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“You’re good.”
Kun straightens up to see a man approaching him, chin cocked up and eyes trained on Kun packing up his music for the night.
He feels his eyebrow quirk almost involuntarily—the patrons of the lounge where he performs don’t usually talk to the entertainment.
“Thank you, sir.” Kun keeps his words cordial even as his tone betrays his impatience. After four hours of playing piano and singing, he’s more than ready to be going home and some rich kid wearing a watch worth more than Kun’s life savings is in his way.
The guy cracks a smile at that. It makes his face look boyishly handsome, eyes curving up. “Sir? You’re making me feel old. Call me Chenle.”
Kun gives Chenle a wan smile, hoping that he’ll take the hint to leave.
If only. His eyes rake down Kun’s whole body, but he can’t tell if it’s supposed to be judgmental or lascivious.
“You need new shoes.”
“Excuse me?” Kun fights to keep a polite smile on his face.
“Those have to be, what, three, four years old? And they’re scuffed at the toes.”
“They’re only two—” Kun cuts himself off. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t,” Chenle says. “I just think someone like you should have nicer shoes if you’re going to be playing at a place like this.”
He’s right, is the thing. The lounge owner has been harping on him to update his wardrobe for months now, as though he has the money to blow on the kinds of shoes that Ten wears. But Ten is the only rich asshole allowed to make comments like that, not some random patron, no matter how nice his face is.
Kun’s had enough. “Well then, Chenle, if you think my shoes aren’t meeting your standards, you’re more than welcome to upgrade them for me. I’m a size 280.” With that, he grabs his music folder, gives Chenle a precise forty-five degree bow, and walks away with all the dignity he can muster. He relishes the look of surprise on Chenle’s face, eyes wide and jaw dropped, as he leaves.
Kun arrives at the lounge two days later ready to be berated by Ten for insulting one of the customers. Honestly, Kun’s been berating himself for the past day and a half, after he cooled down from his righteous indignation. He’s normally so even-keeled, even in the face of his friends’ teasing, that his reaction to a stranger telling him that his shoes weren’t in season surprised him.
However, Ten doesn’t look like he’s gearing up for a scolding. Even worse—he’s standing behind the bar looking like the cat that got the cream. Kun has never once seen that face and enjoyed what came next.
“Kun, my darling, why didn’t you tell me you had an admirer?” Ten’s voice is sickly-sweet and lilting.
“What?” Kun asks, a bit dumbfounded at the question. “An admirer?”
“The handsome young man who came to the lounge yesterday to give this to you,” Ten says, hauling up a large shopping bag from under the bar where he must have strategically placed it just for this ambush.
It’s white and emblazoned with the Prada logo. Kun’s stomach sinks when he realizes what this must be.
“Oh, god.” He reaches out for the bag almost as if he’s in a dream and tips it towards himself to peek inside. There’s a tissue-wrapped shoe box, just as he feared.
“Seriously though, who the fuck is buying you Prada? I already opened it, they’re real.”
Kun shoots Ten an incredulous look as he pulls out the box. Sure enough, inside are a pair of dress shoes made of sumptuous black leather. They’re nicer-looking than the ones currently on his feet, and certainly more expensive.
He checks the box. 280. The kid even remembered his size right.
“I think they’re a gift.”
“No duh they’re a gift, I just said some twink came by to give them to you. Who is he?”
“Um.” Kun had assumed that Chenle would have complained to Ten after Kun left the other night, so the fact that Ten doesn’t seem to know what happened throws him off. “Well, he’s a patron. Who insulted my shoes. Who I, uh, may have told to buy me new shoes if they offended him that much.”
Ten’s eyes widen. “I can’t believe it. Qian Kun, standing up for himself! Don’t you dare learn how to do that to me, I need you to be a pushover.”
“Who’s a pushover?” The bartender, Yangyang, pushes through the kitchen door with his back, arms laden with trays of glassware. He turns around and with a mischievous smile says, “Oh, Kun-ge! I should have known. Biggest pushover around.”
Kun can’t muster the same indignance he had the other night with Chenle—maybe it’s the fact that he knows Yangyang and has become numb to his teasing.
“Whatever.” Kun grabs the shoes and turns to the back room. “One of these days I’m going to tell you no, and you’re going to be sorry.”
“No you won’t!” Ten and Yangyang say, practically in unison.
It’s not a surprise when Chenle approaches him during a set break that night. Some of the arrogant swagger is gone from his steps, but any improvement on that front is ruined by the fact that he’s wearing black sunglasses indoors. At night.
“I see you got my gift,” he says in Mandarin this time, lowering the sunglasses down his nose to pointedly look up and down Kun’s outfit. “And they fit, perfect.”
“They do. Looks like you can listen to others, I’m amazed.” Kun is a little surprised at his own snark, but Chenle seems to delight in it.
“I’ve been known to do that once or twice. Actually, my friend is the one who convinced me to do it.” He nods his head over at a man sitting primly in the booth Chenle had abandoned to talk to Kun. “He said I was being an asshole.”
“He wasn’t wrong.”
“No, he wasn’t. My brain-to-mouth filter tends to be nonexistent,” Chenle grins.
“So, were you going to—“
“Your hands are huge,” Chenle interrupts. “That’s what I was going to say the other night. I bet you could hold a basketball in one hand.”
Kun is shocked nearly silent. “What?” he manages after a long pause.
Chenle fully takes off his sunglasses and his face lights up as he continues, “Yeah! Do you play? It’s really a waste if you don’t.”
“Um, no. I don't.” Kun is so far from understanding the direction of this conversation that he can’t help but laugh a little at Chenle’s eagerness and conviction.
“Then you should come play with us sometime! A few of my buddies and I play together down by the river, we’ll be there tomorrow night.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kun lies. There is no possible world where Kun would voluntarily play basketball with a stuck-up rich kid, no matter how charming he is when not insulting Kun.
Somehow, Kun finds himself at the park the next evening.
Against his character and better judgment, he had given Chenle his number the night before. Before his break was even over, Chenle had returned to his seat and Kun had a text with a time and place for a pick-up basketball game.
He’s at the right place, at the right time. Chenle’s not.
There’s a group of guys talking on the court that could be the people he’s supposed to meet, and Kun’s building up the courage to approach them when Chenle finally pulls up ten minutes late. He’s in a flashy car and gets out of it wearing the rattiest sweatshirt Kun’s seen someone wear in public.
He glances around and when his eyes catch on Kun, standing there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, he breaks out into a huge grin.
“Kun! You’re here, good.”
“And you’re late. What’s the point of telling me to be here at eight if you’re not going to be here?”
Chenle’s smile doesn’t flag at the scolding. “Aw, you missed me.”
“No I didn’t,” Kun tries, but Chenle forges ahead.
“Sorry, I had to take my dog on a walk before I left and she gets fussy about which sweater I put on her.”
Kun struggles to imagine Chenle, between the designer sunglasses and the torn-up sweatshirt, putting a little dog in a sweater. It is, admittedly, a cute concept.
Chenle slings his arm over Kun’s shoulders and starts walking them over to the court. It’s clear that the group Kun had been watching was indeed Chenle’s pick-up game, and they all smile and wave the two of them over.
It’s an eclectic group, one that Kun wouldn’t have expected to come together. A few of the guys seem to be vaguely around Chenle’s age—Mark, Seungkwan, and Sungchan—but Chanyeol seems to be about a decade older, and Kun has no idea how he got roped into playing with them. They all greet Kun with smiles and pats on the shoulder, which is better than his first impression of Chenle, so Kun is inclined to think they’re generally better behaved than he is.
“Kun-nim, thank you for coming tonight!” Seungkwan says with a welcoming grin. “We were about to have to play with an odd number, since Jeonghan-hyung just left for basic training. He’s not going to be able to play with us for another month.”
Kun doesn’t play basketball, really, but he’s coordinated and generally athletic enough to mostly keep up. Or so he assumed.
Seungkwan turns from charming to competitive in a split second, and even easygoing Mark gets serious about what should be a casual game of basketball with friends.
After over an hour of intense play, Kun is done playing basketball for the rest of his life. Kun lays on his back on the side of the court, breathing heavily, while everyone else is smiling and clapping each other on the back.
Chenle comes over to sit next to Kun and pats his sweaty hair. “You coming for ramyeon? My treat.”
Kun considers for a moment. His whole body hurts, but with the offer of ramyeon on the table he realizes that he’s also ravenous. “Sure, if you’re paying, why not?”
Chenle beams at him, eyes scrunched up with joy. He really does look so young and sweet like this, especially dressed down from the elegant clothes he wore at the lounge.
Kun sits up with a groan. “Alright, lead the way.”
Chenle stands and takes Kun’s hand in his own to pull him up off the ground. “Get up, old man!” he laughs and tugs Kun towards the food.
Kun doesn’t have the energy to scold him for the teasing. He gets up, and lets Chenle drag him wherever he wants.
Chenle is a relentless texter, Kun comes to find over the following weeks. Regardless of whether Kun responds to him, Chenle will send memes, random musings, basketball videos, anything that seems to pass through his mind. Kun’s KakaoTalk account has never been so active.
Among those messages are several invitations for Kun to come to Chenle’s apartment. Kun’s performance schedule at the lounge doesn’t allow him to accept the first few, but on one of Doyoung’s nights he makes his way to a high-rise in Apgujeong. He’s known since the beginning of their acquaintanceship that Chenle is rich, but the lobby he steps into is extravagant and the security guard especially strict about checking his ID.
The penthouse (of course Chenle lives in the penthouse, the asshole) is large and furnished with luxurious but boring pieces, like Chenle had hired an interior decorator and never thought about it again. In fact, that’s probably exactly what happened.
Chenle confirms with a laugh when Kun says just that. “All I asked for was a comfy couch and a piano. Everything else is just extra.” He’s holding his little white dog, Daegal, who Kun has already received many pictures of.
Kun notices the grand piano in the corner of the living space. It’s huge, and absolutely gorgeous. He walks over to run his hands along the body, pulls up the fallboard to get a look at the pristine ivory keys. He glances up at Chenle to make sure he’s not about to be kicked out for touching an instrument likely worth ten times the one he plays at work, but Chenle’s just watching him with the beginnings of a smile on his face.
“Go ahead. I don’t play as much as I used to, it’ll do her good to get some professional attention.” Chenle sets Daegal on the ground and pulls out the bench, patting the seat.
Kun sits down and his hands semi-automatically reach for the keys. He starts playing, just some simple chords and notes, and asks, “You used to play? I didn’t know that.”
“Still do, sometimes. But I was kind of a child prodigy and used to play for hours every day, so only sitting down once a week or so feels like a lot less.”
“Child prodigy? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Chenle laughs. “Seriously! Look over there,” he points across the room to where a number of photos are on the wall. “There are pictures of me playing a solo concert in Vienna. I was like, eight? Nine?”
Kun’s hands slow nearly to a stop. “What the hell,” he says. “Why am I the one playing, then?”
“I like listening to you. It’s like you just let the music come out of you.” Chenle pauses for a moment, and then continues, “That’s kind of why I quit, honestly. It felt like I was just forcing myself to do it because that’s what was expected of me, not really because I loved music.”
Kun doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he just scoots over on the bench and makes room for Chenle to join him on the keys. He does, and they start playing semi-discordantly together. After a few moments it becomes more melodious, until Chenle starts to sing—if it could even be called singing—mimicking a loud and somewhat out of tune harmonica.
Kun keeps playing, trying to gather his inner peace and ignore the wailing next to him, but after a bit he gives in and shoves a laughing Chenle off the bench and onto the floor.
Once he calms down, Chenle says, “You should come over more often, ge. The old lady here could use some more attention.”
“Sure, you just want me to give you private concerts on my nights off.”
“I could pay you to do it, if you want.”
Kun looks down to see if he’s joking, but Chenle seems serious. “What the fuck? No. I’m just here to hang out, you can’t pay me for that.”
Chenle just shrugs. “If you insist,” he says. He braces himself on the bench to clamber up to his feet, then drapes himself over Kun’s shoulders. “Keep playing then, I want to hear it.”
Kun would try to complain if it wasn’t so strangely comfortable, sitting at this beautiful piano with Chenle watching him from behind. Instead, he plays a while longer.
For all that he absolutely is a spoiled rich kid, Chenle knows how to cook much better than Kun. He’s had Kun over for dinner several times since that first visit, and he can make a shocking variety of Chinese, Korean, and western dishes. Normally Kun is content to eat delivery or from the convenience store, but eating Chenle’s food is making him reconsider.
He’s reconsidering that reconsideration now, though, as he stares down at his stove. The pasta is boiling over, and the sauce smells like it’s burning. Kun turns off the heat entirely and can’t do anything other than stand there in shock. Though this was his first time trying to make this specific dish, he’d never had any issues cooking before.
Kun checks his phone again. When he messaged Chenle asking for the recipe, instead of a link or written instructions he received a series of voice notes. He was charmed in the moment as he listened to the piecemeal directions, but now it’s hard for him to figure out where he went so very wrong.
With a sigh, he just hits call.
“What?” Chenle says after just one ring.
“Is that any way to answer your phone? What if it was someone important?” Kun can’t help but poke at Chenle’s nonchalance.
“I saw it was you, so I knew it wasn’t anyone important.”
Okay, Kun did open himself up for that one. He scoffs, but continues. “Brat. Whatever, I need your help. The vodka sauce is getting burned and I can’t tell what I did. This is your fault, fix it.”
Chenle just laughs down the line. “Want me to come make it for you?”
“Yeah actually. It’s the least you could do,” Kun says.
“Sir, yes sir. On my way, just send your address.” He hangs up abruptly.
As he shoots off his address, Kun realizes that Chenle has never been to his apartment before. He looks around, feeling frazzled at having to host someone at the last minute. Overall it’s not too messy, if he ignores the disaster in the kitchen. Of course, it’s nowhere near as nice as Chenle’s place, with self-assembled furniture and maybe a quarter of the square footage, but there’s no laundry strewn on the couch or dirty dishes on the coffee table.
Sooner than he expected, Chenle buzzes up to the apartment. Kun waits by the door, definitely not anxiously because he has nothing to be nervous about, and when Chenle knocks on the door he opens it immediately.
Chenle’s in sweats again, which seems to be his usual uniform when not out trying to impress. He walks in past Kun like he owns the place, throwing a casual hey over his shoulder when he’s already inside. Clearly he can smell where the kitchen is, because he makes a beeline right for it and the ruined remains of Kun’s attempt at dinner.
“Yikes,” Chenle says plainly. “How’d you mess this up so bad?”
“It was your fault!” Kun whines again. “Your voice messages were too hard to follow, I couldn’t keep up with them while trying to cook too.”
Chenle smiles up at Kun. “Cooking’s all about feeling it, you shouldn’t need a real recipe if you know what you’re doing.”
“Well clearly I didn’t know what I was doing if I asked you for help,” Kun grumbles with arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“I think I can salvage this. Do you have a different pan?” The leftover ingredients are still on the counter and he starts gathering them up and working on re-starting the sauce. He looks serious for once, jaw clenched and looking especially sharp. Kun doesn’t know why he’s paying attention to Chenle’s jaw, other than the fact that it’s a novelty to see him not laughing or smiling while teasing Kun or his other friends.
“A pan?” Chenle prompts again.
Kun is startled out of his daze. “Uh, no. No other pans, I just have the one.”
“My god, seriously? Now I know why you don’t cook more often. Alright, get this one cleaned up while I prep.” Chenle hands the pan over to Kun, who tries to scrape the worst of it into the garbage. The bottom of the pan is scorched and he does his best to get it washed out, but it’s still marked up when he hands it back to Chenle.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, intent on putting the sauce together. Kun just watches as he works, appreciating the deftness of his hands as he chops and stirs.
Chenle really does manage to save the meal—they sit down not too long later with penne alla vodka, not even a little bit burned. Kun complains about his day and Chenle talks circles around him about the upcoming NBA season. Just like any time they’ve been at Chenle’s place, except that Kun is tense at having Chenle in his space for the first time.
All that Chenle has to say is on his way out for the night, a quick “I really like your apartment. It’s very you.”
“How so?” Kun asks, curious in spite of himself about what Chenle means.
“All serious, but cozy.” That’s all Kun gets before Chenle is gone.
The next day a set of high-end pots and pans appears outside his door. All Kun can do is sigh and send Chenle a message inviting him to come use them again sometime soon.
Nothing seems to prompt the latest gift from Chenle, in Kun’s view. Not that any of his gifts over the months have been given for a particular occasion—a soft knit sweater as thanks for carrying Chenle’s bags while they went shopping, a gorgeous leather music folder when Ten commented that Kun’s was looking worn one night at the lounge. All things Kun does like, and can justify as the things a kid with too much money wouldn’t think twice about paying for.
They’re having a chill night in at Chenle’s place when he throws out a casual, “Oh, I got something for you the other day.”
Kun looks up from his phone. A basketball game is on the tv, and in between chatting with Chenle during commercial breaks he’s been working on lyrics in his notes app. “What is it this time?”
“Just a little thing I saw when I was out with Renjun, I know you said you don’t usually wear an earring, but—“ he cuts himself off as he reaches for a box on the side table that Kun hadn’t noticed. “Here.”
Inside the little black box is a red one with Cartier embossed on the top. “Chenle,” Kun starts, already dreading opening it. “What did you buy?”
“Just open it!” Chenle has a smile on his face but his fingers are tapping wildly against the couch armrest. “It’s really nothing big.”
When Kun opens the box, inside is a single hoop earring, indeed small but made of white gold and diamonds. “This is not nothing!”
“Come on, just put it on. You said you like wearing an earring, so here’s one you can wear all the time now. I asked the sales lady and she said it was comfortable enough to even sleep in.”
Kun glances up from the earring to see Chenle’s sincere expression, eyes huge and forehead crinkled. Beautiful. Stupid.
“I can’t take this. Please, just return it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course you can take it, I bought it for you.” Chenle’s pout is nearly enough to make Kun give in, but that urge alone is a sign that he shouldn’t.
“You have to stop buying me things, it’s too much.” Kun shifts back and away from Chenle. He can’t think straight when the full force of Chenle’s attention is on him.
“It’s not too much,” Chenle says again. “I have the money, it’s fine. I won’t even notice it’s gone.”
“Well, I notice! You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my sugar daddy, and if we’re just friends then you can’t keep treating me like you have been.”
Chenle’s mouth opens, but he closes it after a wordless moment.
“You know this isn’t normal, Chenle, right?”
“It is normal, I buy my friends things all the time,” Chenle tries, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by himself.
“Really? You’re buying millions of won worth of gifts for Mark? Renjun is getting diamond jewelry from you?” Kun doesn’t know why he’s pushing it so hard, except that he’s tired of having to tell himself that Chenle doesn’t mean anything by it. If Chenle doesn’t mean anything, he has to stop giving Kun hope that he does.
“I just…” Chenle trails off and averts his eyes. It doesn’t feel right to see Chenle unsure of himself like this. “I see things, and I think you’d like them, so I get them. Is that wrong?”
Kun closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. “I’m asking you now, if you want to be my friend only, please stop it with the gifts and paying for things. I’m not mad. I just can’t keep wondering if you mean something more and not having any idea.”
Kun’s eyes snap open when he feels Chenle’s warm hand on his. His gaze is boring into Kun with a startling intensity.
“What if I don’t want to just be your friend?”
For all that he started the conversation, Kun is completely blindsided by that. Chenle, even in a ratty sweatshirt and with a pimple on his chin, has always felt somehow out of reach for Kun.
Chenle tightens his grip on Kun’s hand. “Do you even want that? You’ve always treated me like your annoying little brother. I didn’t ever think to hope I had a chance.”
Kun can’t breathe. “Annoying, maybe—no, definitely.” He turns his hand over to lace his fingers with Chenle’s. “But you’re kind of my favorite person. You don’t have to try to buy my affection or anything.”
Determined to surprise Kun at every turn tonight, Chenle leans in and kisses him. His lips are soft and Kun can’t help but melt into it. After an endless moment, Chenle climbs up on Kun’s lap to get a better angle.
Chenle pulls back from the kiss, breathing heavily. “Can I keep buying things for you if you’re my boyfriend?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Kun’s a little distracted by his hands on Chenle’s waist, touching the warm skin beneath his hoodie.
“Good,” Chenle beams at him. “Now you can’t take it back. It makes me happy to get things for you that I think you’ll like. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
Kun knows he’s being manipulated, but when Chenle leads him by the hand to his bedroom, he thinks he’s probably okay with that.