between the lines (of fear and blame)
Sep. 15th, 2013 03:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
uponinfinityTitle: between the lines (of fear and blame)
Pairing: Tao/Sehun, Sehun/Luhan, (very prominent, because i'm biased that way)side!Kai/Kyungsoo
Genre: angst, romance
Length: 10210w
Warnings: unbeta-ed
Summary: Love and pain are inseparable. The more you indulge in one, the more you drown in the other.
Pairing: Tao/Sehun, Sehun/Luhan, (very prominent, because i'm biased that way)side!Kai/Kyungsoo
Genre: angst, romance
Length: 10210w
Warnings: unbeta-ed
Summary: Love and pain are inseparable. The more you indulge in one, the more you drown in the other.
Sometimes two separate stories come into play at the same time, overlapping time frames involving the same characters, the same people.
This is one such story.
This is a story that has two beginnings: one where Sehun meets Luhan, and the next, when he meets Zitao.
One is a love story.
The other is not.
The first beginning occurs when Sehun’s eyes fall on a certain baby-faced barista at the on-campus Starbucks, someone with the faintest accented Korean, someone whose nametag reads: Luhan. Sehun is awestruck. The man (Sehun’s not sure if he can even call him that, he looks about twelve) has the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, the palest porcelain skin moulded onto the delicate features of his face. He’s too preoccupied with staring at this Luhan character to actually notice his lips moving, to hear the voice that comes in such an enticingly beautiful package.
‘Um, excuse me – you’re kind of holding up the line.’ Luhan says, lips pulled tight into a grimace. Sehun snaps out of his trance and spares a glance behind him, only to be met by disgruntled students with varying degrees of impatience and exhaustion etched on their faces.
‘Oh – oh, um. Sorry,’ Sehun mumbles intelligently, his cheeks colouring when he hears the words come out of his mouth. ‘What was it you were saying?’
‘I said,’ Luhan drawls, an impish smile dancing on his lips. ‘Welcome to Starbucks, how can I help you? I’m Luhan,’ and his full blown smile practically screams of mischief, of amusement born of second hand embarrassment (and possibly finding the boy in front of him insanely cute), but Sehun takes no notice because, well – that is a really, really nice smile.
‘Um – I’m Sehun. And um – could I get a tall chocolate cream frappucino?’ Sehun asks. Luhan nods and reaches for a clear plastic cup, practiced fingers snatching one up, a Sharpie poised in his other hand.
‘One tall… Chocolate cream… Frap. Alright, do you want whipped cream?’ Luhan asks, scribbling barely legible words on Sehun’s cup. The latter shakes his head and Luhan smiles. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’
And Sehun probably should learn to switch his brain-to-mouth filter on when he’s speaking to people (especially insanely beautiful people), but he hasn’t at the moment, and his next words make him want to slap himself into the next dimension, because – ‘How about your number?’
He’s sure his cheeks and neck and ears are on fire by now, and he vaguely wonders if Luhan can see him internally cursing himself out. Luhan doesn’t show any signs of telepathic ability though, only good natured laughter tinkling into Sehun’s ears. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t give my number out to strangers. I’ll let you know when your order’s ready,’ he smiles, and Sehun immediately wants nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, never to be seen again.
Instead he quietly slinks off to one of the vacant chairs in the furthest corner of the shop and sinks into it, all the while contemplating his reason for existence when he’s got this degree of social impairment. A couple of minutes pass before there comes a call of his name from the counter, and Sehun slowly drags his feet to collect his drink.
He’s hoping to be able to snatch the cup and make a quick getaway with it, mortified at the very thought of having to interact with Luhan again. But just as he turns away, drink in hand, Luhan calls his name again, frantically waving a few napkins at him, and he stops to face the barista, heart pounding in his chest. ‘You forgot your napkins,’ Luhan says, holding them out to him.
‘Um – thanks,’ Sehun mumbles, taking the napkins from him. It’s not until he’s already back in his apartment that he notices that one of the napkins has some ink on it, hasty words scribbled out in black ballpoint.
“I don’t usually give this out to strangers, but hey – I know your name’s Sehun, and I know you’re cute. So. Call me sometime.”
Underneath, there is a string of numbers that can only be a cellphone number, and Sehun inwardly leaps with joy, because just underneath that, next to two lots of delicate strokes and complicated characters, are the words “This is how you write my name in Mandarin. Luhan.”
Sehun gets those characters tattooed on the inside of his wrist just before their second anniversary, and when he shows the ink to Luhan, he whispers, ‘Forever,’.
They go through the whole cliche love story rigmarole: fall madly in love with each other, move in together after graduation, they even manage to find jobs in the same company. Luhan has a degree in songwriting and the prospect of making music always makes his eyes shine, second only to how they do when he looks at Sehun. Sehun himself graduates with a dance major under his belt, eager and ready to start the rest of his life with Luhan.
‘Are you excited?’ Luhan asks, watching with amusement as Sehun gathers three different changes of clothes into his backpack for the day. ‘I - I just - I guess? I am?’ Sehun’s mind is a labyrinth of who do I talk to what do I do where do I go how should I dress is three changes of clothes enough is it too much I -
‘Relax. Breathe,’ Luhan says, fingers coming up to detach Sehun’s backpack from the younger’s death grip. He tosses it somewhere behind him and gathers Sehun up in his arms instead, letting his boyfriend bury his face in the crook of his neck. Delicate fingers thread through Sehun’s hair. ‘Just - keep your cool, and you’ll be fine. Alright?’ Luhan’s lips flutter around Sehun’s temple, until the younger tilts his head up and there are kisses along his jawline, down to his neck. ‘Relax.’
Sehun’s eyes close and all he can think of is Luhan, of how nervous he was on his first day two years ago, freshly printed degree doing nothing to calm his nerves. He remembers waking up way earlier than he would on a Monday (he’d had no morning classes that semester) just to pad out softly into Luhan’s kitchen to make him breakfast. He remembers how Luhan had sat bolt upright when Sehun gently shook him awake, back rigid and muscles tense.
Am I late? Luhan had asked, doe eyes wide open, catching what minimal light was present through the thick fabric of his curtains. Sehun stifled a laugh then, delighting in how his boyfriend’s hair tends to stick up at all angles the moment he wakes up. Don’t laugh at me Sehunnie, it’s my first day and I’m going to be late! Luhan had half hollered, throwing warm blankets off him as he swung his legs so his feet touched the floor. They’re all going to hate me before they’ve even gotten to know me properly -
Long fingers wrapped around Luhan’s wrist, and before he could manage to throw some sort of abuse at Sehun for keeping him, he found himself already flat on his back, whole body pressed into the bed. You’re not going to be late, Sehun whispered, lips breathing warm air onto the shell of Luhan’s ear. Look, he said as he pulled the elder’s alarm clock toward them. Luhan still had an hour until he had to leave.
Luhan exhaled in a sigh of relief as he took in the glowing green digits, settling comfortably into the warmth his boyfriend had him wrapped up in. They’re not going to hate you, Sehun mumbled. There’s nothing about you to hate.
Sehun’s focus zeroes back to the present, where the anxious thrumming in his chest has calmed somewhat at the memory of Luhan coming home on his first day beaming, tales of all the amazing people he’d met spilling off his tongue. ‘You ready to go?’ Luhan asks, pulling away to grasp at both of the younger’s shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.
Sehun nods and Luhan gets ready to leave, making sure that all his things are in his messenger bag before he makes for the door. They take a bus to work, Luhan’s thumb stroking circles on the back of Sehun’s hand, the latter’s palm slick with sweat.
They have twenty minutes to spare when they arrive at the doors. Luhan presents his ID and smiles politely at the handful of fans camped out in front of the building as he waits. Sehun only manages to look bewildered at the sheer size of their cameras. The security guard finishes signing Sehun in and hands him a temporary badge - ‘Be sure to pick up your ID from management before the end of the day,’ - and then all that’s separating Sehun from his dream job is himself, insecurity and anxiety the bricks of an invisible wall barring the entrance.
He feels a gentle squeeze encapsulating his fingers. ‘Hey - Sehunnie, look at me,’ Luhan prompts, ignoring the tittering behind him when he reaches up to cup Sehun’s chin in delicate fingers. ‘Sehunnie...’ Luhan whines, until Sehun finally decides to meet his gaze. There’s hope and there’s peace and there’s any amount of happiness in Luhan’s eyes, and Sehun feels his apprehension evaporate.
‘Listen to me. You’ll be fine, alright? Just go in there, chin up, shoulders set. Show them what you’re made of.’ Luhan smiles before he swipes his card and the door slides open, and he pulls Sehun in behind him without a word.
The doors slide shut again and Luhan takes a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s watching them. His smile becomes a little more mischievous as he tiptoes, planting a soft peck on Sehun’s lips. ‘The dance studios are downstairs. I’ll see you at lunch!’ he says, disattaching his hand from his boyfriend’s before he turns a corner and disappears.
Sehun takes a deep breath before he moves towards the elevators. His eyes are focused on the descending numbers above his head, so much so that he doesn’t register light footed steps approaching him until a pair of familiar arms are wrapped around his waist. His body barely reacts, so used to the feel of the lips that are kissing along the join of his neck and shoulder.
‘Make me proud, Sehun-ah.’
‘I will, Lu.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Sehun struggles a little, unused to days spent doing nothing but dancing. His body aches persistently everyday, sores seeping into his very marrows. Sometimes he can’t wait until the end of the day arrives, and he gets a chance to let himself be enveloped in a hug that smells of Luhan.
Sometimes, even Luhan can’t placate him.
Soon enough though, they fall into a routine. They wake up and have a quick breakfast before they take a shower each, Luhan nagging at Sehun to pick up his feet because they’re going to miss the bus. Sehun stumbles into the seat next to Luhan once they’ve boarded, and the elder lets him catch a few minutes’ shuteye, his head on Luhan’s shoulder.
They get to the building always with twenty minutes to spare, exchange a furtive kiss and an ‘I’ll see you at lunch,’ before each make their way to their respective floors.
Sehun’s instructor tells him he has potential, and within a few weeks they’ve upgraded him out of initiation (as the tanned boy who’s got sex appeal oozing out his every pore whenever he so much as breathes calls it) and let him join the regular dance sessions. Sehun makes friends with said boy, Jongin, and spends most of his time with him.
Once the day is done he takes a shower and puts on a fresh set of clothes, punches Jongin in the shoulder as a goodbye and makes his way upstairs to wait for Luhan. At 6PM on the dot, he spots soft blond hair and a haggard smile coming toward him, and they head out for something to eat before going home.
Sometimes they fall asleep in each others’ arms, body against body, heart to heart. Sometimes they have the energy to engage in something more, but most times, they’re both just too tired to make love.
Sometimes they fall asleep with their backs to each other, breathing out of sync, and impossibly far away.
The news comes just after Sehun begins his fifth month at SM. He’s dancing with Jongin in a fusion of contemporary and ballroom, and (much to his chagrin) he’s playing the part of the girl. Jongin had been chosen as part of the dance troupe for Kyungsoo’s pending release, but it’s still months in the making and all he knows is that it’s going to be a smooth ballad.
‘Why the hell am I the girl again?’ Sehun grumbles, leaning all his weight on Jongin just because. ‘I look nothing like one. You’re the girl, look at your damned lips.’
‘Do you want to kiss them, Sehuna?’ Jongin teases, a smirk on those lips when he dips Sehun with ease. ‘And I have to be the guy because I am one. They’re not gonna make me dance as a girl, so stop your whining and don’t get your panties in a bunch. Where the fuck is your grace, did you leave it in the bus on the way here this morning?’
They break away from each other and Sehun almost socks Jongin in the face, arm flying wildly, just missing the elder’s jaw. ‘Sorry,’ he says smugly, the grin on his features anything but. Jongin throws him a venomous glare in return, before focusing on the rhythm and finishing the dance.
When the music dies down Jongin falls to the floor, spread eagled, flat on his back. Sehun rolls a bottle of water toward him, before taking a swig from his own. ‘Did you hear?’ comes Jongin’s voice, barely audible for the pants he’s eliciting.
‘Hear about what?’ Sehun asks.
‘They’re bringing in some dancers from the China subsidiary. Something about creating better relations between here and there.’ Jongin says, finally sitting up. ‘A couple of them are joining our group.’
Sehun wrinkles his nose. ‘Why?’
‘Beats me. Suits say we have to play nice though, so put those claws away, Sehuna.’ Jongin says. ‘One of them was a bit of a celebrity back when he was a kid, I hear. The other apparently knows how to kill with his bare hands and leave your body looking perfectly fine.’
Sehun’s eyes widen and Jongin chuckles, dodging the dirty towel the younger sends flying in his direction. ‘Buckle up, Sehuna. The circus is coming to town.’
This is when the second beginning happens.
Jongin is an idiot. He is a certified, grade A buffoon whose words, Sehun knows, shouldn’t get to him. He makes bad decisions and leaves fingerprints everywhere, careless and imprecise, all caution to the wind. Sehun shudders at the memory of the last SM Town tour, when they’d had to share a room together and Jongin was still nowhere to be found at 3AM. Sehun had gone to look for him, tiptoeing across carpeted floors, not even breathing properly lest he awaken the singers whose rooms he was passing by.
He’d just passed the room belonging to Kyungsoo, SM’s latest male solo singer when the door flew open, a man who was most definitely not Kyungsoo stumbling out of it. Jongin’s hair was mussed and his clothes were rumpled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d just finished doing. ‘You didn’t see anything,’ Jongin sort of slurs, dopey grin somewhat hanging off his face. Sehun had shaken his head then before he dragged him back to the room, decidedly branding Jongin an idiot.
Even with knowledge of Jongin’s idiocy, Sehun couldn’t help but recall his words when the Chinese dancers turned up the next week. The former child star, Yixing, was pleasant and friendly enough, if a little forgetful. He’d greeted them in accented Korean, stressing syllables Sehun and Jongin previously never thought about. The rest of the dancers welcomed him readily.
But when Sehun saw the other man - well, he had trouble keeping Jongin’s words at bay. Huang Zitao was silent and tall, he even had a couple of centimetres on Jongin. His body was lithe, looked strong and solid, and the tight sleeveless top he was wearing showed off well muscled arms and a beautifully sculpted abdomen. He had inky black hair and dark bags under his eyes to match, and the way he looked - no, glared - at people made Sehun shudder.
He was determined not to have anything to do with the Chinese dancer who smelled of musk and smoke, but his plans are foiled when Jongin nudges him towards the new arrival with a cheeky smile and a whisper of ‘Play nice, Oh Sehun.’
The weight of Zitao’s stare is almost too much for Sehun to handle, but he meets those eyes anyway. He offers up his hand and his name and a greeting - ‘Hello, I’m Oh Sehun. Welcome to SM Korea,’ - but no response is garnered, no handshake results. He doesn’t falter though, just allows Zitao to stare at him for a long while before finally, another hand comes up to clasp his.
‘I am Huang Zitao,’ Zitao says, voice dripping with formality and a foreign tone. The handshake is firm and somewhat strong, and Jongin’s words come to Sehun’s mind again. He thinks Zitao is about to let go, but, of course, he doesn’t. Sehun is close to just yanking his hand free when Zitao utters words that stop him.
‘Oh Sehun, you say? No. I would call you… Unhappy.’
And with that, Zitao drops Sehun’s hand and turns to leave.
For the next few days, Zitao’s words never leave Sehun’s mind. They plague his thoughts, unfocus his moves when he should be putting his best foot forward for the Shinee concert he’s dancing back up in next week. The fourth time he slips up and turns left instead of right, he collides with Jongin, sending the latter straight into Zitao.
‘Goddammit, Sehun,’ Jongin mumbles, apologising profusely to an indifferent Zitao as he moves to get off him. It’s the end of the day, though, and bodies are dropping everywhere, Yixing collapsing himself once the dance instructor lets them off. Midnight paints black skies and multicoloured neon lights outside the door of the SM building, and Sehun’s glad that he’ll finally be able to go home after a long day.
He showers in record time, not bothering to dry his hair before he pulls on clothes. Jongin is still getting himself cleaned up, and from the looks of it, he’s going to meet Kyungsoo for the night. Sehun rolls his eyes at the sight of Jongin’s tshirt draped over his bag, the one he’d worn that night at the SM Town concert. This tshirt is very special to me, Jongin had said a while ago, pouting and Sehun understood.
It was the shirt he wore when he first confessed to Kyungsoo, he said.
Sehun gets dressed slowly, taking care not to dampen his shirt too much when he pulls it over his head. His vision is still obstructed by fabric when he hears someone come in, a gentle ‘oh,’ resounding that doesn’t sound anything like Jongin.
He tugs the shirt on the rest of the way, and his eyes find a half naked Zitao. Usually, seeing one of his fellow dancers this way doesn’t faze Sehun, but this is Zitao, and Sehun feels heat spread across his cheeks. He quickly averts his eyes and busies himself packing, forcing his things into his backpack, disordered.
‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ Zitao inquires, and Sehun nearly jumps out of his skin. Zitao’s voice doesn’t come from halfway across the room, it comes from just behind the younger. Sehun takes in the scent of a clean Zitao, all company-provided shampoo and no ashen smell emanating from his exposed skin.
‘You - you startled me,’ Sehun mumbles, not answering Zitao’s question because he doesn’t know what to say. He steadily ignores Zitao for the next few minutes, zipping up his bag and getting ready to leave.
Except he can’t, because standing between him and the doorway is an insanely attractive Chinese dancer, eyes trained on Sehun and he silently curses Jongin out for taking such a long time showering. ‘Excuse me,’ Sehun says politely, grimacing. ‘I need to get home.’
‘Why?’ Zitao asks, and Sehun feels panic bubble up in his throat from the tone of his voice. ‘Why are you in such a hurry, Sehun? To go home to your boyfriend?’
The question makes Sehun’s blood run cold, whole body freezing over at the mention of Luhan. ‘I - I… Yes. I have to hurry home, my boyfriend’s waiting up for me,’ Sehun says. He makes to move around Zitao and get to the door, but of course an arm shoots out to stop him, bars him from making his exit.
‘But you’re unhappy,’ Zitao says simply, as if unable to understand why Sehun would rush off home to a boyfriend who probably doesn’t even notice that he’s not there. ‘Why the rush if you’re unhappy?’ he asks.
‘I’m - I’ve never said I’m not happy. You drew that conclusion yourself,’ Sehun spits out, patience wearing thin. He eyes Zitao in a hard glare, purposely moving around the elder as he stomps off toward the door.
‘You’re bored.’
Zitao drops two words that each feel like a ton of bricks on Sehun’s chest. Sehun’s already got his hand on the door handle, but he doesn’t make any further movements, doesn’t turn the knob and escape while he can. He doesn’t know why, can’t think why - but something in the back of his mind tells him it’s because of what Zitao has just told him.
The truth.
‘Let’s see,’ Zitao says, arms slithering around Sehun’s waist. ‘I think I know how your whole story goes. He works here, am I correct? One of those darling little things who do the music making for all these artists we dance for.’ Zitao waits for a response, and Sehun curses whatever invisible force it is that compels him to nod. ‘I thought so. And how long have you two been together?’
‘Five - Going on five years.’ Sehun mutters. He can feel the smile that grows on Zitao’s face, because those lips he’d been avoiding looking at are pressed into the skin of his neck. When Zitao speaks again, Sehun has to fight down noises of discontent, and he hates himself for it.
‘Let me guess - the two of you met when you were both studying. You fell madly in love at first sight and somewhere along the way, you managed to make him fall for you, too. He graduated first, landed a job here, roped you in for one as well. You live with him and you,’ - Zitao says this with the tiniest hint of disgust - ‘love him, can’t imagine a life without him. At some point or another, you know you’re going to get down on one knee and ask him to share the rest of his life with you.
‘But you’re bored.’
Sehun feels spikes spearing his heart with every word Zitao says, the truth of it all hitting him hard where it hurts the most. ‘He’s perfectly fine for you, Sehun, and you know it. But you’ve been together for a really, really long time. You’re starting to get… Restless. And I… I can help you with that.’
Sehun knows the way Zitao’s holding him would leave no question at all for Jongin if he chose to finally get out the damned shower and take a look. He knows that he’s this close to saying yes to Zitao, to breaking his almost five year streak of fidelity, to breaking Luhan’s heart.
But he also knows Zitao is right.
‘Where - Should we head back to your place?’ Sehun asks, voice low. He feels another smirk curl Zitao’s lips as the latter detaches himself and properly gets dressed, moving faster than Sehun’s ever seen him move. Zitao gives him a knowing smile in exchange for Sehun’s nervous one, and they share their first kiss just before they exit the locker room.
Neither see the pair of brown eyes peeking out the side of the showers.
Weeks pass and things get kicked into high gear before the engine’s properly ready. Sehun and Zitao become more and more attached, and at the next outstation concert they’re all dancing at, Jongin volunteers to room with Yixing without a word. Sehun figures it’s because Yixing’s pretty clueless anyway, and he won’t notice Jongin sneaking in just before sunrise after disappearing the whole night.
Being with Zitao is a whole new experience in itself. Every time they touch, Sehun feels electricity shooting through all his nerve endings, feels a fire he thought long gone roar back to life. Being with Zitao ignites a flame inside Sehun that’s been dormant for too long, and all the words Zitao whispers makes Sehun wonder if the elder were, possibly, in love with him.
He pushes the thought away.
Sehun notices the increasing intensity of Luhan’s eyebags, notices how much more distant the elder feels. He chalks it up to the deadline that looms over Luhan’s head, the lyrics and music for Kyungsoo’s new release due soon. Sehun makes him strong coffee on nights when he’s home, coddles Luhan because he knows that’s the best way to spike his productivity.
On nights when he’s not, Luhan reaches for cans of cheap beer.
He knows.
The door to the practice room swings open and in walk Jongin and Kyungsoo, hands not intertwined but a little too close to be just friendly, voices barking out laughs. They stop short when they see the amount of papers Luhan has on the ground around him, iPod hooked up to speakers and a keyboard off its stand right next to where he sits on the floor.
‘Luhan, have you slept?’ asks Kyungsoo. The morning is sunny and warm, and everything about the day is too nice to justify how haggard Luhan looks. ‘You don’t have to work yourself so hard, you know. You’re already almost done with the lyrics for my album.’ his brows crease together in worry as he takes in sheet upon sheet of crossed out notes and scribbled words.
Luhan shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh, bloodshot eyes finding Jongin’s and making the younger gasp. ‘Your title song’s not done. Suits are all giving me bull about how one of the composers have walked out on them, so I have to write the music as well as the lyrics. They said they want to show how emotional your voice can be, and my songs are all coming out fucking flat.’ on the last word, Luhan flicks his wrist and sends pages flying, scattering spoiled music sheets across hardwood floor.
Jongin and Kyungsoo blink at him before exchanging a look. Luhan brings his knees to his chest and buries his face in them. Kyungsoo drops to his knees and wraps an arm around Luhan’s shoulders, letting the elder rest his head on his shoulder. Jongin silently goes around the room picking up stray pieces of paper. ‘Is Sehun taking proper care of you?’ Kyungsoo asks.
Jongin almost drops the stack of papers he’s got between his fingers, hands trembling slightly as he turns to face Luhan. Sure enough, there’s a wet patch growing on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and Jongin panics, torn between doing what’s right for Luhan and keeping his nose out of other people’s business. ‘No,’ Luhan chokes out. ‘He’s not. He isn’t taking proper care of me and he - he isn’t taking care of me period. He sleeps in the same bed, he stays in the same house as I do - and I miss him. I miss him so much it’s - it gets so hard to even breathe, sometimes.’
Jongin presses his lips together in a straight line as Kyungsoo pats Luhan’s hair. They wait in silence until Luhan’s sobs die down. When his eyes dry and his breathing steadies, Jongin hands him all his papers and takes Kyungsoo’s hand. They tell him they’ll leave him alone for a moment, but that he’s not truly alone - they’re just a phone call away. Before they leave, Jongin hesitates, hand coming out to grasp the door frame before he turns around.
‘You always told me that the best songs are written in moments of weakness.’ Jongin says, eyes on the blank sheet of paper in front of Luhan. ‘I… Think now’s a good time for you to try that title song again.’ and they leave.
Luhan blinks at a closed door and an empty room and ghosts and shadows playing tricks on his mind before he wills away all images of things that aren’t right now. He picks up a pen and a fresh sheet of paper, presses delicate fingers onto cold white keys. Inspiration attacks him, sudden rain across the barren terrains of his muse, pelting drops of a forming melody across his fingers.
So he holds his breath (and his heart together, he thinks wryly) and starts writing, because Jongin’s right - the best songs are written in moments of weakness, and there, in a practice room surrounded by instruments and expectations and deadlines to be met, without Sehun there to coax words from his pen and notes from his fingers - Luhan is so, so alone.
And when Luhan is without Sehun, all he ever feels is weak.
Sehun comes home with red marks painfully obvious, sprinkled all along the length of his collarbone. The door swings open and it's 3am on a Wednesday morning, and Luhan's got clients to see and the studio to go to at 9, but he's there, up waiting, just for him. Guilt and bile bubble up in his throat when he sees the bags hanging under Luhan's eyes, his disheveled hair, his hollow smile. And he knows he isn't being fair, not to Luhan or to Zitao, because this - this isn't right. This is his selfishness at its best, this is Sehun taking clear advantage of the fact that Luhan trusts him.
So he opens his mouth to say something, to spill out a confession that will - hopefully - make things right, but a finger is pressed to his lips and empty doe eyes meet his and he falls silent again, Luhan not wanting him to speak. 'I don't want to know where you've been or who you've been with.' Luhan's tone is calm and collected, and it scares Sehun more than if he'd yelled, if he'd screamed and shouted and brought down whole buildings with just his voice alone. Luhan swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down before the broken shards of his heart make their way into his voice: 'Just - just come to bed. Come to bed and stay with me, that's all - that's all I want. Please.'
Sometimes Sehun dreams of soft blond hair and even softer smiles, of the man he's got in his bed, in his home, who sings him to sleep during the hardest of times. But sometimes Sehun dreams of unrestrained passion and want, of dark, inky strands shooting waves of something else through his nerves as he runs his fingers through them, of dangerous eyes and stolen kisses, of touches that set him alight.
Sometimes Sehun's not sure which dream it is that he holds closer to his heart.
‘Wake up, Lu,’ Sehun mumbles, nuzzling Luhan’s jaw with his nose. It’s the morning of their fifth anniversary, and Sehun knows the best gift he could give Luhan isn’t anything that could possibly come wrapped in a box, so he’ll try his best to give him something else. ‘Lu, wake up. It’s a very special day,’ says Sehun, planting kisses on Luhan’s cheek, all down his neck.
When Luhan stirs his eyes flutter open and the smile he gives Sehun is so heartbreakingly beautiful - instinctive happiness underlined by a thin shadow of doubt. ‘Good morning, Sehunnie,’ rasps Luhan. His fingers thread themselves through Sehun’s hair and they ignore the notion of morning breath because there’s nothing they like more than their good morning kisses.
(Even if this particular one tastes bittersweet.)
‘What do you want to do today, Lu?’ asks Sehun, content to have his head on Luhan’s chest as the elder strokes his hair. Silence meets him for all of two seconds, before Luhan finally answers him.
‘I just want to have you all to myself today. That’s all.’
‘What’s this place called?’ Sehun hollers, though his mouth is right up near Zitao’s ear. Zitao laughs boisterously and yanks Sehun close, bodies moving to the beat, only inches apart. Zitao yells back some fancy name Sehun’s sure to not remember without proper lessons, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. Zitao snakes arms around his waist and pulls him in closer, until both their bodies are touching and everything gets too hot and -
‘Zitao - stop. I - I don’t want to do this right now,’ Sehun shouts. Zitao seems to ignore him, grinding himself closer until Sehun’s arm shoots out to stop him, palm flattening against his chiselled chest. ‘I’m tired, and - and I’m sorry, alright? I’ll make it up to you,’ says Sehun. He reaches up to peck Zitao on the lips once before turning to leave.
He just wants to go home tonight.
'All of this is temporary, isn't it?' Luhan's words are blurred together on a tongue loosened by alcohol, breath coming out in noxious pants. His eyes are imploring, round - so beautiful and so sincere, and so, so sad that Sehun can't help but look away. Luhan doesn't take any notice (or offence) when he sees Sehun's attention shift away from him. Probably because he's used to it, he supposes.
But tonight there are no other distractions, no foreign bodies or empty words or actions driven by adrenaline coursing through veins usually used only to carry blood. There is nothing but Sehun and Luhan in their silent apartment, nothing but the ghosts of their smiles and the shadows of all their doubts there with them in the darkness.
'Answer me, Sehunnie,' Luhan croaks out, and his voice breaks and recedes, like water timidly crawling ashore, only to pull back. Sehun's tongue seems to grow heavy inside his mouth, a dead weight trapping words stuck in his throat. It's fantastic, it's ridiculous - but Sehun, for once, can't bring himself to lie. His eyes lock with Luhan's, and there passes between them a moment of truth, of pure vulnerability in two pairs of eyes that used to mean the world to one another.
Heartbeats, moments, two souls, apart.
Luhan takes in a breath before he speaks. ‘Tell me,’ he repeats. ‘Tell me, Sehunnie.’ He inches closer and at the same time, miles further away, the distance between one body and another in stark contrast with the distance between their hearts.
'Tell you… Tell you what?' Sehun manages to say.
'Tell me, that you still love me. Tell me it's only temporary. Tell me I'm permanent. We are permanent.' Luhan's voice alternates between smooth words and broken murmurs, and shame beats Sehun down when he thinks he hears tears in the elder's voice.
'What - what's temporary, Lu?' Sehun asks, heart hammering against his ribcage because he's pretty sure he knows the answer, and he wishes and wishes and wishes Luhan wouldn't.
'You… You and Zitao.'
Tense moments pass in which Luhan’s the only one breathing, Sehun’s lungs ceasing to function. A bitter laugh falls from the elder’s lips, strands of sorrow and remorse braided into a sound meant to express joy. Sehun lets the laughter mock him, lets the chains that shoot out of every chuckle lunge out to entrap him. The lyricist just laughs and laughs and laughs, hollow sounds vibrating in his chest.
Sehun thinks he’s never heard anything as despondent as Luhan’s empty laughs.
Soon enough the elder gets tired, alcohol tugging at his eyes, limbs becoming lethargic. He wordlessly slumps onto Sehun, all the weight of his neglected frail body rested against a dancer’s lithe form. He falls asleep in a matter of seconds, but Sehun doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t indicate any signs of movement.
He likes the feeling of Luhan’s hair gently tickling the skin of his neck, likes the even breathing the elder man elicits as he sleeps. He likes feeling like they used to before, before the itch came and gnawed incessantly at his veins, before what ifs started haunting him through night and day.
He likes seeing Luhan fully at peace again.
But the sands of time fall because gravity is only Sehun’s friend when he dances, and before he knows it his watch is displaying an electric green 4:45am. He doesn’t want to rouse his boyfriend - because despite it all, through it all, that was still what Luhan was - so he gently maneuvers the elder into his arms and carries him to their bed.
His fingers move fluidly as they undress him, rid his body of clothes reeking of spirits. He tucks Luhan in under multiple blankets, because he knows the elder doesn’t get a good sleep unless he’s warm and comfortable enough. When he’s done he hesitates, wonders if he deserves to sleep next to someone who looks so angelic, all his sins staining every inch of his skin.
In the end he crawls in, because he thinks Luhan doesn’t look complete without him by his side.
He wakes up the next morning fully expecting to be greeted by a Luhan with a raging headache, hangover rendering him motionless. But when his eyes crack open he sees nothing but an empty bed, the pillow next to his cold to the touch. He sits up and moves to push his hair out of his face, when something catches his eye.
Just under the Chinese characters tattooed on his wrist is a scrawl of just two words in ballpoint pen, in Luhan’s unmistakable hand: I remember.
Huang Zitao 10:36am
Oh Sehun!
Are you busy today?
Oh Sehun 10:42am
Don’t think so.
Hold on we have two off days remember
Why do you ask?
Huang Zitao 10:43am
Because I am unbearably homesick
And lonely
And I would like very much for some company right now
If you would be so kind ;)
Oh Sehun 10:44am
Are you alone?
Huang Zitao 10:45am
of course.
Oh Sehun 10:46am
Good. You better keep it that way
At least until I get there
See you soon, Taozi
Huang Zitao 10:47am
See you!
And I am not a little peach, thanks
Sehun comes home to an empty apartment, body sore from hours of rehearsals. Silence greets him as he makes his way toward the couch, ache seeping through to the marrow of his bones. He just sits there for a moment before blindly reaching for the remote, bringing the television in front of him to life. He mindlessly clicks the next button until he’s just too tired to even expend the minimal energy needed, settling on something just because he’s too lazy to properly pick.
His breath hitches when he notices it’s a music channel, one of the more obscure ones dedicated to the people responsible for what goes into the music, not what goes on album jackets. It’s one of the shows that does interviews for songwriters and producers, and Sehun finds himself staring into numerous coloured lights dotting out the image of Luhan.
‘-day is the lyricist responsible for writing the lyrics to popular soloist, Do Kyungsoo’s new ballad, Luhan!’ the interviewer is slightly more enthusiastic than Sehun would expect. He watches as Luhan grips the man’s hand in greeting, artificial grin stretching out his lips.
They exchange pleasantries, the interviewer only asking for the bare minimums when it comes to Luhan’s personal life. He’s more interested in what inspires the lyricist, in what moves him and how he views the world.
It’s refreshing, Sehun thinks, because he’s really only interested in the music.
‘So, moving on - let’s talk about the lyrics you wrote for Do Kyungsoo’s ballad, “Watching You Breathe”. People from all across the country - even some from overseas - have written in and commented about it. There’s a lot of incoherence but I think the general census is that it’s a beautiful, beautiful song. The way the words fit together - so poetic, so raw, so honest. Could you maybe tell us about it? What was your inspiration for this song? What is its story?’ the interviewer’s voice fluctuates as he interrogates Luhan, but the latter remains calm, unnerved.
Sehun feels a boulder weighing down on his chest. He knew he’d been distracted, been an absentee boyfriend for the past few months - but he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to listen to the new song Luhan wrote for Kyungsoo. He feels almost too guilty to continue watching. But then he remembers that he needs to support Luhan, to respect him in his line of work, so he keeps watching.
Luhan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Sehun notices the tremor in his chest when he inhales. It hurts because he knows that Luhan is about to be completely honest: he’s never been the type to lie about his work, after all. He doesn’t have any idea what the song was about - dancing as he does only to heavy beats and light (sometimes even no) words - but he has a feeling that it will only serve to multiply the guilt he’s already hoarded in his very being.
‘At night as you sleep and I am watching you breathe / At night when you’re close, but so far away from me / I wonder if you are the dream to pull me from this nightmare / But then dawn breaks and I wake up, you remind me you’re never there.’ Luhan sings, voice not as rich and soulful as Kyungsoo’s, but so steeped in emotion Sehun feels knives cutting at his veins.
‘Wow, I didn’t know you could sing!’ the interviewer exclaims, and Sehun wants to wring his neck, wants to throttle him, how dare you superficialise this moment. ‘That was the chorus, was it not? Tell us: what kind of story do the words tell?’
‘The meaning of the whole song isn’t in any way disguised, so the lyrics tell the story in the most literal way you can imagine. It’s about being physically close to someone, so close there isn’t even space for you to cross when you want to touch them. But no matter how far you stretch, no matter how much you strain yourself trying - you’re never able to reach for their heart. It’s locked away somewhere you don’t know the location of, somewhere only one other person has access to.
‘And it’s not them. It’s not the person you have lying in bed with you when you go to sleep, it’s someone else - someone not as faceless as you’d like them to be, someone with the ability to draw the person you love away from you night after night after night. It’s someone who holds the key to your lover’s heart just out of reach, a big kid bullying someone much smaller. Someone much more persistent.
‘It’s about how there’s very little comfort in knowing they choose to fall asleep only in your bed, instead of that someone else’s. Because when you sleep there is silence and there is - there’s this romantic impression that you dream, you dream of what you hold dearest. And there’s always this nagging insecurity that maybe your face is never in any of those dreams, while your lover’s is in all of yours.’
Tears have accumulated in Luhan’s eyes at this point, making them glassy. Sehun realises his own vision isn’t as clear as it was before Luhan spoke, and he’s hit with self hatred strong enough he feels the wind get knocked out of his chest. Why did he do it, why is he doing it, why won’t he stop himself from doing it again, he questions. His mind can’t conjure up any sort of answer he thinks respectable enough, and he hates himself all the more.
But he keeps watching the interview, because it’s almost ending and Luhan’s not done speaking and singing yet, and if he can’t be actively there cheering his boyfriend on and supporting him - he’ll hide his face amongst the masses, he’ll be anonymous and silent from the sidelines.
‘Maybe I am pitch black staining your paper white / Maybe I am pained ink too harsh where you’re fragile / Maybe I am sharp, hard lines, destroying your delicate / But I am so, so in love with you, and I have been all this while.’
Sehun can’t take it anymore, the lines on the inside of his wrist suddenly feeling like they’re burning scars straight into his soul. He moves to pick up his phone, eyes still fixated on Luhan’s face as he thanks the interviewer and the viewers at home for watching.
‘Hello, Zitao? Can I come over?’
Sehun wakes up with his face pressed against a silky pillow, fabric somewhat sticking to the skin of his cheek. He’s completely bare save for the blankets he’s got covering him from the waist down, and the smell of smoke is heavy in the air. ‘My princess is awake,’ says Zitao, putting out his cigarette before leaning down to nuzzle Sehun’s cheek and ask for a kiss. He tastes like nicotine and smoke and indecision, and Sehun wonders when his tongue got used to it.
When Zitao pulls away there’s something sad in his eyes, something that Sehun knows needs acknowledging but he ignores it anyway. ‘Heard they’re going to do a merger with Woollim,’ Sehun remarks casually, body stiffening slightly when Zitao draws him into his chest. He traces patterns in the skin there, a jumble of Korean words he’s sure Zitao won’t understand.
(But the only things he knows how to write in Mandarin are love and Luhan, and neither are very appropriate right now.)
‘Mmm. I’m quite excited, I’ve always admired Infinite’s choreography,’ Zitao mumbles. His lips are in Sehun’s hair and he chuckles softly when Sehun runs his fingers over particular patches of his skin. He cards his own through Sehun’s hair and Sehun sighs. It isn’t often that Zitao is this tame and affectionate, and it’s these moments Sehun’s learned to appreciate the most. Sehun doesn’t say anything further, so Zitao opens his mouth to speak again.
‘Why did you come to me?’
Sehun’s finger freezes just as it writes the final stroke of his name on Zitao’s left pec, trembling in place. He inhales slowly before resuming, tracing Zitao’s name in Korean. ‘No reason. I just wanted to see you,’ Sehun mumbles. A long silence stretches out between them before Zitao’s hand encircles Sehun’s wrist and the elder rolls on top of him, pressing a soft, sensual kiss against his lips.
Sehun briefly wonders if it’s going to escalate into something more when Zitao pulls away, face hovering inches above his own. ‘Tell me the truth, Oh Sehun,’ he says. The look in his eyes is dangerous and Sehun’s not all too sure that he’s brave enough to deny Zitao what he wants, so he answers.
‘I… I saw Luhan’s interview. On television, that’s… That’s why I called you,’ murmurs Sehun. Zitao lets go of him and moves to sit up, reaches over to his bedside table for a cigarette and a light. Sehun holds his breath as he watches Zitao slip the stick between his lips, watches as he plucks a fire to life. Zitao inhales deeply and exhales in a cloud of smoke, blowing it away from Sehun because he knows the latter doesn’t particularly like the smell.
‘For Kyungsoo’s new song?’ Zitao’s tone is light and Sehun relaxes a little, rolling over to lie on his stomach after he nods. ‘It’s a good song. Very emotional. One would think he wrote straight from the heart.’ and Sehun feels chills creep up his spine, feels himself freeze in place.
Zitao side eyes him and a smirk curls his lips, the dangerous glint back in his eyes. ‘If it is, it’s a stupid move.’ he says. Sehun doesn’t react, doesn’t respond though his blood starts to boil. ‘Don’t you think so? He basically laid out his soul for the world to see. Made himself vulnerable in the name of meeting a deadline. He put all his feelings out in something as frivolous as a pop ballad, that’s just - ’
Sehun doesn’t know what’s possessed him, doesn’t know where the sudden spike of bravery that propels his fist into the side of Zitao’s face has come from. But there he is, kneeling right next to Zitao with his hand in a fist, breathing heavy and staring Zitao straight in the eye. If he could make his tongue move, he’d tell Zitao straight. Don’t talk about Luhan like that. You know nothing about him, he’d say. But his tongue is tied and he can’t speak, and for a long minute, neither of them move.
That is, until Zitao curls his hand around the back of Sehun’s neck and pulls the younger on top of him. Until Zitao pushes at parts of Sehun that makes him keen, that makes him whine out the syllables of his name. He kisses Sehun with the burning passion Luhan would never have been able to give him, wild and uncontained and edging on painful. When both pairs of lips are swollen, Zitao pulls away and presses their foreheads together, Sehun’s palm caressing his rapidly bruising cheek.
‘Do you think I like always being second choice?’
‘Why are you staring at me?’ Luhan asks, suddenly very conscious of a pair of eyes raking over him as he gets dressed and ready for work. ‘Did I grow an extra head or something?’
Sehun laughs and stands up from where he sits fully dressed on the bed, hands coming up to loop his arms around Luhan’s waist. ‘No,’ Sehun whispers, face buried in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. ‘I just -’ his voice trails off when he looks in the mirror and sees how perfectly they fit together, as if realising it for the first time all over again. ‘I… Really love you, that’s all.’
Luhan hums to himself, fingers grasping at Sehun’s wrist until he can turn it outwards. ‘You made me a promise back when you got this tattoo,’ Luhan mumbles, thumb tracing over the strokes of his name.
‘I wonder if you still remember it.’
‘I’m moving back to China.’
Sehun drops the book he’s reading at Zitao’s words, shock evident in his widening eyes. Zitao himself is looking down at his hands, as if afraid to meet Sehun’s gaze head on. Something about his demeanour tells Sehun that’s not all on his mind, and he waits for Zitao’s next words in breathless anticipation.
‘I want you to come with me.’
Luhan.
This is when it hits him. Sehun realises, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that being with Zitao is not what he wants. He doesn’t want to live this life for as long as his heart’s still beating, doesn’t think he can, because this kind of life - this pseudo romance he shares with Zitao is all one foot dangling off the edge, all pure adrenaline and unrestrained emotion and Sehun doesn’t think he can take it much longer.
The prospect of a future with Zitao, he realises, absolutely terrifies him. He doesn’t want to come home to cigarette smoke and random sex at five thirty in the morning when he’d rather sleep. He doesn’t want to live life on the edge until he’s old and grey -
So he does what he should have done all those months ago.
He gets up to leave.
He doesn’t get very far before a strong hand grasps him, a bruising hold that shows no sign of letting up. He meets Zitao’s gaze head on and notices - notices that, well, he’s crying.
'Look, Sehun - you know he's not enough for you. You know he doesn't make you feel the way I do. I don't know why you haven't left him yet.' Zitao says, hand gripping Sehun's upper arm so hard his knuckles blanch. Sehun looks indifferently at Zitao's hand, as if daring him to hold on.
All he can think of, with Zitao holding him so forcibly like this, is Luhan. Because where Luhan is soft curves and gentle touches, Zitao is sharp angles and hard lines, rough fingers outlining the contrast between his illicit lover and the one he’d had intentions to give a ring to not too long ago.
And, he thinks, he finally knows what he wants. So he forcibly yanks himself out of Zitao’s hold, a cold glare his final goodbye.
'Maybe you're not enough for me, either.'
‘Oh - Soo, Sehuna’s here!’ Jongin calls, hand still wrapped around the doorknob. There’s a happy glow to his face when he lets the younger in, locking the door behind him. Sehun briefly thinks he’s never seen Jongin like this, painting the picture of the perfect host, prim and proper and it’s all probably Kyungsoo’s doing.
‘Sehun!’ says Kyungsoo, hugging him tightly before sitting down next to his boyfriend. ‘We’re glad you came. Are… Are you alone?’ the question is tentative and soft and Sehun knows Kyungsoo means to be as polite and unintrusive as possible, but his heart prickles anyway as he nods. ‘I… I see.’
Kyungsoo’s cheeks colour and Jongin leaps in, taking control of the situation seamlessly. ‘You see - the thing is, Sehuna, we have something we want to tell you.’ says Jongin. Kyungsoo nudges him sharply in the ribs and he grins. ‘And - and I have something I want to ask of you, too,’ he adds. Sehun leans forward, elbows on his knees, ready to play the part of awkwardly attentive friend.
‘Well - we’re engaged.’ Jongin says, barely able to contain the grin that spreads itself across his lips. He chuckles as Kyungsoo proudly thrusts his hand forward, showcasing the modest metal band Jongin gave him the night before. ‘We’re getting married!’ and his tone is one of disbelieving happiness, and Sehun tries to fight down the envy that’s brewing a storm in his mind.
‘Liked it so you put a ring on it. Good job, Jongin, never thought you had it in you,’ Sehun smiles, reaching out to pat his friend on the shoulder. ‘When’s the wedding?’
‘We’re thinking maybe somewhere around this time next year. Best do it right after my comeback, so we can go on a honeymoon right away. But - but that’s not the issue right now, is it, Jongin?’ Kyungsoo turns to his fiance, as if prompting him to speak. ‘Isn’t there something else Sehun should know?’
‘Oh god, this is so gay,’ Jongin groans, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Alright, listen up and listen good, Sehuna - you’re a little shit and sometimes when you dance your sweat flies all over the fucking place and it lands on my face and you have the worst bitchface imaginable, but, well, you’re a good friend. And I’m only saying all this because my fiance thinks it’s cute when I say cheesy things, but - will you be my best man?’
The smile on Sehun’s face all but screams yes, and Kyungsoo’s so delighted Sehun thinks even his heart’s about to melt. Kyungsoo offers him lunch and something to take home for Luhan, and Sehun graciously accepts.
Before he leaves, Jongin catches him by the crook of his elbow, just when Kyungsoo disappears from sight. ‘Okay, I’m going to give you your first mission as best man, you ready?’ Jongin whispers. Sehun rolls his eyes and nods.
‘Go make things right with Luhan.’
Sehun stands just outside the door of their apartment, afternoon sun flooding the corridors. It’s been a couple of months since Zitao had left, and in those short weeks, Sehun has finally come to realise what it is he properly wants.
He realises he wants to come home to warm smiles and children whose eyes shine with innocence and expectation, to kisses that actually properly mean something. He wants, more than anything, for the rest of his life, to go home to everything Luhan wants and Luhan can give him, none of which he could have even begun to hope for with Zitao.
He wants to live the rest of his life with the boy who writes dreams.
He’s nervous and he doesn’t know if the timing’s right, but then again, nothing is ever properly right when it comes to Sehun and Luhan. There are kinks their relationship still needs to work out, rough waters they have to sail together. But Sehun thinks they’ll be okay, as long as they have each other.
He knocks on the door, one, two, three times. The bouquet he’s had hiding behind his back for the past fifteen minutes almost slips out of his hand when Luhan flings the door open, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. Sehun can tell that Luhan’s about to tell him off for forgetting his house keys yet again, but the next gesture he does stops it.
He gets down on one knee.
‘I have been an insufferable dick.’
Sehun’s never been good with words, but it’s okay, because Luhan loves him all the more for it.
‘I have made a lot of mistakes in the past. I have wronged you and hurt you, and every single time I think about it, I am unable to sleep at night. I think about you every waking minute of every day - I dream about you every night. What I’ve done - everything I’ve done is inexcusable, but I want to make it up to you. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.’
Luhan’s eyes are welling up with tears, and Sehun smiles a little goofily up at his boyfriend before he takes a deep breath and continues.
‘Roses are red, violets are blue, there’s nothing I’m more sure of than that I want to marry you.’
Luhan flings himself down at Sehun, a million yeses escaping his lips before they’re pressed against the younger’s. They lose themselves in each other for a few minutes, kissing and touching and smiling against one another. When they finally pull away, there are identical grins on their lips, and in that moment, nothing else existed except each other, and the sheer joy of being in love.
‘That,’ Luhan says, ‘was a pretty cheesy poem.’
‘But… You said yes, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. Yeah I did. I want to be able to make fun of your poetry for the rest of my life, Sehunnie.’
‘Good. Because I’ve already gotten this,’ Sehun says, unwrapping his arms from where it sits across Luhan’s waist and shows the elder something that actually coaxes tears out of his eyes.
Because sitting just underneath the tattooed characters of Luhan’s name on Sehun’s wrist, in writing that looks strikingly similar to Luhan’s own, are three words: i’ll always remember.
And they do.
Author’s Note:
So I re… idk I took this down from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caressingflames and then I reread it, cringed for a million years and then added scenes and stuff so I hope this flows better? Idk
This is the Taohunhan that’s been begging to be written since the beginning of Sem 2 I’m already more than halfway through omg
Forstarsthatlast, good luck for your exams!
And for you, thank you for reading this. :)
twitter | ask.fm
This is one such story.
This is a story that has two beginnings: one where Sehun meets Luhan, and the next, when he meets Zitao.
One is a love story.
The other is not.
The first beginning occurs when Sehun’s eyes fall on a certain baby-faced barista at the on-campus Starbucks, someone with the faintest accented Korean, someone whose nametag reads: Luhan. Sehun is awestruck. The man (Sehun’s not sure if he can even call him that, he looks about twelve) has the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, the palest porcelain skin moulded onto the delicate features of his face. He’s too preoccupied with staring at this Luhan character to actually notice his lips moving, to hear the voice that comes in such an enticingly beautiful package.
‘Um, excuse me – you’re kind of holding up the line.’ Luhan says, lips pulled tight into a grimace. Sehun snaps out of his trance and spares a glance behind him, only to be met by disgruntled students with varying degrees of impatience and exhaustion etched on their faces.
‘Oh – oh, um. Sorry,’ Sehun mumbles intelligently, his cheeks colouring when he hears the words come out of his mouth. ‘What was it you were saying?’
‘I said,’ Luhan drawls, an impish smile dancing on his lips. ‘Welcome to Starbucks, how can I help you? I’m Luhan,’ and his full blown smile practically screams of mischief, of amusement born of second hand embarrassment (and possibly finding the boy in front of him insanely cute), but Sehun takes no notice because, well – that is a really, really nice smile.
‘Um – I’m Sehun. And um – could I get a tall chocolate cream frappucino?’ Sehun asks. Luhan nods and reaches for a clear plastic cup, practiced fingers snatching one up, a Sharpie poised in his other hand.
‘One tall… Chocolate cream… Frap. Alright, do you want whipped cream?’ Luhan asks, scribbling barely legible words on Sehun’s cup. The latter shakes his head and Luhan smiles. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’
And Sehun probably should learn to switch his brain-to-mouth filter on when he’s speaking to people (especially insanely beautiful people), but he hasn’t at the moment, and his next words make him want to slap himself into the next dimension, because – ‘How about your number?’
He’s sure his cheeks and neck and ears are on fire by now, and he vaguely wonders if Luhan can see him internally cursing himself out. Luhan doesn’t show any signs of telepathic ability though, only good natured laughter tinkling into Sehun’s ears. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t give my number out to strangers. I’ll let you know when your order’s ready,’ he smiles, and Sehun immediately wants nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, never to be seen again.
Instead he quietly slinks off to one of the vacant chairs in the furthest corner of the shop and sinks into it, all the while contemplating his reason for existence when he’s got this degree of social impairment. A couple of minutes pass before there comes a call of his name from the counter, and Sehun slowly drags his feet to collect his drink.
He’s hoping to be able to snatch the cup and make a quick getaway with it, mortified at the very thought of having to interact with Luhan again. But just as he turns away, drink in hand, Luhan calls his name again, frantically waving a few napkins at him, and he stops to face the barista, heart pounding in his chest. ‘You forgot your napkins,’ Luhan says, holding them out to him.
‘Um – thanks,’ Sehun mumbles, taking the napkins from him. It’s not until he’s already back in his apartment that he notices that one of the napkins has some ink on it, hasty words scribbled out in black ballpoint.
“I don’t usually give this out to strangers, but hey – I know your name’s Sehun, and I know you’re cute. So. Call me sometime.”
Underneath, there is a string of numbers that can only be a cellphone number, and Sehun inwardly leaps with joy, because just underneath that, next to two lots of delicate strokes and complicated characters, are the words “This is how you write my name in Mandarin. Luhan.”
Sehun gets those characters tattooed on the inside of his wrist just before their second anniversary, and when he shows the ink to Luhan, he whispers, ‘Forever,’.
They go through the whole cliche love story rigmarole: fall madly in love with each other, move in together after graduation, they even manage to find jobs in the same company. Luhan has a degree in songwriting and the prospect of making music always makes his eyes shine, second only to how they do when he looks at Sehun. Sehun himself graduates with a dance major under his belt, eager and ready to start the rest of his life with Luhan.
‘Are you excited?’ Luhan asks, watching with amusement as Sehun gathers three different changes of clothes into his backpack for the day. ‘I - I just - I guess? I am?’ Sehun’s mind is a labyrinth of who do I talk to what do I do where do I go how should I dress is three changes of clothes enough is it too much I -
‘Relax. Breathe,’ Luhan says, fingers coming up to detach Sehun’s backpack from the younger’s death grip. He tosses it somewhere behind him and gathers Sehun up in his arms instead, letting his boyfriend bury his face in the crook of his neck. Delicate fingers thread through Sehun’s hair. ‘Just - keep your cool, and you’ll be fine. Alright?’ Luhan’s lips flutter around Sehun’s temple, until the younger tilts his head up and there are kisses along his jawline, down to his neck. ‘Relax.’
Sehun’s eyes close and all he can think of is Luhan, of how nervous he was on his first day two years ago, freshly printed degree doing nothing to calm his nerves. He remembers waking up way earlier than he would on a Monday (he’d had no morning classes that semester) just to pad out softly into Luhan’s kitchen to make him breakfast. He remembers how Luhan had sat bolt upright when Sehun gently shook him awake, back rigid and muscles tense.
Am I late? Luhan had asked, doe eyes wide open, catching what minimal light was present through the thick fabric of his curtains. Sehun stifled a laugh then, delighting in how his boyfriend’s hair tends to stick up at all angles the moment he wakes up. Don’t laugh at me Sehunnie, it’s my first day and I’m going to be late! Luhan had half hollered, throwing warm blankets off him as he swung his legs so his feet touched the floor. They’re all going to hate me before they’ve even gotten to know me properly -
Long fingers wrapped around Luhan’s wrist, and before he could manage to throw some sort of abuse at Sehun for keeping him, he found himself already flat on his back, whole body pressed into the bed. You’re not going to be late, Sehun whispered, lips breathing warm air onto the shell of Luhan’s ear. Look, he said as he pulled the elder’s alarm clock toward them. Luhan still had an hour until he had to leave.
Luhan exhaled in a sigh of relief as he took in the glowing green digits, settling comfortably into the warmth his boyfriend had him wrapped up in. They’re not going to hate you, Sehun mumbled. There’s nothing about you to hate.
Sehun’s focus zeroes back to the present, where the anxious thrumming in his chest has calmed somewhat at the memory of Luhan coming home on his first day beaming, tales of all the amazing people he’d met spilling off his tongue. ‘You ready to go?’ Luhan asks, pulling away to grasp at both of the younger’s shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.
Sehun nods and Luhan gets ready to leave, making sure that all his things are in his messenger bag before he makes for the door. They take a bus to work, Luhan’s thumb stroking circles on the back of Sehun’s hand, the latter’s palm slick with sweat.
They have twenty minutes to spare when they arrive at the doors. Luhan presents his ID and smiles politely at the handful of fans camped out in front of the building as he waits. Sehun only manages to look bewildered at the sheer size of their cameras. The security guard finishes signing Sehun in and hands him a temporary badge - ‘Be sure to pick up your ID from management before the end of the day,’ - and then all that’s separating Sehun from his dream job is himself, insecurity and anxiety the bricks of an invisible wall barring the entrance.
He feels a gentle squeeze encapsulating his fingers. ‘Hey - Sehunnie, look at me,’ Luhan prompts, ignoring the tittering behind him when he reaches up to cup Sehun’s chin in delicate fingers. ‘Sehunnie...’ Luhan whines, until Sehun finally decides to meet his gaze. There’s hope and there’s peace and there’s any amount of happiness in Luhan’s eyes, and Sehun feels his apprehension evaporate.
‘Listen to me. You’ll be fine, alright? Just go in there, chin up, shoulders set. Show them what you’re made of.’ Luhan smiles before he swipes his card and the door slides open, and he pulls Sehun in behind him without a word.
The doors slide shut again and Luhan takes a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s watching them. His smile becomes a little more mischievous as he tiptoes, planting a soft peck on Sehun’s lips. ‘The dance studios are downstairs. I’ll see you at lunch!’ he says, disattaching his hand from his boyfriend’s before he turns a corner and disappears.
Sehun takes a deep breath before he moves towards the elevators. His eyes are focused on the descending numbers above his head, so much so that he doesn’t register light footed steps approaching him until a pair of familiar arms are wrapped around his waist. His body barely reacts, so used to the feel of the lips that are kissing along the join of his neck and shoulder.
‘Make me proud, Sehun-ah.’
‘I will, Lu.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Sehun struggles a little, unused to days spent doing nothing but dancing. His body aches persistently everyday, sores seeping into his very marrows. Sometimes he can’t wait until the end of the day arrives, and he gets a chance to let himself be enveloped in a hug that smells of Luhan.
Sometimes, even Luhan can’t placate him.
Soon enough though, they fall into a routine. They wake up and have a quick breakfast before they take a shower each, Luhan nagging at Sehun to pick up his feet because they’re going to miss the bus. Sehun stumbles into the seat next to Luhan once they’ve boarded, and the elder lets him catch a few minutes’ shuteye, his head on Luhan’s shoulder.
They get to the building always with twenty minutes to spare, exchange a furtive kiss and an ‘I’ll see you at lunch,’ before each make their way to their respective floors.
Sehun’s instructor tells him he has potential, and within a few weeks they’ve upgraded him out of initiation (as the tanned boy who’s got sex appeal oozing out his every pore whenever he so much as breathes calls it) and let him join the regular dance sessions. Sehun makes friends with said boy, Jongin, and spends most of his time with him.
Once the day is done he takes a shower and puts on a fresh set of clothes, punches Jongin in the shoulder as a goodbye and makes his way upstairs to wait for Luhan. At 6PM on the dot, he spots soft blond hair and a haggard smile coming toward him, and they head out for something to eat before going home.
Sometimes they fall asleep in each others’ arms, body against body, heart to heart. Sometimes they have the energy to engage in something more, but most times, they’re both just too tired to make love.
Sometimes they fall asleep with their backs to each other, breathing out of sync, and impossibly far away.
The news comes just after Sehun begins his fifth month at SM. He’s dancing with Jongin in a fusion of contemporary and ballroom, and (much to his chagrin) he’s playing the part of the girl. Jongin had been chosen as part of the dance troupe for Kyungsoo’s pending release, but it’s still months in the making and all he knows is that it’s going to be a smooth ballad.
‘Why the hell am I the girl again?’ Sehun grumbles, leaning all his weight on Jongin just because. ‘I look nothing like one. You’re the girl, look at your damned lips.’
‘Do you want to kiss them, Sehuna?’ Jongin teases, a smirk on those lips when he dips Sehun with ease. ‘And I have to be the guy because I am one. They’re not gonna make me dance as a girl, so stop your whining and don’t get your panties in a bunch. Where the fuck is your grace, did you leave it in the bus on the way here this morning?’
They break away from each other and Sehun almost socks Jongin in the face, arm flying wildly, just missing the elder’s jaw. ‘Sorry,’ he says smugly, the grin on his features anything but. Jongin throws him a venomous glare in return, before focusing on the rhythm and finishing the dance.
When the music dies down Jongin falls to the floor, spread eagled, flat on his back. Sehun rolls a bottle of water toward him, before taking a swig from his own. ‘Did you hear?’ comes Jongin’s voice, barely audible for the pants he’s eliciting.
‘Hear about what?’ Sehun asks.
‘They’re bringing in some dancers from the China subsidiary. Something about creating better relations between here and there.’ Jongin says, finally sitting up. ‘A couple of them are joining our group.’
Sehun wrinkles his nose. ‘Why?’
‘Beats me. Suits say we have to play nice though, so put those claws away, Sehuna.’ Jongin says. ‘One of them was a bit of a celebrity back when he was a kid, I hear. The other apparently knows how to kill with his bare hands and leave your body looking perfectly fine.’
Sehun’s eyes widen and Jongin chuckles, dodging the dirty towel the younger sends flying in his direction. ‘Buckle up, Sehuna. The circus is coming to town.’
This is when the second beginning happens.
Jongin is an idiot. He is a certified, grade A buffoon whose words, Sehun knows, shouldn’t get to him. He makes bad decisions and leaves fingerprints everywhere, careless and imprecise, all caution to the wind. Sehun shudders at the memory of the last SM Town tour, when they’d had to share a room together and Jongin was still nowhere to be found at 3AM. Sehun had gone to look for him, tiptoeing across carpeted floors, not even breathing properly lest he awaken the singers whose rooms he was passing by.
He’d just passed the room belonging to Kyungsoo, SM’s latest male solo singer when the door flew open, a man who was most definitely not Kyungsoo stumbling out of it. Jongin’s hair was mussed and his clothes were rumpled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d just finished doing. ‘You didn’t see anything,’ Jongin sort of slurs, dopey grin somewhat hanging off his face. Sehun had shaken his head then before he dragged him back to the room, decidedly branding Jongin an idiot.
Even with knowledge of Jongin’s idiocy, Sehun couldn’t help but recall his words when the Chinese dancers turned up the next week. The former child star, Yixing, was pleasant and friendly enough, if a little forgetful. He’d greeted them in accented Korean, stressing syllables Sehun and Jongin previously never thought about. The rest of the dancers welcomed him readily.
But when Sehun saw the other man - well, he had trouble keeping Jongin’s words at bay. Huang Zitao was silent and tall, he even had a couple of centimetres on Jongin. His body was lithe, looked strong and solid, and the tight sleeveless top he was wearing showed off well muscled arms and a beautifully sculpted abdomen. He had inky black hair and dark bags under his eyes to match, and the way he looked - no, glared - at people made Sehun shudder.
He was determined not to have anything to do with the Chinese dancer who smelled of musk and smoke, but his plans are foiled when Jongin nudges him towards the new arrival with a cheeky smile and a whisper of ‘Play nice, Oh Sehun.’
The weight of Zitao’s stare is almost too much for Sehun to handle, but he meets those eyes anyway. He offers up his hand and his name and a greeting - ‘Hello, I’m Oh Sehun. Welcome to SM Korea,’ - but no response is garnered, no handshake results. He doesn’t falter though, just allows Zitao to stare at him for a long while before finally, another hand comes up to clasp his.
‘I am Huang Zitao,’ Zitao says, voice dripping with formality and a foreign tone. The handshake is firm and somewhat strong, and Jongin’s words come to Sehun’s mind again. He thinks Zitao is about to let go, but, of course, he doesn’t. Sehun is close to just yanking his hand free when Zitao utters words that stop him.
‘Oh Sehun, you say? No. I would call you… Unhappy.’
And with that, Zitao drops Sehun’s hand and turns to leave.
For the next few days, Zitao’s words never leave Sehun’s mind. They plague his thoughts, unfocus his moves when he should be putting his best foot forward for the Shinee concert he’s dancing back up in next week. The fourth time he slips up and turns left instead of right, he collides with Jongin, sending the latter straight into Zitao.
‘Goddammit, Sehun,’ Jongin mumbles, apologising profusely to an indifferent Zitao as he moves to get off him. It’s the end of the day, though, and bodies are dropping everywhere, Yixing collapsing himself once the dance instructor lets them off. Midnight paints black skies and multicoloured neon lights outside the door of the SM building, and Sehun’s glad that he’ll finally be able to go home after a long day.
He showers in record time, not bothering to dry his hair before he pulls on clothes. Jongin is still getting himself cleaned up, and from the looks of it, he’s going to meet Kyungsoo for the night. Sehun rolls his eyes at the sight of Jongin’s tshirt draped over his bag, the one he’d worn that night at the SM Town concert. This tshirt is very special to me, Jongin had said a while ago, pouting and Sehun understood.
It was the shirt he wore when he first confessed to Kyungsoo, he said.
Sehun gets dressed slowly, taking care not to dampen his shirt too much when he pulls it over his head. His vision is still obstructed by fabric when he hears someone come in, a gentle ‘oh,’ resounding that doesn’t sound anything like Jongin.
He tugs the shirt on the rest of the way, and his eyes find a half naked Zitao. Usually, seeing one of his fellow dancers this way doesn’t faze Sehun, but this is Zitao, and Sehun feels heat spread across his cheeks. He quickly averts his eyes and busies himself packing, forcing his things into his backpack, disordered.
‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ Zitao inquires, and Sehun nearly jumps out of his skin. Zitao’s voice doesn’t come from halfway across the room, it comes from just behind the younger. Sehun takes in the scent of a clean Zitao, all company-provided shampoo and no ashen smell emanating from his exposed skin.
‘You - you startled me,’ Sehun mumbles, not answering Zitao’s question because he doesn’t know what to say. He steadily ignores Zitao for the next few minutes, zipping up his bag and getting ready to leave.
Except he can’t, because standing between him and the doorway is an insanely attractive Chinese dancer, eyes trained on Sehun and he silently curses Jongin out for taking such a long time showering. ‘Excuse me,’ Sehun says politely, grimacing. ‘I need to get home.’
‘Why?’ Zitao asks, and Sehun feels panic bubble up in his throat from the tone of his voice. ‘Why are you in such a hurry, Sehun? To go home to your boyfriend?’
The question makes Sehun’s blood run cold, whole body freezing over at the mention of Luhan. ‘I - I… Yes. I have to hurry home, my boyfriend’s waiting up for me,’ Sehun says. He makes to move around Zitao and get to the door, but of course an arm shoots out to stop him, bars him from making his exit.
‘But you’re unhappy,’ Zitao says simply, as if unable to understand why Sehun would rush off home to a boyfriend who probably doesn’t even notice that he’s not there. ‘Why the rush if you’re unhappy?’ he asks.
‘I’m - I’ve never said I’m not happy. You drew that conclusion yourself,’ Sehun spits out, patience wearing thin. He eyes Zitao in a hard glare, purposely moving around the elder as he stomps off toward the door.
‘You’re bored.’
Zitao drops two words that each feel like a ton of bricks on Sehun’s chest. Sehun’s already got his hand on the door handle, but he doesn’t make any further movements, doesn’t turn the knob and escape while he can. He doesn’t know why, can’t think why - but something in the back of his mind tells him it’s because of what Zitao has just told him.
The truth.
‘Let’s see,’ Zitao says, arms slithering around Sehun’s waist. ‘I think I know how your whole story goes. He works here, am I correct? One of those darling little things who do the music making for all these artists we dance for.’ Zitao waits for a response, and Sehun curses whatever invisible force it is that compels him to nod. ‘I thought so. And how long have you two been together?’
‘Five - Going on five years.’ Sehun mutters. He can feel the smile that grows on Zitao’s face, because those lips he’d been avoiding looking at are pressed into the skin of his neck. When Zitao speaks again, Sehun has to fight down noises of discontent, and he hates himself for it.
‘Let me guess - the two of you met when you were both studying. You fell madly in love at first sight and somewhere along the way, you managed to make him fall for you, too. He graduated first, landed a job here, roped you in for one as well. You live with him and you,’ - Zitao says this with the tiniest hint of disgust - ‘love him, can’t imagine a life without him. At some point or another, you know you’re going to get down on one knee and ask him to share the rest of his life with you.
‘But you’re bored.’
Sehun feels spikes spearing his heart with every word Zitao says, the truth of it all hitting him hard where it hurts the most. ‘He’s perfectly fine for you, Sehun, and you know it. But you’ve been together for a really, really long time. You’re starting to get… Restless. And I… I can help you with that.’
Sehun knows the way Zitao’s holding him would leave no question at all for Jongin if he chose to finally get out the damned shower and take a look. He knows that he’s this close to saying yes to Zitao, to breaking his almost five year streak of fidelity, to breaking Luhan’s heart.
But he also knows Zitao is right.
‘Where - Should we head back to your place?’ Sehun asks, voice low. He feels another smirk curl Zitao’s lips as the latter detaches himself and properly gets dressed, moving faster than Sehun’s ever seen him move. Zitao gives him a knowing smile in exchange for Sehun’s nervous one, and they share their first kiss just before they exit the locker room.
Neither see the pair of brown eyes peeking out the side of the showers.
Weeks pass and things get kicked into high gear before the engine’s properly ready. Sehun and Zitao become more and more attached, and at the next outstation concert they’re all dancing at, Jongin volunteers to room with Yixing without a word. Sehun figures it’s because Yixing’s pretty clueless anyway, and he won’t notice Jongin sneaking in just before sunrise after disappearing the whole night.
Being with Zitao is a whole new experience in itself. Every time they touch, Sehun feels electricity shooting through all his nerve endings, feels a fire he thought long gone roar back to life. Being with Zitao ignites a flame inside Sehun that’s been dormant for too long, and all the words Zitao whispers makes Sehun wonder if the elder were, possibly, in love with him.
He pushes the thought away.
Sehun notices the increasing intensity of Luhan’s eyebags, notices how much more distant the elder feels. He chalks it up to the deadline that looms over Luhan’s head, the lyrics and music for Kyungsoo’s new release due soon. Sehun makes him strong coffee on nights when he’s home, coddles Luhan because he knows that’s the best way to spike his productivity.
On nights when he’s not, Luhan reaches for cans of cheap beer.
He knows.
The door to the practice room swings open and in walk Jongin and Kyungsoo, hands not intertwined but a little too close to be just friendly, voices barking out laughs. They stop short when they see the amount of papers Luhan has on the ground around him, iPod hooked up to speakers and a keyboard off its stand right next to where he sits on the floor.
‘Luhan, have you slept?’ asks Kyungsoo. The morning is sunny and warm, and everything about the day is too nice to justify how haggard Luhan looks. ‘You don’t have to work yourself so hard, you know. You’re already almost done with the lyrics for my album.’ his brows crease together in worry as he takes in sheet upon sheet of crossed out notes and scribbled words.
Luhan shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh, bloodshot eyes finding Jongin’s and making the younger gasp. ‘Your title song’s not done. Suits are all giving me bull about how one of the composers have walked out on them, so I have to write the music as well as the lyrics. They said they want to show how emotional your voice can be, and my songs are all coming out fucking flat.’ on the last word, Luhan flicks his wrist and sends pages flying, scattering spoiled music sheets across hardwood floor.
Jongin and Kyungsoo blink at him before exchanging a look. Luhan brings his knees to his chest and buries his face in them. Kyungsoo drops to his knees and wraps an arm around Luhan’s shoulders, letting the elder rest his head on his shoulder. Jongin silently goes around the room picking up stray pieces of paper. ‘Is Sehun taking proper care of you?’ Kyungsoo asks.
Jongin almost drops the stack of papers he’s got between his fingers, hands trembling slightly as he turns to face Luhan. Sure enough, there’s a wet patch growing on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and Jongin panics, torn between doing what’s right for Luhan and keeping his nose out of other people’s business. ‘No,’ Luhan chokes out. ‘He’s not. He isn’t taking proper care of me and he - he isn’t taking care of me period. He sleeps in the same bed, he stays in the same house as I do - and I miss him. I miss him so much it’s - it gets so hard to even breathe, sometimes.’
Jongin presses his lips together in a straight line as Kyungsoo pats Luhan’s hair. They wait in silence until Luhan’s sobs die down. When his eyes dry and his breathing steadies, Jongin hands him all his papers and takes Kyungsoo’s hand. They tell him they’ll leave him alone for a moment, but that he’s not truly alone - they’re just a phone call away. Before they leave, Jongin hesitates, hand coming out to grasp the door frame before he turns around.
‘You always told me that the best songs are written in moments of weakness.’ Jongin says, eyes on the blank sheet of paper in front of Luhan. ‘I… Think now’s a good time for you to try that title song again.’ and they leave.
Luhan blinks at a closed door and an empty room and ghosts and shadows playing tricks on his mind before he wills away all images of things that aren’t right now. He picks up a pen and a fresh sheet of paper, presses delicate fingers onto cold white keys. Inspiration attacks him, sudden rain across the barren terrains of his muse, pelting drops of a forming melody across his fingers.
So he holds his breath (and his heart together, he thinks wryly) and starts writing, because Jongin’s right - the best songs are written in moments of weakness, and there, in a practice room surrounded by instruments and expectations and deadlines to be met, without Sehun there to coax words from his pen and notes from his fingers - Luhan is so, so alone.
And when Luhan is without Sehun, all he ever feels is weak.
Sehun comes home with red marks painfully obvious, sprinkled all along the length of his collarbone. The door swings open and it's 3am on a Wednesday morning, and Luhan's got clients to see and the studio to go to at 9, but he's there, up waiting, just for him. Guilt and bile bubble up in his throat when he sees the bags hanging under Luhan's eyes, his disheveled hair, his hollow smile. And he knows he isn't being fair, not to Luhan or to Zitao, because this - this isn't right. This is his selfishness at its best, this is Sehun taking clear advantage of the fact that Luhan trusts him.
So he opens his mouth to say something, to spill out a confession that will - hopefully - make things right, but a finger is pressed to his lips and empty doe eyes meet his and he falls silent again, Luhan not wanting him to speak. 'I don't want to know where you've been or who you've been with.' Luhan's tone is calm and collected, and it scares Sehun more than if he'd yelled, if he'd screamed and shouted and brought down whole buildings with just his voice alone. Luhan swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down before the broken shards of his heart make their way into his voice: 'Just - just come to bed. Come to bed and stay with me, that's all - that's all I want. Please.'
Sometimes Sehun dreams of soft blond hair and even softer smiles, of the man he's got in his bed, in his home, who sings him to sleep during the hardest of times. But sometimes Sehun dreams of unrestrained passion and want, of dark, inky strands shooting waves of something else through his nerves as he runs his fingers through them, of dangerous eyes and stolen kisses, of touches that set him alight.
Sometimes Sehun's not sure which dream it is that he holds closer to his heart.
‘Wake up, Lu,’ Sehun mumbles, nuzzling Luhan’s jaw with his nose. It’s the morning of their fifth anniversary, and Sehun knows the best gift he could give Luhan isn’t anything that could possibly come wrapped in a box, so he’ll try his best to give him something else. ‘Lu, wake up. It’s a very special day,’ says Sehun, planting kisses on Luhan’s cheek, all down his neck.
When Luhan stirs his eyes flutter open and the smile he gives Sehun is so heartbreakingly beautiful - instinctive happiness underlined by a thin shadow of doubt. ‘Good morning, Sehunnie,’ rasps Luhan. His fingers thread themselves through Sehun’s hair and they ignore the notion of morning breath because there’s nothing they like more than their good morning kisses.
(Even if this particular one tastes bittersweet.)
‘What do you want to do today, Lu?’ asks Sehun, content to have his head on Luhan’s chest as the elder strokes his hair. Silence meets him for all of two seconds, before Luhan finally answers him.
‘I just want to have you all to myself today. That’s all.’
‘What’s this place called?’ Sehun hollers, though his mouth is right up near Zitao’s ear. Zitao laughs boisterously and yanks Sehun close, bodies moving to the beat, only inches apart. Zitao yells back some fancy name Sehun’s sure to not remember without proper lessons, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. Zitao snakes arms around his waist and pulls him in closer, until both their bodies are touching and everything gets too hot and -
‘Zitao - stop. I - I don’t want to do this right now,’ Sehun shouts. Zitao seems to ignore him, grinding himself closer until Sehun’s arm shoots out to stop him, palm flattening against his chiselled chest. ‘I’m tired, and - and I’m sorry, alright? I’ll make it up to you,’ says Sehun. He reaches up to peck Zitao on the lips once before turning to leave.
He just wants to go home tonight.
'All of this is temporary, isn't it?' Luhan's words are blurred together on a tongue loosened by alcohol, breath coming out in noxious pants. His eyes are imploring, round - so beautiful and so sincere, and so, so sad that Sehun can't help but look away. Luhan doesn't take any notice (or offence) when he sees Sehun's attention shift away from him. Probably because he's used to it, he supposes.
But tonight there are no other distractions, no foreign bodies or empty words or actions driven by adrenaline coursing through veins usually used only to carry blood. There is nothing but Sehun and Luhan in their silent apartment, nothing but the ghosts of their smiles and the shadows of all their doubts there with them in the darkness.
'Answer me, Sehunnie,' Luhan croaks out, and his voice breaks and recedes, like water timidly crawling ashore, only to pull back. Sehun's tongue seems to grow heavy inside his mouth, a dead weight trapping words stuck in his throat. It's fantastic, it's ridiculous - but Sehun, for once, can't bring himself to lie. His eyes lock with Luhan's, and there passes between them a moment of truth, of pure vulnerability in two pairs of eyes that used to mean the world to one another.
Heartbeats, moments, two souls, apart.
Luhan takes in a breath before he speaks. ‘Tell me,’ he repeats. ‘Tell me, Sehunnie.’ He inches closer and at the same time, miles further away, the distance between one body and another in stark contrast with the distance between their hearts.
'Tell you… Tell you what?' Sehun manages to say.
'Tell me, that you still love me. Tell me it's only temporary. Tell me I'm permanent. We are permanent.' Luhan's voice alternates between smooth words and broken murmurs, and shame beats Sehun down when he thinks he hears tears in the elder's voice.
'What - what's temporary, Lu?' Sehun asks, heart hammering against his ribcage because he's pretty sure he knows the answer, and he wishes and wishes and wishes Luhan wouldn't.
'You… You and Zitao.'
Tense moments pass in which Luhan’s the only one breathing, Sehun’s lungs ceasing to function. A bitter laugh falls from the elder’s lips, strands of sorrow and remorse braided into a sound meant to express joy. Sehun lets the laughter mock him, lets the chains that shoot out of every chuckle lunge out to entrap him. The lyricist just laughs and laughs and laughs, hollow sounds vibrating in his chest.
Sehun thinks he’s never heard anything as despondent as Luhan’s empty laughs.
Soon enough the elder gets tired, alcohol tugging at his eyes, limbs becoming lethargic. He wordlessly slumps onto Sehun, all the weight of his neglected frail body rested against a dancer’s lithe form. He falls asleep in a matter of seconds, but Sehun doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t indicate any signs of movement.
He likes the feeling of Luhan’s hair gently tickling the skin of his neck, likes the even breathing the elder man elicits as he sleeps. He likes feeling like they used to before, before the itch came and gnawed incessantly at his veins, before what ifs started haunting him through night and day.
He likes seeing Luhan fully at peace again.
But the sands of time fall because gravity is only Sehun’s friend when he dances, and before he knows it his watch is displaying an electric green 4:45am. He doesn’t want to rouse his boyfriend - because despite it all, through it all, that was still what Luhan was - so he gently maneuvers the elder into his arms and carries him to their bed.
His fingers move fluidly as they undress him, rid his body of clothes reeking of spirits. He tucks Luhan in under multiple blankets, because he knows the elder doesn’t get a good sleep unless he’s warm and comfortable enough. When he’s done he hesitates, wonders if he deserves to sleep next to someone who looks so angelic, all his sins staining every inch of his skin.
In the end he crawls in, because he thinks Luhan doesn’t look complete without him by his side.
He wakes up the next morning fully expecting to be greeted by a Luhan with a raging headache, hangover rendering him motionless. But when his eyes crack open he sees nothing but an empty bed, the pillow next to his cold to the touch. He sits up and moves to push his hair out of his face, when something catches his eye.
Just under the Chinese characters tattooed on his wrist is a scrawl of just two words in ballpoint pen, in Luhan’s unmistakable hand: I remember.
Huang Zitao 10:36am
Oh Sehun!
Are you busy today?
Oh Sehun 10:42am
Don’t think so.
Hold on we have two off days remember
Why do you ask?
Huang Zitao 10:43am
Because I am unbearably homesick
And lonely
And I would like very much for some company right now
If you would be so kind ;)
Oh Sehun 10:44am
Are you alone?
Huang Zitao 10:45am
of course.
Oh Sehun 10:46am
Good. You better keep it that way
At least until I get there
See you soon, Taozi
Huang Zitao 10:47am
See you!
And I am not a little peach, thanks
Sehun comes home to an empty apartment, body sore from hours of rehearsals. Silence greets him as he makes his way toward the couch, ache seeping through to the marrow of his bones. He just sits there for a moment before blindly reaching for the remote, bringing the television in front of him to life. He mindlessly clicks the next button until he’s just too tired to even expend the minimal energy needed, settling on something just because he’s too lazy to properly pick.
His breath hitches when he notices it’s a music channel, one of the more obscure ones dedicated to the people responsible for what goes into the music, not what goes on album jackets. It’s one of the shows that does interviews for songwriters and producers, and Sehun finds himself staring into numerous coloured lights dotting out the image of Luhan.
‘-day is the lyricist responsible for writing the lyrics to popular soloist, Do Kyungsoo’s new ballad, Luhan!’ the interviewer is slightly more enthusiastic than Sehun would expect. He watches as Luhan grips the man’s hand in greeting, artificial grin stretching out his lips.
They exchange pleasantries, the interviewer only asking for the bare minimums when it comes to Luhan’s personal life. He’s more interested in what inspires the lyricist, in what moves him and how he views the world.
It’s refreshing, Sehun thinks, because he’s really only interested in the music.
‘So, moving on - let’s talk about the lyrics you wrote for Do Kyungsoo’s ballad, “Watching You Breathe”. People from all across the country - even some from overseas - have written in and commented about it. There’s a lot of incoherence but I think the general census is that it’s a beautiful, beautiful song. The way the words fit together - so poetic, so raw, so honest. Could you maybe tell us about it? What was your inspiration for this song? What is its story?’ the interviewer’s voice fluctuates as he interrogates Luhan, but the latter remains calm, unnerved.
Sehun feels a boulder weighing down on his chest. He knew he’d been distracted, been an absentee boyfriend for the past few months - but he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to listen to the new song Luhan wrote for Kyungsoo. He feels almost too guilty to continue watching. But then he remembers that he needs to support Luhan, to respect him in his line of work, so he keeps watching.
Luhan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Sehun notices the tremor in his chest when he inhales. It hurts because he knows that Luhan is about to be completely honest: he’s never been the type to lie about his work, after all. He doesn’t have any idea what the song was about - dancing as he does only to heavy beats and light (sometimes even no) words - but he has a feeling that it will only serve to multiply the guilt he’s already hoarded in his very being.
‘At night as you sleep and I am watching you breathe / At night when you’re close, but so far away from me / I wonder if you are the dream to pull me from this nightmare / But then dawn breaks and I wake up, you remind me you’re never there.’ Luhan sings, voice not as rich and soulful as Kyungsoo’s, but so steeped in emotion Sehun feels knives cutting at his veins.
‘Wow, I didn’t know you could sing!’ the interviewer exclaims, and Sehun wants to wring his neck, wants to throttle him, how dare you superficialise this moment. ‘That was the chorus, was it not? Tell us: what kind of story do the words tell?’
‘The meaning of the whole song isn’t in any way disguised, so the lyrics tell the story in the most literal way you can imagine. It’s about being physically close to someone, so close there isn’t even space for you to cross when you want to touch them. But no matter how far you stretch, no matter how much you strain yourself trying - you’re never able to reach for their heart. It’s locked away somewhere you don’t know the location of, somewhere only one other person has access to.
‘And it’s not them. It’s not the person you have lying in bed with you when you go to sleep, it’s someone else - someone not as faceless as you’d like them to be, someone with the ability to draw the person you love away from you night after night after night. It’s someone who holds the key to your lover’s heart just out of reach, a big kid bullying someone much smaller. Someone much more persistent.
‘It’s about how there’s very little comfort in knowing they choose to fall asleep only in your bed, instead of that someone else’s. Because when you sleep there is silence and there is - there’s this romantic impression that you dream, you dream of what you hold dearest. And there’s always this nagging insecurity that maybe your face is never in any of those dreams, while your lover’s is in all of yours.’
Tears have accumulated in Luhan’s eyes at this point, making them glassy. Sehun realises his own vision isn’t as clear as it was before Luhan spoke, and he’s hit with self hatred strong enough he feels the wind get knocked out of his chest. Why did he do it, why is he doing it, why won’t he stop himself from doing it again, he questions. His mind can’t conjure up any sort of answer he thinks respectable enough, and he hates himself all the more.
But he keeps watching the interview, because it’s almost ending and Luhan’s not done speaking and singing yet, and if he can’t be actively there cheering his boyfriend on and supporting him - he’ll hide his face amongst the masses, he’ll be anonymous and silent from the sidelines.
‘Maybe I am pitch black staining your paper white / Maybe I am pained ink too harsh where you’re fragile / Maybe I am sharp, hard lines, destroying your delicate / But I am so, so in love with you, and I have been all this while.’
Sehun can’t take it anymore, the lines on the inside of his wrist suddenly feeling like they’re burning scars straight into his soul. He moves to pick up his phone, eyes still fixated on Luhan’s face as he thanks the interviewer and the viewers at home for watching.
‘Hello, Zitao? Can I come over?’
Sehun wakes up with his face pressed against a silky pillow, fabric somewhat sticking to the skin of his cheek. He’s completely bare save for the blankets he’s got covering him from the waist down, and the smell of smoke is heavy in the air. ‘My princess is awake,’ says Zitao, putting out his cigarette before leaning down to nuzzle Sehun’s cheek and ask for a kiss. He tastes like nicotine and smoke and indecision, and Sehun wonders when his tongue got used to it.
When Zitao pulls away there’s something sad in his eyes, something that Sehun knows needs acknowledging but he ignores it anyway. ‘Heard they’re going to do a merger with Woollim,’ Sehun remarks casually, body stiffening slightly when Zitao draws him into his chest. He traces patterns in the skin there, a jumble of Korean words he’s sure Zitao won’t understand.
(But the only things he knows how to write in Mandarin are love and Luhan, and neither are very appropriate right now.)
‘Mmm. I’m quite excited, I’ve always admired Infinite’s choreography,’ Zitao mumbles. His lips are in Sehun’s hair and he chuckles softly when Sehun runs his fingers over particular patches of his skin. He cards his own through Sehun’s hair and Sehun sighs. It isn’t often that Zitao is this tame and affectionate, and it’s these moments Sehun’s learned to appreciate the most. Sehun doesn’t say anything further, so Zitao opens his mouth to speak again.
‘Why did you come to me?’
Sehun’s finger freezes just as it writes the final stroke of his name on Zitao’s left pec, trembling in place. He inhales slowly before resuming, tracing Zitao’s name in Korean. ‘No reason. I just wanted to see you,’ Sehun mumbles. A long silence stretches out between them before Zitao’s hand encircles Sehun’s wrist and the elder rolls on top of him, pressing a soft, sensual kiss against his lips.
Sehun briefly wonders if it’s going to escalate into something more when Zitao pulls away, face hovering inches above his own. ‘Tell me the truth, Oh Sehun,’ he says. The look in his eyes is dangerous and Sehun’s not all too sure that he’s brave enough to deny Zitao what he wants, so he answers.
‘I… I saw Luhan’s interview. On television, that’s… That’s why I called you,’ murmurs Sehun. Zitao lets go of him and moves to sit up, reaches over to his bedside table for a cigarette and a light. Sehun holds his breath as he watches Zitao slip the stick between his lips, watches as he plucks a fire to life. Zitao inhales deeply and exhales in a cloud of smoke, blowing it away from Sehun because he knows the latter doesn’t particularly like the smell.
‘For Kyungsoo’s new song?’ Zitao’s tone is light and Sehun relaxes a little, rolling over to lie on his stomach after he nods. ‘It’s a good song. Very emotional. One would think he wrote straight from the heart.’ and Sehun feels chills creep up his spine, feels himself freeze in place.
Zitao side eyes him and a smirk curls his lips, the dangerous glint back in his eyes. ‘If it is, it’s a stupid move.’ he says. Sehun doesn’t react, doesn’t respond though his blood starts to boil. ‘Don’t you think so? He basically laid out his soul for the world to see. Made himself vulnerable in the name of meeting a deadline. He put all his feelings out in something as frivolous as a pop ballad, that’s just - ’
Sehun doesn’t know what’s possessed him, doesn’t know where the sudden spike of bravery that propels his fist into the side of Zitao’s face has come from. But there he is, kneeling right next to Zitao with his hand in a fist, breathing heavy and staring Zitao straight in the eye. If he could make his tongue move, he’d tell Zitao straight. Don’t talk about Luhan like that. You know nothing about him, he’d say. But his tongue is tied and he can’t speak, and for a long minute, neither of them move.
That is, until Zitao curls his hand around the back of Sehun’s neck and pulls the younger on top of him. Until Zitao pushes at parts of Sehun that makes him keen, that makes him whine out the syllables of his name. He kisses Sehun with the burning passion Luhan would never have been able to give him, wild and uncontained and edging on painful. When both pairs of lips are swollen, Zitao pulls away and presses their foreheads together, Sehun’s palm caressing his rapidly bruising cheek.
‘Do you think I like always being second choice?’
‘Why are you staring at me?’ Luhan asks, suddenly very conscious of a pair of eyes raking over him as he gets dressed and ready for work. ‘Did I grow an extra head or something?’
Sehun laughs and stands up from where he sits fully dressed on the bed, hands coming up to loop his arms around Luhan’s waist. ‘No,’ Sehun whispers, face buried in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. ‘I just -’ his voice trails off when he looks in the mirror and sees how perfectly they fit together, as if realising it for the first time all over again. ‘I… Really love you, that’s all.’
Luhan hums to himself, fingers grasping at Sehun’s wrist until he can turn it outwards. ‘You made me a promise back when you got this tattoo,’ Luhan mumbles, thumb tracing over the strokes of his name.
‘I wonder if you still remember it.’
‘I’m moving back to China.’
Sehun drops the book he’s reading at Zitao’s words, shock evident in his widening eyes. Zitao himself is looking down at his hands, as if afraid to meet Sehun’s gaze head on. Something about his demeanour tells Sehun that’s not all on his mind, and he waits for Zitao’s next words in breathless anticipation.
‘I want you to come with me.’
Luhan.
This is when it hits him. Sehun realises, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that being with Zitao is not what he wants. He doesn’t want to live this life for as long as his heart’s still beating, doesn’t think he can, because this kind of life - this pseudo romance he shares with Zitao is all one foot dangling off the edge, all pure adrenaline and unrestrained emotion and Sehun doesn’t think he can take it much longer.
The prospect of a future with Zitao, he realises, absolutely terrifies him. He doesn’t want to come home to cigarette smoke and random sex at five thirty in the morning when he’d rather sleep. He doesn’t want to live life on the edge until he’s old and grey -
So he does what he should have done all those months ago.
He gets up to leave.
He doesn’t get very far before a strong hand grasps him, a bruising hold that shows no sign of letting up. He meets Zitao’s gaze head on and notices - notices that, well, he’s crying.
'Look, Sehun - you know he's not enough for you. You know he doesn't make you feel the way I do. I don't know why you haven't left him yet.' Zitao says, hand gripping Sehun's upper arm so hard his knuckles blanch. Sehun looks indifferently at Zitao's hand, as if daring him to hold on.
All he can think of, with Zitao holding him so forcibly like this, is Luhan. Because where Luhan is soft curves and gentle touches, Zitao is sharp angles and hard lines, rough fingers outlining the contrast between his illicit lover and the one he’d had intentions to give a ring to not too long ago.
And, he thinks, he finally knows what he wants. So he forcibly yanks himself out of Zitao’s hold, a cold glare his final goodbye.
'Maybe you're not enough for me, either.'
‘Oh - Soo, Sehuna’s here!’ Jongin calls, hand still wrapped around the doorknob. There’s a happy glow to his face when he lets the younger in, locking the door behind him. Sehun briefly thinks he’s never seen Jongin like this, painting the picture of the perfect host, prim and proper and it’s all probably Kyungsoo’s doing.
‘Sehun!’ says Kyungsoo, hugging him tightly before sitting down next to his boyfriend. ‘We’re glad you came. Are… Are you alone?’ the question is tentative and soft and Sehun knows Kyungsoo means to be as polite and unintrusive as possible, but his heart prickles anyway as he nods. ‘I… I see.’
Kyungsoo’s cheeks colour and Jongin leaps in, taking control of the situation seamlessly. ‘You see - the thing is, Sehuna, we have something we want to tell you.’ says Jongin. Kyungsoo nudges him sharply in the ribs and he grins. ‘And - and I have something I want to ask of you, too,’ he adds. Sehun leans forward, elbows on his knees, ready to play the part of awkwardly attentive friend.
‘Well - we’re engaged.’ Jongin says, barely able to contain the grin that spreads itself across his lips. He chuckles as Kyungsoo proudly thrusts his hand forward, showcasing the modest metal band Jongin gave him the night before. ‘We’re getting married!’ and his tone is one of disbelieving happiness, and Sehun tries to fight down the envy that’s brewing a storm in his mind.
‘Liked it so you put a ring on it. Good job, Jongin, never thought you had it in you,’ Sehun smiles, reaching out to pat his friend on the shoulder. ‘When’s the wedding?’
‘We’re thinking maybe somewhere around this time next year. Best do it right after my comeback, so we can go on a honeymoon right away. But - but that’s not the issue right now, is it, Jongin?’ Kyungsoo turns to his fiance, as if prompting him to speak. ‘Isn’t there something else Sehun should know?’
‘Oh god, this is so gay,’ Jongin groans, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Alright, listen up and listen good, Sehuna - you’re a little shit and sometimes when you dance your sweat flies all over the fucking place and it lands on my face and you have the worst bitchface imaginable, but, well, you’re a good friend. And I’m only saying all this because my fiance thinks it’s cute when I say cheesy things, but - will you be my best man?’
The smile on Sehun’s face all but screams yes, and Kyungsoo’s so delighted Sehun thinks even his heart’s about to melt. Kyungsoo offers him lunch and something to take home for Luhan, and Sehun graciously accepts.
Before he leaves, Jongin catches him by the crook of his elbow, just when Kyungsoo disappears from sight. ‘Okay, I’m going to give you your first mission as best man, you ready?’ Jongin whispers. Sehun rolls his eyes and nods.
‘Go make things right with Luhan.’
Sehun stands just outside the door of their apartment, afternoon sun flooding the corridors. It’s been a couple of months since Zitao had left, and in those short weeks, Sehun has finally come to realise what it is he properly wants.
He realises he wants to come home to warm smiles and children whose eyes shine with innocence and expectation, to kisses that actually properly mean something. He wants, more than anything, for the rest of his life, to go home to everything Luhan wants and Luhan can give him, none of which he could have even begun to hope for with Zitao.
He wants to live the rest of his life with the boy who writes dreams.
He’s nervous and he doesn’t know if the timing’s right, but then again, nothing is ever properly right when it comes to Sehun and Luhan. There are kinks their relationship still needs to work out, rough waters they have to sail together. But Sehun thinks they’ll be okay, as long as they have each other.
He knocks on the door, one, two, three times. The bouquet he’s had hiding behind his back for the past fifteen minutes almost slips out of his hand when Luhan flings the door open, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. Sehun can tell that Luhan’s about to tell him off for forgetting his house keys yet again, but the next gesture he does stops it.
He gets down on one knee.
‘I have been an insufferable dick.’
Sehun’s never been good with words, but it’s okay, because Luhan loves him all the more for it.
‘I have made a lot of mistakes in the past. I have wronged you and hurt you, and every single time I think about it, I am unable to sleep at night. I think about you every waking minute of every day - I dream about you every night. What I’ve done - everything I’ve done is inexcusable, but I want to make it up to you. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.’
Luhan’s eyes are welling up with tears, and Sehun smiles a little goofily up at his boyfriend before he takes a deep breath and continues.
‘Roses are red, violets are blue, there’s nothing I’m more sure of than that I want to marry you.’
Luhan flings himself down at Sehun, a million yeses escaping his lips before they’re pressed against the younger’s. They lose themselves in each other for a few minutes, kissing and touching and smiling against one another. When they finally pull away, there are identical grins on their lips, and in that moment, nothing else existed except each other, and the sheer joy of being in love.
‘That,’ Luhan says, ‘was a pretty cheesy poem.’
‘But… You said yes, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. Yeah I did. I want to be able to make fun of your poetry for the rest of my life, Sehunnie.’
‘Good. Because I’ve already gotten this,’ Sehun says, unwrapping his arms from where it sits across Luhan’s waist and shows the elder something that actually coaxes tears out of his eyes.
Because sitting just underneath the tattooed characters of Luhan’s name on Sehun’s wrist, in writing that looks strikingly similar to Luhan’s own, are three words: i’ll always remember.
And they do.
Author’s Note:
So I re… idk I took this down from
caressingflames and then I reread it, cringed for a million years and then added scenes and stuff so I hope this flows better? IdkThis is the Taohunhan that’s been begging to be written since the beginning of Sem 2 I’m already more than halfway through omg
For
starsthatlast, good luck for your exams!And for you, thank you for reading this. :)
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no subject
Date: 2013-09-14 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 06:41 am (UTC)I secretly ships TaoHun too (no scratch that— I practically ships Sehun with everyone) but my ultimate OTP is still HunHan so I'm so relieved that you end this up with the HunHan ship sails towards infinity & beyond~ (sorry I know this sounds so ridiculous but I can't help it)
the part where Luhan breaks down witnessed by Jongin & Kyungsoo were the most painful scene for me ;__; & then there's the interview too… *feel like pulling Luhan into a hug*
my fave part was their 1st meeting at starbucks (so d*mn cute >_<) & the proposal at the end ♥♥♥ Jongin is such a lovely friend,I always love SeKai's bff! dynamic,even in their real life bc it shows sincerity & true feelings ♥
thank you for writing this,hope to see more of your HunHan pieces ;)
no subject
Date: 2013-09-16 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-16 05:05 pm (UTC)the whole plot is your typical cheating plot but jesus how do you make it into such a beautiful, lovely ajkhdkasjhdklashdk read??? everything is just so beautiful aND MAYBE I'M BEING INSUFFERABLY BIASED TOO BUT I THINK THE KAISOO AND HUNHAN ARE PERFECT HERE PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING
i'm feeling all sads for peach though :'( because well, taozi does have his backstory too but idk IN THE END TRUE LOVE PREVAILS
p.s: listening to daughtry's what about now DOES NOT HELP AT ALL IN MAKING ME LESS EMOTIONAL take responsibility for this emoting pre-sleep