The Day We Wore Makeup + Other 'Bad' Things | [chanbaek / baekyeol]

Satin Robe

[date: 11/21/1987]

+ a stormy evening

[The Greatest Love of ALL - Whitney Houston]

[00:04:50:55] + play

He was a wreck. Lying on the living room floor in a puddle of study notes and various mechanical pencils that had burnt erasers so far stolen that they were near useless.

"Hey, dad?" He yelled, not moving from his slugged position on the floor, looking like a giant mess. His hair was fanned out and his shirt was ridden over his lap and shoes discarded a few feet away.

"Yes?" His father sang, walking into the room by himself in a house robe.

"Has anyone called yet?"

"Channie, it's eleven. You should be in bed."

Chanyeol rolled into ball on the floor, scowling.

"No one?"

"Chan. Go to sleep. You've been hittin' the books for hours now..." his father tip toed around the grenade of supplies, patting his shoulder gently. "Goodnight, buddy."

"G'night, dad."

Things were nice when it was just them. But those moments didn't last long. His footsteps drew further until the sound of his bedroom door locked with an aged clang.

His heart sighed with the effort it took to sit up and check the time for himself. It was too late to call now. He had been waiting to rendezvous with Baekhyun since he watched him jogging down the dark alley. He was beating himself up wondering what could have happened. Scenarios swarmed his conscience, rallied with rationality. Time had spoken and his eyes were already lulled by the work he'd performed throughout the day.

Where could he be?

+

Baekhyun knew he was pushing his luck, but he followed him anyway. His tires didn't break until they were outside the Kim's house. It was a suburban style home with a sandy exterior and freshly mowed grass. The roof was old, proof of their extended residence. Baekhyun didn't hesitate leaving his car and circling around the house to the backyard, which would seem odd to any onlookers. A large magnolia tree grew in the back, shading half the minuscule yard in it's impressive bushels of branches and stems.

He had climbed these branches so many times that his palm didn't feel the rough skin but rather the smooth markings from a childhood of unsteady grip. He climbed higher until he was face to face with Xiumin's window on the second story. He knocked softly, peering at the curtained window with hope. Xiumin would know without looking, and answer it still.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry. I know you're upset. But this isn't about you." Baekhyun gasped for breath, impressed by his own candor.

"Baekhyun..." Xiumin sighed, looking down. The boy had dressed down in joggers and a plain white shirt. He looked like he was settling in for a nap.

"Can I come in? Please?"

Xiumin sighed louder before standing aside, even offering his hand for support. Baekhyun took it and didn't let go. "Tell me why you're here, Baekkie."

"I want you to know that I am scared. I hope you can understand that and maybe even understand me."

"I should have said this earlier... but-" Xiumin walked over and they took a seat on his bed, creaking with the weight of them. On the walls hung posters for his favorite sport teams and a Letterman jacket was clinging to the back of his desk chair. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was just so..." he rubbed the inside of his arm nervously. "-jealous? I don't know. I just couldn't believe you wouldn't trust me enough, or that you were replacing me-"