Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jongdae really, really needs to get away from the Saturday night shift.

He doesn’t exactly hate his job, per se—the diner pays decent money, enough to pay for his phone bill and textbooks and all the other useless stuff he can’t get his parents to buy, like the albums he listens to once when he buys them before putting them on his shelf never to be touched again, or the film rolls he keeps buying constantly but never puts to use, because he still hasn’t really tried out his dad’s age-old camera although he assured him, “it works just fine, son.”

There’s also the fact that he is still living with his parents; not because they won’t let him move out—Jongdeok had, after all, the summer right after he graduated high school, taking off to New York and only ever coming back on holidays—but simply because… home is comfortable. Jongdae is twenty-one and still likes going fishing with his dad on some lucky free Sunday afternoon or helping his mom in the kitchen before dinner, and he doesn’t mind the fact that he doesn’t have a place of his own, much. Growing up is still a little too scary, too, so the thought of leaving home is still very, very far away in his mind, most of the time.

And really, his parents could pay for most of his expenses—they’re helping out with his tuition, after all—but having the job at the diner is nice; it’s a way for him to give back to his parents, alleviate some of the very faint guilt he feels sometimes that he doesn’t let himself dwell on much. It’s also a great way to get free pass on burgers and milkshakes when it’s only him and Junmyeon on shift, especially on late evening shifts like the one he just got off from.

Except, as much as Junmyeon makes for friendly and easy company, Jongdae really wishes he had his Saturday nights off, sometimes. A lot of time. Especially lately.

June has only just kicked off, classes have ended for two weeks or so now, and it just so happens that Baekhyun and Sehun both work mostly weekdays now and get their weekends off—like any other normal part-time worker, in the summer, Jongdae presumes bitterly—which means his friends are out partying somewhere in downtown Los Angeles, while he’s stuck here, fresh off his shift, alone, and a little lonely.

Jongdae sighs heavily. The air is hot but crisp around him, the night air slowly setting in around the beach. He pauses to take off his shoes and socks, walking in the sand and watch the sun glide down the sky and into the ocean.

Sunsets just aren’t the same when you’re on your own, are they.

It’s like the sun becomes a reminder of his loneliness, swallowed by the sea, painting the clouds with gorgeous reds, oranges, and purples, with a dash of pink here and there where the sky grows darker. Instead of filling him with giddy warmth, like it does when he has his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, when they sometimes spend their weekday evenings here, the sight makes something hollow tickle at his guts—

No, not hollow, Jongdae amends. Yearning.

He sighs again, dropping down on the sand, legs stretched out before him. He should have picked up a milkshake before leaving work, damn it. Maybe the too sweet taste of vanilla against his tongue would help with the heavy feeling in his heart.

He’s not even unhappy, is the thing—Jongdae is pretty damn fine, thank you very much. It’s just… it’s that ridiculous, crippling feeling of, “my friends are probably better off without me out there having fun” that’s somewhat eating him up at the moment, despite the fact that he knows it’s absolutely ridiculous. He just can’t help it.

Jongdae knows, however, that it’ll pass, that by tomorrow, it’ll all be gone and it’ll only take him to see Baekhyun’s hangover face for the feelings to dissipate as quickly as they came. So it’s fine, really—the heaviness in his gut can go fuck itself.

If only it was that easy.

Blowing air through his lips turns into groaning, which in turn morphs into a short yell before toning down to a groan again. Uh.

He presses his hands against his face, heels of his palms digging into his eyes, and he’s just about to get up and just go home already when he feels something—or rather, someone—plop down next to him.

He freezes, faintly hears his new company settle into the sand, sighing contentedly.

“Jongdae, right?” a voice says, deep and startling Jongdae before he realizes, wait, he does know that voice.

He removes his hands away from his face, turns to his right where the voice came from. A very tall silhouette is facing him, too many teeth shown his way, and ah, yes, he does know that face, too. “Chanyeol?”

“Ah, glad to hear you still remember me,” Chanyeol laughs, turning back to the ocean in front of them.

In Jongdae’s defense, it’s hard not to remember Chanyeol—the kid is very, very tall, very approachable, and outrageously good with a camera. They met in first year, in a photography class Chanyeol was taking for credit and Jongdae took as an elective. They didn’t exchange more than friendly small talk, back then, and Jongdae remembers him flirting a little with Baekhyun, the one time his best friend hadn’t been too lazy to pick him up from class.

Chanyeol is also loud, eager, kind, and handsome. Just a little, though. His ears are still a bit ridiculous and he really shows off too much teeth when he smiles, Jongdae thinks.

“What are you doing here?” Jongdae asks, settling next to Chanyeol in the sand. He brings his arms behind his back, leaning on them.

It’s still a little odd to have him there, but Jongdae doesn’t mind—wasn’t he the one complaining about his loneliness just moments before? He’s not about to push Chanyeol away, despite the fact that his presence is… odd, to say the least. Unexpected. Interesting. Company is company, after all, and Jongdae works better with people. Home can wait a bit.

“Shouldn’t I ask you the same question?” Chanyeol replies, throwing a quick look at Jongdae before shifting his focus back at the ocean. His dark locks move with his head and the wind. “I don’t see you around here often.”

Jongdae shrugs. “I just got off my shift, and I didn’t feel like going home just yet, so. Found myself here.”

“Where do you work?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions, you know.” It’s more of an observation than a reprimand, though.

It’s Chanyeol’s turn to shrug as he digs his feet deeper in the sand. He’s got his sandals next to him, not unlike Jongdae’s own shoes. His shorts stop right before his knees. “Maybe, yeah, you’re right. Do you mind?”

“Not really,” he replies honestly. “And I work at that diner, over there,” Jongdae turns, pointing his finger at the strip of small shops and restaurants lining the beach, leaving it to Chanyeol to figure out exactly which one he’s working at.

“The place that makes those three-level burgers and those milkshakes to die for?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. So Chanyeol knows the place, then. “That’s the one.”

“Dude, can you get me discounts on the milkshakes? They’re honestly fucking great but I don’t always have five bucks to spare, you know. Either that, or make them less expensive.”

Jongdae turns to look at him, incredulous. “Don’t take offense, please, but I haven’t spoken to you in two years, Chanyeol.”

At that, Chanyeol smiles sheepishly, and suddenly, he seems much smaller than he really is, wide eyes staring up at Jongdae with an openness to them Jongdae wasn’t expecting. “Ah. You’re right. I’m sorry if I came off as, like, too eager or just too much at once, I know I do tend to do that a lot and Kyungsoo told me that—”

“No, I mean, jeez, it’s fine, Chanyeol,” Jongdae laughs, a little taken aback. Although he might have remembered Chanyeol’s general traits, he hadn’t missed his slight tendency to ramble, at times. Not that it bothers him much, though, it’s just… it’s something he forgot about, is all. “I’ll see what I can do about that discount, if you want.”

He doubts he can do much about it, but it’s worth watching Chanyeol’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly. “Oh, nice, then.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jongdae reminds him. “I asked first.”

“Asked what?”

“What are you doing here, Chanyeol?”

“Oh, right.” The sound of waves crashing onto the shore are the only noise they can hear for a moment, and it draws Jongdae’s attention back on the ocean. This is nice, he thinks. He’s only missing beer, and then it would be perfect. “I needed some air,” Chanyeol answers after a while. “Just… some time alone. I do that a lot—come here, I mean. When I need it.”

“Oh?” It’s just that Chanyeol doesn’t seem like the kind of person to want some alone time—rather, he comes off as the opposite, someone who thrives and lives off people’s attention and company. “And yet, you chose to spend your evening with me,” Jongdae continues, motioning between their sitting forms on the sand.

Chanyeol shrugs. “You know, if you really want me to leave, I’ll go.”

“Nah, I enjoy the company. I was whining about being alone, anyway.”

“Is that so?” Chanyeol says, amused. “And why are you alone, then?”

“I had work, remember?” Jongdae pouts. “My friends left me here, good as dead, while they’re out there having fun in some club downtown, or whatever,” he waves at the vague direction of the city with a distracted hand, before bringing it back on his knee.

“Sucks, man.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m here, though,” Chanyeol offers, and Jongdae snorts.

“Right. My knight in shining armour, aren’t you?”

“If you’ll have me,” offers Chanyeol, tilting his head at an angle that must aim at being cute but only makes him look more ridiculous as every second ticks by.

Jongdae swats at his shoulder, laughing. “You look fucking stupid man,” he says.

Chanyeol says nothing, just settles back into the sand, smiling softly and bringing his knees to his chest. It’s funny, Jongdae thinks, how so much of Chanyeol and his limbs can fit in such a tight space, like that. He’s not closing in onto himself, though—it’s just the way the softer edges of him come through, Jongdae realizes.

It was the same, a few years ago, as they would sometimes work together on some photo assignments, scouring the city for some interesting shots. Chanyeol would bear that eager yet reposed air to him, an air that shows he knows what he’s doing, that he’s completely in his element. Jongdae had found it fascinating back then, and it’s still the case right now.

Suddenly, Jongdae is curious, and he asks, “How have you been, then? How’s your photo degree going?”

Chanyeol seems to startle at that, turning to him with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “You remember that?”

“Of course,” Jongdae replies, “we took Intro to Photography together, didn’t we?”

The taller tilts his head, considering, before nodding. “Yeah, figures. And it’s going well; like, it’s going amazing, actually,” Chanyeol continues, and there it is—that excited spark in his eyes, softened at the edges by a serene tone that suits him strangely but perfectly. Jongdae smiles. “I love what I do, and opportunities just seem to… I don’t know. I must be surfing on my lucky wave, or something. I have an exhibition happening, soon, actually, so.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jongdae exclaims, genuinely pleased for him. “That’s fucking great man, congrats!”

The look Chanyeol gives him is stuck between thankful and questioning, eyes bright with pride but frowning slightly. “Thanks, I, uh…” He licks his lips, smiling a little broader but still frowning. It has taken an amused turn, though. “I didn’t know you cared, though.”

“I can still be happy for you,” Jongdae chooses to reply, because suddenly, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why he cares, either. Then again, what’s wrong with a little genuine happiness? Jongdae is no monster, and has some decent social skills, at that. “You should give me the info; I’d love to come.”

Now, that’s something he didn’t expect himself to say. He doesn’t take it back, though—not like he could, anyway, but… he realizes he actually wouldn’t mind dropping by Chanyeol’s exhibition. Chanyeol’s art is great, he knows, and Jongdae likes photography as well, too, so really, he’s doing that out of curiosity rather than politeness.

And, there’s nothing with being polite. Or nice. Really.

“Will do,” is all Chanyeol says, but he’s still smiling that incredulous, tiny smile, and Jongdae rolls his eyes.

“Stop making me feel bad for asking how you’re doing, Christ. I’ll shut up, if you want me to.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Chanyeol sputters. He opens his mouth to say something, before he seems to think better of it. When he speaks again, his tone is softer. “What about you, then? How’s Marketing?”

How is it, right? That’s a good question, Jongdae thinks. He doesn’t hate what he does—no, far from it—but it’s just hard to find something to do with a Marketing degree, when his head is just… not thinking about it. Maybe he’s not going about it the right way—after all, his professors always shower him in praises, promising him “such a wide array of possibilities” at his feet once he graduates—but lately, Jongdae has tried his best not to think about… the future. What it means. What it entails.

He misses home, suddenly.

“Marketing’s fine,” he chooses to say after a moment. The sun has definitely set, by now, plunging the beach in dark blue and purple tones that make it hard for him to discern Chanyeol’s features. “The math gets easier. I like learning how to lure people in to buy shit. It’s…” It’s not ideal, he wants to say but, “it’s alright, really.”

“I don’t know how you can still choose to do math after high school,” Chanyeol grimaces.

That one, Jongdae has heard countless times from Baekhyun. “It’s really not as bad as it seems. And don’t you have to deal with numbers, anyway? What with all those fancy camera settings.” Aperture, shutter speed, ISO, and all those other numbers that Jongdae had a longer time trying to figure out than his statistical hypothesis tests, back in first year. 

“It is not the same thing,” Chanyeol argues. “I don’t need to know how it works, just what it means. I just need to know what those numbers do to my pictures.”

“You do realize photography is all physics, right? The aperture, for example, it all comes from your lens’ focal length and—”

“Jongdae, shut up,” Chanyeol pleads. “Don’t ruin the one good thing in my life for me with math, please, let alone physics.”

Jongdae laughs, and Chanyeol soon follows with soft chuckles. When it fades out and the ocean’s roar takes over, Jongdae realizes it’s getting pretty late, and at this point, his parents will start to worry if he doesn’t make it back home soon or at least tell them of his whereabouts.

“I should go,” he says, brushing off the sand from his pants before getting up, grabbing his bag as he does. He doesn’t put back his socks and shoes just yet, choosing to let them hang from his fingers instead. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Is it really?” Chanyeol says. He has made no move of getting up, much to Jongdae’s surprise.

Not that he was expecting him to follow, or anything. Maybe he suddenly grew accustomed to Chanyeol’s company a little too soon, a little too fast.

“Not really, no,” Jongdae answers truthfully. “But I really do need to make it back home. Mom’s gonna worry.” It feels odd, to leave suddenly like that. It’s as though he could spend all evening here, with Chanyeol, with the Pacific Ocean as their only other company.

“Go be a good boy, then,” Chanyeol smiles. “I’ll stay here for a little while longer. You’ve disturbed my alone time, Jongdae.”

“You’re the one who decided I was good company,” Jongdae throws back, but it’s said empathetically. “Anyway, I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” Chanyeol quips. “Goodnight, Jongdae.”

“Goodnight, Chanyeol,” Jongdae replies, before he starts walking away, ignoring the weird pull that draws him back to the shore he’s leaving.

***

When he gets a text from an unknown number, Jongdae frowns at his phone, munching distractedly on his fries. “Uh.”

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and both he and Baekhyun are free from work, catching a snack at the McDonald’s closest to Baekhyun’s place (because as loaded as Baekhyun’s family is, he still insists that McDonald’s—and not some place like Ben & Jerry’s, or something—have the best ice cream, though Jongdae would argue).

From the other side of the table, Baekhyun licks at his ice cream, smearing some of it around his mouth. He eats like a child, but that’s part of his charm, Jongdae thinks. “What’s up?”

“Just got a text,” Jongdae explains.

Baekhyun snorts, moving incessantly on his seat like he always does—squirming, bringing a leg under him and back under the table, clicking his fingers against the table, or shoving them in his mouth. God knows. “People do that, you know. They text. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Kim Jongdae.”

“Ha, ha,” Jongdae rolls his eyes. “I don’t know the number, though.”

“Ooooh, maybe it’s an old fuckbuddy trying to reignite the sensual spark your two bodies had lit up some one night, a few months ago—”

“God, Baekhyun, don’t start,” Jongdae pleads.

Baekhyun only laughs, taking another bite at his ice cream. Jongdae should get him a napkin. “Just open it, you idiot. It’s not gonna eat you up.”

Baekhyun’s right, Jongdae figures. “You’re right.”

“I know,” Baekhyun says, “I always am, and I know that, too.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, and looks down to his phone, sliding the notification open. Only when he reads the text does he realize who it’s from.

hey!! dunno if u still have this number… kinda hope u do. anyway if u don’t have mine anymore this is chanyeol and since u told me u would be interested in coming by for my exhibition later this week here’s the info!!!! hope to see u there big head :D

“You’re smiling,” Baekhyun notes. “You’re, like, cheesing. Hard. Who is it? Who is it who is it who is it who is it who is it—”

“Shut up, Baekhyun,” Jongdae cuts, putting down his phone. He picks up a handful of fries, dips them individually in his sweet & sour sauce (because fuck ketchup, honestly). “It’s just someone.”

Baekhyun is right though—he is smiling, because the thought of Chanyeol also brings thoughts of late evenings by the beach that start off as lonely but end up warm and comforting. He lets it be. Smiling hasn’t hurt anyone before, has it?

“‘Just someone,’ my ass,” Baekhyun pouts. “I can’t believe you won’t tell me. What the fuck are best friends for in that case? You heard all about Minseok, like, months before we started dating and yet—”

“It’s Chanyeol,” Jongdae interrupts again, because he just knows Baekhyun is being annoying on purpose, and it’s working although Jongdae won’t ever admit to it. “Park Chanyeol. Remember him? From that photo class I took in first year.”

“Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol…” Baekhyun frowns, ice cream long forgotten. It’s melting over the cone and dripping on Baekhyun’s hand. Jongdae wonders if he’s noticed. “Oh! The giant puppy? The one who was all, like, lanky and cute and shit.” Baekhyun scrunches up his nose. “Didn’t know he was your type.”

“He’s not—I mean, he’s not bad,” Jongdae relents, because at this point, lying to Baekhyun is futile. He doesn’t need him to get any more annoying. “And he got more fit, since then, too. Arms and all.”

Jongdae hadn’t spent much time staring, on their meeting a few nights ago—he was too busy simply basking in Chanyeol’s presence, just taking him in—but he had noticed the firm line of his forearms, uncovered as the hem of his sweatshirt sleeves sat at his elbows.

“Ooh, you’re smitten,” Baekhyun coos. “Jongdae has a crush! How cute!”

Jongdae only groans, picking up his phone. “I fucking hate you.” He doesn’t deny Baekhyun’s words, because…

He’s tired, yes. Jongdae’s tired.

“No you don’t,” comes Baekhyun’s reply. “You absolutely love me, Jongdae.”

Staying silent, he types up an answer for Chanyeol as Baekhyun makes kissy noises from the other side of the table.

i’ll be there! and i’ll bring a friend, if that’s okay? he’s a sophomore in the same program as you and i’m sure he’d love to tag along. i promise we won’t cause too much trouble~

“You think Sehun is free this Friday?” Jongdae asks, just to be sure.

“I thought it was Chanyeol you were into.”

“Baekhyun!”

“Christ, fine. I think so, yeah. Why? You’re forcing him to third-wheel you and Chanyeol on your next date? That’s rude, man.”

“Do you wanna do that, then?”

“Uh. No, thanks.”

Chanyeol’s reply comes fast.

sure thing!!! can’t wait to meet him. and you. again. hehe. i’ll see u there <3

“Uh,” Baekhyun says again, this time much closer than Jongdae expects him to be. When he looks up, he realizes Baekhyun has moved to his side of the booth, peering at his phone screen from over his shoulder. “He sent you a heart. He’s just as smitten as you are, isn’t he?”

Jongdae hits Baekhyun with his phone, before pocketing it away. Baekhyun scowls at him after letting out a small yelp. In turn, Jongdae only pulls his tongue at him, smiling, not bothering to mention Baekhyun’s remark.

***

The plan, with bringing Sehun along to the exhibition, was to make this not seem like a date. Why he did so, Jongdae isn’t too sure.

If he’s honest, the thought of dating Chanyeol isn’t scary at all, on the contrary—it’s rather exciting, attractive, and okay, yeah, maybe just a little scary. But it’s the good kind, the kind that makes Jongdae want to be better and do things and… and all that. The uncertainty is more stimulating rather than daunting.

But going on a date right after their first meeting in over two years of radio silence—a meeting that was, all things considered, a completely impromptu one, with no real tangible plans to make this a regular thing—Jongdae wasn’t too sure about that. It felt like too much pressure and stress and acknowledging his feelings this early, when he was still unsure about them, was… unnerving.

Hence, Sehun.

Sehun makes for a good distraction, showing interest in Chanyeol’s pieces spread across the wide white walls of the room through his wide eyes and excited praises—maybe too much interest, even, as Jongdae is being dragged around the room with Sehun’s hand around his wrist, barely having enough time to detail each of the pictures they stop by.

“This is honestly so cool, man,” Sehun drawls out, amazed. They’re standing in front of one of the wide shots that make up the biggest chunk of the project. Those wide shots are about five feet wide each, taking up most of the widest wall in the space, with some hanging in the middle of the room.

The smaller prints are all macro shots—they’re often displayed in a mosaic-like pattern, building an image of their own that compliments the adjacent blown-up photographs, focusing on tiny little details Jongdae’s untrained eye probably would have missed.

“Thank you,” says a voice behind them before Jongdae can answer, and they both turn around to see Chanyeol smiling kindly back at them, curly hair askew and cheeks tainted slightly red. Maybe it’s Sehun’s praise, maybe it’s something else, Jongdae muses.

“You know how you have those wide shots, juxtaposed with the smaller ones? Brilliant, honestly,” Sehun continues with his praise. Jongdae watches, amused, as Chanyeol’s blush grows, ignoring the furtive looks he gets from the latter.

“It’s the point of the project, really,” Chanyeol explains, voice calm and steady. “The wide shots show you the bigger picture—they’re blown up so you can really see all of it, with all the details there for you to see. Then the closer shots, they’re there for you to focus on what I see in the picture. Details you might have missed, or picked up by yourself. The experience varies, you know.”

“Whoa,” Sehun breathes out. “That’s fucking awesome, man.”

“You think so?” Chanyeol asks eagerly. His curls bounce when he moves. “I’m glad you like it, then. Please keep looking around, don’t let me keep you.”

And Sehun does just that—he starts off to the other side of the room, and this time, forgets to grab Jongdae’s wrist along. God bless.

Jongdae turns, sees Chanyeol is now looking at him with that persistent kind smile and too bright eyes. “What?”

“You came,” says Chanyeol. “I didn’t think you would.”

At that, Jongdae huffs. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

He tries not to think of the butterflies erupting in his stomach, though they make it a little harder to breathe.

Chanyeol’s smile doesn’t falter one bit. “I dunno. Maybe you were just being nice, when you asked, the other day. But I’m glad you could make it.”

“Way to make me feel wanted, Chanyeol, honestly,” Jongdae chooses to reply. He doesn’t want to mention that yeah, maybe he did think twice before coming. He doesn’t want to mention how it feels odd—and a little exciting, behind the weirdness of it all—to be here right now, with the shadow of maybe-possible-very-much-real feelings looming above him.

Chanyeol’s smile only grows wider, a little more crooked, almond eyes following the motion and curving beautifully over his cheeks. Jongdae looks away. “Let me show you around, then.”

When Chanyeol grabs his wrist to pull him around the room, it feels different from when Sehun did it, only moments before. Sehun’s touch is familiar, at most—but Chanyeol’s hand enclosing so near his hand makes Jongdae’s breath stutter, heat rushing to his cheeks and ears. He wills himself not to blush—now that would be embarrassing—but doesn’t stop the tiny grin that makes it to his lips almost on its own.

Across the room, he sees Sehun throwing him a questioning look, though the raise of his eyebrows gives an amused twist to his gaze. Jongdae only pulls his tongue at him—he’s really good at that, pulling his tongue—before looking back to Chanyeol, who has expectant eyes poised on him and his smile that doesn’t seem to falter one bit.

“What is it?” Jongdae inquires. He tries not to look away from Chanyeol’s eyes, this time, since he knows his gaze will land on their joined hands.

“Oh, nothing,” Chanyeol replies, but his smile now hides something, something knowing that puts Jongdae a little on edge and makes him a little breathless.

Things are moving a little too fast in Jongdae’s head, it seems. Since when is he so quick to react, so quick to feel so much all at once?

He swallows his thoughts, blinks up at Chanyeol. “So. Are you showing me around or is this just an excuse to pretend holding my hand?”

Well shit. Talk about subtlety, uh.

Though he feels embarrassment creeping up and dusting his cheeks pinker than they already are—good job, Kim Jongdae, seriously—he can’t help but notice Chanyeol falter in his steps and getting slightly flustered, all of a sudden.

Ah. It’s kind of cute, actually. And very endearing.

“Do you mind, then?” Chanyeol stutters, his smile turning shy, less pronounced but glinting in his eyes nonetheless.

“Do I mind if what?”

Chanyeol presses his lips tightly together, before replying all in one breath. “If I hold your hand. Properly, I mean.”

Oh. “Oh.” Yeah, no, absolutely none of that, thanks. “Yeah, okay, sure, go for it.” God damn it.

But Jongdae’s reserves are suddenly forgotten when Chanyeol’s hand actually covers his own—properly, that is—and although their fingers aren’t interlaced, or anything, it’s still enough to set Jongdae’s insides ablaze, and to light up Chanyeol’s eyes with something so beautiful Jongdae might be on the verge of tearing up. Or something.

Friends hold hands sometimes, don’t they? Of course they do. Baekhyun does it all the time—so much so it almost gets annoying. Sehun, too, when he feels clingy and tries to act cute. So really, Jongdae’s heart can calm down a little, settle back in its place inside his ribcage, and maybe slow down, too. Chanyeol is a friend—or is becoming his friend, anyway, or something like that—and the two of them holding hands even just for a little while is totally and entirely platonic. What Jongdae wants out of it does not matter, for the time being.

If Jongdae finds it cute, if he revels in the touch and the warmth of it, there’s only him to know.

Chanyeol doesn’t let go, even as he explains each of the shots they encounter, going in detail about every picture that’s part of the collection shown around the room. And because Jongdae has a brain, thank you very much, he listens intently—partly because Chanyeol’s enthusiasm is adorably contagious, but also because he’s actually interested in what’s being shown to him; the beauty that Chanyeol brings out in his shots, the precision and skill of the photographic work in front of him, the arc that ties all of these pictures together.

They pass by shots of wide flower fields, paired with closer shots detailing dirty, empty patches of land Jongdae hadn’t noticed in the first place. Insects, lounging on petals he hadn’t even paid attention to in the first place.

A busy street at night, milling with people and glistening with neon lights. Then, tighter shots of a lone smoker, hidden in the dark of a nearby alley. A stray cat, seemingly smelling garbage left lying around in the shadows that Jongdae had barely glanced over in the first shot.

To say he’s impressed is a bit of an exaggeration—he’s seen Chanyeol’s work before, after all—but Jongdae is definitely pleasantly surprised, and he definitely likes what he sees. The details are interesting to look at, and the execution of it all is exquisite.

He doesn’t stop himself from poking fun at Chanyeol, though—especially when they stop in front of an arrangement that shows a street on the biggest frame, where a rather obvious sex shop sits at the centre of it.

Jongdae snorts. “So what’s this one about, then?”

The look Chanyeol gives him is exasperated, but slightly amused nonetheless. “I know what you’re thinking—”

Jongdae approaches the biggest photograph, and almost, almost regrets doing so when Chanyeol’s hand slips away from his. “Let’s repeat the exercise, then, shall we? So on this picture, I see…” Jongdae squints, and starts laughing. “Is that a glittery butt plug?”

“I—oh my god,” Chanyeol scrambles to let out. It only makes Jongdae cackle louder, minding the odd looks he gets very little. “Listen, I can explain—”

“It’s black and glittery, definitely. And that, here,” Jongdae points to another toy displayed on the front window of the store, tiny in the photograph but discernable enough against the wide frame, “is a very cute pink dildo.”

“Jesus Christ, how old are you,” Chanyeol mutters. When Jongdae turns to look at him, he’s burning bright red, but the amused glint is still present in his eyes, and it makes Jongdae coo at him, furthering his embarrassment.

Teasing counts amongst Jongdae’s strongest points, after all—especially when he’s not the one blushing anymore.

“Old enough to use any of these,” he replies easily, motioning vaguely at the picture when he steps back. He represses a laugh when he sees Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “So, tell me. What’s this one about, really?”

“It’s… about nothing, or rather,” Chanyeol tries after a moment. He pauses, pursuing his lips in something that looks more like a petulant pout than a considering expression. “I lost a bet.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says. “Oh, that’s just too good.” The smaller shots barely catch his attention, this time. He fleetingly thinks he glances over the glittery butt plug he found, though, and even if that’s interesting—why would Chanyeol want his audience to focus on that?—he concedes that it might be pushing the teasing a little too far.

He’ll let him off this time.

“I’m not going into details on that,” Chanyeol continues, blush still beautifully bringing out the reddest tint of his skin. “But, yeah. This one… this one’s just a joke, really. I don’t hate it, though. It’s fun.”

Jongdae nods, bringing his hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder and squeezing proudly as they start walking away. “Damn right it is. Who’s the soul I have to thank for this masterpiece?”

“Jongin,” Chanyeol replies—or rather, mumbles. He looks like a giant kicked puppy. “And please don’t. No need to fuel his pride more than needed, already.”

“Alright, okay, alright,” Jongdae smiles. Smiling is easy, with Chanyeol. “I’ll leave him a thank you note, though, maybe.”

They approach the last piece of the exhibition, suspended in the centre of the room by long and thin metal rods. Jongdae spots Sehun only a few feet away, eyes on his phone and a smirk playing on his lips. Uh.

“And here’s the last one,” Chanyeol speaks next to him, and Jongdae looks up, thoughts of Sehun forgotten.

He turns to the photographs, and stops short. It shouldn’t surprise him, really—nor should he suddenly feel so much at the sight of it, either—but the pictures still manage to steal his breath away from more than simple appreciation. “It’s the ocean.”

“Yeah, it’s the ocean,” Chanyeol agrees.

The expanse of blue the water creates is immeasurable, even framed like this and hanging from the ceiling, Jongdae thinks. The white and brown of the sand is so familiar to him at this point that he can almost feel it under the sole of his feet, even just by looking at it. The biggest picture of the lot shows the same spot they had met again, only about a week before, this time again plunged in the pinks and purples of a sunset. The memory of that night comes back to him suddenly, long hours that get lost in the company of an old acquaintance that still feels so new.

Peace washes over Jongdae, and it’s from more than just the pictures.

“You said you came here often,” Jongdae recalls. He’s still staring, detailing the smaller shots with intent—a leftover beer bottle, a pair of shoes covered in sand, the silhouette of someone with their arms spread wide against the blaring light of the setting sun.

It’s all a series of little things that somehow make Jongdae stop and stare a little longer; it’s all a series of little things that resonate with him and scream “home” more than the roof above his head when he steps a foot in his house.

“I do,” a voice replies—Chanyeol’s, Jongdae recognizes a beat too late. “It’s very… comfortable, there, for me. It’s nice. That’s my point with this one, I guess.”

“You did a great job,” Jongdae turns to look at him. Chanyeol is watching him curiously, head tilted and eyes darker a bit more serious than they were only moments before. “I love it.”

“I’m glad you do,” Chanyeol replies, and it’s not the first time he says those words, but they’re said with a deeper tone and more interest to them than gratitude, this time.

Not knowing what to do, Jongdae smiles, and it seems to be the right thing to do—Chanyeol lights up when he grins back, showing too many teeth and making the almond shape of his eyes even more pronounced.

“Hey, Chanyeol, right?”

They turn, the both of them, to see Sehun suddenly next to Jongdae—when did he get here?—with expectant eyes and that ever present smirk on his lips.

“That’s the man, yeah,” Chanyeol waves.

Sehun nods. “Super interesting, your exhibition. I love your work.” When Chanyeol smiles his thanks, he turns to Jongdae, and the kindness in his gaze turns into amusement. “Are we going?”

“Are we?” Jongdae counters. He hates that he has to look up to speak to Sehun. He has no right to be that tall—especially since he’s younger.

“Yes, we are,” Sehun decides for him, grabbing his elbow and pulling him towards the exit. “Chanyeol, thanks again!”

As he stumbles in Sehun’s hold, catching up with the younger—and taller—boy’s wider steps, Jongdae throws a hasty look over his shoulder and waves back to Chanyeol. “I’ll text you!”

Chanyeol’s smile is too big, too bright. Jongdae grins back just as big.

“You’ll text him just fine, huh,” Sehun mutters once they’re outside, letting go of him. It’s gotten slightly darker, slightly friskier, since they stepped inside only—wait, it’s been two hours already?

“Sure, why not?” Jongdae answers. They make their way to Sehun’s car, Jongdae with a hand over his elbow, because damn, Sehun has a strong hold.

“You know, I don’t mind being the third wheel, Jongdae,” Sehun says, tone velvety and no, Sehun doesn’t get to do that, “if only you had told me in advance, you know.”

“I—no! This is not what this is about at all.” Absolutely not. “I brought you here because you’re a Photo major and you love this stuff, obviously—”

“So do you.” Sehun jingles his keys at the tips of his fingers, before unlocking the car and sliding in. “So why did I have to tag along? You could have just told me about it, Dae. Didn’t want to interrupt your date, or whatever.”

“Jeez, was it that bad?” Sehun’s car has nice leather seats, and Jongdae makes a show of making himself comfortable on the passenger seat. “I thought you liked it.”

“Oh, I did,” Sehun smiles—no, smirks, smirks still. “But I bet you liked it even more, right? Or maybe it was all Chanyeol who made the experience better for you.”

Of course, Jongdae saw it coming. Of course. He sighs, making sure Sehun catches the roll of his eyes before he turns towards the dashboard, fiddling with the AUX cord. “Shut up and drive me home, kid.”

Sehun’s laugh is drowned by the music in a matter of moments, but Jongdae doesn’t hide the tiny, tiny smile that makes it to his lips, still.

***

The next day, Jongdae has the late evening shift. Again. It’s another Saturday night that slips past his fingertips, it seems.

It’s too late to call any of his friends, again. He remembers Baekhyun vaguely mentioning something about a date with Minseok, while Sehun was busy doing… Sehun things, Jongdae presumes. He isn’t too sure.

It leaves him with little to no company after his shift, again. (There’s Junmyeon, of course. There’s always Junmyeon. But Junmyeon is busy wooing Joohyun when he’s not working, lately, and Jongdae is pretty sure they’re soon going to start dating For Real and he just knows he’ll be the victim of Junmyeon’s insistent boyfriend-y rambling as soon as that happens. So really, Jongdae is saving himself the trouble of having to deal with the pre-stage of that upcoming mess.)

To add to that, tonight’s late evening breeze doesn’t manage to unstick his shirt from his sweaty back. As he makes the trek back to his house slowly, the air around him is still a little too warm and a little too thick, and although Jongdae is used to it by now (he’s lived in California for most of his life, after all), the heat still manages to damper his mood and weaken his limbs.

At least, the setting sun doesn’t blare its bright light on him anymore. He can still find a little beauty in the sight that offers itself before him, like every night he gets to watch the ocean taking in the purples and pinks of the sky above it reflects. The soft murmur of the waves acts like a lullaby, walking him home.

He wouldn’t mind actual company, though.

Finding himself alone, like this, lets his thoughts take over a little too strongly, and they get a little too loud in his head. Especially during the evening, when everything is just that shade darker and just that tad bit mysterious yet slightly hypnotizing, making his thoughts take on various directions he usually doesn’t let them head towards during the daytime.

Jongdae stops to look back to the ocean, to the moving water and the sound it makes and the colours of the sky, the white and brown of the sand and the stray parasols left behind by careless vacationers and the shadows they leave behind. He thinks back to Chanyeol’s photograph, so compelling yet so simple, just like the actual sight of the beach in front of his eyes.

Yearning anchors itself in his gut, again, and he’s left breathless.

From his bag, he takes out the film camera he always carries around—the one his dad had passed him along—but never uses, rummaging for a brand new film roll. He grabs the first one he gets his hand on, opening the package with deft hands and inserting it inside the machine, before rolling the neck strap around his wrist tightly. He checks his settings quickly—bless past him for taking that Intro to Photo course back in first year—and points the camera to the ocean.

He has no idea how the picture comes out—that’s the drawback, or the beauty, whichever, of using film, he figures—but the feeling of peace he gets from simply capturing the sight is enough satisfaction. After a few moments of hesitation, he decides to continue snapping pictures. The camera is already out of his bag, so why not?

A shot of the short distance he’s just walked from the diner, framing the street and the lined-up palm trees with it. The cute little statue that stands in front of the souvenir shop he seemingly just stopped in front of, with the red brick wall behind it giving it an interesting and textured background.

Jongdae is about to point the camera back to the ocean when something—or rather, someone—blocks his view. “Boo.”

He startles, lowering the camera with a little yelp and losing his grasp around it. “I—God, Chanyeol! Never do that again.” Thank God the strap is still secure around his wrist, the camera dangling from it. At least, it didn’t hit the ground and break along with Jongdae’s pictures and probably his dad’s pride.

He looks up to find Chanyeol staring at him with a curious look. His hair is slightly damp, and his t-shirt is sticking a little too closely to his chest for Jongdae’s liking. He has an inkling it’s from more than the heat; Chanyeol smells strongly of the ocean, if the towel around his neck wasn’t enough of an indication.

Would Chanyeol be the type to go skinny dipping at this hour? Jongdae fleetingly wonders, before he realizes what he’s actually thinking about, and stops short.

No. Not now, Jongdae.

“You still shoot?” Chanyeol asks, pointing to Jongdae’s hand. Right. Camera. Chanyeol. Jongdae taking pictures because he felt like it and maybe because of Chanyeol, too.

“Obviously,” is Jongdae’s immediate reply. “Usually on my phone, or my DSLR, if I have time.” It’s not exactly a lie—Jongdae does try his best at taking pictures, because it’s fun and he’s pretty decent and though he’s not marvelous the way Chanyeol is, he still enjoys it. It’s just that time isn’t always cooperating, so his Instagram feed is kind of dead, most of the time.

“This isn’t a DSLR you’re holding, though.” Chanyeol picks up Jongdae’s wrist delicately with one hand, and the camera with the other. Jongdae tries to ignore how his heart picks up in speed. He fails. “This is a nice piece of gear you have there.”

Chanyeol’s eyes are intent on the camera, so Jongdae lets himself stare at Chanyeol without holding back, curls and nice arms disappearing under the hem of his t-shirt sleeves and tiny droplets of water still sliding down the back of his neck, big, wide hands still wrapped up around Jongdae’s own. Shit.

“It’s my dad’s,” says Jongdae after a beat. The camera. Pictures. Focus, Jongdae. “I always carry it around but I never actually used it. Until now, I guess.”

Chanyeol’s bugged out eyes would look comical if he wasn’t still holding Jongdae’s wrist, delicately, almost lovingly—or maybe Jongdae’s really losing it. Where did this sudden infatuation come from? “You mean you own this thing—this wonderful, wonderful old-school film beauty—and you’ve never once tried it out?” He truly looks heartbroken at this idea, and Jongdae feels (unwarranted) guilt creep up in his gut.

“Well I am now,” he mumbles. “Until you disturbed me. Is that a habit of yours, then? Just coming up to people and disturbing their alone time.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really,” Jongdae finds himself saying. He really doesn’t, is the thing. “What were you up to anyway?”

“Swimming,” Chanyeol grins. He lets go of the camera, but not Jongdae’s wrist. “The weather was too good today not to, really. I was with Jongin until he had to leave for his dance classes or whatever. Too bad you weren’t there,” he then says, and Jongdae raises his eyebrows, attempting to hide his surprise with (what he hopes is) a deadpan expression.

Chanyeol speaks to him like they’ve known each other for years. Chanyeol tells him about Jongin like he, too, knows the kid. But more importantly, Chanyeol seemingly wants him around. Or does he? Well. Jongdae isn’t opposed to the idea, quite the opposite. However—

“Not all of us have plenty of free time in our hands,” Jongdae retorts. There’s work, and life, and overbearing thoughts that keep Jongdae from doing a lot of things. That, and having a clingy Baekhyun for a best friend.

“That’s okay,” Chanyeol shrugs. He’s looking at Jongdae with that earnest look that makes his eyes shine too bright, even in the dimming light of the evening sun around them. “Next time, I’ll make sure you tag along. And bring your baby over there, too,” he adds, moving their (still) joined hands.

Jongdae tries not to grin too wide at the mention of next time. Instead, he twists his hand in Chanyeol’s own, shaking the camera. “Wanna try it out, then?”

Chanyeol’s hand tightens around Jongdae’s wrist. Yes, his heart goes wild. Yes, he’s pretty sure he’s fucking blushing, again. “Wait—really? I mean, I’ve only played around with film in one of my classes, and this is your—no, not even, this is your dad’s camera and I really don’t wanna break it or anything or—”

“You’re rambling,” Jongdae states.

“Oh. My bad. But really—”

“It’s fine, Chanyeol,” Jongdae insists. It’s kind of cute, though, the way Chanyeol is looking down at him with such wide, hopeful eyes. Jongdae almost forgets he’s shorter than him. “I wouldn’t be offering if it wasn’t. And really, my dad hasn’t used this thing in over fifteen years, it’s pretty much mine now. I’m also quite confident you can work this thing out better than I can.”

Are Chanyeol’s ears red? Jongdae can’t really tell, because he’s now smiling, and though he’s still showing way too much teeth, it’s still… heartwarming. “It’d be my honour.”

Jongdae snorts, (reluctantly) pulls free from Chanyeol’s hold and untangles the strap from his wrist. He hands Chanyeol the camera. “There. Go wild, kid.”

“I’m taller than you,” Chanyeol notes distractedly, his eyes fixed on the machine in his hands. There is so much excitement, so much awe, just so much in those eyes, Jongdae notes. “I’m no kid.”

Jongdae doesn’t need to reply to that, though—he’s soon distracted by the way Chanyeol works the camera like his own, toying with the settings and bringing it up, snapping a few pictures in quick succession. He then turns it to Jongdae, and snaps another before he can protest.

“Hey! I never agreed to being a model of yours,” Jongdae says.

Chanyeol only shrugs, grinning so wide Jongdae just has to as well. “You look good. I had to.”

“Pfft,” Jongdae lets out, rolling his eyes and totally not blushing. Really, he isn’t. (Maybe a little.)

“Are you walking home?” Chanyeol asks. He’s still taking pictures—of the ocean, of the street, of God knows what he’s pointing the camera to when he directs it towards the ground.

Whatever it is, it’ll probably look amazing, once Jongdae develops the film. Chanyeol is that good.

“I was, yeah. But don’t worry about—”

“Let me walk with you,” Chanyeol decides. He lowers the camera, smile softening. “I’ll play with this thing a little more, and no one will worry by the time you get home.”

“My parents don’t worry. Not really.”

“Last time, you left for your house at about this time, and you were worried about being home late,” Chanyeol says. “Come on, lead the way?”

Is Chanyeol really walking him home? Is this real? Even Baekhyun rarely does that—mostly because they don’t live in the same area, and Baekhyun is slightly lazy and doesn’t want to take the bus back to his place.

Jongdae doesn’t even know where Chanyeol lives. He should probably protest this.

But he doesn’t, because he enjoys the company, and it calms the yearning in his stomach and soothes his loneliness. He could get used to this. “Okay,” he relents, walking and waiting for Chanyeol to catch up. “Okay, let’s go.”

***

Chanyeol becomes a recurrence, within a single week, and Jongdae doesn’t know what to do of it all.

The two of them are constantly texting already anyway, and it leads them to meeting up more often, too—three times that week, in fact; once on Tuesday for (totally platonic) ice cream, the next day so that Chanyeol keeps his promise and take Jongdae to the beach (though it wasn’t a promise, per se, but Chanyeol kept insisting it was), and on Thursday to… just be together, really, Jongdae thinks.

On Thursday, they spend the day walking around before they ended up in Chanyeol’s garage, to be joined by the infamous Jongin and Kyungsoo, whom are just as lovely as Jongdae had thought them to be—especially Jongin, with his puppy air contrasting with his devastatingly handsome looks, who laughs brightly when Jongdae reminds him of Chanyeol’s lost bet, from the exhibition. (Kyungsoo is adorable, but he also isn’t, in a scary way, and Jongdae is still a little wary. But he trusts Chanyeol, so he trusts his friends, too.)

Chanyeol plays some old pop tunes on his guitar, and Kyungsoo and Jongdae sing along. Jongin watches them, smile lopsided and pleased. They all play Mario Kart, because it’s ridiculously fun, and Jongin laughs too loud when he wins, when he loses, when Chanyeol throws his remote because he just got last place again. Kyungsoo digs the old chess board from the back of the Parks’ garage, and it’s a two-against-two game with Chanyeol and Kyungsoo against Jongin and Jongdae, and Chanyeol sulks again when his team loses.

When Kyungsoo and Jongin leave, it’s just Chanyeol and Jongdae in the garage, the door wide open and letting the bright early evening sunlight in. Chanyeol is humming next to him, going through the various pictures he’s shot in the afternoon on his DSLR. Jongdae is on his phone, playing some mindless game, sprawled out on the couch at the far left of the space.

It’s all so cozy, and it’s so tempting, too, so easy to slip into and get used to that it almost startles Jongdae, all of a sudden. He voices it aloud, though he keeps his eyes on his phone, feigning indifference. “This is nice.”

Chanyeol’s humming song turns affirmative, before he speaks. “It is nice,” he agrees. “You’re a great companion, Jongdae.”

Jongdae snorts. “That’s always good to hear.”

“For real, though,” Chanyeol insists. It prompts Jongdae to look up, twist his neck so he’s looking at Chanyeol directly in the eyes, though he’s sort of upside down, at the moment. Well. “You’re awfully easy to get used to. It’s comfortable.”

Can Chanyeol read minds? Jongdae isn’t sure it’s all that impossible anymore. “Comfortable, huh?”

“Mmh. Comfortable.”

Jongdae thinks back to what comfortable usually is—home, in a sense, in every sense. Home is comfortable and comfortable is home, right? Isn’t that what’s so scary about growing up, about taking off and leaving home, to face what’s scarily uncertain and undetermined?

And yet, out of nowhere, there is Chanyeol, bright eyes filled with kindness. Scary, gentle Chanyeol. Comfortable, uncertain Chanyeol, because Jongdae doesn’t understand how he fits within everything else, and it unsettles him.

Chanyeol is too good to let go of, though, so Jongdae doesn’t dwell on his thoughts. He just hums, and the afternoon resumes; so easy to slip into.

***

“So you’re dating him.”

Jongdae sighs. “I’m not dating him, Baekhyun—”

“He shows up randomly to your workplace. He walks you home all the time. You guys text constantly and also meet up constantly. And the flirting, too,” Minseok rattles off. When Jongdae looks at him with an affronted look, the older just shrugs, barely apologetic. “Seriously, man. I gotta side with Baekhyun on this one.”

“You always side with Baekhyun,” Jongdae grumbles half-heartedly. It’s Friday night, and they’re waiting in line at the local movie theatre—the food counter line, as they’ve already gotten their tickets sorted out but Baekhyun was whining about nachos. “You guys are dating.”

“Yes, we are,” Baekhyun chirps proudly, grabbing Minseok by the collar and planting a kiss smack on his lips. Jongdae makes a ‘bleurgh’ noise loud enough for them to hear. “And you are, too. Dating Chanyeol, I mean. Not us. Though that could be arranged, if you want—”

“Okay, yeah, no, thanks!” Jongdae cuts, hands on his ears. He really doesn’t need to think about that. Even if Minseok is pretty and Baekhyun was his first kiss (what a mistake that was).

Minseok is looking at him with a soft smile, while Baekhyun just snickers, koala-hugging Minseok’s arm. Talk about clingy.

“But honestly, though,” Minseok says again. He’s very pretty, Jongdae thinks, pretty big eyes and slightly pouty lips. “What’s so bad about Chanyeol that you don’t want to give him a chance?”

“That’s not it, though,” Jongdae finds himself saying, and whoa, there, that was a little too honest, especially as they’re nearing the counter and the movie starts in, what, ten minutes? “It’s just…”

“Scaredy cat, you are,” Baekhyun groans. “How long till you live your life a little and start doing things for yourself, Jongdae?”

Wait, what? “What do you mean by that?” There’s something funny twisting at Jongdae’s gut, and he’s not sure he likes it.

Baekhyun is about to speak, but Minseok holds him back, as Jongdae notices him squeezing their joined hands between them. He thinks fleetingly of Chanyeol’s hand around his own, before raising his eyebrows at Baekhyun, pressing.

It’s Minseok who speaks instead while Baekhyun orders. “What he means is, maybe you should just give it a go. That whole dating thing. Chanyeol makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

He does, Jongdae thinks. Chanyeol makes Jongdae feel good and happy and scared and conflicted and a little confused, and it’s all very new but there’s something about the promise of a new beginning, of just something—anything—with Chanyeol that’s truly… attractive. Enticing, even. Chanyeol makes Jongdae happy, and maybe Jongdae wants to have a taste of more. Is that too much to ask for?

He only nods, though, and Minseok’s smile grows a little wider. Baekhyun looks at him over his shoulder knowingly. “That’s the only answer you need, then,” Minseok singsongs.

Before Jongdae can retort, Baekhyun chimes in. “But you’d better not do that again, though.” He pops one nacho with no cheese in his mouth. Jongdae almost reprimands him and his terrible eating habits, but first—

“Do what?” Jongdae asks.

“Abandon me for him,” Baekhyun pouts. Jongdae snorts. “I still can’t believe you went to get ice cream with Chanyeol this week and not me. This is like, treason or something. Betrayal.”

“Suck it up, Baek,” Jongdae sighs. “At least Chanyeol has better standards. We went to Ben & Jerry’s, for once.”

Baekhyun whines, Minseok sighs, Jongdae smiles. This is comfortable, he thinks.

***

Another week, another Saturday. Jongdae is considering suing his boss.

At least, Junmyeon is there to keep him company, and to share his pain, too, apparently—the older has been whining about having to reschedule his date with Joohyun last minute due to his shift, and has been doing so for the past two hours.

There’s still another three hours until they’re off. Jongdae might be also considering strangling Junmyeon to death.

“Jongdae, oh my God,” Junmyeon starts again, face pale, vanilla milkshake long forgotten. Jongdae steals a look at the front to see an annoyed mother clicking her nails on the table of her booth, five-year-old son by her side oblivious and munching happily on his fries. He sighs. Junmyeon pays him no mind. “Jongdae. What if she thinks I’m careless?”

“Mmh?” Jongdae hums distractedly. Who are the nachos for, again? Table 8 or 3?

“I mean—she knows I can’t miss work, but what if she thinks I don’t care about her enough? Oh my God. What if—”

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae cuts. He’s pretty sure the nachos are for Table 3, in the end, and the mother at Table 5 is about to lose her shit, he knows. “No fucking offense, but I don’t care, and honestly, Joohyun is a sweetheart. She’ll get over it if you miss one date. Now go serve that fucking milkshake before Table 5 starts a scene.”

Junmyeon stares at him, lips parted, not a sound making it out of his lips. Jongdae sighs again, picks up his nachos, and leaves the counter.

“We didn’t order these,” the blonde girl at Table 3 giggles. Her boyfriend’s hand is lost somewhere under her skirt. Honestly, Jongdae could have gone his entire life without having to see that.

“Noted,” he grumbles, picking up the plate and making his way to Table 8 with an apologetic smile. Fortunately, the teen boys at the table only stare at the food, eyes wide and mouths drooling. He’s fine, Jongdae muses; he might even get a decent tip out of Table 8, in the end.

When he makes it back to the counter, he’s relieved to find that Junmyeon did, indeed, take the vanilla milkshake to Table 5. The mother’s annoyed pout is a little less pronounced now, and the kid next to her has his lips around his straw, smiling blissfully around the glass. Jongdae wishes distractedly he could be happy with the simple premise of food, like he used to, at five years old, probably.

Junmyeon pokes him on the shoulder when he sits next to him. There’s a slight lull in business; they can afford to catch an extra break. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Jongdae asks, turning to Junmyeon with raised eyebrows.

The older just shrugs, lips protruding into a tiny pout that makes him look ridiculously smaller than he already is. “I dunno, it’s just… the outburst you had earlier. I thought it was because you were upset, or something.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Jongdae smirks. “You’re just that annoying, really.”

“Hey!” Junmyeon exclaims. When Jongdae only laughs, he crosses his arms, meaning to turn away in mocked annoyance, but Jongdae doesn’t miss the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. Bingo. “I was just, I don’t know.”

“Enamored? Smitten? Worried about your bien-aimée’s feelings for you?” It’s just so much fun to tease Junmyeon, really. “Don’t worry about it, Romeo. You’re fine, really.”

Jongdae means it—with his constant texting (without getting excessive) and his random “oh, I should tell Joohyun about that” moments Junmyeon gets, he’s nothing if not a caring, loving boyfriend.

Except, maybe, a little smitten. Very much so. Verging on the annoying side.

“Romeo,” Junmyeon grimaces. “Not sure about that. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

“Not even for Joohyun?”

“Not even for… well actually—”

“Oh, God, here we go again,” Jongdae groans. He stands up by instinct when he hears the bell tinkle from the front.

“Oh come on, I haven’t said a word already!” Junmyeon calls behind him. “And it’s not like…”

Whatever Junmyeon says after that, it’s lost in the white noise of Jongdae’s mind—staring back at him, from the other side of the counter, is a slightly dishevelled but broadly grinning Chanyeol, wide hands pushing back brown curls from his face. Suddenly, Jongdae hates summer—because Chanyeol’s tank top is sitting a little too low over his shoulders, uncovering too much of his collarbones and showing too much of his arms. There’s tiny pinpricks of sweat sliding down his temples—not like Jongdae is paying attention—and there’s something hanging under his arm.

“You skate?” Jongdae asks dumbly. He’s stopped in front of the register, hands still at his side, customary “Hello, what can I get you today?” lost in the turmoil of his mind.

Except, wait, no, Jongdae’s mind is not in turmoil. Just slightly taken aback. Surprised. Pleasantly so. Yes.

He refrains himself from groaning at his own thoughts.

Chanyeol doesn’t seem to pick up on any of it—his grin softens, shy dimple digging into his cheek. “I do, yeah,” he nods as he approaches him. “I’m not all that good, though. I need more practice.”

“Uh,” is all Jongdae can say to that. He pulls his eyes away from Chanyeol’s arms, hoping the gasp of air he takes isn’t noticeable. Chanyeol should be banned from wearing tank tops. “What can I get you, then?”

“A banana milkshake, please,” Chanyeol answers. When Jongdae looks up, he finds him scanning the menu above his head with narrowed eyes. “Mmh, add a cheeseburger to that, actually.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Jongdae says. “No discount this time, though, I’m afraid.”

“You remembered?” Chanyeol inquires, an amused twist to his tone. He slides the money over the counter without Jongdae having to tell him the price. Is he a regular? How come has Jongdae never bumped into him before?

And why does he now, of all times?

“Don’t get your hopes up, is what I’m saying,” Jongdae decides to reply instead. “Get seated. Your food will be ready soon!”

Chanyeol’s nod is enthusiastic, a little too much so, even. It makes Jongdae chuckle, though. It’s cute. Very cute, with how his curls bounce with the movement, and it even manages to distract Jongdae from the curve of Chanyeol’s arms and the glistening shine of his sun-kissed skin.

“Earth to Jongdae?” Junmyeon’s voice sounds a little too close, making Jongdae jump in his spot.

He turns to find a smug Junmyeon, and, wait, hold up a minute. When is Junmyeon ever smug? He narrows his eyes, skeptical. “Can I help you?”

The tiny smirk on Junmyeon’s lips is dancing now, moving left and right with his tiny laugh. “And I’m the smitten one? Who is he, then? Didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“Who is who?” Jongdae knows he’s blushing. God damn it.

A raised eyebrow answers him. Junmyeon can be quite the catch, when he acts all-knowing and doesn’t show off his terribly clumsy side, Jongdae thinks distractedly. Joohyun is lucky. “You know who I’m talking about,” Junmyeon points out, and Jongdae forgets all about lucky girls and pretty Junmyeons; pretty Chanyeols, however, is another story—wait, no. “Adonis over there, what’s his name?” he adds, nodding to the general direction of Chanyeol’s booth. “I never actually heard him introduce himself, before.”

Junmyeon knows Chanyeol? And since then is— “Adonis? Yeah, sure he’s hot, but Chanyeol’s nowhere Adonis level of like, life-changing beauty, no offense—”

“Ha! So you do think he’s hot then,” Junmyeon snickers, and fuck. How did Jongdae get caught? He’s truly getting soft, these days, damn. “Chanyeol, huh? Okay, noted. Get on that order, then, Jongdae, huh?”

“You’re not my boss,” Jongdae throws unconvincingly. It only manages to make Junmyeon laugh even more, which was definitely not what he was aiming for.

A banana milkshake takes barely a few moments to make. The cheeseburger, he knows, will take longer. Jongdae uses that excuse to remain behind the counter a little longer, deciding he’ll make the milkshake when the burger is almost ready. It’s a question of offering prime service, really—having your entire order ready all at once, and all. Really, Jongdae has the best of his clientele in mind, at all times. He’s certainly not doing all of this stalling only to avoid Chanyeol—because he has no reason to avoid him, right? Right. Except maybe Jongdae is slightly unsettled to have him here, at the diner, of all places. Like the small intermissions of his life he spends with Chanyeol and his actual life are colliding into one, or something.

When the kitchen calls Chanyeol’s table number, Jongdae sighs.

Burger and milkshake in hand, he makes it to Chanyeol’s booth quickly. “There you go, gentleman,” he greets him. “Enjoy your food!”

“Sit with me?” Chanyeol says almost immediately after, not even giving enough time for Jongdae to turn away.

Jongdae freezes, raises his eyebrows. “I’m on shift, Chanyeol. There’s still two hours left before close.”

Chanyeol’s smile is soft, understanding. Okay, so maybe Jongdae is very much smitten, after all. “I know that. But you could spare a couple minutes, right? There’s no one here yet, anyway, and your friend can take an order or two while you’re having a conversation, no?”

“You’re overestimating Junmyeon,” Jongdae answers as he sits down—hold up, he never meant to do that. It’s too late to back down, now, though, so he just slides across the bench to face Chanyeol properly. “He can go from being the most effective kid on staff to the most useless human being on Earth in a matter of seconds.”

“Really?” Chanyeol says, biting into his cheeseburger. Sauce gets smeared at the corner of his lips. There’s still tiny droplets of sweat sticking to his hairline. “He’s usually the one there when I come here. He never gets my order wrong. You should give him a chance.”

“So you’re really a regular here, huh?” Jongdae tilts his head, giving himself that excuse to stare a little longer at Chanyeol’s face. Wide eyes stare right back, almond-shaped and absolutely stunning. They almost make him smile on the spot. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“I guess we weren’t meant to meet like that,” Chanyeol shrugs. He’s already halfway done with his cheeseburger. Chanyeol must have a very big mouth to—

“Meant to?” Jongdae repeats dumbly. He’s glad for stopping the stream of thoughts that were about to escalate in his mind.

“Mmh. I don’t believe in fate, but maybe some things are meant to happen in certain circumstances, at certain times,” Chanyeol explains. He takes one sip of his milkshake, humming around it, before he continues. “I guess that’s how some things just happen the right way, you know?”

“Maybe.” Is there such a thing as fate? Jongdae would rather think of it as a matter of luck, really. The only certain thing in his life is… home. Yeah, home.

Even if home feels uncertain and changing at the moment.

“You’re lost in thought. Care to share with the class?”

Jongdae shifts his gaze to Chanyeol again, finding him looking curiously at him, his own head tilted, curls falling over his forehead. Jongdae shrugs. “No, it’s nothing, really.” He nods at the now empty plate and the half-finished milkshake. “Enjoying your meal?”

“Certainly. You really sure you can’t get me a free pass on one of these, someday? Pretty please?” Chanyeol presses, letting a fry fall down his mouth. His mouth is kind of really pretty.

“Stop asking or I’ll be tempted to give you one anyway.” Though he aims for annoyed, Jongdae suspects he ends up sounding more teasing than anything. Well, shit.

“I’m too cute for you to resist,” Chanyeol singsongs, and yeah, that’s it, break time is over.

“I have to go back,” Jongdae stands abruptly. “I still have to, um. Clean the milkshake machines. Junmyeon is probably whining on his own over there too, anyway, so.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chanyeol shrugs, seemingly unfazed by Jongdae’s sudden retreat. “I’ll wait here.”

“You’ll wait?”

“Yeah.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, why not? Do you mind?”

Absolutely not. Or maybe, I do, yeah. “No, no, it’s fine.”

Behind the counter, Junmyeon has that smug air to him again. Jongdae should really tell him it does not suit him at all. “You know, I was doing fine here, on my own. You didn’t have to cut your own date short for my sake.”

Smug Junmyeon is even worse than Annoyingly Smitten Junmyeon. Jongdae has to do something.

“You know, I don’t think Joohyun would be so fine with you cancelling on her anymore,” Jongdae retorts. “Maybe she will get mad, after all.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! That’s just because—oh my God, what if you’re right?” Junmyeon starts running his hands over his face, gloves be damned, and Jongdae would feel bad, if it wasn’t for the ridiculous smeared stain of chocolate across Junmyeon’s cheek.

Two hours later, when the diner is empty save for Jongdae and Junmyeon behind the counter, Chanyeol still remains in the dining area, playing some lame game on his phone and nodding along to the late night radio playing through the speakers.

Shouldering his backpack higher up his back, Jongdae walks to Chanyeol’s table, kicks his shins. “Get up, old man. We’re closed.”

“Ow!” When he bends down to soothe his leg, there are curly locks falling all around Chanyeol’s face; Jongdae can barely catch his eye, like that.

“Sorry about that. But really, though. We have to leave.”

“Aren’t you staying to clean, or something?” Chanyeol inquires, throwing his head back to look properly at Jongdae as he waits for a reply. The column of his neck begs for Jongdae’s attention, like this.

“Junmyeon offered to do it himself,” Jongdae murmurs, eyes still on Chanyeol’s throat. “He said something about… I—I don’t know.” He blinks when he realizes the nonsense that makes it out of his mouth. Chanyeol’s eyes are on him, amused and knowing. He clears his throat. “Anyway, um. Let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s go!” Chanyeol throws, getting up swiftly and pocketing his phone as he goes, grabbing his skateboard with the other hand. “Do you have anywhere to be, soon?”

“Home,” Jongdae replies by instinct. He pushes the door to the outside, a wave of warmth and salt hitting at him as the wind blows by. “I can take my time, though.” Maybe Chanyeol will walk him home again, tonight. It has become a little bit of a habit, this past week.

Jongdae is absolutely not hoping for it, of course.

Behind him, Chanyeol hums. “Sweet, then. Come on!”

He takes Jongdae’s hand in his free one, and wait, hold up a minute, who allowed him to do that? Not that Jongdae is complaining—far from it—but he’s a little worried about the heat he feels rising at his cheeks and the tip of his ears, or how fast his heartbeat is thumping in his chest, especially when Chanyeol slides his fingers between Jongdae’s and squeezes gently.

Jongdae squeezes back on instinct, and his breath stutters.

Chanyeol turns to him, the curve of his eyes more pronounced with the shy smile he’s sporting. “This okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Jongdae finds himself saying without thinking. His voice is shaking and he’s being ridiculously obvious and—

It’s a little crazy—and a little scary, but in a good way—how Chanyeol has seemingly learned to throw off Jongdae’s balance and emotions after a few meetings in the span of two weeks. Jongdae recognizes some of the excitement and some of the admiration he had felt for the guy, two years ago—but it didn’t compare to how he feels now, to the closeness he yearns for and the urge he gets to smile just at the sight of Chanyeol’s smile.

He’s being pulled through the streets and into the sand, and before he knows it, they’ve reached the same spot as before, the ocean waiting to swallow the sun in its deep waters on the horizon. There’s a few scattered clouds in the sky, tonight, and the low light of the setting sun makes them look like flying cotton candy.

“So is this gonna become a thing, then?” Jongdae asks, following Chanyeol on the ground, hands detaching themselves from each other, Chanyeol's skateboard sitting not too far in the sand. Chanyeol is wearing jeans, tonight. It would be a shame, really, if Jongdae wasn’t so pleased about the tank top he also happens to be wearing. “You dragging me to the beach and forcing me to pay attention to your rambling.”

“I don’t ramble,” Chanyeol says, “you do. And it can become a thing, if you want. My Saturday nights are pretty uneventful.”

“I do not ramble,” Jongdae protests. He takes off his socks and shoes again, before bringing his legs under him. “You do—you really do. And so does Baekhyun. You both just happen to have a greater influence on me than I thought, is all.”

“Baekhyun?” Chanyeol inquires. “If I remember correctly, the friend you brought at the exhibition was named Sehun, right?”

Whoa. Chanyeol remembers. “You remember.”

“I have a good memory, yeah. So, Baekhyun?”

Ah, Baekhyun. “He’s a menace,” Jongdae starts, but he already feels himself smiling fondly at the thought of his best friend. “I’ve been putting up with him for years, now. He’s adorable, but he tends to talk a lot, and too much, sometimes. I guess that’s why we fit so well, though. He’s dating this guy, Minseok. He’s doing his Masters in something like Communications Studies, I think. Quite the man, if I’m honest. He and Baekhyun are adorable together, though—as much as Minseok hates to be reminded of it.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a crush on your best friend’s boyfriend?”

Jongdae huffs. “Are you jealous, or something?”

At Chanyeol’s silence, Jongdae turns to him, eyes wide. Is Chanyeol…

“Well, honestly, Minseok is kind of hot,” Jongdae tests, still observing Chanyeol. His voice barely raises above the crushing sound of the waves against the shore. “Very hot, even. He has pretty wide eyes, you know? And lips to die for. Baekhyun’s a lucky man.”

He watches as the muscle of Chanyeol’s jaw tighten slightly at his words, amazed, as pursued lips push out a small, “Sure.”

“Oh my God!” Jongdae shouts, laughter taking over, hands clapping frantically. “You actually are jealous!”

“No, I’m not,” Chanyeol replies, but it’s said so fast and so low he might as well have kept his mouth shut.

The thought of Chanyeol getting ridiculously jealous over such a smile thing is an entertaining thought, Jongdae muses. He knows he’s blushing again through his laugh, but he thinks he’s getting used to it—and he feels brave, uncertainty be damned, so he tests his luck once again. “Careful, Chanyeol. Someone might think you have a crush on me, or something.”

The change in Chanyeol’s gaze towards the beach is undeniable—there’s a flash of panic that goes through his eyes, before warmth takes over; something like resignation, or rather, peace. Jongdae holds his breath, awaiting.

He recognizes himself in those emotions, the conflict they represent. Jongdae would be lying if he wasn’t just that little bit terrified.

Chanyeol lets silence speak for him for a moment, before his words resonate in the late night air. “Maybe I do, yeah.”

It’s said too seriously, in a tone that’s too soft-spoken and intimate to be taken lightly, and Jongdae doesn’t know what to do. The tiny, tiny smile that pulls at the corner of his lips is unasked for, but it’s there, and his heart swells as he replays Chanyeol’s words in his head.

He feels young and reckless, suddenly, and maybe he should have a little fun with it.

“Is that it, then?” he says, voice small but teasing. “You dragged me here to confess like a middle schooler, by the sea, with the setting sun as our witness—”

Chanyeol’s groan cuts him off, sends him laughing again, but Jongdae doesn’t miss the timid half-smile on his flustered face. “I’m already embarrassed as it is, Jesus—”

“People usually call me Jongdae, you know.”

“—and you just—oh my God, Jongdae!”

They’re both laughing, at this point—Jongdae, loudly to the point of tears, and Chanyeol, subtly but grinning wide with his cheeks still red. The flush tints his ears red as well, and the sight is adorable, contrasting with the smooth curve of his arms that still haunts Jongdae at the back of his mind. What he could get those arms to do—

“You just ruined everything,” Chanyeol mumbles next to him, and he’s thankful for the distraction. “You could have rejected me without, you know. Doing all that teasing thing.”

Rejection? “Hey, who said anything about rejection?” Jongdae interjects. Suddenly, he thinks he has a good idea of what he wants, Marketing degree and long-lost passion for photography aside.

Is that how Jongdeok felt, leaving home all those years ago? Jongdae feels brave, tonight, all of a sudden—because what he’s about to do seems so scary and intangible, terrifyingly so, he can only be courageous to pull through and act on it, right?

That must be what it is, to grow up. Or something.

His thoughts aren’t really coherent, if he’s honest, except for Chanyeol next to him and his words and pretty almond-shaped eyes and the shy dimple of his cheek and his toned arms, and everything else.

When he speaks again, his voice is small. “If you do have the hots for me, I don’t mind. I kinda do, too.”

“Have a crush on yourself?”

“Oh now, we’re teasing, aren’t we?” Jongdae says incredulously, but it’s worth the spark of mischief and the elated smile Chanyeol gives him.

“Absolutely,” Chanyeol offers him. He’s still staring, not once looking away, and Jongdae feels hot under the attention. When he’s about to speak, Chanyeol beats him to it. “Your hand. Gimme.”

Jongdae offers his right hand, palm up, and he sees it coming when Chanyeol reaches for it—but he doesn’t expect to be pulled in, and lets out a small yelp, falling onto Chanyeol’s chest.

From this close, their noses are atrociously close to brushing against each other—Jongdae would only have to lean in just that little bit more for them to touch, even just a bit. It’s a probably a sign that they’re too close, that he should step back, but Chanyeol’s hand is still very warm and very firm around his own, pressing against his chest, and it’s not like there’s any other place he’d rather be.

“Say it,” Chanyeol breathes.

“Say what?”

Thump, thump, thump, the only thing Jongdae can hear is the relentless melody of his heart, quickening in pace at every passing second. It’s setting his senses ablaze, dizzying him, but he finds comfort in it, comfort in everything Chanyeol has ever given him.

When Chanyeol tilts his head, Jongdae follows without meaning to. “Simple,” Chanyeol says. ‘“I like you.’”

“You didn’t say that, though.”

“You know that’s what I meant.”

“But you didn’t say—”

“Okay, fine—I like you, Jongdae.” The teasing tone of Chanyeol’s words doesn’t take away from the sincerity of his words. “Kind of a lot. So. Now, it’s your turn.”

When Jongdae smiles despite himself, he catches the way Chanyeol’s eyes dart down at his lips, his own grinning on their own. “Fine. I like you too, Chanyeol.” They both giggle when he’s done talking, and Jongdae would feel embarrassed if this didn’t make him so fucking happy.

“We sound like kids,” Chanyeol whispers softly.

“That’s what I was saying, you know. Earlier. Middle schoolers.” Jongdae hates himself for rambling now, but. He can’t help it.

“Mmh.”

They’re still unbearably close—not close enough—and it prompts Jongdae to ask, impatiently, “isn’t this the part where you, like, kiss me, or something?”

“Do you want that?”

Jongdae nods timidly, but assuredly. Thump, thump, thump. “Do you?”

In spite of an answer, Chanyeol finally, finally closes the tiny, tiny distance between the two of them. Jongdae sighs into the kiss, their lips brushing slowly against each other, slow and deep, his guts tightening deliciously inside him. It flickers something in him, quickening his heartbeat and settling in his bones. It’s comfortable.

Something washes over him, warm and fresh at the same time, liberating. It’s a little overwhelming, for a first kiss—or maybe that’s just how Jongdae feels, because he still cannot quite comprehend how this kid he has learned to get accustomed to all over again within a matter of weeks is now under him, arm sliding around his waist and pulling him closer as their kiss grows slightly deeper.

He finds himself on Chanyeol’s lap, a tiny whine caught in his throat, hands tangling themselves in Chanyeol’s brown hair. It’s soft under his fingertips, just like Chanyeol’s lips are soft and slick under his own, and he can’t get enough of kissing Chanyeol when it feels so good, when it makes him feel light and invincible and greater than nature.

Yet, the feeling dims in comparison to Chanyeol himself, he thinks distractedly—it’s probably just his hormones talking, but when Chanyeol is so warm and solid under his thighs, when his arms tighten around his waist, when the groan he lets out makes Jongdae shiver above him, it’s hard to think otherwise. Jongdae’s hands slide down to Chanyeol’s neck, and lower to reach his biceps, caressing appreciatively and pulling himself closer, unbelievably closer.

Chanyeol’s teeth catch on Jongdae’s bottom lip, holding it there for a short moment before letting go, pulling away just a little bit. “How’s that for an answer, huh?”

“I guess,” Jongdae tries, before he swallows and speaks again, louder this time, “I guess we’re on the same page, yeah.”

“Definitely, yes.” The tiny laugh Chanyeol lets out is so unbelievably adorable and so utterly pleased Jongdae is certain he’s losing it, swooning over it.

The sun has long gone down, by now, and the sound of the ocean is the only soundtrack to their resumed kissing. Jongdae really, really thinks he could spend his life making out with Chanyeol—like, really—always chasing his mouth and revelling in its touch.

When he makes it back home that night, about two hours later than usual, he’s thankful for the silence that welcomes him; the house is eerily quiet at this time. The lights are all off, except for the lamp in the living room, always left on when he has late-night shifts to cover at the diner. A custom, of sorts. It’s home.

Still, tonight, home might also have taken the shape of a pair of almond-shaped eyes and a too-big, too bright smile. Tonight, the yearning in his stomach has quieted down, replaced with a tiny spark, only meant to grow louder, brighter.

***

an epilogue (of sorts)

“Hey. Hey, Jongdae. Earth to Jongdae? Kim Jongdae!”

Jongdae startles, turns to see Baekhyun fixing him with a glare that’s half exasperated, half fond. It’s an odd look on Baekhyun, making him look more mature than he usually acts, though Jongdae knows Baekhyun’s mischievous mannerisms are just a proof of his quick wit and intellect, not the opposite.

Still, though. This look Baekhyun has on him makes Jongdae feel like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, or something. There’s a blush creeping up his cheeks, he knows it, feels it, and really, the blushing has to stop. It’s getting rather annoying.

“What?” asks Jongdae, nodding to Baekhyun, as to defy him. He knows—they both know—it’s just to hide Jongdae’s apparent embarrassment.

Baekhyun smirks. “You were staring. You’re always staring.” He tilts his head. “You’re pretty whipped, huh?”

Jongdae huffs, picks up his beer and takes a sip, avoiding Baekhyun’s eyes. So what if he was staring at Chanyeol’s figure, surrounded by the ocean, water glistening down his bare chest and down to the hem of his swimming trunks—

So what if he was staring? Chanyeol is his boyfriend (!), so it’s not like Jongdae has to keep himself from staring, right? Hell no.

“So what if I’m staring?” Jongdae decides to voice out loud.

Baekhyun lies down on his (and Minseok’s) towel on the sand, picking up his sunglasses and sliding them down his nose. “Oh, that’s fine. But the look in your eyes, Jongdae… Your thoughts were too loud. It’s a little unsettling.”

“I was not thinking anything—”

“Oh, yes, you were,” Baekhyun cuts. “I’ve known you for the longest time, Jongdae. Don’t even try to fool me. You were thinking of doing things to him—”

“Okay, Christ, shut up,” Jongdae hisses. He takes another long sip of his beer before he speaks again. “No need to say it out loud.”

“So I was right,” singsongs Baekhyun with a snicker. Jongdae needs a new best friend.

“Who’s right about what?” Sehun plumps on Baekhyun’s towel on the ground, pushing his hair back with one swift motion of his hand. Sehun looks a lot like a model, a lot of the time, Jongdae remarks.

Baekhyun doesn’t seem to see Sehun’s model-like appeal, though. “You’re dripping all over our towel, Sehun!” he shrieks, kicking his feet in the air. “Go away!”

Sehun remains unbothered, fixing Baekhyun with an unimpressed look. “No.” He turns to Jongdae, who raises his eyebrows at him. Sehun tilts his head. “Why are you blushing?”

Jongdae is still blushing? Seriously, can his fucking cheeks get their shit together? “I’m not blushing.”

“You’re totally blushing,” Sehun says. “Chanyeol, huh?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “I hate the both of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sehun replies, and Jongdae hears the smile in his voice. “And I’m gonna be honest, and it’s probably the only time I’ll admit it, but you two are cute, so. It’s fine.”

When he starts feeling his ears get warm, Jongdae wants to die. However, the compliment from Sehun also manages to make his heart flutter just a little. They are cute, the both of them, aren’t they?

It’s been about three weeks since they’ve started dating, and though their beginnings were hurried and a little clumsy (they still had so much to learn about each other, and it wasn’t always easy), Jongdae doesn’t regret any of it. There’s something incredibly addicting, sweet and exciting and absolutely maddening, about the way Chanyeol’s simple presence in his life is keeping him on his toes—in the best way possible.

It’s in the way Chanyeol remains incredible company and a good listening ear, friendly and understanding without being boring and condescending. It’s in the way they both manage to tease the other and constantly bicker, but it still feels loving and makes Jongdae smile dumbly before sleep every night. It’s in the way Chanyeol constantly reaches for his hand, stroking his thumb over his knuckles as though he doesn’t even think of doing it—or the way he sometimes puts his head on Jongdae’s lap, knowing Jongdae will thread his fingers through his hair, and they continue talking or laughing or singing like this.

It’s in the way they work so well together, the thing they have going on so comfortable yet so new and ever changing—something Jongdae hadn’t thought possible, yet it’s exactly what he has, with Chanyeol.

There’s a picture, from the roll of film Jongdae had used for the first time a few weeks back, that suddenly jumps to Jongdae’s memory. When they went together to pick up the developed shots, Chanyeol had singled out that picture, staring at it with wondrous, amazed eyes.

Jongdae looked at him, asked, “What is it? It’s one of the messed up shots I took, isn’t it?”

“No,” Chanyeol breathed out, “no, it’s not, it’s…” Wordlessly, he had flipped the photograph around, and Jongdae’s breath was stolen away from him. “I guess I forgot to change the frame, and it turned out that way.”

The frame showed two pictures, into one—double exposure at its best, Jongdae’s brain had said from the back of his mind. However, it was the picture itself that stunned him—the two of them were in the centre of it, smiling dumbly at the camera, Chanyeol’s arm pointing it to them. Their faces were juxtaposed over the picture Chanyeol had taken just before—one of the setting sun, gliding down the ocean, palm trees lining the street obstructing it and tracing patterns against the sky, and onto their skin.

Jongdae’s heart had stopped, started racing, constricted in the most wonderful way.

“This is the best mistake you’ve ever made,” Jongdae said, smiling.

Chanyeol had reciprocated with a wide grin of his own, quickly grabbed his hand and turned to the photo clerk, asking if they could a second print of that exact picture.

It’s the same feeling he gets, now, as he watches Chanyeol approach him, the shine of the sunlight against his wet skin making him look like he’s glowing under the summer air.

“You’ve got it again,” he thinks he hears Baekhyun sigh next to him—or somewhere very far, far away. “That look.”

“His Chanyeol Look,” Sehun seems to be saying. Or was it Minseok? When did Minseok come back?

Jongdae pays little mind to it, though. Chanyeol comes to sit next to him, half-smile amused and inquiring. Jongdae feels like running away, happy and elated.

“Everything okay?” Chanyeol says.

Okay? “More than okay,” Jongdae settles. He leans up, presses his lips against Chanyeol in a quick, chaste kiss, but it still makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. “Definitely.”

fin.