Listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door (or, a collection of ficlets) by ventice
Genre/Rating: g-nc17
Warning: discusses kris' departure from exo in number 3
Word Count: 5503 words altogether, individual word counts are marked in the numbered headings
Description: this is a collection of short ficlets varying from aus to post-canon fics. not everything is a happy fulfilled relationship, but then again, that's life. think of it as glimpses into different universes of them.
Author's Note: i felt super bad about being a no-show for the original fyf posting, and i saw that there would be a christmas round, so here's my try for redemption. i'm hella burned out from writing, but i thought i should at least try and give my fave otp a last salute. thanks to j and w for looking over my stuff and putting up with my whining. everything else is on me, and since this is betaed at like 6 in the morning, i'm rather positive there'll be mistakes everywhere.

nonetheless, happy holidays, guys.

 

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1. yura’s wedding dinner is the Actual Worst | 856 words | pg

 

 

 

Chanyeol fiddles with his bow tie, feeling short of breath and uncomfortably constricted by the strip of fabric around his throat. He nods absentmindedly at the ahjussi standing before him, who had managed to rope him into an impromptu lecture on his future, and lets out a heavy breath as quietly as possible, feeling his chest shake, uneven. His fingers are cold from having just come back from grabbing his wedding present from his car in the outdoor chill, and he curls them around his crumpling fabric bow, crushing the velvet between his knuckles.

 

“Ah, there you are,” says a deep voice, rumbling behind him and tickling the shell of his ear. Chanyeol reflexively jumps, bumping back into a warm chest, and he twists his head around to meet the bent figure of his date of the night. Kris winks at him once their eyes meet, and Chanyeol has to hold back the instinctive flood of warmth in his cheeks. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

 

Kris draws back up to his full height, sliding a casual arm around Chanyeol’s hunched shoulders and pulling his clenched fist away from the crushed bow tie. He stares directly at the ahjussi as he innocently laces their fingers together and smiles genially as the ahjussi frowns darkly. Chanyeol blinks, but lets himself be pulled into Kris’ one-armed embrace, feeling unexpectedly small bracketed by Kris’ larger frame. Kris squeezes their fingers together, getting a surprised eyebrow raise from Chanyeol, but remains fully focused on the ahjussi.

 

“And, who is this, Chanyeol-ah?” the ahjussi asks pointedly. Chanyeol winces, the corner of his mouth twitching, and debates whether he should just lie and say Kris is just a friend; this ahjussi’s just a distant relative, right, he doesn’t have to know. He inhales, his chest constricting, and opens his mouth to answer.

 

“I’m his boyfriend, sir. It’s nice to meet you,” Kris cuts in, smoothly and politely, bowing slightly, still holding onto Chanyeol. The ahjussi raises his eyebrows, expression clouding into something thunderous, and Chanyeol’s heartbeat speeds up. Oh no. He flicks his eyes to Kris, taken aback by the serene expression on his face, before another voice cuts in, dragging him out of the claustrophobic half-circle.

 

“Yah! I was looking for you everywhere, you !” snaps the familiar agitated voice of his best friend, Kyungsoo. He barges his way into the conversation without a hair out of place, and polite excuses Chanyeol and Kris from the ahjussi before physically dragging Chanyeol by the arm towards the back-rooms of the restaurant. Kris easily follows, still holding Chanyeol’s hand, warm palm radiating comfort to the whole of Chanyeol’s body.

 

“W-what do you need me for?” Chanyeol asks, shaking off the encounter and focusing on the dark scowl on Kyungsoo’s face. He shares a glance with Kris, who shrugs back without an answer, before tuning back to Kyungsoo’s response.

 

“Your sister’s been going crazy over the cake decorations in the kitchen area, make her stop before I pop a nerve,” Kyungsoo snaps, jabbing a finger at the closed kitchen doors with shrill muffled sounds leaking out. Chanyeol laughs, relaxing into himself. This, he can handle.

 

“Okay, I got this. You go micromanage the crowd, you control freak,” Chanyeol assures, peeling himself away from Kyungsoo’s clawed grip and waving him towards the main room. Kyungsoo scowls again, but there’s a decided relax slump to his tense shoulders, and he stalks away to the party out front. Chanyeol turns to Kris, who’s just absentmindedly checking his phone, thumb grazing across the back of Chanyeol’s hand in their joined grasp.

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says apologetically, dropping his eyes down to watch Kris’ fingers play with his captive hand. “I didn’t—I wasn’t prepared, uh, for the ambush.” Kris makes a noise, and Chanyeol looks back up.

 

Kris just stares at him with soft eyes, lips curled into an indecipherable smile. “What are friends for?” is all he says, though, still running his thumb against the rough skin of Chanyeol’s hand, and Chanyeol finds himself a little hard-pressed for a response.

 

Right. Friends. He shakes himself out of his thoughts and pulls on a smile, large and toothy. “Yeah, well, uh, thanks.” He gestures at the door. “I’m just gonna, uh—” There’s a loud crash from behind the kitchen doors, metallic and no doubt expensive, and Chanyeol immediately winces. “—Fix that. You go have fun in there.”

 

He makes to go, pulling his hand away, but Kris pulls him back in, startling him. He opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, and then Kris drops a kiss on his forehead, brushing away the stray bangs flying out of his slicked-back hair. He grins at the slackened expression on Chanyeol’s face and pushes him lightly by the shoulders towards the kitchen.

 

“See you in a little bit,” he promises, and walks back to the party, his large frame haloed by the bright lights of the main room. Chanyeol blinks rapidly but pulls himself together when he hears another crash.

 

He breathes in easily as he steps into the fray of his sister’s destruction.

 

 

 

2. stop stealing my damn seat, | 690 words | g

 

 

 

He’s here, again. Kris grips his crossbag strap tightly, and directs himself stiffly to the drinks line while he composes himself. The boy sitting at his table just continues to scroll on his laptop in blissful ignorance of exactly whose chair he’s been stealing for the past two weeks. Kris grits his teeth, but smooths out his expression when it’s his turn at the counter, ordering a flat white with a smile, charming the cashier behind the register, and stalks to the waiting area after he pays.

 

He sneaks another look at his table, eyebrows furrowed darkly at the slouching figure sitting there, and imagines punting the kid out of his chair with a snap of his long leg. Kris chortles to himself over the image before his conscience berates him for the immaturity. Still, he continues to brood over ways to oust the kid out of his seat until he hears his name called out, and he snaps out of his thoughts to retrieve his drink. By the time he’s put in the requisite sugar and spice dusting on his flat white’s milk foam surface, the coffee shop’s already been taken over by the nearby high school’s just-dismissed students. Kris grimaces; he made a poor choice in choosing to sit in today.

 

He eyes his table again, assessing the empty space across his favorite chair, and bites the bullet. He shuffles over and sets his drink down with a decisive click against the wooden surface. The boy sitting there looks up from his computer in askance, pulling out earbuds that Kris had not previously noticed, and tilts his head.

 

“Can I help you?” he asks in a surprisingly deep baritone, belying his youthful features. Kris raises an eyebrow, the only indication of his surprise, and battles inwardly with himself before pasting on a polite smile.

 

“Can I share this table with you?” He nods at the rest of the cafe, slowly piling up with chattering high schoolers. The boy follows his gaze and then nods amiably, with a gesture at the chair across from him.

 

“Oh sure, please,” he says, shuffling away the papers surrounding him. Kris picks up one of the stray sheets, full of graphs and data tables, and hands it back in bemusement.

 

“Are you conducting an experiment of some kind?” he asks as he pulls out his chair to seat himself. The boy blinks at him, paused in his motions, before laughing and shaking his head.

 

“Ah, no, no. I’m just trying to get my draft done for my upcoming deadline,” he says with a chuckle and taking the paper from Kris.

 

“A draft? Are you a journalist, then?” Kris asks, curious against his will. It’s increasingly difficult to maintain his animosity towards the boy now that he’s finally engaging him in a conversation; the kid’s remarkably friendly for someone who’s been isolating himself at Kris’ table.

 

The boy scratches the back of his head and laughs again. “Nah, nothing of the sort. I’m a student.”

 

Kris nods in understanding. “College?” The kid does look young enough to be a undergrad. Fits his overall bubbliness.

 

“Yeah. I’m a PhD candidate,” the boy says, grinning toothily at him. Kris jerks his hand a little in surprise, almost spilling his drink, and the boy laughs again, a loud burst of sunshine exploding in front of him. “Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s the ol’ babyface, huh?”

 

Kris twists his lips in a reluctant smile. “You do look remarkably young. You’re lucky I didn’t mistake you for a high schooler as well.”

 

The boy claps a hand to his chest in mock affront. “Oof! I know Yura says it’s a blessing in disguise to look this young, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been called a kid by everyone around me.” He smiles then, eyes laughing brightly at Kris, and holds out a hand. “I’m Park Chanyeol. Nice to meet you, uh—”

 

“Kris. I’m Kris,” he blurts out, taking Chanyeol’s hand and shaking firmly. He smiles back, suddenly incredibly easy to dredge up goodwill. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

 

 

 

3. post-canon meet-up | 969 words | g

 

 

 

Chanyeol’s imagined this scenario a few times since their manager dropped the bomb on them that night. He’d crouched on the wood floors of their practice room, gulping in heavy breaths from their tenth run-through of their concert choreo, watched as Tao and Sehun and Jongin break away from their play fighting as the realization tries to sink in, watched as Jongdae ask in progressively louder anger what was going on, watched as Kyungsoo turned mute and drew into himself, watched as Tao walk silently away and excused himself to the bathroom, watched as the rest of them dissolved in a mess of screams and numb disbelief.

 

It was painful to bear then. All Chanyeol had thought about was flying back to Shanghai and dragging the lying bastard out of his hiding spot and wailing into him, fists flying as he punched the who dared to call himself brother to the rest of them into a bloody pulp. The first few days after, he’d wake up with his fist clenched painfully tight, nails wearing into his palms half-moon crescents. He broke skin a week after, and had to keep his hands bandaged afterward whenever he went to sleep for the few hours they got in between concerts. It wore down on them all, a heavy weight crushing on their limbs, and resentment bred like wildfire.

 

Hate was an easy thing to do.

 

It’s been six years since EXO and Kris and Lu Han and Kyungsoo and eventually the rest of them. Six years since he called himself a member of a band, spoke the ringing words, “We are one!” to everyone who had stared and jeered and eventually worshipped at their feet. Six years since they stopped playing Peter Pan and finally grew up.

 

Their first official meeting is at the press conference for the China-Korea collaborative wuxia film; Kris is one of the headliners, having borne his path to A-list movie star status in the six years of wreckage he’d left behind. Chanyeol is one of the supporting cast members, still building up his resume slowly but steadily. They’re not seated next to each other, which is a crying shame for their combined fansites that still faithfully follow after them, years afte EXO ended, but only because Kris is far too above him in status now. Chanyeol sits off to the side, bracketed by his fellow co-stars, and they sit the entire conference, pretending like nothing’s wrong. By this point, even the media has forgotten they used to be lumped together in an idol group. Chanyeol texts Kyungsoo and Jongdae under the table the entire time, mashing his thumbs against the keyboard instead of forming actual words, and they send back threatening messages to stop texting and laughing ㅎㅎㅎ and ㅋㅋㅋ, respectively.

 

Their first unofficial meeting is in the washroom outside the conference room, fifteen minutes before they’re due to sit down and smile for the cameras. In all his imaginations, Chanyeol never would’ve picked meeting the eyes of Kris Wu as he steps out from the closed bathroom stall while he’s washing his hands as the one that comes true.

 

“...Ah. Hello,” Chanyeol says after a while, deeply aware of the stretching silence between them, separated from the rush of running water from the sink and the rest of reality. Kris slow blinks, and nods before moving away from the stall to the unoccupied sink beside him. Chanyeol stares a moment longer, waiting for a response, but Kris just keeps his gaze flat on his hands and the faucet. He gives up and goes back to rubbing soap through his fingers.

 

“...It’s been a while,” Kris mumbles suddenly, the Korean syllables creaky and accented from disuse. He clears his throat and tries again. “How have you been?”

 

Chanyeol clenches his fist, his reflexes faster than he can control, and Kris no doubt notices because he makes a bit of a splash from the water running onto his hands. It’s been six years, and Chanyeol thought he’d put this behind him, but the simple question has his hackles up immediately, with a defensive and acidic answer on his tongue, but he forcibly pulls himself back.

 

It’s been six damn years.

 

“I’ve been well,” he says finally, forcing a smile onto his lips. He turns off the faucet, and grabs for a paper towel from the stack in the corner, and looks at the reflection of Kris. “I’ll see you outside.”

 

Kris stops him before he manages to open the door. “Chanyeol, wait.”

 

Chanyeol turns around, smile fully in place, and waits for Kris to say whatever the he needs to so he can leave and rant about this in a text to Kyungsoo. Kris looks unsure, anxious, his shoulders slouched down and his eyebrows sloped; Chanyeol hasn’t seen this Kris in over six years. That Kris had stopped showing uncertainty the month he came back to EXO the first time around. Maybe that should’ve been a sign to them.

 

Right now, though, Chanyeol just waits, and eventually Kris straightens out of his slouch, and suddenly Chanyeol is reminded of why Kris had so quickly won the hearts of the Chinese public. This Kris standing before him is the smooth and self-assured Wu Yifan that smiles and charms the public so easily, the one that surfaced in his debut into Chinese entertainment and never left. He feels his breath catch, involuntarily taken aback, and somewhere in his chest, something cracks as Kris draws his lips up into the practiced, suave smile of the actor who’d made HuaYi Brothers over twenty million in profit.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Chanyeol. I hope we can work well together,” Kris says, and then leaves the room, brushing past Chanyeol in one fluid motion.

 

People change so much in six years.

 

 

 

4. free hugs on the street | 526 words | g

 

 

 

Kris has passed by the kid with the cardboard sign about three times now. The first, he’d been mostly unaware, making it to his class by virtue of muscle memory, mostly, since he was still half asleep at the time, but the second and third times, he’d pass the kid by to grab lunch and to buy coffee. He didn’t stop either of the times, but this fourth time on an errand to buy some cat food for Lu Han’s pissy mongrel he calls a pet, Kris decides to stop in front of the kid.

 

The boy perks up from his spot on the bench when Kris plants his feet in front of him, and he looks up with excited eyes, bangs peeking from under his hoodie. “Didja want a hug, mister?” he asks eagerly, brandishing his sign a little.

 

Kris eyes the sharpied ‘Free Hug~’ written boldly on the cardboard and the mess of scribbles underneath detailing the conditions, and weighs the cons of hugging possibly an unbathed person and getting his wallet stolen from a street scamp with the pros of getting a hug. He makes to shake his head in response, but at last minute, turns it into an affirmative nod, and steps back as the kid jumps up with a wide smile and grabs him into a hug without warning.

 

There’s a mash of limbs for a little bit before they settle, Kris placing proprietary hands around the boy’s waist as he loops straggly arms around Kris’ neck and burrows his face into his shoulder. It’s a nice feeling, actually, a bundle of warmth in his arms, and Kris feels the stress of his day seeping away the longer he holds onto the kid. He inwardly pats himself on the back for the good idea.

 

The kid makes a noise and brushes his nose against the exposed collar of Kris’ neckline before pulling away, missing the small shudder he pulls from Kris, and he smiles up smugly at him. Kris finds himself twitching back a smile, a little tweaked by the boy’s overconfidence but also incredibly relaxed and content now, and drops his hands back to his sides.

 

“Good, right?” the boy crows, waggling his eyebrows. It startles a laugh out of Kris, a punch of amusement, and the boy grins wider in satisfaction. “My sister says I should sell these hugs, but I like to think the world deserves a Park Chanyeol Hug, free of charge.”

 

Kris laughs aloud at that. “Well, a Park Chanyeol Hug is definitely special, I’ll give you that. Thank you for being so kind to share it with the rest of us.”

 

Chanyeol’s smile doesn’t change, but it feels a touch gentler than before. He pats Kris on the shoulder and sits himself back down on the bench. “Have a good day, mister. Come back for another hug if you need one.”

 

Kris thinks about the mountain of work waiting for him back in his room and Lu Han’s loud screechy Chenchen who’s probably clawed up his new arm chair by now, and gives Chanyeol a small smile.

 

“I will. See you later, Park Chanyeol.”

 

 

 

5. shenanigans in a supply closet | 701 words | r/nc-17

 

 

 

Kris hitches Chanyeol’s legs up higher as he slams into him, using the wall for support. Chanyeol claws down his back, blunt nails drawing red lines into his bare skin, and Kris hisses into Chanyeol’s ear as he arches away from the pain. He slams into him again in retaliation, but Chanyeol just keens loudly, warbling praise for his as he tightens himself around Kris.

 

“, Chanyeol, the whole office is gonna know in like three minutes if you keep like that,” Kris bites out, curving his hand on the underside of Chanyeol’s bare thigh and pushing it out to spread Chanyeol open a little further. Chanyeol huffs in short gasps, and pushes his nails into Kris’ shoulderblades, eyes rolling back at a particularly hard .

 

“You— that’s good—you told me—yes, god, yes—you told me you like——like me being loud,” Chanyeol gasps out, breath hot and wet against Kris’ ear ridge, and he bites down lightly, startling a moan out of Kris.

 

“Y-yeah, of course I do,” Kris defends, hands spasming against Chanyeol’s waist and sliding up to pluck at his exposed s. Chanyeol yelps, but shoves a fist into his mouth anyway, muffling the high-pitched sound. “I do, but these walls are so ing thin. We need— you’re so hot—we need our own room—”

 

Chanyeol shudders a laugh, wrapping his legs around Kris’ waist and bringing him in closer and deeper inside, sharing a groan with Kris at the sensation. “You’re an idiot—oh god—of course we need our r-room, we’re in—unh please please please right there yes—”

 

Kris grins to himself as Chanyeol comes with a gasp, untouched, and draws him into a kiss, still ing into him as his own races to the finish. Chanyeol bites at his lips, looping his arms around Kris to deepen the kiss, and Kris comes wetly inside, grunting as he peaks. He manages a few more s, still running on the high of release, before pulling out and gently dropping Chanyeol back onto the ground. They’re both a little unsteady on their feet, and Kris is inordinately grateful for wall behind them as support.

 

They kiss for a little big longer, Chanyeol especially handsy after and trailing his fingers along everywhere, but they clean themselves up after a few minutes, straightening out their ties and shirtfronts. Chanyeol’s still sensitive from the and won’t let Kris help him, so Kris has to keep himself from watching as he tries to clean himself up with one of the paper towel rolls in the closet, catching the leaks of come slipping from his hole. His twitches, the thought of a second round appealing with his baser thoughts, but Kris squashes it down.

 

Chanyeol catches the searing gaze on him, and has to roll his eyes. “Seriously, Kris, we’re in a supply closet. We can go home and again until you’re satisfied later, okay.”

 

Kris just leers at him and shrugs. “What can I say? You’re like a four-course dinner plus dessert to me right now; you look delicious.”

 

Chanyeol makes a face and crumples up a paper towel at him. “I seriously can’t believe I let you near my , you’re so ing cheesy.”

 

“Didn’t hear you complaining three minutes ago,” Kris says loftily, drawing a half-fighting Chanyeol into his arms. He bends his head down for another kiss before a loud, forceful bang on the supply closet door jars them both.

 

“Oi, can you guys go back to work now instead of scarring the rest of the office? Lunch break is already over,” calls out an irritated Kyungsoo.

 

“I give you guys a seven on performance, maybe a nine on enthusiasm,” pipes up Baekhyun’s voice as well, and Chanyeol and Kris immediately reach for door knob, stumbling out into the office space with bright red faces. Baekhyun cackles and Kyungsoo glares at them before dragging Baekhyun back to their desks.

 

Lu Han, whose desk is closest to them, calls out from his desk with an entertained smirk. “Try the elevator next time, guys. I hear the sounds travel all the way down to the lobby.”

 

Kris facepalms, and Chanyeol shakes his head in sheer mortification.

 

 

 

6. kris is a romance novelist stuck in writer’s block and pcy is his Long-suffering editor | 1135 words | pg

 

 

 

He’s halfway to sleep on his laptop keys when Chanyeol storms into his apartment and kicks him off his sofa onto the hard ground.

 

“! Chanyeol, please! I’m a delicate creature, treat me gently,” Kris hisses, dragging his face off the hardboard floor. He surreptitiously wipes away the stray trail of drool that had started to pool on the side of his face, and pushes himself off the ground, rolling himself back onto the sofa with a grunt.

 

“Hyung, it’s been a week since your extended deadline, where the is my draft?” Chanyeol hisses, hands gripping the top of his sofa in anxiety. “Kyungsoo’s been breathing down my neck for the past two days, please!”

 

Kris grimaces and wipes the drool off his keyboard before closing his laptop and snuggling back into the couch. “I’ve been busy,” he says shortly, voice muffled by the couch fabric. Chanyeol sputters and clambers on top of Kris, ignoring his choke and attempts to push him off.

 

“‘Busy’? What do you mean ‘busy’? I wanna hear ‘done’, not ‘busy’!” Chanyeol’s eyes are especially wide today, almost bulging out of their sockets in ramped-up stress, and he gestures with his hands frantically. Kris eyes them apprehensively, and leans his head away from him as far as physically possible. “Where is my goddamn draft, Wu Yifan!”

 

“It’s coming along, okay, I just need a few more days,” Kris hedges, pulling his arms away from under himself with difficulty to rub at Chanyeol’s back in a soothing manner. “Relax, okay, it’ll be fine.”

 

Chanyeol glares down at him with wild eyes, and for a moment, Kris fears being actually strangled to death. “Don’t patronize me, hyung, I’m not a child.”

 

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Kris says easily, apologizing in the gentlest voice possible. “I wasn’t trying to treat you like a child, I promise.”

 

Chanyeol huffs out a deep breath, forcibly pulling himself back together into a calmer state, and he eyes Kris, the older man straddled under his thighs. He dips his head down, and Kris in his breath as Chanyeol draws in close, eating away at the centimeters of space between them.

 

“Hyung, I need this draft by tomorrow at latest. My head is on the line, here, okay, I can’t keep covering up for you,” Chanyeol says seriously, boring holes into his face. Kris blinks immediately, losing any possible game of chicken, and nods back in deference.

 

“I understand, Chanyeol. I promise, I’m almost done with this draft,” Kris says reassuringly, resting his hands warmly on the sides of Chanyeol’s waist. “I’ll hand it in.”

 

Chanyeol sits back in satisfaction, and finally greets him with a beam. “Good. That’s what I wanna hear,” he says with a nod and a wag of his index finger. Kris rolls his eyes, lips pulling into a reflexive smile, and he looks pointedly up at Chanyeol.

 

“Mind getting off me now? You’re not exactly a pile of feathers here,” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and Chanyeol huffs out a laugh before getting off, sitting down next to him as Kris lifts himself upright.

 

“Whatever, man, I ain’t ashamed. Girls like me with a little meat on my bones,” Chanyeol says saucily with a wink, and Kris snorts, cuffing him on the head.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure they still feel that way when you’re constricting their airflow with your fat ,” he snipes, and dodges the punch Chanyeol throws half-heartedly at him.

 

“So mean, hyung. I put a lot of work into keeping this girlish figure,” Chanyeol pouts. “Half of it is from all the stress you give me anyway, dodging my emails and my draft calls.”

 

Kris ruffles his hair with a grin, reveling in the whine Chanyeol lets out at his hair being mushed up, and gets off the couch to go to the kitchen. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Stop bringing it up or your guilt-trips are gonna stop working on me.” He pours himself a new cup of tea and pulls out a mug for Chanyeol as well. “How was your day aside from dodging Kyungsoo’s Glare of Death?”

 

Chanyeol groans and sprawls himself onto the open space of the freed-up sofa. “So long,” he moans in despair. “I got sent back to the slush pile after I told Soo I didn’t have your draft yet, and spent the rest of the day filtering through the crappy first drafts of aspirees along with the rest of the interns.”

 

Kris comes back with two full cups of tea, setting the one with cream and sugar down in front of Chanyeol before lifting off his noodle legs to sit down. He places Chanyeol’s legs back down on his lap and sips slowly on his tea. “That was how you found me in the first place, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t you be grateful for the chance to look for more people to manage?”

 

Chanyeol whines again and burrows his socked feet into Kris’ lap. “But that was when I was an intern! I’m not anymore, I’m an Experienced editor, damnit!”

 

“Who still needs more people to work with, so, really,” Kris says pointedly, eyeing Chanyeol and hiding his smile in his cup when Chanyeol responds with another pout.

 

“Whatever,” Chanyeol says, closing the subject, and Kris shrugs. “How’s the draft coming along anyway?”

 

Kris winces at that. “Uh, good. I finally got past the part where Minsoo and Jing-jing meet for the third time and I’m currently trying to get them to actually, y’know, have relations.” He adds an ambiguous hand gesture for emphasis. “It’s been difficult getting them to cooperate though.”

 

“You made your big literature debut writing almost pure , hyung, this is like old hat for you. What’s so hard about this?” Chanyeol muses, propping his head up on the arm of the sofa. Kris scowls and looks down at his cup.

 

“I’m trying to write a relationship, Chanyeol, not talk about giant and flying in and out of sopping s,” he says defensively. “It’s not the same.”

 

Chanyeol just gives him an unimpressed look and flicks his eyes to the television set in the corner. “Whatever you say, hyung. Just get me the draft by tomorrow, or Kyungsoo’s probably gonna actually string me up by my entrails.”

 

“Graphic. You wanna watch TV?” Kris is already halfway to the coffee table where the remote is when Chanyeol replies with an affirmative, and sits himself back down, Chanyeol graciously lifting his legs for Kris to settle before flopping back down into his space. “Anything in particular?”

 

“Yeah, just find a cooking channel and let me sleep for a bit,” Chanyeol yawns. Kris obligingly finds him a cooking show and settles into the couch to watch as well.

 

 

 

7. getting up in the morning | 626 words | g

 

 

 

Kris wakes up.

 

It’s the routine 5 o’clock morning rise: he blinks at the ceiling for a minute--a minute and a half if he’s feeling extra groggy--and tries to soak up as much warmth from his bedsheets as possible before pushing himself up into a sitting position and stares at the steadily chirping alarm clock right across from him on his wardrobe drawers.

 

The numbers gleam bright red at his still-contracted pupils, and Kris squints back before heaving himself off the mattress with a heavy sigh. He pulls his shoulders back and twists his back until he hears that crack and then shuffles over to slap the alarm off. Once silence swells back into his room, Kris allows himself a timely yawn and then hobbles on the cold linoleum tiles to the bathroom for his morning shower.

 

The city outside is in slowly unfurling from its night covers, grumpily rising with the sun. It’s always quietest right before Hong Kong wakes up. Kris likes to think of the slow crescendo of life as his morning soundtrack to accompany his shower. He stands himself squarely in the middle of his bathtub, and briskly turns on the faucet. The water runs noisily against the old pipes, banging through the thin walls, but Kris waits patiently, arms in a self-embrace to keep his skin warm.

 

Finally, the water starts pouring out, sluggish, and Kris twists the knob to switch the water flow to the shower head, where it starts pelting from with adequate force. He spends twenty minutes in the shower, fifteen on a good day, and at least two of those precious minutes is wasted to basking in the heat of the water. He comes out and towels himself dry, a short affair, and quickly brushes his teeth and shaves off the whiskers grown overnight. Kris slaps on aftershave when he’s done, a woody pine scent Chanyeol got for him his last birthday, and leaves the bathroom in a puff of hot air and condensed droplets.

 

Chanyeol’s sleeping in a lump next to Kris’ abandoned bedspace, undisturbed by all the noise, and Kris gives him an affectionate glance as he pulls out clothes from the closet. He dresses quickly and efficiently, buttoning himself up in starch-pressed linens and trousers. He pins the ends of his sleeves with the anniversary cufflinks Chanyeol also bought for him, and throws on the fitted suit jacket, despite knowing the heat that’ll greet him once he steps outdoors. He spends the rest of the thirty minutes allotted to dressing to fixing his hair, filling it with enough hair product to keep it upright for at least the next eight years.

 

Before he leaves, Kris seats himself on the edge of their bed, and leans over to kiss Chanyeol awake. He kisses him once, a soft chaste brush of lips, and waits for Chanyeol to stir before going back in with harder kisses. Chanyeol wakes with Kris’ tongue lapping at his mouth, and he laughs sleepily before pushing Kris away.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Kris greets smugly, watching as Chanyeol yawns and stretches himself to full awareness. Chanyeol blinks back up at him with a fuzzy grin.

 

“Mm, off to make that hard-earned dough?” Chanyeol rasps, his normal baritone buzzing from sleep. “Gonna bring home that bacon?”

 

Kris laughs and kisses him again before pushing himself off the bed. “Early bed gets the worm and all,” he agrees, and gently runs a hand through Chanyeol’s bedhead. “See you when I get home?”

 

Chanyeol yawns again and nods. “Yeah. Bring home some pork floss buns from the bakery for me when you get off work, ‘kay?”

 

“Will do,” Kris salutes with a cheesy two-finger gesture and presses another kiss to Chanyeol’s smiling lips, and leaves for work.