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Entry tags:
[fic]: you
you, pg, baekhyun/chen.
i can lift you up.
i could show you love
in a tidal wave of mystery
you'll still be standing next to me
capital cities, "safe and sound"
YOU
baekhyun/chen
They're in the apartment's tiny kitchen at three in the morning the first time it happens, preceded only by that particular sinking feeling you get in your stomach right before something bad happens. Baekhyun is humming a song under his breath, wiggling his butt in something that doesn't even vaguely resemble a rhythm as he pokes at the pasta simmering on the stove. Originally, it was meant to be linguine in carbonara sauce, but at this point Jongdae's happy if it turns out as Easy Mac. This had all seemed like a good idea at the time—they're both more than a little tipsy on cheap beer from Chanyeol's party, and Jongdae is impulsive even sober.
"Pass me the salt," Baekhyun commands, sticking out one hand without even sparing a glance in Jongdae's direction. Bossy, always.
With a certain amount of resignation to the inevitable, Jongdae hands over the salt shaker and adds, "I love you."
Baekhyun's head shoots up.
"…r ability to cook pasta when you're trashed," Jongdae tacks on, hasty, but at least he manages not to stumble over his words. He slurs, a little, but he's been doing that all night—when Jongdae drinks, the first thing to go is his enunciation. Baekhyun knows. That's probably why he just turns back to look at the pasta, no suspicion in his expression as he prods the noodles like that'll make them cook faster.
"It's a talent I… developed over many years," Baekhyun says delicately. Jongdae, ever the thoughtful best friend, doesn't point out that Baekhyun's only been legally allowed to drink for two years now. "Good that you appreciate it."
"Always," Jongdae says. His heart is still a beating lump in his throat, but Baekhyun seems none the wiser, and that's what allows his breathing to relax. "I appreciate you like nobody else could."
"You know they say that familiarity breeds contempt?"
"They also say that if you speak of the Devil, he shall appear, but so far that only works with you," Jongdae points out.
Baekhyun throws a noodle, and Jongdae doesn't duck quite fast enough. Status quo. Jongdae's used to this.
The second time it happens, Jongdae would argue he can't really be blamed for it.
There's a drag show put on by some club Baekhyun's a part of, which retrospectively Jongdae's pretty sure Baekhyun's mentioned once or twice, but which Jongdae had put toward the back of his mind out of a panicked sense of self-preservation. Maybe some part of him knew that this sight would be almost too much for Jongdae's poor fragile heart to bear—Baekhyun in dark stockings and killer heels and a tight black minidress, carefully applying mascara in their bathroom mirror like Jongdae hasn't just walked out of his math course and into at least 6 of his last 15 wet dreams.
"Um," Jongdae says, elegant.
"Oh," Baekhyun says without even blinking, "you're back." He caps the mascara with an ease that makes Jongdae's stomach jolt and turns away, sweeping the fall of his wig off of his back. "Will you zip me?"
"Um," Jongdae says again.
He zips Baekhyun up with hands that he's sure are shaking so bad Baekhyun can feel it, trying not to study the way that the smooth skin over Baekhyun's spine disappears under the silver teeth of the zipper. He also tries not to thinka bout the curve of Baekhyun's hips, or the way his legs look ten miles long in those heels, which, what? Where did he even get those?
"I look hot, right?" Baekhyun asks, studying himself in the mirror. His makeup is dramatic today, all kohl liner and glitter along his cheekbones, and Jongdae is so, so fucking doomed.
"I—" Jongdae chokes, then swallows hard and says, "I love you?"
It comes out like a question, which isn't really how he intends it. (Of course, he doesn't really intend to say it at all.) Baekhyun turns his head and lifts one questioning eyebrow in Jongdae's direction, so Jongdae adds—in his best, most flamboyant tone—"in that dress, damn, look at you!"
It must be convincing, or maybe Baekhyun's just high on adrenaline, because he doesn't ask. Just turns to look in the mirror again, running his tongue over white teeth and then grinning at his reflection. "All the good boys better run," he says, straightening his wig.
"If they have any sense, they've already started," Jongdae says.
He escapes to his room when Baekhyun heads out for the party, and spends the rest of the evening in the fetal position, bemoaning his awful, terrible taste in men. Jongdae should be used to this.
The third time—the third time, it's different.
The third time, Baekhyun comes home three hours too early from a date he'd told Jongdae about the week before. For his part, Jongdae hadn't expected Baekhyun home before midnight, so he'd taken over the living room, put low-key jazz on the stereo with the volume up and spread his homework out over the coffee table. But then Baekhyun comes back and there's something tight in the corners of his mouth, pulled just a fraction of a millimeter downward from its usual place, and Jongdae knows immediately that something didn't go as planned.
"What happened?" he asks, standing up from the sofa and taking a step towards Baekhyun, homework forgotten. "He wasn't nice?"
"I wouldn't know," Baekhyun says with a shrug. He leaves his coat over the back of the chair and comes a bit further into the apartment, although something about his movements reminds Jongdae of a skittish animal. "He didn't show up."
Ah, so that was it. Not treated badly, but stood up. Jongdae, for a moment, is relieved that it wasn't something worse, but Baekhyun's wry, self-deprecating smile cuts him to the quick, so without another word Jongdae opens his arms for Baekhyun, who steps into them with a sigh that sounds an awful lot like thank you.
"He doesn't know what he's missing out on," Jongdae mumbles into Baekhyun's hair, rocking him from side to side.
"You sound so certain," Baekhyun says, laughing. His laugh is still awful, like broken glass, but it sounds a little more amused than the wry smile had looked, so Jongdae counts it as a win as he slow dances Baekhyun around the living room. Baekhyun's arms are so warm and close around his waist, and Baekhyun fits in against him like it matters.
It does matter, Jongdae thinks.
"You're so good to me," Baekhyun mumbles, his cheek pressing against Jongdae's shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of Jongdae's t-shirt.
There's that sinking feeling again, as Jongdae exhales softly and says, "I love you."
For a long moment he can tell that Baekhyun is waiting for him to finish the sentence—to end it with something else, the way he always has before. I love your ability to cook pasta when you're trashed, or I love you in this dress. But this time, there is nothing else. No caveat. Just this, the words, as open and raw as Jongdae feels right now.
"Jongdae," Baekhyun says, pulling back.
Jongdae forces himself to look into Baekhyun's face, meet his eyes, as much as he feels like his heart is about to combust. He wants to say any one of a thousand things, ranging from the absurd (April fool's, oh, didn't you hear, it's April in the Gregorian calendar) to the tragic (even if I know that's not how you see me, I want you to believe me when I tell you that you deserve better than being stood up). But he says nothing, just looks into Baekhyun's eyes and waits for a very long, very breathless moment.
"Oh," Baekhyun says, looking like he's had the last piece of a puzzle fall abruptly into place. Maybe he has. "Oh—Jongdae—"
"It's just—" Jongdae starts,
but then Baekhyun's mouth is on his, and his lips are warm and dry and soft against Jongdae's and this—this, Jongdae could get used to this. His fingers curl, without input from his brain, through Baekhyun's hair at the base of his skull, and Jongdae cradles Baekhyun's face and kisses him the way he's wanted to kiss Baekhyun since they were freshmen and Baekhyun sat next to him in their introduction to contemporary cinema seminar and whispered, "It's only the first day but I already want to ask if I can copy your homework. Just to get it out of the way early"—that is to say, he presses kisses against Baekhyun's upper lip and then his lower one, and then licks into his mouth, kisses the bitterness of being stood up right out from behind Baekhyun's teeth.
"Oh," Jongdae mumbles when they pull apart, and Baekhyun—he is gorgeous, lips pink and cheeks flushed. "Oh. I didn't—"
"Yeah," Baekhyun says, his smile a million blinding stars. "Yeah."
Jongdae could get used to this.
--------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES: for sophie ♥
i can lift you up.
i could show you love
in a tidal wave of mystery
you'll still be standing next to me
capital cities, "safe and sound"
YOU
baekhyun/chen
They're in the apartment's tiny kitchen at three in the morning the first time it happens, preceded only by that particular sinking feeling you get in your stomach right before something bad happens. Baekhyun is humming a song under his breath, wiggling his butt in something that doesn't even vaguely resemble a rhythm as he pokes at the pasta simmering on the stove. Originally, it was meant to be linguine in carbonara sauce, but at this point Jongdae's happy if it turns out as Easy Mac. This had all seemed like a good idea at the time—they're both more than a little tipsy on cheap beer from Chanyeol's party, and Jongdae is impulsive even sober.
"Pass me the salt," Baekhyun commands, sticking out one hand without even sparing a glance in Jongdae's direction. Bossy, always.
With a certain amount of resignation to the inevitable, Jongdae hands over the salt shaker and adds, "I love you."
Baekhyun's head shoots up.
"…r ability to cook pasta when you're trashed," Jongdae tacks on, hasty, but at least he manages not to stumble over his words. He slurs, a little, but he's been doing that all night—when Jongdae drinks, the first thing to go is his enunciation. Baekhyun knows. That's probably why he just turns back to look at the pasta, no suspicion in his expression as he prods the noodles like that'll make them cook faster.
"It's a talent I… developed over many years," Baekhyun says delicately. Jongdae, ever the thoughtful best friend, doesn't point out that Baekhyun's only been legally allowed to drink for two years now. "Good that you appreciate it."
"Always," Jongdae says. His heart is still a beating lump in his throat, but Baekhyun seems none the wiser, and that's what allows his breathing to relax. "I appreciate you like nobody else could."
"You know they say that familiarity breeds contempt?"
"They also say that if you speak of the Devil, he shall appear, but so far that only works with you," Jongdae points out.
Baekhyun throws a noodle, and Jongdae doesn't duck quite fast enough. Status quo. Jongdae's used to this.
The second time it happens, Jongdae would argue he can't really be blamed for it.
There's a drag show put on by some club Baekhyun's a part of, which retrospectively Jongdae's pretty sure Baekhyun's mentioned once or twice, but which Jongdae had put toward the back of his mind out of a panicked sense of self-preservation. Maybe some part of him knew that this sight would be almost too much for Jongdae's poor fragile heart to bear—Baekhyun in dark stockings and killer heels and a tight black minidress, carefully applying mascara in their bathroom mirror like Jongdae hasn't just walked out of his math course and into at least 6 of his last 15 wet dreams.
"Um," Jongdae says, elegant.
"Oh," Baekhyun says without even blinking, "you're back." He caps the mascara with an ease that makes Jongdae's stomach jolt and turns away, sweeping the fall of his wig off of his back. "Will you zip me?"
"Um," Jongdae says again.
He zips Baekhyun up with hands that he's sure are shaking so bad Baekhyun can feel it, trying not to study the way that the smooth skin over Baekhyun's spine disappears under the silver teeth of the zipper. He also tries not to thinka bout the curve of Baekhyun's hips, or the way his legs look ten miles long in those heels, which, what? Where did he even get those?
"I look hot, right?" Baekhyun asks, studying himself in the mirror. His makeup is dramatic today, all kohl liner and glitter along his cheekbones, and Jongdae is so, so fucking doomed.
"I—" Jongdae chokes, then swallows hard and says, "I love you?"
It comes out like a question, which isn't really how he intends it. (Of course, he doesn't really intend to say it at all.) Baekhyun turns his head and lifts one questioning eyebrow in Jongdae's direction, so Jongdae adds—in his best, most flamboyant tone—"in that dress, damn, look at you!"
It must be convincing, or maybe Baekhyun's just high on adrenaline, because he doesn't ask. Just turns to look in the mirror again, running his tongue over white teeth and then grinning at his reflection. "All the good boys better run," he says, straightening his wig.
"If they have any sense, they've already started," Jongdae says.
He escapes to his room when Baekhyun heads out for the party, and spends the rest of the evening in the fetal position, bemoaning his awful, terrible taste in men. Jongdae should be used to this.
The third time—the third time, it's different.
The third time, Baekhyun comes home three hours too early from a date he'd told Jongdae about the week before. For his part, Jongdae hadn't expected Baekhyun home before midnight, so he'd taken over the living room, put low-key jazz on the stereo with the volume up and spread his homework out over the coffee table. But then Baekhyun comes back and there's something tight in the corners of his mouth, pulled just a fraction of a millimeter downward from its usual place, and Jongdae knows immediately that something didn't go as planned.
"What happened?" he asks, standing up from the sofa and taking a step towards Baekhyun, homework forgotten. "He wasn't nice?"
"I wouldn't know," Baekhyun says with a shrug. He leaves his coat over the back of the chair and comes a bit further into the apartment, although something about his movements reminds Jongdae of a skittish animal. "He didn't show up."
Ah, so that was it. Not treated badly, but stood up. Jongdae, for a moment, is relieved that it wasn't something worse, but Baekhyun's wry, self-deprecating smile cuts him to the quick, so without another word Jongdae opens his arms for Baekhyun, who steps into them with a sigh that sounds an awful lot like thank you.
"He doesn't know what he's missing out on," Jongdae mumbles into Baekhyun's hair, rocking him from side to side.
"You sound so certain," Baekhyun says, laughing. His laugh is still awful, like broken glass, but it sounds a little more amused than the wry smile had looked, so Jongdae counts it as a win as he slow dances Baekhyun around the living room. Baekhyun's arms are so warm and close around his waist, and Baekhyun fits in against him like it matters.
It does matter, Jongdae thinks.
"You're so good to me," Baekhyun mumbles, his cheek pressing against Jongdae's shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of Jongdae's t-shirt.
There's that sinking feeling again, as Jongdae exhales softly and says, "I love you."
For a long moment he can tell that Baekhyun is waiting for him to finish the sentence—to end it with something else, the way he always has before. I love your ability to cook pasta when you're trashed, or I love you in this dress. But this time, there is nothing else. No caveat. Just this, the words, as open and raw as Jongdae feels right now.
"Jongdae," Baekhyun says, pulling back.
Jongdae forces himself to look into Baekhyun's face, meet his eyes, as much as he feels like his heart is about to combust. He wants to say any one of a thousand things, ranging from the absurd (April fool's, oh, didn't you hear, it's April in the Gregorian calendar) to the tragic (even if I know that's not how you see me, I want you to believe me when I tell you that you deserve better than being stood up). But he says nothing, just looks into Baekhyun's eyes and waits for a very long, very breathless moment.
"Oh," Baekhyun says, looking like he's had the last piece of a puzzle fall abruptly into place. Maybe he has. "Oh—Jongdae—"
"It's just—" Jongdae starts,
but then Baekhyun's mouth is on his, and his lips are warm and dry and soft against Jongdae's and this—this, Jongdae could get used to this. His fingers curl, without input from his brain, through Baekhyun's hair at the base of his skull, and Jongdae cradles Baekhyun's face and kisses him the way he's wanted to kiss Baekhyun since they were freshmen and Baekhyun sat next to him in their introduction to contemporary cinema seminar and whispered, "It's only the first day but I already want to ask if I can copy your homework. Just to get it out of the way early"—that is to say, he presses kisses against Baekhyun's upper lip and then his lower one, and then licks into his mouth, kisses the bitterness of being stood up right out from behind Baekhyun's teeth.
"Oh," Jongdae mumbles when they pull apart, and Baekhyun—he is gorgeous, lips pink and cheeks flushed. "Oh. I didn't—"
"Yeah," Baekhyun says, his smile a million blinding stars. "Yeah."
Jongdae could get used to this.
--------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES: for sophie ♥