sitting back down at his breakfast and shoving in a few pieces of food in his mouth for good measure. “Anyway, go ahead and say it if you’re going to say it at all.”

 

His manager shakes his head. “I told you so,” he says. “Take the casting offer, Yifan. Take it before somebody else does, that’s what I said. And now it’s come to bite you in the .” Liu-ge jabs the newspaper with a finger. “This could be you, Yifan!”

 

“It’s no big deal. China has always loved Chanyeol,” Kris says, but it sounds more like he’s convincing himself than his manager. “And last I checked, this is not a competition. Let him have this one. There’s plenty to go around.”

 

“Luckily for you, I’m good at my job.” Liu-ge gestures to the thick packet of paper he’s holding in his hands, and then dumps it on top of the newspaper. “I’ve already got you your next one.”

 

Kris picks up the script. “You Are the Sun in My Sky,” Kris reads the title aloud, frowning. “You sure about this?”

 

“Yes,” Liu-ge says. “A summer romance. All of China will lap it up like crazy. And it’s cheesy enough even for you.”

 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part,” Kris says flipping through the script. “And I don’t know about this.”

 

“What, don’t tell me that you’re actually shying away from a little friendly competition. I bet you anything your old company is forcing him to do this anyway, a little way to get back at you.”

 

Kris is not so sure about that; the company could not force Chanyeol into doing something that he hasn’t already put his mind to do. That is the way Chanyeol is, he put heart into everything he did, even if initially it wasn’t something that was his idea or something he even wanted to do in the first place. It was something that Kris had really admired about him. “They’re not getting me,” he finally tells Liu-ge. “I just don’t want this to turn into something bigger.”

 

--

 

Too late, Kris finds out. Promotions for All of You (read: Chanyeol’s face suddenly everywhere, in newspapers and magazines and on t.v., and even on the bucket of KFC Kris picked up for a late night snack) have barely wrapped up before Chanyeol’s already announced that he’s accepted a role in, yes, another mainland movie.

 

“China has treated me so well,” Chanyeol laughs in one interview, “I might as well stay!”

 

Kris doesn’t know what game Chanyeol’s playing at but he wasn’t going to wait and find out. He remembers how brutal Chanyeol could be in their games of Monopoly back at the dorm. Joking aside, Kris has never been as competitive as Chanyeol was (is), but he picks up the phone and tells his manager he’s taking that summer rom com.

 

--

 

Q: With your most recent movie, Shanghai Love Story, you have been in Beijing for about six months now. Fans are so curious about the relationship between you and your ex-bandmate, Wu Yifan. Did you know that he’s been staying in Beijing as well? Have you gotten in touch with him during your stay in China?

 

Canlie: Regrettably, we haven’t. My phone number hasn’t changed, Yifan! [laughs]

 

—Harper’s Bazaar, February 2017 issue

 

--

 

Beijing is not quite like Seoul, but Chanyeol finds comfort in the similarities. He found a little shop that sold various Korean street food and snacks, run by an elderly Korean couple who’d been living in China for the past three decades. Chanyeol likes going there simply because then he could speak his mother language with somebody not on the phone, and because the food reminds him of his trainee days, when street food was the meal of choice after long dance practices. The serviced apartment he stays in, of course, is nothing like the trainee dorms he used to live in years ago — but that part, he’s glad about. Sometimes he takes walks outside and, no, it’s not the Han River, but it’s still nice in the weird way a place becomes a second home but can never be the first. The gaggles of high school girls whispering and giggling by him and the middle-aged ladies with their severely drawn eyebrows and pink lipsticks yelling across the street to greet each other are familiar, though.  

 

He doesn’t have much time to miss home, anyway, since if he’s not at the set filming, then he’s giving interviews and photoshoots. But there was one time, when his mother called, and she asked him, as all mothers do, When are you coming home, son?, and suddenly Chanyeol felt a deep heaviness in his chest as he choked out, I don’t know, but soon. He had to hang up quickly after that, and his mind wandered to the couple times he’s caught Kris hanging up after a phone call from his mom, crying alone.

 

Chanyeol’s not sure what he’s still doing here, to be honest.

 

--

 

Chanyeol, Kris had to admit, was getting better and better with every movie (and the critics agree). Some part of him was filled with admiration and a little pride, but most of him was simply a large jumble of mixed feelings, especially after he read an interview where Chanyeol had said he’d “love to work with Yifan if I had the chance!”

 

Kris knew better than to believe Chanyeol wasn’t just playing the media. Chanyeol almost never called him by his Chinese name unless he was mad at him for something. Kris doubts that part has changed about Chanyeol in the past three years.

 

“Do you want to call up Guo Jingming?” Liu-ge suggests. “Ask him when Tiny Times 5 going to start production? There’s no way Chanyeol can beat you after that move, especially since Tiny Times 4 is your major breakout role.” Liu-ge is sitting in the living room of Kris’ apartment with his laptop open, no doubt browsing the posts on Kris’ baidu bar.

 

“No,” Kris says firmly. It somehow seemed unfair to do that to Chanyeol, to rely on old roles. “Besides, I still have Ice Fantasy with him coming up in the pipeline soon.”

 

Liu-ge looks at Kris contemplatively. “What do you think Chanyeol wants from you?”

 

Kris stares at the skyscrapers of Beijing just outside his apartment windows, the tops of which disappear into the smog. “My head on a silver platter, maybe,” he guesses. He’s only half joking. 

 

“You really did a number on the poor guy when you left, huh,” Liu-he says.

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Kris replies. “I haven’t spoken to him since I left Korea three years ago.”

 

“Not even once?”

 

He shook his head. The closest he’d ever come to dialing Chanyeol’s number was Chanyeol’s birthday the same year he left. He kept dialing the number but chickening out at the last digit, always remembering how Chanyeol hadn’t sent any message on his own birthday earlier in the same month. He took it to mean Chanyeol didn’t want to talk, although that might have been more of an excuse for his fear of not knowing what to say to Chanyeol if he picked up on the other side of the line.

 

“You did what you had to do,” Liu-ge says. “And you’re much happier for it now. Right?”

 

“Right,” Kris says.

 

--

 

After Ice Fantasy‘s predictable blockbuster hit, Chanyeol matches Kris a couple of months later with a period mystery (“Since when did Chanyeol do Tang Dynasty!” Kris grumbles as critics start raving about Chanyeol’s versatility, affectionately calling him Canlie, his Korean name falling more and more to the wayside).

 

Liu-ge starts having to censor interview questions for mentions of Chanyeol but, still, a few unavoidable ones slip through. Are you happy for Canlie’s success? Kris is asked once. Of course, he’d answered. I’m proud of him.

 

--

 

He doesn’t tell anybody (although everybody knows, anyway), but he watches all of Chanyeol’s movies in their opening weekend. In Amor Fati, Chanyeol plays a drug addict struggling to break his habits in an effort to keep the love of his life. It’s not a feel-good story at all, and Kris finds it hard to believe that the usually loud and happy Chanyeol had turned into this dark, twisted character who can’t find light in his life.

 

Kris chalks it up to good acting, and hopes that Chanyeol himself is still the same, even if his character changes.

 

--

 

News hits that Kris will be starring opposite of megastar Daniel Wu in a new romance, Happy Ending, just as Chanyeol’s Amor Fati breaks the sought-after hundred million mark in box office sales.

 

YOUR MOVE, an article on Sina reads that week, under a picture of Kris. Chanyeol spends the next week gloating about it to anybody who would listen (namely, Kyungsoo and Zitao, who threatens to block his phone number if he wouldn’t shut up soon.)

 

--

 

The woman sitting across from him is looking at him square in the eye, and Kris has been in enough interviews to know this is his cue to mentally brace for impact: a hard question is coming.

 

“It’s big news recently that Daniel Wu has dropped out of Happy Ending,” the interviewer says, her smile disarmingly sweet. “Are you concerned about that?”

 

“It’s regrettable. I was looking forward to working with such a respected senior as Daniel Wu, but I trust that Director He will be able to find another co-star.” Kris tries to smile.

 

“There have been rumors that Pu Canlie is being offered the role now, would you be able to confirm? We would love to know!”

 

Kris’ half smile freezes in place. Pu Canlie? Canlie, as in…? There isn’t any other Pu Canlie he’s heard of, but surely she meant someone else, it couldn’t be—

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You’ve heard of the rumors, of course? Your ex-bandmate, Pu Canlie?”

 

The confirmation feels like a weight dropping in his stomach. “Ahhh,” Kris laughs, hopes it isn’t too shaky.

 

“So can you confirm it? Our source is very reliable.”

 

His mind is scrambling for an answer. “Rumors are rumors. The male lead opposite of me is supposed to be an older male, and Chanyeol is younger than me. I’m sorry to disappoint!”

 

“I wouldn’t say that too fast, Wu Yifan,” the interviewer says. “You do know what they say about rumors, right? That there is always a grain of truth to every rumor?”

 

Kris dips his head in acknowledgement. “Perhaps not this one.” 

 

--

 

“Just got off the phone with Director He,” Liu-ge says, holding up his hands to stop Kris from bombarding him with questions as he enters his backstage room, before Kris can even open his mouth. He’d tried really hard not to practically run off stage after the interview. Chanyeol? Working with him on Happy Ending? He had a better chance of getting back into SM.

 

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Kris says. “There’s just no way Chanyeol would actually agree to work on a movie with me.”

 

Liu-ge gives him a look of pity. “Yes, they really offered the role to Chanyeol, and, yes, they’re willing to change the script to fit Chanyeol in if he’s on board.”

 

Kris’ throat is tight. “And he said yes?”

 

His manager shrugs. “No response yet.”

 

Kris sits down on the make-up chair, leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees and gives his face a good rub. “It doesn’t make sense,” is all Kris says.

 

“Maybe this is what they call karma,” Liu-ge offers unhelpfully.

 

“Or 勸善懲惡.”

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. You know what, this is going to be fine,” Kris says, suddenly straightening. “We have nothing to worry about because this is never going to happen.”

 

“And how are you so sure about that?”

 

“SM would never let Chanyeol take the role. Let him appear on the same screen with me, the traitor?” Kris leans back in his chair, trying to sell the picture of cool, calm, and collected. Liu-ge raises his eyebrow. “Not a chance.”

 

--

 

“ing ,” Kris breathes when he reads the trending news on weibo the next morning.

 

--

 

“I don’t hold grudges,” Chanyeol says.

 

“...Right.” Even if Chanyeol can’t see Kyungsoo’s deadpan expression on the phone, he can imagine it perfectly right now.

 

“I don’t,” Chanyeol insists. “I’m going to walk into that script reading tomorrow and I’ll be like, ‘Why hello, Kris. Didn’t know you were coming.’ And that will be it.”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t have as optimistic of a view as you do,” Kyungsoo says.

 

“You always did have a rather dour outlook on life,” Chanyeol says.

 

“Can I just ask?” Kyungsoo says, ignoring Chanyeol’s joke. “What are you doing, Chanyeol?”

 

Good question. “Having fun?” Chanyeol tries. “I like it here?”

 

“Lame answers.”

 

“Thanks for the feedback,” Chanyeol says drily.

 

“I’m asking seriously, Chanyeol.”

 

“I took that first movie because I was looking for a distraction. The fact that he’s in China as well doesn’t mean anything for me. I’m not going to be scared away from here because he’s here, and I’m not staying here because he’s here too.”

 

“Chanyeol. Who are you fooling? If you’re looking for some closure, I’m not sure if this is the best way to get it. I just don’t want you to get hurt again. That’s all.”

 

Chanyeol smiles a litle to himself, suddenly appreciating Kyungsoo’s friendship that much more. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

 

--

 

“Still as charming as ever,” Chanyeol says, peeking over Kris’ shoulder to the scribbled drawings Kris had doodled on his script, waiting for the first script reading to start. He takes a lot of joy seeing how much Kris jumps in his seat.

 

Kris quickly schools his expression. “Your sarcasm isn’t missed on me,” he says, flipping the script over to hide the doodles.

 

“Or maybe my memory isn’t that great,” Chanyeol quips, taking the seat next to him at the large table in the conference room. Other actors and crew members are milling in and out; but, for now, it’s really just the two of them, uninterrupted.

 

Close up, Kris looks good. No bags under his eyes and his cheeks look like as full as they used to look when they were trainees (was that really ten years ago?). His hair is kept short and naturally black, and for a moment, Chanyeol misses the blonde Kris used to sport when he was in EXO.

 

“So here we are,” Kris starts.

 

“Were you surprised when I took the role?” Chanyeol says, not sure what he wants out of making Kris answer the question.

 

Kris dips his head. “You could say that. Listen,” he says, “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me in the media, but... as long as we’re coworkers, let’s keep things professional.”

 

“Sure thing, Yifan,” Chanyeol says. “Easy.”

 

Kris gives him a funny look, but before he can say anything, the director’s entered the room and calling for the script reading to begin.

 

--

 

“I wish he had asked how I was doing.”

 

“You’re actually angry that he didn’t ask you that?”

 

“Yes,” Chanyeol says into the phone. “No? I don’t know. Just… It would be so much easier to hate him if he’d been stupid enough to ask me how I’ve been doing ever since he left.”

 

--

 

Chanyeol used to have a crush on Kris. Used to, being the operative phrase here. He’d always assume that the crush would eventually die out — and it did, just not the way he thought it would — but even when Kris revealed himself to be an even bigger dork than Chanyeol had guessed him to be, somehow the little crush he harbored just grew.

 

“Do you think you live in a romance novel,” Chanyeol had blurted out one day without thinking. Kris had kinda just stared at him and then suddenly laughed his really dumb laugh, the one where all his gums show. Chanyeol’s face had burned red afterwards, and he hid it by making fun of the chicken scrawl Kris had been scribbling on a piece of paper, the beginnings of some lyrics Kris had thought Chanyeol could teach him to rap (“Or maybe you could. I’d give them to you,” Kris had said). The lyrics were so cheesy that Chanyeol thought he was going to puke, but he also kinda maybe perhaps fell for Kris right then and there.

 

Sometimes, Chanyeol would catch Kris looking at him in a weird way, or Kris’ fingers lingering on his arm, his shoulders, or his hand — and he thought maybe Kris had a little crush on him too. Of course, that theory went to pieces when Kris didn’t even bother saying goodbye.

 

--

 

With Kris, it’s easy to fall into routine. Even if Chanyeol didn’t want to, suddenly old habits resurfaced between the two of them and it was reminiscent of old times again. It was the little things, like Chanyeol finding himself leaning into Kris whenever he stood next to him, or Kris resting an arm on his shoulder, a familiar weight. Or knowing that Kris loved green tea frappuccino over any other coffee when he volunteered to go on coffee runs for the crew. Or the way Kris always covered his mouth when he laughed, and Chanyeol had to fight himself to not automatically drag that hand down. Or even the fact that they both slip back into using Korean to talk, even though Chanyeol’s Chinese has progressed to conversational level from living in China. 

 

It always ended when filming ended, though. Sometimes Kris and Chanyeol would walk to their cars in the parking lot together but after they slammed the car doors shut, it seemed like everything that happened during the day unravelled.

 

--

 

Three weeks into filming, Chanyeol shows up on set a full hour late with a box of tissues tucked under one arm and his script tucked under the other.

 

“Sorry I’m la—” he manages before he lets out a huge sneeze. The crew surreptitiously takes one step back.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Kris asks him, approaching yet careful that he’s still out of sneezing range.

 

Chanyeol sniffles and throws him a look. “I’m fine,” he answers, and he punctuates his statement with yet another sneeze. “I just have a little cold, that’s all. What scene are we filming today? Should I get makeup done?”

 

Kris’ hand is suddenly pressing against his forehead, the touch searing fire onto his skin. “You’re running a fever!” Kris says.

 

Too close. Much too close. Chanyeol takes a step back. “I’m fine. Where’s Director He? Didn’t he say we were doing scene seventeen today or—”

 

“This is not going to work,” Kris says, grabbing him by the upper arm. “I’m taking you home.”

 

“What? No!” Chanyeol struggles in Kris’ grip. “Let go of me, we need to film—”

 

“We’re not filming anything when you look like Rudolph with that runny nose of yours,” Kris says. He turns away from Chanyeol for a bit, talking to the crew in rapid Mandarin, but never letting go of Chanyeol’s arm. “The crew can film scenes we’re not in and wrap up early, they need a break anyway. I’ll drive you home.”

 

“You just want me to admit I can’t do something,” Chanyeol huffs, still resisting as Kris all but drags him out of the set and into the parking lot.

 

This draws a groan from Kris, though he doesn’t stop pulling him on. “Yes, that’s exactly why I’m doing this, and not at all because I don’t want you to get the entire crew sick,” Kris drawls. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

The ride back to Chanyeol’s apartment is a quiet one, only interrupted by Chanyeol’s sneezes and sniffles that sound extra loud in the silence. Chanyeol kind of wants to insist to be the one who drives, just to show off that driver’s license that he got after Kris had left Korea — but even he has to admit that he’s in no shape to drive, so he just sulks in the passenger seat as Kris navigates the lawless Beijing traffic, telling Kris which streets to turn on to get to the apartment.

 

When they reach the apartment complex, Kris immediately herds Chanyeol to his bedroom, ordering him to get into bed. Chanyeol’s about to die of mortification when Kris, instead of leaving him in his bedroom as Chanyeol had expected, stays until Chanyeol has climbed into bed and then actually tucks the blankets in around him, taking extra care to make sure that Chanyeol’s shoulders are covered.

 

To his horror, a warmth spreads over Chanyeol’s chest that has nothing to do with his fever.

 

--

 

Chanyeol wakes up to the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen. His head feels heavy, like his mind is in a thick fog, but he manages to drag himself out of bed, wrapping his blankets around him so he’s like a walking cocoon.

 

“You’re being so domestic, you’re going to make me sick,” Chanyeol says when he sees Kris standing at the kitchen stove with his back to him.

 

Kris doesn’t even turn around to look at him. “You’re already sick,” he points out.

 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes as much as he can, considering how horribly congested he feels, but he humors Kris anyway. “You’re going to make me sicker,” he says, sitting down at the dining table.

 

“Well, lucky for you, your hyung has made you some magical Chinese soup to make you feel better,” Kris says, bringing Chanyeol a small bowl.

 

Chanyeol steadfastly ignores how his stomach flips at the sound of your hyung (Chanyeol’s hyung. It’s been a while, but Kris has always loved referring to himself like that) and peers down at the dubiously dark liquid. “And what’s in this magical Chinese soup of yours?”

 

“You probably rather not know,” Kris says, filling up another bowl for himself. “So I don’t get sick from being around you,” Kris explains when he catches Chanyeol staring at him.

 

Chanyeol scoffs. “I hope you get sick,” Chanyeol says, even though he knows saying that just makes him sound like a child. “I hope you get sick, and then I hope you miss work, because you made me miss work.”

 

“You couldn’t work if you could barely stand,” Kris points out.

 

“I was fine.” Chanyeol is almost snapping.

 

Kris doesn’t continue arguing with him. Instead, he looks pointedly at Chanyeol’s still-full soup bowl. “Drink.”

 

Chanyeol struggles with himself for a moment, not wanting to obey to being told what to do but also feeling guilty for not appreciating something somebody else made specifically for him. Finally, he gingerly picks up the bowl and takes a sip of the steaming soup. He makes a face at the bitter taste.

 

“It’s good for you,” Kris says, clinking his bowl of soup gently with Chanyeol’s bowl. “Bottoms up,” he says.

 

Chanyeol eyes him over the rim of his bowl as he chugs the liquid contents, watches as Kris’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he finishes the soup in one go. He grimaces at the taste, finishing off the bowl with a of his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d bet money that you were trying to poison me with this so-called soup of yours,” he says.

 

Kris sets down his bowl, leaning on his elbows on the table. “Who’s to say I’m not?”

 

“You wouldn’t be able to poison this cute face,” Chanyeol says.

 

“Twenty five years old and still calling yourself cute, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

 

Chanyeol points a finger at him. “But you didn’t deny it!”

 

Kris laughs softly, and Chanyeol can’t help but feel both pleased and horribly wrong about this all at once. The banter, the jokes...

 

It feels like old times.

 

To Chanyeol’s relief, Kris breaks the small awkward pause by walking away to the bedroom. It sounds like he’s rummaging around for something. “Time to check your temperature,” Kris says, emerging from the bedroom with a thermometer in his hand.

 

Chanyeol immediately puts down his bowl and holds up his hands defensively. “No,” Chanyeol quickly says, “I can check my own temperature myself. I don’t need you to do that for me.”

 

Kris looks amused. “Who said I was going to do it for you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, slowly putting down his hands. “I was afraid for a minute there you were really serious about the domestic stuff.”

 

After Chanyeol checks his own temperature (99 degrees, a little high, but it seems like the worst of the fever had passed) dutifully finishes the soup, Kris tries to make Chanyeol go back to bed but Chanyeol refuses, compromising instead for lying down on the living room sofa to watch some TV. Kris sits on the arm chair next to him, not saying a word as Chanyeol flips through the channels. He settles on a Chinese drama; sometimes, Chanyeol would experiment repeating some of the words being said in the drama, to test out his Chinese.

 

“I can probably go to work tomorrow now that I don’t have chills anymore,” Chanyeol says happily during one of the commercial breaks. He lifts his head slightly off his pillow to look at Kris. “You’re not going to stop me, are you?”

 

“That depends on whether or not your fever goes completely down tomorrow morning,” Kris says.

 

“I’m going.” Chanyeol sounds petulant.

 

“Why are you so eager to always work?” Kris asks suddenly.

 

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “I just like working, is that so bad? Or wrong?”

 

“No,” Kris says quickly. “It’s just— You don’t need to prove anything to anybody, you know. Not to me, at least. If that’s what you’re doing.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself like that, Kris,” Chanyeol says.

 

--

 

Chanyeol wakes up in the middle of the night in a sweat, his body feeling like it’s burning up.

 

“Kris—” His throat is so dry, it comes out like a croak.

 

He blinks, and Kris is there, hovering over him with a wet towel on his hand, which he places on Chanyeol’s forehead. It’s cooling. “Shhhhhh,” Kris says, using another towel to wipe down Chanyeol’s neck, “I’m right here.”

 

Even in his fever-induced delirium, Chanyeol wonders, were you always there?

 

--

 

On the second day, Chanyeol tries to make Kris go back to filming but Kris isn’t hearing any of it, talking loudly over Chanyeol’s voice (quite a feat in itself) on the phone with the director.

 

“You’re such a bad habit,” Chanyeol tells him, as Kris tucks him into bed (literally, tucks him into bed, just like the first day. Chanyeol wants to make fun of how meticulous Kris is, making sure Chanyeol is covered from the shoulders all the way down to his toes, carefully making sure that no air could get under the blanket. He wants to so badly, but he takes one look at Kris’ face, looking so full of concentration and— and something else, that Chanyeol keeps his mouth shut).

 

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,” Chanyeol continues when Kris doesn’t respond. “It changes nothing. Absolutely nothing. You’re still a bastard.”

 

“I’m still a bastard,” Kris agrees, settling on the bed next to him – on top of the covers, not under. “Now go to sleep.”

 

“You know who you’re like? You’re like Ddori.”

 

“Ddori? You mean Ddori, as in your pet ferret from elementary school?”

 

“How many Ddoris do you know?” Chanyeol says, scowling.

 

“You’re not making sense, Chanyeol.” Kris sits on the side of the bed next to Chanyeol and begins carding his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair. Chanyeol wants to shrink away but his body betrays him, leaning in instead. It feels so nice, and it calms him.

 

It feels like when the two of them used to sit on a plane together and Kris did this exact same thing, carding Chanyeol’s hair with his fingers, soothing Chanyeol to sleep the whole way through the uncomfortable trip. This was back when Chanyeol was still unused to long plane rides to places halfway across the world. That is, back when they were bandmates.

 

(Kris, on the other hand, was used to those long transcontinental flights, the resident expert frequent flyer in the group of twelve boys. Chanyeol got a hang of it eventually — he had to, for his job — but he doesn’t think he ever really understood this side of Kris, the side of Kris used to dropping everything and flying far away from home, the side of Kris used to being able to adapt to wherever he landed. The side of Kris that never called one place home for too long. Chanyeol, born and bred in Seoul, always had a home to come back to.)

 

“You know what happened to Ddori, right,” Chanyeol says after they let a few minutes of silence pass by. Kris’ hand goes through his hair more and more slowly, and Chanyeol tries to fight the sleep overtaking him.

 

“You told me before,” Kris says, so quiet. “He ran away.”

 

“I blew all my weekly allowance on Ddori’s food and toys and he still ran away,” Chanyeol laughs but it’s a hollow sound. “He never came home, you know.”

 

“I know,” is all Kris says, and finally Chanyeol lets sleep take over him to stop the burning in his eyes and nose.

 

--

 

Chanyeol doesn’t know when the point of epiphany when he realizes he still loves Kris happens, but he blames it on the fever at first. Except the pangs in his chest don’t go away even after the fever and chills are long gone. It’s not a physical sickness he could heal from rest and medicine and home cooked Chinese soup, but Chanyeol keeps hoping it’d be. He thinks that maybe he could just take Kris out on a meal, as a way of saying thanks for taking care of him while he was so sick, and be done with all the weird, confusing feelings fluttering in his stomach, but, no, all that accomplishes is that he goes home with Kris and stays up all night catching up. He goes to work the next day practically breathing in coffee, hating himself in more ways than one. 

 

He promises himself that this was only a one time thing, but it keeps happening, this hanging-out-together thing, this eating-meals-together thing. This thing they have.

 

Later when he looks back, Chanyeol would definitely blame the Chinese soup.

 

--

 

Their first kiss happens when they’re at the end-of-filming wrap-up party, and they’re at karaoke with the staff and cast. Kris gives a rather spectacular rendition of SNSD’s “Gee,” complete with dancing, and pulls Chanyeol on stage with him, even though he’s dragging his feet — he rather stand on the sidelines and let Kris embarrass himself. But despite himself, Chanyeol finds himself dancing along too, until he accidentally kicks Kris in the shin and Kris has to hop off the “stage” in pain.

 

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol gasps in between bouts of laughter, “You’re going to have an amazing bruise tomorrow, I’m sorry—”

 

Other staff members have taken over the stage now, nobody’s paying attention to them where they’ve retreated to the sofa in the karaoke room. “It’s okay,” Kris laughs, still grasping onto his shin, “It’s okay because you gave it to me.”

 

“One of these days I’m really going to barf over how cheesy you are,” Chanyeol says. “Are you even real?”

 

“How’s this for real?” Kris says, leaning in.

 

Funnily enough, Chanyeol doesn’t taste alcohol on his tongue.

 

--

 

Promotions for Happy Ending begin in the spring, and that meant Kris and Chanyeol spending even more time together than they did during filming, if that were possible. Instead of stolen moments together in the makeup and clothing trailers, it’s sitting together on television sets, arms touching and shoulders brushing. It’s being proud of making Kris laugh at his really stupid jokes (Chanyeol hopes they catch the way Kris is cracking up on camera, at just the right angle), it’s magazine staff murmuring to each other, did you see the way they look at each other?

 

“How long are we going to do this?” Chanyeol asks Kris under the top-bright studio lights of a magazine photoshoot. They’re in the center of the whole set, waiting for the photographer to set up his camera, but the way Kris talks to him, it could just be the two of them.

 

“Do what?”

 

“You and me.”

 

Kris looks at him. He’s so close Chanyeol could just lean forward a little and kiss him, capture those lips (again), as Kris says, “For as long as you want, Chanyeol.”

 

“Perfect,” the photographer calls in front of them, just as he clicks the shutter of his camera.

 

--

 

Happy Ending is about two best friends who grow up together and swear to always stay loyal to each other, until they learn to love the same girl. Suddenly, it’s about choosing which love prevails. The production company makes sure to play up the relationship between Kris and Chanyeol, in real life, to bring that of the two best friends to life – and the press didn’t need to be told twice to take the story and run with it. Kris and Chanyeol were no longer just former friends turned rivals in reality but also on the silver screen as well. But once the movie is actually released, they’re called the dream team. Wu Yifan and Pu Canlie play off each other so well, one critic writes, you have to wonder whether all the rumors about them are true.

 

Yifan and Canlie, they’re called now. Always, Yifan and Canlie.

 

--

 

Falling in love with Kris becomes a game, a game of how far Chanyeol can push the limits before Kris breaks the illusion. Of how far Chanyeol can let himself fall until he can’t stand up again.  

 

Sometimes Chanyeol can see the old Kris that he knew years ago. Like at karaoke, when Kris is so willingly embarrassing himself in front of people to get a few laughs. Or when Kris taps him quickly under the chin, faster than he can react, even though Kris knew that Chanyeol hates it when he does that, because he knows Kris does it when he thinks he’s being cute. And in those moments, it is so easy — so easy — to believe that the Kris he has always known is the real Kris. That’s how dangerous this game is.

 

Their hands slip into each other, fingers interlocking like puzzle pieces — but Chanyeol still not so far gone to be able to wonder if the puzzle pieces even belong to the same puzzle, no matter how seemingly perfect the fit.

 

--

 

It’s one of their last interviews specifically scheduled for Happy Ending. Chanyeol, Kris, and the other co-stars are sitting on the set together, and Kris’ hand rests on Chanyeol’s thigh, a familiar weight.

 

“Yifan,” the interviewer is asking, “how was it like being reunited with Canlie again?”

 

Kris turns to look at him, and Chanyeol has the urge to poke him in his cheery cheeks, the way they’re making Kris’ eyes into crescents from smiling. “It’s been really good,” he says, still looking at Chanyeol, “I’ve really missed the times we were together, and it’s been nice catching up with each other.”

 

“If you guys had another opportunity to work together, would you, Canlie?”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve enjoyed working with Kris on Happy Ending as well, and he’s taken good care of me.”

 

“I think you can really see the chemistry between you on the screen; some would even say too much chemistry, you can almost forget that you two are supposed to be fighting over a girl,” the interviewer laughs. “But I guess that’s just a testament to how well you guys know each other, your mannerisms around each other are so natural.”

 

Kris nods. “I guess you could say it’s easier acting around somebody you know, because you know their little habits, but at the same time, I think it would also be true to say it’s harder to act in this situation. You are more likely to become yourself, and less the character, when you’re around somebody who knows you well.”

 

“So you guys do know each other very well?”

 

Kris looks at Chanyeol. “What do you say?”

 

He doesn’t know, honestly. Even now, after months of being together again, he can’t tell… But for the sake of the interview: “Yeah, definitely. I know Kris better than he knows himself,” Chanyeol laughs. Sometimes it’s easier to believe that too.

 

“It seems like you two are such good friends, it’s a shame you guys haven’t reconnected for years until now,” the interviewer continues. “What do you think, Yifan? After being with Canlie again, do you regret leaving Korea?”

 

Chanyeol freezes. It seems like an eternity before Kris gives his answer:

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

It’s like Chanyeol has been wrenched out of a trance. The interview, the set, the cameramen and staff watching in the background — they all fade away. It’s just Chanyeol staring at Kris’ side profile. Suddenly Kris’ hand on Chanyeol’s thigh feels like it weighs a hundred times than it should.

 

Of course he doesn’t regret anything. Of course. He doesn’t regret leaving the way he did. He doesn’t regret because he’s always treated Chanyeol professionally — isn’t that what Kris said to him, that day when he saw him face-to-face for the first time in years? Let’s keep things professional?

 

“—Canlie? Canlie, can you hear us?”

 

Chanyeol puts on his best smile for the camera, the one he became famous for. “Yes! I can hear you perfectly clearly.”

 

--

 

“You want to come in?” Kris says, at the doorway to his apartment.

 

“Nah, I’m too tired,” Chanyeol replies.

 

“You sure? You don’t seem alright,” Kris frowns. “Are you mad at me?”

 

Chanyeol wants to reach out and smooth the wrinkles of Kris’ brow, despite everything. He mentally sighs. It’s going to take a while to heal, isn’t it. “No,” Chanyeol says. “You were telling the truth.”

 

“Okay,” Kris says quietly, and Chanyeol’s chest squeezes at the sight of Kris looking dejected, unsure of himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Chanyeol smiles, and gives Kris one (last) kiss.

 

--

 

You have one voicemail. Friday, July 7th 3:20AM.

 

Kris, I’m at the airport right now. Catching a flight to Seoul. Since we’re done with the movie, I thought I’d go home now. Thanks for the past year. It’s been fun, but it’s game over now. Wish you all the best. And… Goodbye.

 

--

 

When Chanyeol is able to say, Mom, I’m coming home, it’s not as sad as he anticipated.

 

--

 

Falling in love with Chanyeol again is like a habit that he hadn’t even realized he had and lost in the first place. Kris finds himself asking more and more often: What is happiness, anyway?

 

Sometimes it’s easier to describe what something is not, rather than to define what something is. This, Kris knows. Happiness is not: having no control over your own life, working long grueling hours without the passion for your work to power you through, missing loved ones.

 

He wasn’t happy at SM. By definition, having removed the things happiness is not from his life, Kris should be happier. And he is.

 

Except pockets of happiness can exist in unhappiness too. Like Chanyeol offering his shoulder for him to rest his head in the breaks during long hours at practice. Like Chanyeol’s loud voice filling all the empty cold spaces in a dorm in a foreign city. Like Chanyeol teaching him to rap to his favorite songs.

 

Like Chanyeol.

 

Kris can’t say he’s completely surprised when he listens to the voicemail. Being with Chanyeol felt like borrowed time, time they should have spent together already over the past several years, working towards an inevitable conclusion.

 

--

 

The lights suddenly turn on, causing Chanyeol to blink furiously from being temporarily blinded.

 

“When are you going to get over it,” Chanyeol hears somebody say from behind him.

 

A few more blinks and Chanyeol can sort of see the outline of Zitao standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

 

“, Zitao,” Chanyeol says, pulling off his headphones. He’d been zoned in on composing music, so close to finishing this song on a of genius — why did Zitao had to barge in now of all times? “Don’t we knock in this dorm anymore? You scared the daylight out of me.”

 

“Not really, as I’m guessing you haven’t seen daylight all too recently,” Zitao says. “You’ve been moping in here. Locked away in your room on your computer from morning to night non-stop ever since you came back,” Zitao says. “I repeat, when are you going to get over it?”

 

“Mind your own business,” Chanyeol snarls. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

 

“Doesn’t look it.” Zitao pointedly stares at Chanyeol’s unmade bed, his disheveled hair. “I told you, didn’t I? That it was a bad idea to go to China and prove something to him?”

 

So it didn’t exactly turn out the way Chanyeol had envisioned it. So he found out that the easy ending isn’t the easiest after all – isn’t the happiest, after all. So what. He didn’t need Zitao to tell him that. He’s learned it the hard way himself, that love isn’t a game. “I didn’t do it for him,” he snaps. “I did it for myself.”

 

“Prove to yourself what? That you still have feelings for him? That you went to China thinking that he would realize what he’d been missing out on and fall in love with you?”

 

“You know what, you,” Chanyeol says. “. You.”

 

“What?” He’s openly challenging Chanyeol now. “Isn’t what I said true?”

 

“I’m so sick,” Chanyeol says, “of everybody telling me that what I did was wrong. It wasn’t. I just wanted to find my own ending. And I did. I told him goodbye, and I’m done with him for good. That’s exactly what I wanted to do. I didn’t go to China and let him best me. You’re telling me that I lost, but, , no, I didn’t!”

 

“How have you won if you still love him?” Zitao asks. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Writing sad love songs for days on end? Is that what you’re going to do for the rest of—”

 

“Yeah, I’m still in love with him.” Chanyeol interrupts. He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his face. He’s so tired. Months of filming and playing running and chasing seems to be finally catching up to him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t heal. And now I can, after I’ve said goodbye to him. On my terms, this time.” Chanyeol looks at Zitao squarely in the eye. “You of all people should understand this.”

 

Zitao shakes his head. “No, I don’t, because I don’t think anybody ever loved him like you do.” He turns away. “Tell us when you’re done with your album, hyung, and we’ll listen.”

 

--

 

But, still, people have the right to pursue happiness, even if they probably won’t get it, right?

 

Some things, you can’t let go twice, Kris decides.

 

--

 

Chanyeol tries to ignore the knocks at first. He’s so damn close to putting the finishing touches on his song that he can’t afford a break in concentration right now, but the knocks grow more and more insistent and relentless, Chanyeol is forced to get up and wrench the door open, ready to yell at Sehun or Zitao or whoever’s on the other side of the door. “It’s three in the morning, what the actual ever living fu—”

 

“Hi,” Kris says.

 

“—uck.”

 

Chanyeol’s at a loss for words.

 

“You guys haven’t changed the pass code on the dorm lock in how many years? It still works, the one I last remember,” Kris says. “The date of our debut.”

 

“I didn’t want to change it. That date still means something to me.” He can’t help but add: “Even if it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Kris says softly.

 

“What the hell are you doing here, Kris.” After getting over his initial shock, Chanyeol now felt the anger bubbling up inside of him and threatening to spill over. He’s said his goodbyes. When he left Beijing, that was supposed to be the end of it. Chanyeol chose this ending himself, what the actual does Kris think he’s doing, coming back and knocking on his door like some sort of ed up epilogue that Chanyeol didn’t know about? That Chanyeol didn’t write?

 

“I just—” Kris takes a deep breath. “I think we need to talk.”

 

“Talk?” Chanyeol spits out the word like it’s dirty. “We’ve had months to talk. Years, even, if you count when you were still here. We’ve got nothing to talk about now.”

 

“We talk, but we never talk about us,” Kris counters.

 

“Us?” Chanyeol says incredulously. He feels almost delirious from the want to laugh. Maybe the sleepless nights of song writing were getting to him. “What us, Kris? There is no us. There is me, and there is you, but there is no us.”

 

“So you’re going to pretend we have nothing going on between us? At all?”

 

“Let me clarify. There is no us anymore. You and I, we’re over,” Chanyeol says. “It’s okay, Kris. All the cameras are off. There are no reporters or interviewers here. You can stop the act now.”

 

“What act? What the hell are you talking about, Chanyeol?” Kris looks genuinely confused, and for a minute there, Chanyeol’s will falters. But Kris is an actor, this is what actors do. And, hell, Chanyeol can act too, act like he isn’t hurting right now.

 

“I know you were just acting to promote the movie. Who doesn’t love a little bromance on and off screen between the lead actors, right? I know you. I know you wouldn’t act like that towards me if the cameras weren’t rolling, if there wasn’t something you wanted out of it.”

 

“Can you just let me—”

 

“No, you listen to me. What, were you angry that I left you this time around? That I chose the way we said goodbye? You just wanted to disappear the day promotions were over, just like you did three years ago, right? You’re angry, right? Well, guess what, I am too—”

 

Kris suddenly grabs him by the shoulders. “I just,” Kris breathes heavily, staring at Chanyeol directly in the eyes, “really, really need to tell you something.” 

 

Chanyeol is taken aback by how... earnest Kris sounds. “You could have just used the phone.”

 

“Chanyeol,” Kris says. “I’m being serious right now.”

 

“Well, then get on with it.” He really shouldn’t even give Kris the chance to speak. He never spoke to Chanyeol about the important things (like planning to leave), so why should he give Kris the opportunity now? But it’s not his head doing all the thinking right now, it’s his heart.

 

“I know it may be too late,” Kris begins, “but I can’t let us end without having said I love you.”

 

Channyeol is stunned into silence. “What?”

 

“I wasn’t happy back then, it’s true. I can’t lie about that.” Another big breath. “But I was happy with you.”

 

“You— You better not be playing with me right now, Wu Yifan, I swear to ing god, otherwise I’m going to chase you to the ends of the earth and beat you up until you can’t even recognize yourself in the mirror—”

 

“I don’t know if you feel the same way. I don’t know if you have ever felt the same way. But I’m stupid. I should’ve just told you before I left. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call you, say I miss you, ask you if you want to play Mario Kart with me — and then realize I can’t, because I made you mad, so mad that you won’t ever talk to me ever again — and I can’t even blame you! I don’t know whether I would even talk to myself ever again — I just wish—”

 

“Stop,” Chanyeol says. “Just stop.”

 

This was information overload. What? Kris had feelings for him? Kris has feelings for him? All this time he was fighting to kill the feelings he had for Kris, was Kris doing the same?

 

“Whatever you do,” Chanyeol says, “don’t say sorry. I don’t want to hear it. No amount of ‘sorry’s is going to change the past.”

 

“I know that,” Kris says. “I know you would never forgive me. I just want us to stop running away from each other.”

 

Chanyeol runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t ing believe this. Running away – isn’t that what you do best, though? All this time— all this time, I was thinking, all I need is closure, you know? I came to get it myself because you sure as hell weren’t going to give it to me. And I got it. Then you decide to come back and reopen old wounds like it’s nothing? Like it doesn’t hurt? Why do you think I left you a voicemail to say goodbye? I don’t want you to have a chance to say goodbye back, because you never gave me the chance in the first place. Kris, let me heal.”

 

“I want to help you heal,” Kris says. “I just thought— I thought that, maybe, over the past few months, I thought that you might have felt—” He bites his bottom lip. “It hurts me, too, you know.”

 

“Good.”

 

The silence is heavy. “I’ll go now, and stop bothering you.”

 

“There you go again,” Chanyeol says. Kris stops in his tracks, and turns to look at Chanyeol. “Always thinking you’re the one who gets to say where this ends.”

 

Chanyeol can almost see the wheels turning in Kris’ head. “Are you saying—?”

 

“I’m saying,” Chanyeol takes a step closer, “that maybe the closure I was looking for, wasn’t the one that I wanted.”

 

“Chanyeol…”

 

“Honestly, you’re lucky I’m apparently as stupid as you are,” Chanyeol continues. “I don’t think I can forgive you but I’m stupid enough to keep loving you.”

 

Kris’ smile was cautious at first, but now he’s smiling so hard, Chanyeol can see that he’s tearing up.

 

“Do you believe in second chances?”

 

Out of all the endings Chanyeol has dreamed up, he has to say this one is the best: the one that doesn’t end.

 

--

 

“Listen to this,” Kris says, laughing at something he’s reading something off his phone. “Wu Yifan and Pu Canlie’s performances playing off each other are so convincing that one cannot help but wonder how many times they’ve fought each other before in reality.”

 

Chanyeol lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s funny,” he says, sliding his arms around Kris’ lower torso, drawing himself closer to Kris in bed. “The media actually got something right for once.”

 

Kris puts away his phone and sinks into the bed, one arm around Chanyeol. “When did you say you were leaving for Seoul, again?”

 

“We are leaving for Seoul next Tuesday,” Chanyeol says. “You didn’t think you were not coming to cheer at my debut stage, were you?”

 

“I’ll come in my cheerleading outfit,” Kris jokes.

 

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that! I’ll take lots of pictures, too.”  

 

Kris plays with Chanyeol’s bangs sticking up all over the place from a night of sleep. At this very moment, he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be or anything he’d rather be doing. “Hey,” he says, tapping Chanyeol lightly under his chin, “When are you going to let me hear your album, by the way?”

 

Chanyeol swats him. “Be patient,” he orders. “It’s a surprise.”

 

When Kris slips his hand into Chanyeol’s, taking care to intertwine their fingers, it feels like home.

 

--

 

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