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Gold everywhere. Each touch of the rays of the setting sun transform into a sunflower gold, casting soft silhouettes of the off-white billowy curtains and harsher shadows of the window panes. It’s warm. Baekhyun can’t tell if it’s because of the August weather, or if it’s because his head has been resting on Chanyeol’s stomach for who knows how long now. All Baekhyun knows is that he’ll never get tired of gazing out the large window of his narrow bedroom, watching the eiffel tower graze peach-tinted clouds and the occasional starling fly by. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of waking up entangled in Chanyeol’s arms and sweet vanilla fragrance.
It’s weird to think that two months ago, they were strangers.
Baekhyun, worn-out college student who desperately fled his parents’ lavish lifestyle, felt an exhilarating headrush of rebellion when he landed in Paris with nothing but a few changes of clothes, a notebook, and a pen. Albeit, his habits caught up to him faster than he liked. In just a week, he could no longer resist withdrawing cash from the ATM to purchase pastries from the display window of a neighboring cafe.
An awkward rejection of his US dollars later, he exited with flushed cheeks and a growling stomach.
“You can pay me back next time.” A deep, silky voice ruptured Baekhyun’s disappointment. A tall man with doe-like eyes and a large smile held out a box of chouquettes in one hand and kindness in another. Baekhyun readily accepted both.
Chanyeol, part-time architecture student and part-time Baekhyun’s tourist guide, navigated his way into Baekhyun’s life with laughter and artistic jargon rolling off his tongue in a Parisian accent. He was peculiar, but undoubtedly intelligent. Baekhyun learned the smallest details about him--the only flavor of gum Chanyeol chews is spearmint, he loves to whistle with long blades of grass, he only wears gold jewelry because it matches his personality, and his ultimate bucket-list goal is to sit in the front row at Paris Fashion Week.
Chanyeol has this way of coaxing Baekhyun to share his most private information--his guilty pleasure for science fiction novels, his first acid trip, and the day his parents found out about his sexuality. Chanyeol never pressed too far, but was always willing to share more about himself. In this way, Chanyeol removed the safeguards that Baekhyun had been keeping up for twenty years. For the first time, he felt comfortable sharing these suppressed memories out loud.
For the first time (and the second, and the third), Baekhyun paused to count constellations in the inky night sky. As the cool breeze tickled his cheeks, he couldn’t help wonder, what else had he been missing out on?
Chanyeol looked at him with a soft expression. “Let me show you.”
And what many first times there were.
Chanyeol shot Baekhyun an incredulous look when he admitted he had never eaten freshly-picked fruit before. By noon they were laughing, the sweet tang of blackberries on their tongue. Baekhyun could not help but stare at Chanyeol’s lips that were stained purple with juice, and the freckles sprinkled across his sun-kissed nose.
Baekhyun’s held his breath when they snuck past security into the Musée d'Orsay and didn’t let it out until they were lost in a sea of tourists. Thankfully, Chanyeol was a walking art encyclopedia. Yet as Chanyeol spurted out fact after fact, Baekhyun found his eyes straying away from the paintings and instead examining every curve and shadow on Chanyeol’s visage. He didn’t say it out loud, didn’t want to break the moment, but Baekhyun couldn’t help but think, god you’re beautiful.
It was dark when they slid into the lake bare-bodied and slightly self-conscious. For the first time, Baekhyun embraced the freedom that swimming without clothes brought. Despite the chilliness of the water, his face was hot. Hot at the thought of Chanyeol, at the thought of himself, at the thought of...he submerged his head under water and attempted to shake his fantasies away.
Chanyeol gave him the spontaneity of adolescence that had been robbed from him as a teenager. And for this, Baekhyun could not thank the Parisian enough.
Baekhyun remembers the first time they kissed. That temperate July morning atop the Pont des Invalides bridge, he stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Chanyeol. Chanyeol was staring right back at him, mouth open about to speak. In that moment, Baekhyun realized it was now or never. And while most of the time, he would have retreated with hunched shoulders and settled for a never, a sudden impromptu yearning overcame him.
Chanyeol’s lips were soft, even nicer than Baekhyun had imagined. His fingers found their way to Chanyeol’s nape. To his surprise, Chanyeol leaned in and reciprocated, cupping his jaw. They played an eager game of chase, warm but not too hot, tender but not too slow. The background noise melted away, leaving just the two of them and the lingering taste of the chocolate pastries they had eaten earlier that morning.
“Hey.”
Chanyeol’s velvety voice shatters his ruminations and suddenly he’s hyper aware. Aware of how his eyes have been lost in Chanyeol’s own for too long now, of the heat on his collar bones from Chanyeol’s breath, of the pinkness of Chanyeol’s lips. Aware of how the architecture student looks like art with Paris in the backdrop, and he wonders why Chanyeol isn’t featured in Musée d'Orsay. He doesn’t remember when they shifted to be side-by-side. It’s unbearably hot now.
“What’s on your mind?” Chanyeol inquires.
I want to kiss you.
“Nothing.” Baekhyun lies and diverts his eyes.
“You’re lying.” Fuck, Chanyeol knows him too well. “You always look away when you do.”
“I-”
Before Baekhyun can continue, Chanyeol leans in and starts sucking at his bottom lip. They move slowly, legs still entangled even as the bedsheets are thrown aside. The evening sun casts a marigold glow onto their bodies. All Baekhyun can think is that he’s a little depressed, but Chanyeol tastes like bliss and somehow that’s enough to extract the sorrow away.
“I don’t want to go home.” It slips out, a bit muffled because Baekhyun’s head is buried in the crook of Chanyeol’s shoulder. It’s been on his mind lately, the inevitable parting that fills him with dread. He can deal with admonishment, but not the disappointment that will radiate from his parents.
“Then don’t,” Chanyeol whispers in his ear.
Baekhyun knows that is not an option. But fuck options. Fuck restrictions. There’s a first time for everything.
Summertime is meant to fall in love
I could fall asleep or stare in your eyes
You're right by my side
Summertime is meant to fall in love
I wrote you a poem for your surprise
It's right by your side
Summertime is meant to fall in love
I could fall asleep and stare in your eyes, we'll dance all night
Summertime is meant to fall in love
I wrote you a poem for your surprise, it's right by your side
I hop out, ooh
I don't wanna go home
I hop out, ooh
I don't wanna go home (so come on over)