Chapter Text
It had been one of those weeks that wrung Yixing dry, the only solution to which was re-saturating with a few stiff drinks. He’d had to play bad cop to several overstressed authors, reiterating the looming deadlines for their drafts. These sorts of things seemed to come in waves in the publishing business; either everything was smooth sailing, or he had to captain twelve ships at once – in the rain. So, once the storm had passed on Friday afternoon, Yixing made the customary SOS call to his best friend, they texted the details, and made plans to meet up that night to revive his defeated spirits.
This hectic bar Yixing found himself in now was not really his style; he preferred a more easygoing atmosphere to the crowded, pulsing swarm around him. But since he’d chosen the destination last week (opting for his beloved neighborhood taproom, as usual), he bowed to Chanyeol’s choice tonight. The two of them had been compromising like this as long as they’d been friends; it started in high school, when Chanyeol had balked at being asked to dissect a fish, and Yixing had come to his rescue, wielding a tiny scalpel and a friendly grin, in exchange for Chanyeol’s help running lines before auditioning for the school musical. After auditioning together and bonding as members of the chorus during the show, they became inseparable. Both relied on the other ever since.
One of the benefits Yixing reaped from his friendship with Chanyeol was mooching off his endless charisma and charm. Even in high school, Chanyeol was constantly in the middle of a crowd, and his bright spirit elevated Yixing’s naturally introverted one. However, when booze entered the picture, Yixing sometimes had a hard time keeping up. Like tonight, for example.
Yixing, from his safe vantage point at a seat at the bar, turned his head to survey his wayward friend in his native environment, surrounded by sloppy strangers, doubled over in laughter, one arm slung around the shoulders of a rather desperately-dressed girl. Chanyeol looked up and beckoned him over with his sloshing beer bottle, his ruddy cheeks framing his goofy, easy smile. Yixing could make his way through the loud, boisterous crowd and stand with Chanyeol, where he would be simultaneously enhanced and over-shadowed by his friend, taken in by the affected carefree attitude of a busy Friday night bar. He could rally, but after the week he’d had, he didn’t have the energy to force niceties with strangers. Yixing smiled and shook his head amiably, Chanyeol responding with a knowing shrug.
Yixing turned back to the bar and rotated the drink in his hand, the warm, watered down whiskey dregs slipping along the faceted glass. It was his second that evening, and the fuzzy haze of it was just barely floating at the periphery of Yixing’s eyes. Yixing rarely got truly drunk, another wordless agreement between himself and Chanyeol. Yixing had no problem forgoing his own inebriated exploits to make sure Chanyeol and their other friends made it back to their beds safely. But he felt like he’d earned a little self-indulgence tonight, specifically in the form of Suntory.
Leaning forward, arms propped on the edge of the bar, he pondered how he wanted the rest of the night to go – he could down another drink, allow the booze to smooth him out, and join Chanyeol in his shenanigans, or he could pay his tab, make his way home, and pick up where he left off in the third season of the Office. Engage, or retreat. For the moment, he felt like he was floating in between two worlds; he was surrounded by a swaying mass of shouting, sweating, living people, but he felt a cold and comforting isolation all the same.
He let his mind wander as he sat at the bar. A familiar disappointment tainted the spicy whiskey flavor in his mouth. For whatever reason, Chanyeol connected with people inherently, as if every person in existence was a friend he just hadn’t met yet. Yixing wished he were built that way, but instead he’d spent most of his life shifting between a deep, aching desire to share himself fully with someone else and the urge to stay insular, to protect himself from the demands and manipulations of others. But Yixing wasn’t shy. He could charm people when the need arose; he’d learned those skills that Chanyeol was inexplicably born with, not in small part from observing Chanyeol himself. But Yixing longed to feel truly at ease with another person and to explore the parts of himself that he felt the need to keep locked away, even from his best friend. He took care of Chanyeol, he supported him and loved him, but Yixing longed to protect someone, to invest in them and provide for them. When he was honest with himself, he knew he needed someone to nurture, and waiting for that person was lonely work.
He let the empty glass rest on the sticky wooden bar surface, and he reached for his phone to check the time; perhaps the glowing screen would determine his next move. As he did so, his elbow jutted out into someone else, accidentally nudging them. Yixing retracted his arm hastily and looked up into the face of a young man who had wedged himself between Yixing’s bar stool and the one beside to order a drink. Yixing automatically mouthed a meager apology but found himself gaping at the unexpected smile that crept across the man’s face just inches from Yixing’s own.
He was quite striking, with his chiseled jaw and brow highlighted by flawless skin… and quite young. Yixing thought fleetingly that he didn’t really look old enough to drink legally as the young man reached forward to the bar, where four slim shot glasses sat waiting. He paused with his arm extended and looked at Yixing again. His sharp, dark eyes surveyed Yixing, from his neatly cut but unstyled black hair to his rolled up work day buttoned shirt cuffs that cut nicely at Yixing’s taut forearms. One corner of his lips arched in approval and he slid one shot in front of Yixing, taking another for himself. He smiled a little wider now, his dazzling white teeth impressive even in this weak barroom light. He raised his own shot a little with deft, slender fingers, indicating the one in front of Yixing, and raised his eyebrows.
Yixing would think back at this moment later and wonder at his own response to this unexpected invitation. He couldn’t explain why, but Yixing didn’t even consider not taking the drink, though it was fairly out of character for him. Looking into the winning expression of this youthful, vibrant stranger, taking in his coifed golden hair, the deep, flirtatious corners of his curved lips, the playful sheen in his gaze, Yixing found himself instantly drawn to him. Without hesitation, Yixing took his shot and raised it, mirroring the young man’s motion. The glasses inaudibly clinked together in the din, and two sets of eyes linked above them for a few prolonged seconds. The young man’s deep, winsome gaze caught Yixing off guard, and he was glad for the darkness around them that hid his surely reddening cheeks. Yixing lifted the clear, pungent liquid to his lips, pausing to watch the boyish stranger throw his head back exuberantly, his long neck extended, exposing his Adam’s apple, which jumped enticingly under creamy, pale skin as he swallowed the alcohol. Yixing blinked twice and followed suit, letting the metallic bite of what turned out to be cheap well vodka slip down his tongue and throat.
Yixing righted himself, adjusting to the slick taste in his mouth, and saw the stranger already reaching for the other two shots. One in each hand, he scooted out from between the stools, off to join some other lucky patrons. Yixing’s eyes followed him through the crowd. He marveled at the randomness of the last minute and felt a flash of disappointment at the sudden departure of this intriguing person. But after a few steps, the young man snapped his face around to catch Yixing staring. He smirked playfully at Yixing’s attentive but befuddled expression, and winked just before sauntering off, his tight black jeans silhouetting his long legs. Yixing continued to stare after him for another few seconds indulgently, internalizing the improbability of what just happened. He was so engrossed in trying to absorb the mischievous wink and the stunning smile (not to mention the booze) that he jumped in his seat when Chanyeol’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Hey, hyung! You’re still here!” The slack grin and sheen of sweat on his friend’s face indicated Chanyeol’s lack of sobriety, and Yixing smiled in amusement, the vodka seeping through his own body to his warming cheeks. Chanyeol jerked his chin toward the crowd, shouting over the noise. “Who was that guy?”
Good question, one Yixing had just been asking himself. “Uh… I.. I don’t know.” Chanyeol leaned in, unable to hear his friend’s response in the crowded bar. Yixing shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and spoke louder. “Just some guy! What’s up?”
Chanyeol proceeded to animatedly rattle off the names and profiles of six new people he’d met tonight, whom Yixing just had to meet. Yixing nodded along, but found himself only half listening while the other half of his attention was spent attentively scanning the crowd for a dark blond swoop of hair, a glittering smile, or maybe thin, dexterous fingers visible in the crowd. His heart gradually cooled though, as the young stranger was nowhere in sight. He turned back to Chanyeol, who was thumbing the screen of his phone, squinting his eyes at the brightness.
“Hey, hyung. Do you think Baekhyun is up still? It’s not that late, he won’t mind if I call, right?”
“Chanyeol, no. Do not call him. We’ve talked about this – ”
“What? No, come on, I just want to talk to him. Do you think he’d come out if I ask him? He would, don’t you think? I’ll just call him…”
So, Yixing spent the next half hour attempting to either distract Chanyeol from his alcohol-induced romanticism, or discretely take his phone. Yixing couldn’t count how many times he’d saved his friend from the perils of drunk dialing, and as usual, the task sobered him up quickly. The heat of the vodka, and of the charming stranger, had been potent but short-lived, and Yixing’s feet were firmly on the ground again.
Yixing followed behind a stumbling, affectionate Chanyeol a short while later out to the street, where he was shut safely in a cab after a sloppy goodbye. Yixing watched the cab travel up the street and around the corner and he smiled to himself, palming the screen of Chanyeol’s phone, which was presently stashed away in Yixing’s pocket. You’ll thank me later, Yeollie.
Yixing took out his own phone. 1:05am, a new record. Chanyeol would surely praise him for his burgeoning social life, and Yixing planned on emphasizing that he stayed out later than Chanyeol, a first for their Friday night adventures. But with his friend on his way home, Yixing found the bar even less inviting than when he’d arrived. He should have made his way to his quiet apartment alone, his night was most definitely over, but a lingering question led his feet back toward the door, the pulsing music from within filling Yixing’s ears intrusively.
He would just take one more look.
After weaving through bodies, surveying the bar, the tables, the dance floor without finding who he was looking for, he resigned himself to the safe disappointment of a missed opportunity. He’d go home sober and single, as usual… after a quick trip to the restroom.
Yixing pushed the door to the restroom open and froze in the doorway. He was there, slumped against the far wall, his mussed golden hair hiding his face. Yixing’s eyes scanned over him, taking in the ripped, mangled neck of his white shirt, the dark red splotches on his denim vest, and the source of those spots, the bleeding gash just below his eye. He was holding one trembling hand with the other, the knuckles torn up and dripping blood onto the dingy tile floor. Yixing gaped at the sight for a second as the young man lifted his eyes to find Yixing’s. They locked as they had over the shot glasses, communicating need and desperation and… relief?
“Jesus…”
Yixing took three, four strides and knelt in front of the young man. This close, under the foul fluorescence of bathroom lighting, Yixing could see how young he really was – Yixing guessed he hadn’t reached twenty yet – and the damage was clearly visible as he examined the rest of the boy’s hunched frame. His hand was in bad shape, and his clothes were torn and warped, but, from what Yixing could tell, his face took the worst of whatever happened – the red abrasion was already swelling, the cut angling across his sleek cheekbone.
“Where else are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Uhhhgh. N-no. I’m…”
“Just hold on, I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No really, I’m… I’m okay. It’s not that b—”
Yixing reached for his phone, one hand still resting on the arm of the other. He paused though, when a hand covered his, long fingers snaking up his wrist and clasping his forearm.
“Stop… please. It’s okay. Really, I don’t need an ambulance. See?” With a weak smile, that even in this situation caused Yixing’s heart to rev pleasantly, the young man tried to push up off the floor to stand, faltered, and tipped sideways with a groan. Yixing quickly wrapped his arms around his torso, taking on his weight.
“Yeah, you’re clearly just fine. What happened?”
“Mmrph.” The boy winced as he stood with Yixing’s supportive arms around him. “God, it hurts. These guys followed me in here and they just jumped me. I don’t even know what happened. I didn’t know them…” His voice lifted in pitch, strained, then trailed off. He dropped his head and inhaled sharply, from pain or shock, or both.
Yixing angled the boy’s flexible frame to lean gently against the wall, and he pressed his palms evenly into the other’s shoulders to keep him steady. The slight lolling of the boy’s neck, paired with the pitiful balance from the knees down exhibited the combined effects of alcohol, adrenaline, and fear. And as before, Yixing made his mind up instantly, almost as if there was no alternative.
“Okay,” he started slowly, pleased at hearing the affection and warmth in his own voice as he spoke. “My name is Yixing, and if you say it’s alright, I’m going to bring you back to my place so I can clean you up and make sure you’re not severely injured, okay? I… want to help you... Please, let me help you.” Yixing let one hand drift from its flat position across the young man’s slim shoulder, trailing his fingers indulgently along the sinewy deltoids, holding fast around his elbow protectively.
The boy lifted his head, the dazed expression on his face coming into focus at Yixing’s words, his eyes searching Yixing’s own. He paused, his bottom lip trembling, then nodded heavily.
“Please.” His almost feminine lips formed the word carefully, pursing and relaxing as he gave Yixing control. “Please take me home.”
--- --- ---
Yixing chucked his keys onto his kitchen counter as he nudged his front door open with his foot. He flicked the light switch by the door with his free hand, while his other stayed wrapped around the slim waist of the weak, injured boy, holding him up gently. Yixing led him into the kitchen, lowering him down into a chair to rest.
“Okay, Jongdae.” The skin on Yixing’s neck tingled a bit as he said the boy’s name out loud, told softly to him during the short car ride over. He crouched down in front of his new charge and laid his hands on Jongdae’s knees. “How are you feeling?”
Yixing looked up, searching the bruised, pale face above him. The cut on his cheek had mostly clotted, though the dried blood trailing down from the gash to his jaw still looked gruesome. Jongdae’s posture was defensive, his shoulders drooped, one hand cradling the busted one near his chest, and Yixing read his expression as an enigmatic blend of pain, fried nerves, and shyness. Despite the traumatic event that led to this moment, Yixing found himself holding back a smile looking into Jongdae’s dewy, pleading eyes. Now that he was home, now that he could really focus on taking care of this boy sitting here in front of him, Yixing felt a wave of intense sympathy crest in his heart, followed by an echo of the fizzy, instant attraction he’d felt at the bar. Without consciously deciding to do so, Yixing felt his right thumb outlining small circles across the tear in the knee of the boy’s jeans.
Jongdae swallowed once. “My cheek, and my hand… I tried to fight them off, and I think I fucked up the punch.” Yixing couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his lips, causing the boy to smile feebly at him. Yixing’s fingers squeezed the boy’s knee affectionately, eliciting an abrupt hiss from the boy’s lips. Yixing flinched, immediately removing his hands from the boy.
“What is it?!”
“Ahh… it’s just sore. They kicked me when I was down… it’s not broken or anything, I don’t think, it’s just sore, really.”
Yixing’s eyes darted around the boy’s body, looking for evidence of serious injury that required an ambulance. Jongdae had been fairly quiet during the short drive over, but it was possible the beating was more severe than the boy realized, and Yixing didn’t want to waste any time here if he needed to go to the hospital.
“Let me see.”
“I really don’t think it’s that bad…”
“Jongdae, if you’re really hurt, I won’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to help you. Please, let me see how bad it is.”
“Okay.” Jongdae reached his uninjured hand forward and gripped Yixing’s shoulder for balance as he stood. Yixing stayed crouched, his head lifted to survey Jongdae’s progress as he removed his vest. Jongdae looked into Yixing’s warm, concerned eyes as he started to lift his blood-stained shirt. Arms crossed halfway up his bare torso, Jongdae yelped, and Yixing’s hands were instantly on Jongdae’s body, as if to hold him together should he crumble apart on the spot.
“What?”
“My hand.” Jongdae’s eyes were closed, his bottom lip crushed in his teeth. Yixing’s heart ratcheted at the sight, a tumultuous mix of panic and poorly timed desire.
“Are you sure it isn’t broken?” Yixing stood, but kept his hands secure on Jongdae’s waist under the fallen hem of his thin t-shirt. Peripherally, he marveled at the flawless texture of the boy’s skin, but he kept his hands still, worry and care at the forefront of his mind.
“Mm… mhm. Look – ” Jongdae raised the hand between his and Yixing’s faces and slowly, shakily wiggled his bloodied fingers, smiling at the relief he saw wash over Yixing’s expression. They stood like that for a few seconds, Yixing’s hands holding an increasingly docile Jongdae steady, Jongdae searching the face of the tall, stalwart man who touched him so kindly. The pain in his hand ebbing away, Jongdae reached his fingers up tentatively and let the pads of his first and second fingers skim the cool pink of Yixing’s ample bottom lip. He felt Yixing’s warm breath as Yixing pursed his lips.
“I think I may need your help with this.” There was a pretty flush in Jongdae’s otherwise drained cheeks as he lifted both arms fully above his head. Yixing felt another swell in his heart seeing Jongdae assume this vulnerable position, topped with an almost coy pouting expression. The older man obliged and slowly ran his hands up the younger’s prominent ribs, bunching the shirt as he went. Jongdae closed his eyes at the sensation, enjoying the gentleness in his impromptu healer’s fingers. Yixing lifted the shirt up with the utmost care, pulling the fabric away from Jongdae’s face and hand to avoid irritating his injuries. His shirt discarded on the floor beside the vest, a half-stripped Jongdae stood still, cradling his hand again, looking at Yixing expectantly. Oddly, Yixing was the more anxious of the two. The boy really was stunning. He was thin, and a little bony, angular in a way that suggested he might still grow into his lanky limbs. But his skin was lovely, milky and lustrous in Yixing’s eyes. He was toned, the evidence of capable muscles beneath his skin, and Yixing found his gaze lingering around the low-slung waist of Jongdae’s black jeans, appreciating the sleek abdomen framed by the suggestion of hipbones that continued behind the dark denim. Yixing swallowed, containing himself, and went to work examining Jongdae for unseen damage that might warrant a trip to the hospital.
After several minutes of Yixing’s cautious questions and softly spoken requests to test the integrity of Jongdae’s body, they were both satisfied that Jongdae was not severely injured, luckily. Yixing rifled through his pantry for a first aid kit, and began pulling out various bandages to apply to Jongdae’s hand and cheek.
“Some painkillers and a good, long sleep will do you good, I think. I can patch you up the best I can here, and take you home, if you want.”
Jongdae paused, his eyes scanning the floor of the kitchen, finding the right way to respond.
“Oh, well… it’s so late, I don’t want to be more of an imposition than I already am… but I… I was hoping maybe I could just stay here? For the night, I mean?”
Yixing looked up from his collection of wraps and gauze. Stay the night? Yixing had been priding himself on his good behavior, given the potent temptation this boy presented, being half-naked and vulnerable in his kitchen. Knowing that Jongdae needed him had quashed the desires that stirred in Yixing’s gut, but they snuck up and started blurring his judgment again with this proposition. Stay the night. Jongdae, here, until morning. An image of Jongdae’s dark blond hair splayed across Yixing’s pillow flashed across his vision, the morning sun streaking across his calm, dozing face. It was too rich a thought, and Yixing forced it from his mind.
“Please, Yixing?” And for the third time that night, Yixing made up his mind without wavering as a furious heat shot from his ears to his pelvis and back up to his chest. There just was no alternative.
Yixing took two steps away from the counter toward Jongdae, his eyes settling on Jongdae’s angled, pleading ones.
“Of course.” A pleased, grateful warmth glowed from Jongdae’s expression, a look that shook Yixing’s knees. He was in major trouble.
--- --- ---
It was 2:37am. After complying with Jongdae’s request to stay, Yixing had attempted to curb his libidinous cravings by being perfectly hospitable. He occupied himself by demanding Jongdae drink a huge bottle of water after taking three painkillers, then serving him hot, comforting ramen. After setting the bowl in front of him, and receiving a gracious smile in return, he quickly took his leave, retreating to his shower to straighten himself out.
The hot water coaxed Yixing into a relaxed, open mood, allowing him to ponder how he should best handle this unexpected situation. The fact was, Jongdae had experienced a trauma and he needed to recover in a safe, comforting environment. Yixing could provide that, and would gladly, if he could just resist his own lust for this adorable kid. Because seriously, Yixing thought logically, he’s got to be nine, maybe ten years younger than me. He’s cute, but he’s just a kid, and no amount of loneliness would justify taking advantage of this situation. Take care of him, let him sleep, and send him on his way tomorrow. As the last of the shampoo trailed down the drain, Yixing resolved to happily, enthusiastically even, trade in his own indulgence to pamper the adorable, innocent Jongdae. He turned off the water and quickly changed into roomy sweat pants and a thermal. He scanned his closet for a similar set for Jongdae, set them on the counter of the bathroom, and wandered out to the kitchen.
Jongdae, still shirtless since the improvised medical exam, had migrated from the kitchen to the living room, where he sat with his legs folded underneath him on Yixing’s leather chair. The book Yixing had been reading, Jeffrey Eugenides’s latest novel, was propped against Jongdae’s knees; the picture was more idyllic than Yixing had prepared for, but he stayed focused.
“You’re welcome to take a shower, if you don’t think it’ll bother your cuts.” Jongdae looked up from the book with heavy lids.
“Mmm… that sounds so good right now. I know I smell like Friday-night-bar-bathroom. Ick.” He smiled as he got to his feet gingerly, laying the book down where he’d found it. He lightly walked over to Yixing and paused next to him. He leaned over, just a bit, and Yixing heard him inhale through his nose just inches from Yixing’s shoulder.
“See?” Jongdae spoke low, almost in a whisper. “You smell amazing.” He took one more sniff, his nose just touching the waffle fabric on Yixing’s arm, triggering goosebumps all over Yixing’s scalp. He made a throaty whine, as if in jealousy, and made his way toward Yixing’s open bedroom door. “Through here?”
“Mhm. There’s a clean towel and clothes on the counter and a new toothbrush in the top drawer. Take your time.”
“I will! You’re taking such good care of me, Yixing. Really… thank you.”
Yixing could only nod as Jongdae turned into the bathroom.
--- --- ---
Yixing spent the next twenty minutes straightening up, gathering the necessary bandages Jongdae might need after his shower, and laying out an extra blanket for himself on the couch. He also fished Chanyeol’s phone out from his discarded pants pocket and plugged it in to charge in the kitchen. He noticed several messages waiting on the screen and laughed to himself. Even passed out drunk at home, Chanyeol was more social than he was.
Yixing left the light by the couch on to find his way to his makeshift bed in a few minutes, but he turned off the rest in the kitchen and went back into his bedroom. He fluffed the bed pillows and smoothed the comforter before sitting on one side. He had just extended his legs fully, thumbing through his own phone, when he heard the shower turn off. His socked feet twitched in anticipation, though for what, he couldn’t say. He returned to perusing his phone to occupy himself. After a few more minutes, he heard the door open, and he looked up.
Yixing’s heart seized uncontrollably at the vision emerging from his steamy bathroom. Jongdae stood, his previously styled hair floppy and damp and tangling in his lashes, in the center of the bathroom doorframe, backlit by the yellow-toned lights behind him. His clean bare feet were crossed, his right foot tucked behind the bony ankle of his left. The thick fabric of the navy sweatshirt Yixing had laid out for him pooled at his wrists, those enticing, thin fingers peeking out, one hand holding the other again in front of his chest. Yixing had chosen that particular pullover because it was a favorite of his, its worn-in texture homey and comforting on lazy weekends, but what was loose on Yixing’s tall, masculine body dwarfed Jongdae’s small frame. The worn, relaxed collar dipped low enough to expose his clavicles, accentuating his feminine neck. A freshly-scrubbed flush, punctuated by the cut across his cheekbone, crept up just under his sleepy, half-lidded eyes; he looked so sedate and happy that he might have been a little inebriated still. Plus, that was the only reasonable explanation for why Jongdae seemed to have forgotten to put on the plaid cotton pants Yixing had laid out with the pullover.
“I feel much better, thank you, Yixing.” His almost bashful, modest pose in the doorway, paired with his sweet, high voice, struck an unprepared Yixing as supremely provocative, almost more so than the bare ankles, calves, knees, thighs.
“O-of course.” Yixing clumsily regained a fraction of his composure and averted his eyes from the bruise he saw blooming on the inside of Jongdae’s left thigh, the place he’d accidentally touched earlier, where those thugs at the bar had kicked him. The sight made his stomach flip, and he experienced another odd mix of emotions: anger, sympathy, tenderness, and ever-present want. He put them aside in favor of unassuming kindness. He refused to take anything from someone who’d had a night like Jongdae had.
“Pants didn’t fit? I have others if you want to…”
“I never sleep in pants. You don’t mind, do you?” Having showered, Jongdae seemed much more at ease, and again, each slow, soft word from his mouth wafted over Yixing like wind chimes, sugary and watery in their tone.
“Oh, no that’s fine. Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Yixing swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand. “Do you need anything else before bed?” Yixing’s attempted neutral provision was wavering, and he thought it best to get out of there, to leave Jongdae to his much needed sleep and avoid getting in too deep here.
But Jongdae held up his hands suddenly in a halting sign. Yixing paused, perched on the edge of the bed. Jongdae smiled, flicked the light off from the bathroom, and padded his way over to the side opposite Yixing. Yixing watched him move; it was such a contrast to the flirty persona from the bar and the desperate weakness on the way to his apartment; he seemed almost juvenile in his movements, highlighted by his skinny, exposed legs and oversized sweater. He stood beside the bed, peering at Yixing from under his loose mop of hair.
“I was hoping you’d stay with me for a while. You’ve been so kind to me tonight… you make me feel better.” As his request formed on his lips, he swayed slightly from side to side, a childish affectation that further added to his boyish quality. In his shyness, he worried the hem of the pullover with his fingers, causing Yixing’s eyes to drift distractedly. Something about this kid was boring a hole in Yixing’s respectable judgment, and it got worse the younger he acted. What the hell is this?!
“Please stay. I feel safe with you.” Yixing’s lips parted as he felt himself sigh. The delicious torture he’d been feeling since meeting Jongdae, the tension between restraint and desire, between lonely sobriety and indulgence, between engagement or retreat, exploded inside Yixing’s heart at those words. Here was this boy, vulnerable and hurt and beautiful, wanting him. That thought seeped into his marrow and warmed the lonely corners of himself he had locked away. Whatever this was, he could be here for Jongdae, he could be the buoy this boy held onto, nurture him, if only for tonight. So, Yixing returned to his previous position, lounging, legs extended, and he nodded his head. Jongdae grinned wide, and cooed at Yixing’s wordless agreement. He quickly crawled onto the bed, on top of the sheets, and slunk over to Yixing, still cradling his injured hand. Yixing put his phone aside and held his arm out as Jongdae curled his body into the inviting nest there, his face pressed into Yixing’s warm thermal shirt, breathing in contentedly.
“Thank you, Yixing, for taking care of me.” Jongdae’s fingers clung to the fabric of Yixing’s thin shirt, pawing at him appreciatively, both of them enjoying the shift of skin separated by fabric. It was almost too much, and Yixing felt deeply hidden fantasies sneak up inside him. Words formed on his lips, and he couldn’t help himself.
“Of course, little one.” Yixing beamed when he saw Jongdae’s eyes close giddily at the affection. He is perfect. Jongdae whined sleepily and curled up tighter, nuzzling into Yixing’s protective, strong body. Yixing let his arm fall and began tracing little shapes on Jongdae’s back, eliciting more sweet, soft sounds from Jongdae’s pert mouth. He let his head rest against the headboard, and he closed his eyes.
“Yixing?”
“Mhm?”
Jongdae stirred a little, and Yixing peered down at him. He really looks tiny all balled up like that, Yixing thought. He watched Jongdae’s fingers lightly play on his chest again, the exposed, split knuckles much improved by the shower. Yixing took the opportunity to reach over to the nightstand for the ointment and bandages he’d reserved.
“You’ve been so kind to me…” Yixing took Jongdae’s hand in his own as he listened, applying the ointment, the gauze, and the wrap to Jongdae’s pliant hand to keep everything in place. “Could you maybe… to help me fall asleep…” Jongdae paused.
“What is it, little one?” Yixing returned Jongdae’s now bandaged hand to his own chest, where it flexed and pressed fondly into him, claiming Yixing as his.
“Could you sing to me? Please?”
“Oh.”
“You have such a nice voice. I bet you sing well and… I want to hear your voice as I fall asleep. Please, Yixing?”
And as he had been the whole night, Yixing was powerless to Jongdae.
“Any requests?”
“Mmm… a love song. Your favorite love song, Yixing.” Jongdae settled in again, snuggled into Yixing’s side. He extended his right leg and curled it around Yixing’s left. Even this movement, which caused the hem of the pullover to creep up Jongdae’s side, baring his skin to Yixing’s greedy eyes, didn’t feel sexually charged to Yixing. It was closeness, intimacy that Jongdae wanted on a night like this, when strangers had betrayed him. Yixing’s protection and affection were redemption for one of the shittiest nights of the young man’s life, a burden Yixing was honored to bear. He reached down toward his feet slowly, shifting Jongdae as little as possible, and pulled a blanket up over them both. Then, he began to sing.
Yixing lilted from one song to another, singing his favorite parts, playing with the melodies, letting his mind dig up the songs from his memory that felt most painful when he was lonely, but felt lush and warm on his lips now with this boy falling asleep beside him.
After a while, as Yixing hummed quietly, Jongdae’s breathing steadied into a slow rhythm. Yixing surveyed the precious young body curled up beside him adoringly, astonished by the circumstances that brought him to this point. He felt himself getting sleepy as well, and let the drowsiness of late night/early morning set in. He closed his eyes, drifted, and fell asleep to the clean, quiet smell of his own shampoo in Jongdae’s hair.